Vince's 50th Birthday Party

A collaboration from myself and Vera Clark. I did the Graham part and she did the Sue bit...

Pretty much the same scene is from two different view points.

This is Part 1 of 4.

Sue

We were meant to be at Vince’s fiftieth bash half an hour ago, but Graham’s still pricking about in the bathroom. He always does this. Quite content to lumber round in skiddy boxers with grey stubble when it’s just me who has to gorm at him, but whisper the word party and he goes into midlife crisis.

He’ll be up there for ages, giving himself a right middle-aged make-over .

I can hear his ‘leccy shaver grumbling upstairs. I’d be grumbling as well, the places that thing sees. Last summer, I caught him strimming stray white hairs off his bollock sack. One clumsy foot was plonked on my freshly-laundered quilt, legs straddled wide open across my No7 vanity mirror. Blunt hair tips and frizzy pubes were stuck to the magnifying side for months after.

If I stand with my back to the full length mirror, I can crane my head round to see if I look like a fat mammoth at rear view. The new red dress pinches a bit too tightly over my bra bulge, but my bum looks small enough. My gut buster pants really do lift and hold. Thirty quid worth spent. I tip an imaginary glass of wine up and chortle at an invisible man as I take a delicate sip. Lipstick all over my teeth. Look like fucking Bette Davis in a murder scene. Mind, the rest of my make-up’s just right. Smokey fuck-me eyes. Check. Sheer flesh-glimpsing tights. Check. Suckable red lips. Check. Squirt of Estee Lauder Youth Dew. Check. I don’t half scrub up well, if I do say it myself. I’ll outdo Vince’s wife tonight, that’s for sure. Never been fond of Cindy. She’s all low-cut top and big bleached teeth. Plus, she fawns all over Graham and he laps her attention up like a stray cat. Two can play at that game, Miss Pussy Galore. Vince’s alright if you like eighties throwbacks. He’s in business, wink-wink, but no-one’s expected to ask what. Assume it’s drugs. He flings his cash round, delving his fingers in Pukka Pies. A wide boy, a wannabe. Turning fifty’ll probably hit him hard.

‘Graham, are you ready yet? For god’s sake, everyone’ll be there by now! Why do you leave getting ready ‘til the last minute? You should have started earlier.’

  ‘Earlier! How the hell could I? You’ve been locked up here for the best part of three hours. I’ve had to yank your ropes of mangled hair out the plughole before I could even turn the shower on. It was overflowing with your shaved off skin scum!'

He descends the stairs and his face looks as though he’s buffed it with chainmail. It’s got that raw shaven look, that over-washed rosy man glow.

His dwindling cow's lick is firmly gelled down to the left side, especially for the occasion. Best trousers and shirt, the glint of his silver watch. The smart suede shoes that look like pork pies are already on. He means business.

‘Graham, stop moaning.’ I give him a half-hearted wolf whistle. ‘Very dapper. Like your cufflinks. Before we go, can you tell me the god’s honest truth – do I look fat in this dress?’

Graham

Fuck, we’re running late for Vince’s fiftieth. All her sodding fault for occupying the bathroom since midday and trying to get a size eighteen into a size twelve dress! I bet she’s got a hold up girdle and slimming pants on as well. Hope she doesn’t eat too much tonight, if she pigs out she’ll burst out of that new red dress of hers and then we’ll be in trouble. It’ll be like a harpooned whale. Blubber everywhere!

Right, that’s the bollocks trimmed, always best to be ready for action if the right situation arises. You never know, I might get a bit of attention from Cindy. Vince never knew I shagged her before he did.  Boy, was she filth! That was way before Sue of course.

Okay, white shirt and cufflinks, black trousers and brown suede shoes. Fuck, I look the bollocks!

Bit more gel to make what’s left of the old barnet look good and we’re almost ready to go.

Jesus, is that her screaming up the stairs again?

“Graham, are you ready yet? For god’s sake, everyone’ll be there by now! Why do you leave getting ready ‘til the last minute? You should have started earlier.”

Is she fucking serious?

‘Earlier! How the hell could I? You’ve been locked up here for the best part of three hours. I’ve had to yank your ropes of mangled hair out the plughole before I could even turn the shower on. It was overflowing with your shaved off skin scum.'

That woman really does take the biscuit.

One last look in the mirror and I’m good to go. Yep, Gorgeous Graham is ready for Vince the Prince’s 50th birthday bash. We used to call him that cos he was a massive Prince fan back in the day. I can still see him sitting in his first car singing Little Red Corvette at the top of his voice. Seems like a lifetime ago. Nowadays he’s “self employed”, meaning he ducks and dives and earns a few quid selling weed and coke. And all that other weird stuff. Never could keep down a real 9 to 5 job like the rest of us could Vince. Trouble is he’s sticking too much of it up his own hooter these days and it makes him go a bit crazy. Still, I’ll keep me eye on him, make sure he doesn’t make a prick of himself in front of everyone.

Okay, time to face the lovely Sue, I guarantee, when I get down the stairs, she’ll ask me the same question she always does. What the hell does she expect me to say? “Yes, you look like a fucking hippo!”

Yep, there she is standing in the hallway looking like a ton of lard. Wait for it….

‘Very dapper. Like your cufflinks. Before we go, can you tell me the god’s honest truth – do I look fat in this dress?’

Bingo, bang on cue!

“No babe, you look lovely.”