Mr Right for the Night by Marisa Mackle Page B

shagging one or more of the bouncers.
    They ordered the taxi man to drive on. He recommended a dodgy-looking place around Clarendon Street and the girls agreed to get out there so as not to hurt his feelings.
    ‘I’d love to go to Burger King,’ Anna’s stomach was talking to her. She tipped the taxi man.
    ‘Are you mad? We’re not going to Burger King dressed like this.’
    ‘You’re right,’ Anna sniffed. ‘Somebody important might see us.’
    ‘We’ll go for a drink first and then find somewhere to eat,’ Claire suggested.
    ‘Fine.’
    They entered a pub at the top of Grafton Street. The place was wall-to-wall jammed with people trying to look cool but failing miserably because of the thermal atmosphere: it was hard to be sophisticated when beads of sweat were bonding on your forehead and two damp patches were propagating at accelerating speed around your armpits.
    ‘See anyone nice?’ Claire roared above the crowd.
    ‘Keep your voice down,’ Anna hushed, ‘I don’t want the whole place thinking I’m some kind of desperate eejit.’
    ‘Sorry,’ Claire shouted. The jazz band in the corner was obviously playing havoc with her ears. ‘What do you want to drink?’
    ‘A beer. Preferably a well-known brand.’
    ‘Right. Crisps?’
    ‘Are you mad? I’m not eating crisps in a place like this.’
    ‘I thought you said you were hungry.’
    ‘Not that hungry.’
    ‘Hello, ladies.’ Thick east London accent, gold bracelets, very short haircuts, very bad dress sense, very up for it.
    ‘Hello,’ Anna replied distantly.
    ‘What are two ladies like you doing in a place like this?’ One of them grinned, revealing a gold tooth.
    ‘Just taking it easy,’ Claire glanced nervously at Anna.
    Gold Tooth offered to pay for the drinks.
    ‘No honestly, thanks,’ Anna insisted. ‘We’ll get our own. But thanks anyway,’ she repeated so as not to insult him.
    ‘Have you got a boyfriend?’ The one with the sideburns and three earrings slid a scraggy arm around Claire’s waist.
    ‘Married.’ She held up her left hand. They stared, electrocuted. Unbelievable! It was as if she had waved a magic wand warding off the wicked witches of the west. The three guys disappeared before you could say ‘actually I’ve changed my mind about the drinks’.
    ‘Well, that was weird,’ Claire stared after them.
    ‘Yes, very.’ Anna tried to catch the barman’s attention. ‘But don’t be waving your ring around – you know, if someone decent shows up.’
     
    Later, at the club, the doorman ushered them in with surprising speed, obviously thinking they were someone else. At the bar a more mature man offered them drinks. A nice start. He was American and thought the girls could be models. Especially Claire. He asked Claire to dance. A friendly dance. Why did men always do that, Anna wondered. Was there such a thing as an unfriendly dance? Claire politely declined, blaming a sore foot. So he asked Anna.
    ‘Go on,’ Claire winked at her, ‘I’ll hold your drink for you.’
    Mildly insulted at being only second choice, Anna followed him out on to the dance floor. George Michael’s ‘Careless Whisper’ was playing. Anna hoped he wouldn’t whisper anything careless into her ear. Or do anything with her ear.
    The American’s dancing wasn’t great. He shuffled about uneasily after Anna on the crowded dance floor, at one stage colliding heavily with a smooching young couple.
    ‘Sorry,’ Anna told the male half.
    ‘Sorry,’ he answered her back and held her gaze for longer than necessary. He was taller than average with jet-black hair, long sooty eyelashes and sallow complexion. Probably not Irish. Definitely not unattractive. His partner whisked him away.
    The song changed.
    ‘Well thanks for that,’ Anna told the American hurriedly. ‘I think I’d better get back to Claire.’ The hint fell on deaf ears. He followed her back to the bar and bought another round of drinks. Anna scoured the room to see if