Chapter Six
A well-mixed manhattan at a social gathering is one of life’s pleasures. But know your alcohol limits, ladies. No Good Man ever wanted to marry a wild girl!
Matilda Beam’sGuide to Love and Romance, 1955
I’m not entirely sure a onesie was the right move.
Summer and I strut though the discreetly glamorous Berkeley Rooms in Soho; her on the hunt for Valentina Smith, me on the hunt for someone else rocking leisurewear to make friends with. As we push through the impeccably dressed and intelligently talkative crowds, I notice eyes bulging in horror as I pass by. Shitballs. Is that Benedict Cumberbatch? And there’s Helena Bonham Carter chatting away to Davis Arthur Montblanc. Damn. This do is way, way too fancy for my onesie. As I make my way though the room, a lofty ginger guy in a sharp suit drawls, ‘Looks like the entertainment has arrived, folks.’
I throw him my very best withering glance, but he’s already turned back to his cronies and doesn’t get the benefit.
Gad. Why the blazing arse did I agree to wear this?
‘I’m starting to think this onesie was a really fucking shitty idea!’ I hiss at Summer as she accepts a glass of champagne from a passing waiter.
‘You look great, Jess. Honestly. These people wouldn’t know a bold fashion choice if it stabbed them in the back.’
I look around distractedly for the bar, but I can’t see one. I could really do with a drink. A big important party can often be a bit daunting, and especially so if you’ve arrived wearing your pyjamas.
‘I’m going to haveonedrink,’ I say firmly to Summer. ‘We need to keep a clear head, so just the one. No Jessica Beam adventures tonight. I promise.’
‘That’ll be the day,’ Summer scoffs. I smile sadly. There was a time when it was Summer and Jess adventures. Where did she go? And why, oh why did I agree to wear the onesie? Did that man over there just point at me and laugh? Oh Christ. Heislaughing at me, he’s clutching his belly and full-on crying with laughter. Wait, why is he pointing his phone in my direction? Is hefilmingme?
God.
I half jog after the retreating waiter and tap him on the shoulder.
‘Yo, you got any pear cider?’ I ask him frantically.
He smirks and looks pointedly at his tray of tall champagne flutes glistening snootily beneath the lit-up chandelier.
‘No, miss.’
‘Any blue Wickeds in the back?’
‘I’m afraid not. But I’m sure this 1995 vintage Bollinger will suffice?’
I sigh. Vintage shit. What’s the obsession with old stuff? It’s 2014, people!
‘Fine. Don’t worry. I’ll take a fizz, then. Only the one, though. If I come back to you for another glass, tell me to just fuck off, OK?’
The waiter smiles politely and hands me a glass of champagne. ‘Enjoy your evening, miss.’
‘Thank you. Just don’t let me have any more after this one. Promise me, OK? Promise.’
But the waiter is already zooming back off through the crowds, glancing back at me with a frightened expression on his young face.
Damn.
I take a teeny sip of the champagne. Blerg. I’ll never understand why people go so nuts over champagne. It’s so self-satisfied and way too gassy, and you’re expected to act all excited about drinking it for the whole time you’re drinking it. It’s such a lot of pressure. Plus everyone knows that champagne causes a hangover worse than any of the other boozes, but still, the facade continues. Maybe if theSummer in the Citybook goes well they would commission me for another?The Champagne Conspiracy: An Exposé by Jessica Beam.
I miss you, pear cider.
Finding my way back to Summer, I discover her deep in conversation with Valentina Smith, who is wearing a silk wrap dress the colour of mustard.
‘Hey,’ I say brightly. ‘Lovely do, isn’t it?’
Valentina’s mouth drops open as she takes in my get-up. Squirming under her overt scrutiny, I smile widely and nod, confidently trying to own it. I bet she thinks I’m a real chump.
