corona

I sat back in my chair at the club, one hand around the neck of a bottle of Corona, the other tapping in time to the over-loud music that flooded the place. Muse – Time is Running Out, I noted, though I could barely make out the tune, let alone the words. In front of me, a single white candle burnt at the centre of the table, rivulets of hot wax running down its sides into the glass dish at the bottom. Why was I there? No special reason – I wasn’t particularly on the lookout for anything that night, but there were one or two things that caught my eye, the most promising of which was a slim guy leaning against the bar, brown hair falling over his eyes. He seemed slightly familiar, but in the smoky half-light it was difficult to tell. His eyes were fixed on the dance floor, specifically a rather cute set of blonde twins who were dancing rather… provocatively. His tongue flicked out, wetting his lips slightly, betraying his excitement - not that I could really blame him. One of the blondes seemed to notice him, dragging her tongue seductively across her own lipstick-reddened lips while beckoning with a single finger. He smiled, put down a bottle of something or other and sauntered into the dance floor. I took a swig of my Corona, wondering once again quite why they insist on shoving a slice of lime down the neck. My attention wandered back to the dance floor – the guy was now sandwiched between the two blondes, looking like he was having the time of his life. Lucky bitches.

Still, that guy wasn’t the only bit of cuteness in the club. He just happened to have been the hottest. Still, there was a rather nice looking raven-headed chick over the other side of the club, sitting alone – looked a bit young though – probably got in with a fake ID. I lifted my bottle again, draining the last of it, the froth unsatisfying on my tongue compared to the sharp tang of the earlier bubbles. Time for a new one. I looked over at the girl again, trying to work out what she was drinking, but a guy who looked equally young and dark-haired sat across from her and started talking. No luck there then. The evening really wasn’t working out too well, and I was starting to wonder if I should just call it a night. Still, I asked for another bottle of Corona, pulled out my wallet and went fishing for pound coins. There was a touch against my ass – more than a rub, less than a grope – and a hand dropped a stack of coins onto the bar beside me.

“Make that two would you?” The bartender nodded, and I half-turned to look at my benefactor. A fairly tall blonde guy, dark bushy eyebrows, dressed in a red shirt and black tie. His other hand was stuffed in his trouser pocket, but it wasn’t as if there was anyone else who could have touched me – the bar area was surprisingly deserted

“And to what do I owe this?” I asked as the bartender pulled the two bottles from the fridge.

“I’m feeling generous,” the stranger replied, “and you just happen to be lucky.” He stretched out his hand. “I’m Tom.”

“Matt.” I replied, shaking the proffered hand as the bottles were set in front of us and the coins removed. “I was sitting over there,” I continued, pointing over to my corner where the solitary candle still burned, waiting for someone to light their cigarette on it. “Care to join me?”

“Sure,” he replied, picking up his beer and shoving a finger down the neck to remove the lime. Truly, a man after my own heart. I picked up my own, and took a swig, the fresh bubbles fizzing deliciously on my tongue. My eyes briefly met his before being eclipsed by the rim of the bottle – he seemed harmless enough, and quite interesting too, if I was honest with myself. I wanted to know more about him – especially if he bought more drinks – a quick count of how many I’d had that night came out as three less than not enough. I shook myself, and let Tom lead the way back to my corner, my eyes occasionally glancing down, admiring him. He dropped into the red leather armchair I’d occupied earlier, giving a quick wriggle to get comfortable. I sat down opposite him, unfortunately denying myself the chance to see anyone else, but… maybe it would be worth it. We sat a few moments, the candle guttering slightly, a drop of wax overflowing the crusted edge to singe the table, one more blackened spot on the hard wood surface.

“So…” I ventured as the silence started to drown out the music.

“You don’t recognise me?” He asked, seemingly genuine. I studied his face for a moment – he definitely wasn’t the Tom I went to school with (he was off being a ski instructor in Canada, and occasionally sending us emails about how he’s getting rich having fun), and I was fairly sure none of my cousins were called Tom. Still, did seem slightly familiar…

I shrugged. “Not really. Should I?”

“Well, depends. Do you like boybands?”

“Not especially.”

“Oh, well, I’m in one. Called McFly, after the guy from back to the future.”

I racked my brain, a vague image of a hydraulic car jack coming to my mind. That and some annoyingly addictive “do-do-do”-ing.

“I think I’ve heard of you. If I remember right, pretty much everyone I know thinks you’re another talentless choir.”

“Ahh, they just haven’t got to know us yet. I’m very talented and good with my fingers.” He laughed, and I joined in nervously. Was he actually trying to chat me up? Something about that just struck me as wrong…

“So what are you doing in this place? I mean, it’s not exactly the Harrods of nightclubs.”

“Trying to remember what it’s like to not be famous. So congratulations on being the first person tonight who hasn’t recognised me. But anyway, what about you?”

“I’m here… to see what happens. All of nothing. I see someone, then there’s someone else with them. Even that fake ID girl. And don’t get me started on the cute guy at the bar before me.”

“You want a fake-IDer?”

“As long as she was legal, why not.”

We lapsed into silence, sipping our beers, the candle sputtering out in a pool of liquid wax to be replaced by a rather nice blonde in a tight white shirt. That is she brought a new candle, she didn’t sit on our table with her hair on fire. Tom hadn’t noticed my comment about the guy at the bar. That or he did notice but didn’t care. My mind kept wondering whether he was trying to come onto me, or whether it was just accidental. I’d never actually had a guy try to chat me up before – if he was, it certainly wasn’t unwelcome. He was after all, rather handsome… not to mention charming.

The night went on through a series of throbbing bass-lines, and beers consistently paid for by Tom. I think I was up to about three more than too much (at one o’clock in the morning) when the idea finally entered my head that maybe I ought to go home. Still, Tom shushed me and gave me “one last drink”, leaning forward to clink his bottle against mine. The bubbles had an extra tang to them, and I glugged it down eagerly. We had, in our drunken state, started getting philosophical – we were debating something very important – quite what escapes me now – and I think it was fairly heated. Then… the world dissolved. I think it dissolved anyway, maybe it just swirled. I collapsed back into my chair, and through eyes I was struggling to keep open, I think I saw the guy from the bar and that fake ID guy…

“Come on Matt, time to go home.”