In Excellent Company

By Ann Donaldson 

She waltzes into the upmarket bar, dazzling the crowd with her long golden hair and strong sense of self-importance. Standing five foot ten inches in four-inch knee high boots, it was inevitable that she would be seen to be looking down on some people. Scanning the area, she could find little threatening, the opposition was enveloped in tres passé fashions and nature had not been kind to many of them. The added bonus was that the ratio was delightfully in her favour.

Now, where should she position herself in order to take full advantage of the night’s upcoming opportunities? She decided that it would be more beneficial for her to stand in the centre at one of the high round tables. Sitting down would mean that she would be less accessible. Sipping her drink, she anticipated the arrival of the captivated.

She knows that it’s important to glance alluringly at the subject to catch their attention. She spots an average-looking guy standing at the second table up. He’s looking over at her. She glances to the side, then glances back and pouts while holding the wine glass close to her lips. She swirls the glass admiring her reflection in the wine. She is fully aware that he is walking towards her but she does not want to acknowledge him just yet. It is only when he steps in front of her and introduces himself that she looks up. They engage in conversation. She laughs appropriately.

After the absorption of flattery has congested her ability to stay grounded, she freely gives out her phone number and makes her way to the ladies room. There’s lots of time to marvel at how well she looks in the full-length mirror. It’s when she puts her hand in her bag that disaster strikes. She can’t find her fuchsia lipstick anywhere!

‘Darn, where is it?’ she says panic stricken. ‘I could swear I left it in my hand bag. What am I going to do? I look washed out without it, awful plain!’ She looks in the mirror, brushing the hair back from her face. She sees her friend, Megan, applying her lipstick in the mirror opposite. ‘I’d borrow yours but that colour doesn’t suit me. Actually, it doesn’t suit you much either!’

‘I think you put it into your purse earlier’, says Megan quickly but politely, not appreciating her comment.

She searches her purse and finds it. She is thankful now that she brought Megan along tonight, she always comes in useful in emergencies such as these. ‘That guy said I looked like a model earlier. I do have a good sense of style, don’t I? I’ve noticed a lot of the guys in here checking me out tonight, haven’t you?’ She places her hands on her hips, turning slightly to get a good view of herself in the mirror. ‘Let’s see if we can get some more free drinks tonight’, she says excitedly as they leave the rest area.

She hadn’t paid for a drink all evening. Several gentlemen have kindly been paying for her glasses of house white wine. Who said chivalry was dead? It’s very much alive and serving her well. One of them actually agreed to station himself by her handbag and coat. Cloakrooms are too much of a nuisance, she thought. They cost a small fortune, at two Euro per item and it’s a very unpleasant experience, queuing at the end of the night. She is now free to dance the rest of the night away, but where is Megan?

A handsome guy is chatting her up at the bar.

‘You look like that famous actress, you have the same-shaped face. Oh, what’s her name - ? ‘ 

She interrupts him abruptly. ‘But who do I look like, am I not beautiful? Do I not look like someone famous?’

‘You are nice’ he answers, ‘but you’re not as beautiful as your friend here.’ 

She is disgusted by his knockback and storms off with her head held high.

When she reaches the dance floor, she gauges the competition. It’s filled with a few unsavoury characters attempting the art of dance. This can only make her moves look even better by comparison. She makes her way to the centre. Suddenly she bursts into spins, emulating the fanning feathers of a peacock, gracefully dipping in an erotic body motion. The focus of the masses seems to be on her. It is impossible for them to redirect their gaze as she throws her form into many pleasing shapes. 

She shifts her sights to the mirrors that run along the width of the back wall. She revels in delight at the sight of her image, impelled to continue in her dance. Several men approach her to vie for her attentions. She dances with each one in turn, leaving them behind on the dance floor as she moves on to the next one until it is finally time for her to collect her coat.

On arrival to her seat she is horrified to discover that the guy she trusted with her possessions has abandoned his post and her coat is now missing. She pushes through the crowd, checking all of the seating areas and searching through piles of jackets. Megan reports the loss to the manager who is very helpful and takes down the details. She produces a similar coat.

‘I’m not wearing that coat, it’s a cheap imitation, mine is designer," she snaps angrily just as she spots the guy who was the cause of it all. 

‘How could you just leave my coat like that? I trusted you! Now someone is wearing my wages. Don’t expect any phone calls!" She turns sharply on her heel and leaves the bar highly irritated.

But, as luck would have it she bumps into a Danish stranger on the street, dressed in a warm winter jacket. It doesn’t take much persuasion from her to get inside it. She leaves Megan to make her own way home. She has done enough for her by showing her how to have a good night out. Hopefully they will go out on the town again soon. After all, it’s essential to have a pretty, self-conscious friend by your side, one who will compliment your excellent company but who will not detract from your desirability.
 

Author Ann Donaldson was born in Antrim and was graduated from NUI- Maynooth with a degrees. in communications. Currently living in Ballsbridge, Donaldson admires poets William Wordsworth, Edgar Allen Poe and Bram Stoke