Mirrorball

Oh, I am hot! HOT, sister! I am too good to be true tonight. I don't
go in for that garish shit, I have taste. I'm doing it for Marek.

He was my daddy, he always knew the right things to do or say. He
must've let me cry on his shoulder a thousand times, he'd just nod his
head and smile as I unleashed a torrent of cliches about men; about how
they were all only after one thing, were cruel, uncaring. I can't
believe I said those things. Well, I can, I was a kid. We were all
kids, scraping together the seeds and dust of our earnings to buy
something fabulous, blagging it into clubs by promising drugs, sex, the
works.

And not much has changed. Just the money's better and I don't have to
offer anything to walk into just about any club I like. With some
notable exceptions I prefer not to talk about.

Laced into a lovely Vivienne tonight - oh, it's sad and adolescent, but
do you know I've not eaten a thing today to make sure it goes on right?
Just cigarettes to keep me going and I am awaiting a plate of Kim's
finest charlie the moment I walk through that door tonight.

I cut my legs shaving in the shower. I fucking knew I should've gone
for a wax but who's got the bloody time for it these days. I still find
it hard to take, though. To think some girls go for a Brazilian -
Jesus! I'll pass on that if you don't mind.

Hoping I don't run into Sabrina. I just want to get along, but some
people, I tell you. She was petty enough to actually deliberately burn
Carrie's Bottega Veneta bag with her cancer stick. I tell you, I just
don't understand jealousy.

I blot my lips and check my foundation in a different light. They
recommended Mac for base, but they just don't have my skin tone at all,
so I'm back to old faithful Maybelline.

The hair is good. Better than it's been for some time, actually.
Tonight it is really me and I feel wonderful and feminine and
sexy.

Oh shit! Just realised I don't have the right kind of coat for this
dress. I weigh things up? not far to go, it'll be roasting inside. Fuck
it, no coat. This is the sort of thing I moved to the middle of town
for, right?

Marek was always funny about me being on my own, especially when done
up nice. I think maybe he was just being a teeny bit possessive. Some
lads pass by, I tense up a little, they ignore me. Nothing to worry
about.

A few seconds later, the blow. I don't know what it was they hit me
with but I actually see stars. I hit the pavement before I can let a
sound out of my mouth and for some reason my first thought is worry
that I'll ladder my new tights, and not three minutes out the
door!

But fear makes you focus. Christ! I wish I'd taken those kickboxing
classes. I brace myself as the tallest one moves in, face like a rat.
He jeers and pulls up skirt, now covered in street muck. He knees me in
the balls and walks away. In the bollocks! That's what hurts the most
and I don't mean physically. I clutch myself and they saunter off,
laughing. I dare say they'll crow about their mighty achievement to all
their mates at the pub.

My heart sinks as I realise that tonight is off. I take off my heels,
cold, wet and dirty though the street is, and stride home with as much
dignity as I can muster.