‘That’s disgusting. You’re such a desperate tart!’ She took a mouthful of the booze and let it slip down her throat before shuddering as the warmth radiated within her. ‘Besides, he’s too old for you!’ She laughed.
‘Too old for her? I have two words—’ Essie shouted over the din of the techno thumping through the car.
‘Don’t you dare!’ Domino screamed, trying to put her hand over Essie’s mouth, who ducked out of the way. The car swerved a little to the right before Essie steered it back on course.
‘One ... two ... three!’ Ruby counted before she and Essie both yelled in unison, ‘Micky Tate!’
‘You’re a couple of bitches! Both of you! Complete bitches!’ Domino roared and flicked her hair over her shoulder as she took another long swig and the vodka started to work its magic.
Micky Tate... She wondered if he was going to be out tonight. God she hoped so! It was something that had sustained her all week; any dull moment during the blandest of days could be made magical at the thought that Micky might be interested in her. Because she was certainly interested in him. Removing her lip gloss from her bag, she slathered her lips and pouted into the little mirror in the sun visor, very much liking what she saw. She was in the zone and ready to go!
‘Can’t this fucking old rust bucket go any faster?’ she yelled, as Essie and Ruby laughed loudly. How could it be this much fun just driving along with the girls? But it was. The freedom she felt at being out of the house, away from her family, was intoxicating!
Domino loved Shiskas. The fact that it was a club slightly out of town and they had to drive there made it feel like an adventure. It gave her a buzz knowing that they went there regularly; it felt like their place, one where she knew the layout, the best spot to sit, which loo cubicle they could all fit into for catching up and drinking smuggled-in booze, who behind the bar would give them free drinks, and which DJ played the best set.
It made her feel smug to eye the nervous girls in their best weekend clothes, pressed items probably bought for the occasion, and tonight this was the only thing she envied about them; again she plucked at the front of her blouse. Yes, she’d watch the shiny girls, who were always much older than her, clinging to the wall or huddling in a herd, scared to be noticed while desperately wanting just that. She thought they were a little pathetic. Not that she, Essie, and Ruby had to worry about being underage for the place, knowing with confidence that the security team would wave them in without checking their fake ID. Especially if Andrea was on thedoor – he was a total sweetie. A bald, muscled, tattooed sweetie, but a sweetie, nonetheless.
It was one of the perks of being pretty and having a fantastic rack. Her mum banged on and on about grades and how they were her key to a great future, blah blah blah ... Domino, however, knew otherwise, and with these pert puppies resting inside her shirt, figured she could do better than hot-footing it country to country in the wake of a fucking loser like her dad. Oh yes, she could do much better. She had her sights set on a footballer. And she wasn’t thinking of a local lad who knocked about in a Sunday league with his mates before retiring to the pub to drink warm pints of beer and talk tactics, and who might, if she was very lucky, provide her with a new build on a grim housing estate. Like the grotty little place Cleo and Georgie lived in. No, thank you! Her sights were set a little higher. She was determined to bag a bloke who played in the Premier League and that’s where a nightclub like Shiskas played its part.
When they arrived, she did a quick scan of the car park and counted three Lambos, a couple of Porsches, a souped-up Range Rover and finally there it was! Her eyes widened at the sight of the teal McLaren 720S with the personalised plate.Micky... Micky Tate, who was good-looking, rich and a very successful footballer. And who also happened to be twenty-seven. But age was just a number, right? Besides, she always went for older boys. They seemed to like her and that was good because she certainly liked them. The last time she’d been here, Micky had done a double-take as she walked past and had winked at her as she swung her leather jacket over her shoulder when she left.
‘We are going to have a good night, girls!’ she screeched and reached again for the vodka bottle. ‘I can feel it in my bones!’
Essie parked her little red car at the side of the club where the ground was uneven and the more mundane cars were abandonedin pure shame. The three leaped out in a cloud of laughter and with so much energy, Domino was sure they gave off sparks. It felt good knowing they were ‘those girls’ – the ones the other girls were intimidated by and the ones the boys wanted to take home. As if she’d swap this feeling, this high for good grades.
What did Julie know, bless her, with her split ends and her dated clothes? The woman didn’t even have the sense to get Botox! Her mother might have been a lost cause, but Domino’s life was going to be very different. Never was she going to have to pack up in the middle of the night to run away, scrabbling around for cash because her man couldn’t support her properly, kept her living on a knife edge of uncertainty. She’d make sure of it. When she was an adult, she never wanted to feel the nervous swirl in her gut, the feeling that she was standing on shaky ground, waiting for the earthquake, to see the ground open up beneath her and suck her down and down, taking everything she held dear too. Swallowing her up and dragging her into the dark space below where nothing but sadness and uncertainty lurked. A dark space where she found it hard to take a deep breath, wondering if she would ever again rise up into the sunshine.
No, she would not live like that. She simply refused, having had more than enough of living like that as a child. The answer to her was clear and obvious: find a wealthy man and hold on to him tightly. A man who, unlike her dad, was able to make it as a pro footballer. A man who, unlike her dad, would not let his family down.
Dancing as they walked through the door was kind of their thing. It was what they did: they made an entrance, announced their arrival, catching the eye of anyone who was watching and inviting those who weren’t to start watching. It was a calling card of sorts, letting the likes of Micky Tate know that they were in the house. Domino sashayed with her arms raised over her head, caringlittle that her blouse had ridden up to just under her bra to show off her flat, tanned stomach. I mean, why not? If you’ve got it, flaunt it! And she intended to do just that.
Clicking her fingers and with her eyes half closed, she made her way to the dance floor where the three girls moved together in a dozen well-choreographed moves, mere inches away from each other. Dancing almost skin to skin, mouth to mouth. It was a performance, and Domino was in no doubt that she was the star.
Looking up she saw a gaggle of men staring at them, mouths slack, unable, it seemed, to look away. It was thrilling to recognise one of them as Micky Tate. At the sight of his face, his white teeth picked out in the UV light that shone from the ceiling, a surge of want fired right through her. He downed his drink and turned to walk to the bar, looking over his shoulder with his gaze lingering over her. Domino kissed Ruby hard on the lips, and followed him, dancing slowly as she went. The group of transfixed men seemed to part as she approached, leaving a path right to the footballer who rested on a bar stool with his long legs stretched out in front of him.
‘That was quite a display.’ He chuckled.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ She pouted, just like she did for her Insta, getting the look just right: the slightly open lips, the tip of her tongue on the side of her mouth, eyes down, looking up, stomach sucked in, chest out, leg forward to elongate the line of her silhouette ... It took a lot of practice.
‘Sure you don’t.’ He looked skyward and shook his head. ‘You’re sensational.’ The top of his lip curled as if he were hungry and she were meat, and she felt the power in being able to make a man like Micky Tate – a rich man, a successful man – feel that way. Her giggle burbled from her. Yes, yes, shewassensational ...
Clicking his fingers, the guy behind the bar ran over. ‘What’re you having?’ Micky pointed to the optics.
‘Champagne,’ she answered, her eyes never leaving his face.
‘Champagne?’ He shook his head and gave a small laugh. ‘A woman of expensive tastes.’
Flicking her long hair over her shoulder, she smiled at the fact that he had called her a woman.
‘I guess it’s what I’m used to.’ She held his eyeline and the tension between them was palpable.
‘They only have the cheap stuff here.’ He pulled a face. ‘And I think someone like you deserves only the very best.’
‘I would have to agree.’ She sucked her finger. ‘And where would we find the very best?’ She ran the wet tip of her finger down over her collarbone, edging towards her cleavage.
‘My pool house has a fridge full of the stuff.’
‘Your pool house?’ She laughed loudly, amused and intoxicated not only by his attention but the fact that he had a frickin’ pool house! This was more like it. ‘I like nothing more than a warm pool on a dark night. Trouble is, I don’t have my bathers.’ She clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth and folded her arms under her bust, making sure to lift her bosom to its best advantage. Domino was no stranger to using her body to get what she wanted. It was a power she had employed with her ex-flings, who had yielded expensive dinners, a nice bracelet, lifts to anywhere at any time. They, however, had been mere practice. It was Micky Tate who was the big prize. She viewed him now through her vodka-tinged filter, and he looked good.
