Joe shrugged. “Thought I’d hang around in case you needed another pair of hands. Plus I might get the opportunity to hit Frank.”
Shaking his head at the guy, Matt left him to it and went to make the calls. The sooner Frank was gone, the better.
Girls’ night out had descended into chaos. Sometime after the great penis debate, the women of Knit or Die had come in from the restaurant and joined the party. The half-dozen or so middle-aged women bought more wine and commiserated over stories about stupid macho men who thought they owned their women.
Somewhere along the way, the conversation turned to Jena’s many problems. At the news of how much work she had yet to do in her house, the women organised a work party for the following weekend. The older women insisted she raid their garages and attics for anything she could put to use in her house. There were hugs all around—and more bottles of wine.
It was after Jena had lost track of how much wine she’d drunk that the conversation turned to earning money. Jena informed everyone that her only marketable skill was dancing, but Matt had forbidden her to run classes in her garage. There was outrage. Which pleased her immensely.
“What kind of dancing do you do?” Kirsty’s mom, Margaret Campbell, asked. “Do you twerk? We learned to twerk for Caroline’s wedding.”
Shona nodded. “Twerking is hard on the hips.”
“I was a go-go dancer, so I did all types of dancing,” Jena said.
“What’s a go-go dancer?” someone asked.
“It’s a dancer who revs up the crowd, gets everyone excited about being there, makes sure there’s a good party atmosphere. She gives people something to watch.”
“Is there stripping involved?” Margaret asked.
Jena frowned at her. Why did people always think she was a stripper? Did she look like a stripper? She eyed her feet. Maybe it was the shoes. “A go-go dancer is not a stripper. Sure, you wear sexy club gear, but you don’t take it off. You don’t work a stage and you don’t dance to make the men horny. Mainly you get a tiny area high above the crowds.” She eyed the table in front of her. “About the size of this table. And you dance like a demon in it. The idea is to get the party going. We’re like club cheerleaders.”
“I like the sound of that,” Megan said. “I’d be good at it.”
“You would be amazing,” Jena agreed, even though she didn’t know if Megan could dance or not.
“Did you train as a dancer?” Magenta asked.
“Kind of.” Jena shrugged. “I had classes when I could afford them, but mainly I learned from the dancers around the clubs where my mom sang. I spent a lot of time with them and they’d teach me things and let me practice with them.”
“That sounds cool,” Megan said.
Or lonely, Jena thought.
“Okay.” Shona pointed at Jena. “Get up on the table and show us what you’ve got.”
“Aye.” Margaret nodded. “If you’re offering to teach us to dance, we need to see if you have the skills or not.”
Jena laughed. “I can’t dance to this.” The pub was playing folk music.
“You’ve got tunes in that huge bag of yours,” Abby said. “Dig them out.”
Jena felt her excitement build as she did as she was told. She handed her iPod to Megan. “The playlist labelled ‘dance’ is the one I need.”
“On it.” Megan turned to the bar, where the new bar staff was hiding.
Early in the evening the twins had discovered the woman was called Mindy. They’d greeted her with “Na-Nu Na-Nu” every time they went to the bar, and swore an oath to help her find her Mork. The woman didn’t know whether to scream or laugh.
“Dougal won’t let me change the music,” Mindy whined.
“Dougal isn’t here,” Megan pointed out. “He’s at the council meeting. They go on for ages. What’s the harm in playing some better music for a wee while?”
“I don’t know…”
“I’ll set it all up. You don’t need to do anything.” Megan let herself behind the bar. “That way, if Dougal is angry, he can be angry with me.” She gave Mindy a bright smile.
The woman backed away from Megan. It was clear to Jena that Mindy wasn’t cut out for pub work. Megan disappeared through a door behind the bar, and a moment later will.i.am’s latest hit blasted through the room.