little green bag - george baker selection

i got ready fast, with a minimum of self-doubt over what i should wear. fast shower, washed my hair and played some louder, even faster stuff; bauhaus, sisters of mercy, type o negative.

i do this so rarely, my neighbours couldn't care less.

drying myself to "telegram sam". by the time i'd finished belting out "this corrosion", my hair was dry and i was pulling on my boots. "queen bitch" and i was combing my hair, striking faintly embarrassing gothic poses in the full-length mirror. it all goes back to bowie, doesn't it? every time.

i texted tam back before i left. i'd read his text as i was just about to hop in the shower. at the bus stop, i got one back from him. from the pub.

the bus was due in five. i texted elaine to let her know i was on the move. she replied at once. just leaving - and would i be there when she arrived? i noticed my stomach knotting as it sank in. going out. club. mischief.

of course, the bus didn't show as promised. i stood there, i smoked, i took out my phone for timechecks. much like the white rabbit in "alice in wonderland".

the bus eventually showed, crawling towards me like a terminal tortoise. i paid, decided to stay downstairs. saturday nights aren't the best time to be trapped on the top deck by something designed by h.r. giger.

the old queen's head (or, the tranny-skull, to give the place its sunday-best name!) was packed when i pushed in. leather, rubber, uniforms, all piled in on top of the pub's usual clientele. i caught sight of tam, already in the old technicolor battledress, lecturing a table of cross-dressers, his massive fists punctuating what he was telling them.

as i got closer, i saw that they were all gazing up at him the way teenagers do to drug dealers they just met.

and it was his julia roberts story. if she ever reads this, i bet she never travels by taxi again in her life. or if she does, i bet she'll have her driver executed on arriving at her destination.

tam notices me, shouts and waves a bearlike arm in my direction. his audience, hypnotised, rotate, taking me in like squirrels, unsure if i'm going to throw peanuts or pull out a gun.

i caught his eye, pointed towards the bar. he nodded - vigorously - then returned to his story. "so, i sais to her - polite as i can, likes - ms roberts?"

he looks around the expectant faces.

"it is ms roberts, isn't it? is it awright if i shut that windae and open this one, aye?"

he pauses for effect at this point and i lose him under the pub soundtrack. jukebox, fragments of blether, cash registers.

at the bar, i spot elaine as she enters, looking around her while not making eye-contact. with anyone. head down, she cuts through the crowd and out of sight. checking there's no sign of me getting served in the next thirty seconds, i pull out my phone and text her something poorly spelt with coordinates.

she's beside me shortly after, smiling and pointing at the bottles of magners in the fridge.

we stayed for the one pint, then crossed the road en masse. i always get that "reservoir dogs" feeling when i'm with a posse of perverts. that "let's go to work" moment, "little green bag" playing as we move in slow motion and tax-payers get out of our way.

She was the first thing i noticed on entering the club. ok, i was scanning for Her, my eyes taking in the room like the terminator. She was at the bar, Her back to me, talking to a skeletal and androgenous goth i didn't recognise.

i arrived beside Her and a little behind Her. She turned, took me in, returned to Her conversation. the goth/ette didn't even register my existence. i waited.

after a few minutes, She turned to me, shutting out the goth (i'd sort of decided he was male by then) and taking my arm, leading me quickly towards the bar.

i got served fairly fast and followed Her back around the way we came until She stopped just beyond the perimiter of the play area.

She sat in the only seat and took Her drink from me, sipped it and handed it back. i stood beside Her, holding my pint and Her whiskey-and-pepsi. from time to time, She'd reach up for it, take the tiniest sip and hold it out for me to take from Her. most of the time, She just watched the players, mostly in silence. when She wanted a cigarette, i was left to guard Her seat until She returned.

i didn't get a cigarette-break, until She sent me back to the bar. around midnight, i think it was.

periodically, She'd wave to someone or other, Her face would light up with that radiant smile. now and again, one would come over and they'd talk in whispers for a moment or two.

it was gone one when She gave me Her reciept for the cloakroom. without a word, She pointed at the end of the queue. without a word, i complied.

in the queue, i watched Her watching the last few still playing on the equipment. last orders in a fetish club. where the bouncers tell you not to drink up, but to untie the one you're with and get out.

"fuck off" is the same in any language, isn't it?

i helped Her into Her coat and followed a couple of steps behind Her until we reached the street.

She took out a cigarette, waited for me to light it and indicated that i was to have one. i obeyed at once. it wasn't cold and i could have stayed there with Her all night if required. all too soon, Her taxi arrived and i held the door open for Her.

She got in - in slow motion, it felt like - and, as She passed me, Her fingertips traced gently across my cheek. it felt like electricity. massive tingles spread out from Her touch like ripples in a lake.

and She was gone. i stood there, like greyfriars' bobby, still tasting the exhaust She'd left in Her wake and with the last few ripples of Her touch still pulsing through me.