‘Want some closer company?’
‘You haven’t even told me your name,’ he responded.
‘Buy me a drink and I might let you in on that.’ She smiled with confidence and he nodded, returning the sentiment. She was good. She was practised and a player. She could get his day back on track. And his night.
‘What would you like?’ he asked her.
Just walking through the front doors of Vipers brought so many memories flooding back.
Hayley stepped into the main room of the club and the music enveloped her. A heavy bassline kicked in, a track she recognised, and suddenly she was transported back ten years.
Her very first New York nightclub. She’d felt so grown-up in her neon-pink mini-dress with her glossy hair and dollars destined to be spent on enjoying herself. Dean had pulled her onto the dance floor to something by Whitney Houston. She’d swirled and twirled and got tipsy on vodka within the hour. Her relationship with alcohol had been the most longstanding one she’d had. Some things didn’t change. Even this place hadn’t changed much. The dark woodwork she remembered, the mirrored tiles she didn’t and the walls without mirrors were nowpainted a sultry plum. It looked like a classy boudoir, with just a dash of decorations to let patrons know that Christmas was coming.
She paused where she stood, taking in the fashions, seeing what the nightclub-goers of 2015 wore. There were hot pants and tight jeans, little dresses with sequins and sparkle. The men wore smart jeans or suit trousers, more shirts than T-shirts – Vipers had got a little more upmarket. Reasons Christmas is better in New York number forty-five: anything goes in the fashion stakes. And that was one of the things she loved about the city most. The non-conformity, the ability to express yourself, be different and unashamed.Freedom. Maybe she was thinking too hard with her ideas book. Perhaps she just needed to relax into it a little more.
Michel had certainly been relaxed the night they’d met. She remembered exactly what he’d been wearing that night. Faded denim jeans, the hem fraying over his retro Converse. His T-shirt had fitted him perfectly and he’d known it. And it had borne a slogan. She’d had a definite thing for slogan T-shirts back then. It had stated simply,I Shoot People, and then had a sketch of a camera below. It had appealed to her childish sense of humour. And if she was honest, she would still find it funny.
Hayley headed for the bar, almost able to taste the cranberry vodka. It was busy and she joined the throng of individuals waiting for one of the bar staff to give them attention. Dying of thirst was a possibility, judging by the disgruntled groans every time a server took an order from someone who had skipped the line.
Hayley raised a ten-dollar bill in the air, waving it in the direction of a passing barman.
‘I find a hundred-dollar bill works better.’
She spun round, looking at the owner of the voice. Oliver Drummond.Clark. Dressed in dark-grey trousers, a pristine, white shirt open at the neck, those eyes still the colour of casedpistachios. His musky cologne drifted up her nose as her gaze refused to move from him.
‘Hello, Lois,’ he greeted.
She forced a smile. So he recognised her now, did he? ‘Why, Superman, I did think about calling, but wasn’t sure the need for a vodka cranberry was dire enough to require your services.’
‘I think it depends just how desperate the drinker is for it.’
‘She had a couple of glasses of Italian wine she couldn’t pronounce the name of an hour ago.’
‘I’m surprised you didn’t call 911.’ Oliver raised his hand and the barman immediately stopped right in front of them, waiting for orders.
‘A bottle of Bud, a white wine soda and a vodka cranberry,’ he ordered.
‘Whoa, stop. No white wine chaser for me,’ Hayley said quickly.
He smiled. ‘It isn’t for you.’
‘Ah, already replaced the woman from last night.’ She smiled wider. ‘Are you going to get to the end of the date with this one?’
He didn’t respond to the question. ‘Thank you for returning my jacket.’
‘Oh, it was nothing.’ She paused, raising her voice a little louder over the music. ‘Actually, it wasn’t nothing. I’m pretty sure your receptionist thought I was a conquest bringing in your love child.’
He wasn’t sure whether to smile or grimace and he was pretty sure the look he’d ended up with didn’t make the most of his features.
He watched Hayley’s mouth open like a cartoon character. ‘Wow, you mean that’s actually happened.’
He nodded, handing the barman the money for the drinks. ‘A couple of times.’
‘Whoa.’
‘And I hasten to add that none of the children were mine.’ He smiled then and passed her a tall glass filled with red liquid.
‘Good to know,’ Hayley said, nodding.
