Champagne Kisses (21 page)

By now, Maddie was four months pregnant, but being such a skinny bitch she was defying nature and still had no signs of a baby bump. She also hadn’t suffered any nausea. I was the one who had started to feel sick – at the fact that she was still slimmer than me.

But today we were looking for devilment as we took our seats on the plane and scanned for possible playmates. Things were looking miserable as the seats filled up with couples, but then four Hulk-like fellas bounced their way through the aisle, knocking against passengers with their large carry-on rucksacks, and banging into lockers with their bulky shoulders and cauliflower ears.

‘Check out the rugby players,’ squealed Maddie, totally forgetful of her mumsie state and how unacceptable it is to consider sex with a bloke while pregnant with another man’s baby.

‘They’re farmers,’ moaned Parker. ‘Redneck, culchie hick farmers.’

Now, usually Parker would have been horny looking at such a posse, but since he was ‘in love’ with Jeff, he was very much the devoted boyfriend.

Although ‘Hairy hole’, as Maddie had renamed him, wasn’t coming with us to Parker’s family villa, he would be joining us in seven days, which gave us one week to listen to Parker complaining.

Whilst the fact that Parker had become a one-man man and was utterly faithful to Jeff was wonderful, there was nothing fabulous about his mood when his boy was out of town. Think Glenn Close in
Fatal Attraction
and you’d be able to imagine what sort of nightmare Parker had become when he couldn’t be with his lover. Obsessing about Jeff had become a constant hobby.

‘Jeff would never eat avocado – they’re far too fattening.’ Or, ‘Jeff prefers Liquid Silk to KY Jelly because it’s not as sticky’ or, ‘Jeff hates Victoria Beckham because she reminds him of an old trannie he used to secretly date!’

His prattling was as endless as it was pointless. But we were his friends and he was allowed to be annoying occasionally. And the fact that he was bankrolling my social life was another good reason to humour
him
. Yes, just as Lisa had cleared up her bout of verbal Wildean diarrhoea, Parker started spewing the Jeff Alexander guide to a perfect life.

On reflection, I supposed I had bored everyone long enough about my phantom photographer boyfriend, so it was my turn to be patient. But just because Parker wasn’t in the mood to be mischievous didn’t mean that Maddie and I had to play vestal virgins.

She was single – although secretly knocked-up – while my love life was complex, to say the least. Although Robert and I had made up after our little tête-à-tête at my birthday, things had never been the same. Occasionally we’d ring each other for a bootie call, but although it would act as the perfect stress relief as required, our partnership was never to progress further than the purely functional.

As for Luscious Lucy, as she was now named in my phone, well, I still didn’t understand where we stood.

I had apparently snogged her several times in as many months, but had only vague recollections of each encounter. Copious amounts of alcohol was always part of our mating ritual.

It turned out the doe-eyed beauty had a young prince of her own, and although he’d once said that he thought it was arousing that she liked to kiss other girls, in reality it just made him jealous, which was very understandable.

Through a drunken haze I remember the last time she placed her lips on mine, as it resulted in a rapturous round of applause …

* * *

It was on the dance floor of Sophie’s Choice and Lucy had been dancing with her equally cute boyfriend when Parker and I cosied up next to them as bold as brass.

A complete minx herself, her naughty switch flicked on the second she saw us, as she promptly started shaking her ass with some sexy Shakira moves to tease me.

I can still picture her leaning over her boyfriend’s shoulder and whispering, ‘You look hot’, while giving me a wink.

Brazen was the only way you could describe this chick. And it was hard not to adore her, which I did tremendously.

As far as I could recall, her fella took the hump with her not-too-subtle flirting, and marched off the dance floor leaving the three of us happy to compete in an erotic dance-off.

Thrilled with ourselves we strutted and gyrated like we were Rihanna dancing under her ‘Um-ber-ella!’ But after some over-amorous twists from Lucy and myself Parker declared, ‘Gooseberry ain’t my colour’ and went off to find devilment with Jeff.

As soon as we were left to play on our own, we became sandwiched together like magnets. Spinning in circles and performing like contestants on
Dancing with the Stars
, we owned the room and no one else existed. Despite being petite Lucy’s grasps were firm, and with her arms snugly around my waist I felt bulletproof.

Laughing and flirting, grooving and swirling, we ripped up the dance floor and refused anyone else space in our drink-induced fantasy. Unable to control ourselves we started to kiss right in the middle of the dance floor … passionately.

We shared a magical moment, as her sweet tongue rolled around in my mouth and her hands gave my hips a tight squeeze.

All I was aware of was her strawberry lip-balm and the hint of coconut that left her long flowing hair as I fingered it.

When the song changed to a more hardcore dance track, we pulled back from our kiss and stared straight into each other’s eyes, smiling like Cheshire cats. I was just about to tell her how much I’d like to get naked with her when a large cheer came from the direction of the bar. Automatically we turned, to see a gang of six lads cheering and clapping at us.

‘Great show,’ one of them shouted. ‘Don’t stop now,’ cheered another.

If we’d been sober we probably would have been mortified, but we weren’t, so we fell about laughing and cheekily took a bow.

The next thing I remember was Lucy’s boyfriend taking her by the hand and manhandling her down the stairs of the club with her jacket and handbag over his shoulder. That was a couple of weeks ago, and I haven’t seen her since.

Although she still very much occupies my thoughts I’ve thought it best to leave well alone. I wanted and
needed
a boyfriend and a protector. As much fun as Lucy was, no man would ever consider taking me on if I spent my Saturday nights kissing girls. Well, except a pervy one, and I didn’t want to end up with a swinger. The city was full of them, but that was not the type of life I had dreamt about as a young or grown-up girl.

After waking up with the fear of what I’d done, I’d stayed away from clubs in case I was recognized for my lesbian exhibition.

Today, I was sitting on a plane, which officially meant I was on holiday. It was a break away from guilt and the harsh reality of my failure in life. And now that I had locked four eligible hunks in my radar and had smuggled several snipes of Moët in my hand luggage for myself, it was time to let the party games begin.

Clearly up for a bit of boldness we received several loud, ‘How-si-goin?’ before the hunks finished shoving their bags into the overhead lockers.

Maddie was just about to go down and introduce herself to the lads when a very matron-like hostess told everyone to take their seats. So instead she did what she always did on planes: took out some paper and started to write a note.

‘Hello tasty boys – especially you in the Irish jersey,’ it began. ‘Are you looking for fun on this trip? XXX.’

Wasting no time, she nabbed a less fierce air hostess and asked her to pass the note to the boys, who were
making
general fools of themselves. Within seconds there was a big cheer, with one of the lads screaming, ‘Absa-fuckin’lutely!’ in a thick Corkonian accent, followed by the other three moaning, ‘Shut the fuck up, Bugsie.’

After much rummaging in jackets, the boys located a pen and our note was returned with, ‘The fella with the Irish jersey has a small mickie. But the rest of us are hung like donkeys. Are ya up for makin’ the high mile?’

At this stage I had necked back the first mini bottle of bubbles, and had moved on to my second, so feeling a little finicky I sent a note back: ‘Sorry lads, but did you mean the Mile High Club?’

Although the plane hadn’t even left the runway yet, several groups looked as if they were about to complain about the sound pollution. Noticing this, the air hostess refused to accept the note from the boys to give to us and told them to keep it down.

Ten long, laborious minutes later our Airbus was finally in the skies, and Maddie was hot out of the traps and over to get acquainted with the guys. Of course I was too embarrassed to go with her, so I giggled and waved from my seat while Parker tutted with mature disgust.

‘You’re behaving like fishwives,’ he barked, pulling a snooty face.

‘What’s a fishwife anyway?’ Knowing well that he wouldn’t have an answer.

‘I don’t know.’ His tone was almost a growl. ‘But
you
two are acting like common little tarts, I’m embarrassed for you. I’m putting on my iPod now, and if anyone asks, I’ll disown you.’

‘Well you can act like a grumpy old bear for the rest of the flight if you like, but I’m going to enjoy myself. You’ve approximately two hours and twenty-five minutes to lose yourself in the Scissor Sisters, so I hope you have enough battery power. Good luck!’

With that I jumped out of my seat and sauntered up the aisle like it was a catwalk. Not that any of the guys noticed; their eyes were transfixed by Maddie and her tight white T.

She always had great pert boobs, but since she’d got pregnant, they had almost doubled in size, even though the rest of her hadn’t.

I had just snuggled up beside Maddie and pretended to be interested in some story she was telling about Sinatra’s Bar in Puerto Banus, when the angry hostess got on the intercom again and told everyone to take their seats as we would be experiencing some turbulence.

Maddie didn’t look as if she was prepared to give up on her games, as she told the boys, ‘Hold all those thoughts, as I’ll be bringing sexy back!’ She gave me a poke in the ribs and pushed me towards our seats before I even got a chance to open my mouth.

‘Eh, thanks for that,’ I snapped, as I fixed my belt buckle in a hasty fashion.

‘They’re dickheads,’ she whispered, still waving in their direction.

‘Excuse me?’

‘And we’ll have to make a sharpish exit off the plane as well. Because I jokingly said that we were here for your hen night and you were looking for a final fling before the big day.’

‘So what’s wrong with that? The blondie fella looked kinda cute. I’ve done worse –
you’ve
done worse!’

‘Agreed, but I think they’re bad eggs.’

‘Since when have you been so picky? I’m going to give the blond one my number.’

‘No, you’re not.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because …’

‘Fuck sake, Maddie, just tell me why not.’

‘Just leave it.’

‘
Why?
’

‘Cause they’ve got Class As on them and I don’t want to be exposed in the papers as the model who’s been smuggling a baby, and now drugs!’

‘Fuck off … How do you know?’

‘The loud one in the jersey said he had coke on him and did I fancy a line?’

‘Get outta town. Jaysus, they’re mad bastards. So, why were you still flirting with them? Telling them you’d bring sexy back. I presumed you were talking about me.’

‘Get you. Actually I was, kinda, but I was just trying to get away from them subtly.’

‘Subtly? You’re one of those bitches who give
women
a bad name: “I said Yes, Your Honour, but really I meant No”.’

As the plane started to swoop and dip in the wind pockets Parker opened his eyes and pulled off his earphones. The colour had drained from his face and he gripped the armrests of his seat in panic mode.

‘I’m fucking hating this turbulence,’ he moaned, terrified. ‘I’m hating it more than Jodie Marsh’s wardrobe, I’m hating it more than that smelly Pete Doherty … actually, I hate it just as much as Colin Farrell’s dirty fingernails.
Fuck!
I’m hating it—’

‘OK, calm down. Don’t get your G-string in a twist, it’ll pass soon.’ I tried to sound composed, but Parker was normally the sensible one in these situations while I was always uneasy with the rocking.

‘Listen, I’ve a good story for ya, to take your mind off falling out of the sky.’

‘Thanks, pet,’ he said in a sarcastic whisper.

‘Maddie, tell Parker about your DR-uggie mates.’ The captain surfed the wind as I spoke.

‘Sh-ushh,’ Maddie glared, looking around her as if she was being followed. ‘Keep it quiet.’

Intrigued, Parker leaned over my lap towards Maddie on the outside seat and demanded she filled him in on her news.

‘They asked me – if I wanted – a line of coke,’ she mumbled through her hand.

‘No way?’

‘Yes way …’

‘And then what?’ Parker’s attention span already seemed exhausted.

‘That’s it. Turbulence hit, we were told to come back to our seats, and now here we are.’

‘Ri-VET-ing.’ Parker resumed his white-knuckle pose, while the lads up front whooped and cheered as the plane swooped three times downwards.

We spent the following two hours avoiding Pablo Escobar and his mates thanks to continued bad weather and the trolley-dolly service of tea and coffee, ham sandwiches, giant Toblerones and Burberry perfume. By the time we landed, our stress levels were at an all-time high, what with Parker’s new fear of flying and Maddie’s anxiety of being linked with reckless coke-heads.

Thankfully everyone scrambled for their bags before the seat-belt sign had been switched off, so the guys couldn’t make their way back to our seats. Instead Maddie waved them on and told them she’d see them at the luggage reclaim, before turning to me and saying, ‘They’ll have to catch me first.’

As we waited in our seats for the queue to ease, Parker busied himself with his phone, and his mood instantly lifted. ‘Look I’m a Moviestar,’ he said proudly, showing us the network coverage on his mobile before a message from Jeff beeped through.

‘Ah look, he says, “Missing you already … I luuve U xox.” Ah, isn’t he the best?’