Size and grace really aren’t sposed to go together in a woman, not in a western mans imagination anyway, but her leather clad latin hips swished through the football watchers drawing both eyes and gropes.
“Hola dancing boy!”
Even if I’d wanted to pretend I didn’t know her, which I didn’t, I’d have had no chance. And she looked like fun. Like Salsa. Translated as sauce I drunkenly thought. Like something pored onto something quite ordinary to make it taste better.
“Hey” I began awkwardly but it was swept away. Her Latin confidence easily carried the moment as she kissed me, sat on a stool, ordered a drink, ordered me a drink and lit a cigarette.
“Having a few beers eh?” Brightly painted nails and the associated brown skinned hand flicked over my shoulders and arms as she spoke.
“Where is your lady? You going dancing tonight?”
“I wasn’t going to. I..” I found it kind of hard to explain why I would be out drinking by myself.
“I don’t like dancing with all those silly people either.” She helped me to explain. “You know I’m heading out to a little party later. You should come with me.”
Emma’s not the jealous type. Where as this woman looked anything but innocent, I couldn’t really see anything wrong with hanging out with her. And that’s the whole thing about the big night. You have to take your opportunities. Anyway past a certain point you don’t really get a choice. The night just pushes you along.
“Let me get you a drink this time.” I ventured. “Maybe I will come out for a bit. Sorry darling what was your name again? I just remember you as the wonderful dancer.”
“I’m Sally. I think I remember that you are Ben, the Australian boy.”
“That’s right.”
“This place is not so nice tonight. I know a little bar not far from here which is much classier. Lets go there and have a cocktail. What do you say?”
“Sure.” I enthused.
She lowered herself off the stool and straightened her red leather skirt. I lifted her fur lined coat and placed it around her shoulders.
“Gracias senor”
“De nada”
“Oh you speak Spanish! I’ll have to be careful around you.”
She took my arm and the crowd parted as we strolled out the door.
The little bar she lead me to was not as close and I’d believed. We’d got on a bus and then another bus and then walked. I knew it was a bit of a way but my sense of distance had been skewed by the two cans of larger and one substantial hash joint we’d consumed en-route. I think we were somewhere closer to London. Somewhere around Hackney maybe.
You have to use different indicators to realize the time during winter in London. It’s dark all the time – as in the suns not around – even during the day time really. But then its not dark because London gives off the kind of light pollution that should attract hungry aliens like the luminous lure of a really deep sea scary fish. And not with the try hard Las Vagas future – weird of Shanghai, no London’s not trying anything. It’s lights are firmly wedged under bushels, impounded in fine proofed council lots.
