Fast and Loose

‘Coming right up, milady,’ he said, with an elaborate little bow that made matters about ten times worse.

I put my foot up on the opposite banquette and took a look around. It was dark enough that passers-by could loom up at you like graveyard bats, but there were lights here and there among the fog-effect dry ice and I could see that I was not the only way overdressed person in the vault. Which was good.

Loud music – Nine Inch Nails, I think – was being played quietly, which didn’t really suit it, but the night was young. And it meant Tom and I would be able to have a conversation. Not that that was necessarily a plus point. My chest collapsed with nerves. What would we talk about?

Everything, anything, but that night we spent together.

In the six weeks since it had happened, I had been telling myself it wasn’t that good, but now, here, with the perfumed fog swirling around me and his frock-coated back leaning over the bar, I couldn’t spin myself that line any more.

It was that good. It was…

Think about something else.

‘Thanks,’ I said, as he put the drinks down on the table. My elevated foot meant that he had to sit beside me rather than opposite. I wouldn’t have to look him in the eye, which was a relief. On the other hand, his elbow and knee were in constant dangerous proximity.

‘No running from zombies for you tonight, then,’ he said, taking a sip from his bottle of lager.

‘I’ve never had trouble with zombies,’ I said. ‘It’s the incubi I have to watch out for.’

‘Incubi,’ he repeated with relish, apparently oblivious to the little dig at his expense. ‘I love you subeditors. So precise. So correct.’ He paused and flashed me a devilish grin. ‘Of course, you wait an hour for an incubus, and then three turn up at once.’

‘Ba-doom-tish,’ I said, lifting my hand to his for a weary hi-five.

‘You’re not classing me as an incubus, though, are you?’ he said.

Dread knotted in my stomach. He was going to talk about That Night.

‘I mean,’ he continued, ‘you definitely weren’t asleep.’

‘Wasn’t I?’ I said guardedly. ‘Oh. My mistake.’

Damn. He moved an inch away from me and nursed his pint with a faint, sickly smile.

‘Right,’ he said. ‘Fair enough.’

Gah, now I felt like a bitch. It wasn’t on. He was the one who hadn’t called. Though…come to think of it…neither had I. A change of subject was definitely in order.

‘So, how are you going to review this place?’ I asked with an unconvincing display of casual interest.

He brightened a little.

‘I thought you could help me out,’ he said. ‘It can be a joint effort. I mean, this is probably much more your scene than mine, so my personal opinion might not be all that relevant.’

‘What is your personal opinion?’

He shrugged. ‘Bit dark. Can’t see anyone’s face. How do I know who to chat up?’

‘Right,’ I said, feeling that I’d asked for that one.

‘I mean, half the blokes are prettier than the girls. Speaking of which – eyeliner!’

He produced a stick of kohl from his inner pocket and presented it to me, point uppermost.

‘You really want me to do this?’ I asked, taking it from him.

‘Why not? I felt a bit naked up there at the bar. I need something to make my eyes flash villainously.’

‘They already do,’ I said, looking right into his heart of darkness. ‘OK. Hold still then.’