Champagne Kisses (3 page)

As always, the cute manager escorts me through
the
heaving Saturday throng of lunchers and stressed-out staff trying to negotiate their way with hot plates and cappuccinos past the tightly packed seats. As we approach the back of the room, I notice the girls looking extremely animated.

Surprisingly enough, Lisa, Maddie, and even Joy, are laughing hysterically. I’m greeted with a boisterous, ‘Eva da Diva!’ with enough volume for the entire café to turn to view.

‘There’s the woman herself,’ announces Lisa, leaving me a tad suspicious.

‘What’s the craic, girls? What’s the celebration?’

‘We’re toasting you, Miss Eva. And your Lizzy Jagger, Calum Best moment.’

‘What?’

‘Yeah, Paris Hilton eat your heart out, girl. If only you were famous we could make a million from your CCTV footage.’

‘Oh, dear God. What are you talking about?’ All the while knowing damn well what they were talking about.

‘Well, sweetie,’ pipes up Joy, ‘you’ve been acting like a slut. Everyone’s seen the e-mail pictures of you cavorting with your boss, or your boss’s colleague or whatever at some industry lunch.’

Speechless, I throw a fake smile as the manager steals a chair from another table and winks at me as he places it between Lisa and Joy. His niceness distracts me only for a moment; already I’m totally stressed. Taking a giant gulp of Maddie’s wine, I wave at the
empty
bottle on the table in front of us and give him the nod.

‘Right then,’ demands Maddie, clearing her throat, ‘You’ve Been Framed. Spill the beans on your adulterous affair.’

‘Oh, girls, I had a moment of weakness. Please tell me this is just between us?’

‘Sorry, hon. I better review this for you. You kissed David Barron … Yuck … Your boss’s close golfing mate. He’s also publisher of
Dubliners View
, AND Mrs Barron’s husband.’

‘Excuse
me
– he kissed me.’

‘Speak to the boob, sista. You kissed him in the not-so-private stairwell at the Haven on Wednesday night. By Friday morning I’d received video footage of the hot and steamy affair, and so had everyone else on Speedy PR’s mailing list.’

‘Oh, my God. Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘Sorry. I was hoping someone else would. Officially you’re a slut, whore mistress and everyone you know in the world has received the proof. Hey, it could be worse – it could have been some Daddy Sleaze. He is sort of cute. Very much married, but cute. Sorry, have I mentioned already that he is
married
?’

‘Yes, yes. So what exactly does it show?’

‘Well, you were there, you should know … OK, well, the quality wasn’t great, but there was a lot of tonsil tennis, with hair-ruffling. And I reckon he’s worked out that your mammary glands are totally real.’

While the girls nearly spat up their vino with the laughter, and I apologized to the middle-aged couple sitting next to us – not that I think I needed to, as our illicit tale seemed to tickle their fancy too – Joy interrupted with the statement of the day: ‘You’re a bit of a guzzler, aren’t you?’

‘Excuse me?’

‘Yes, I’ve often thought if you were chocolate you’d eat yourself. Turns out you’re a man-eater too – it looked like you were going to swallow the face off him!’

Coming from such a snotty bitch, I kinda took that as a compliment. Hell, I’ve been called a lot worse in my day.

Somewhat embarrassed by her caustic sister, Lisa dragged me to the toilets to grill me on my extra-curricular activities.

‘Well, was it fantastic? Are you going to see him again? Did you wear a condom?’

‘Whoah! slow down, sister. It never got that far.’

‘You’re a liar!’

‘I’m not, I swear. But if I tell you what happened you can’t go back upstairs and tell that mouthpiece of a sister … You promise?’

‘I promise.’

‘Ah, feck it, it doesn’t matter. It was awful. Truth is, he bit my tongue. Then he pinched my nipple so hard I think he drew blood. I mean, did he think that would turn me on? Anyway, and then—’

‘What?’

‘And then … Oh, God … No, it doesn’t matter.’

‘Tell me, you bitch.’

‘OK. Two words. P–R–E–MATURE—’

‘Noooo … Ejaculation!’

‘Yep. But look, what am I going to do? If everyone has seen the e-mail, the shit is really going to hit the fan. No wonder my phone hasn’t been ringing. People must be avoiding me. Thank God, I took Friday off to work at home.’

‘So what happens now?’

‘I don’t know. I’m too stressed to think. What if his wife finds out?’

‘Bold Eva … Marriage-wrecker …!’

‘Ah, stop. Don’t make me feel so bad. He pursued me.’

‘Tell that to his wife – joke! Only joking!’

Grabbing me by the hand Lisa pulls my lacklustre big ass up the stairs, informing two unsuspecting souls on the way, ‘This is my friend, the guzzler. She’s a legend.’

By the time we returned to our seats, the wine had obviously gone to Joy’s head and poor Maddie was being bored to tears with, ‘My Tristan this … and my Tristan that.’

‘Ya know he really wants me to take this holiday with Lisa,’ proclaimed Joy. ‘But I bet the bastard just wants me out of the way. I don’t believe a word that he says about his new sec-a-tary. Nobody called
Cindy
could be a plain Jane. Ya know, he says my breasts are no longer sexy after the babies. All men cheat.’

Thankfully saving the moment, four plates of yummy strawberry cheesecake arrive at the table. As does another bottle of wine, courtesy of the manager. He always treats us. And he continues to welcome us even when he gets constant complaints from neighbouring tables about our noise levels. I suppose there’s
some
nice perks to being a journo.

‘Ladies, with my compliments for being my most fabulous customers,’ he smiles, darting me another cheeky wink before fleeing in the direction of some smashing plates, screaming, ‘P45!’

Oh, I really do love working in the media and having a magazine column where I can easily throw in praise for ‘trendy’ and ‘happening’ eateries.

‘To the guzzler,’ announced Maddie. ‘If she can’t find her own husband, she’ll find someone else’s.’

‘To the guzzler,’ seconds Lisa, ‘and to Eva’s début as a cover girl for Adulterers’ Weekly.’

By 10.30p.m. I’m standing in the sweaty toilet of the Haven.

Currently the
club du jour
, the place is wedged to capacity, and mirror space to check how beautiful one was is at a premium.

I swore blind I’d go home and never look at another man again, married or otherwise, but I’d lied to myself once again.

My guilt and shame had to be subdued by alcohol. If I got myself into another drama in the process, what better way to forget my original headache.

Despite having several bottles of vino and two vodkas inside me, I had convinced myself I was still as sober as a judge, and began applying my make-up so that I looked like Janice Dickinson at Hallowe’en. In true girlie tradition I became best friends with the blonde in the queue in front of me. We didn’t swap names, just lip gloss. And while waiting for the cackling women to finish their lengthy chats in the cubicles, I started to explain to her my innermost secrets.

As nonchalant as you like, I started gassing: ‘You know, I’m as horny as hell. But I can’t have sex. I only got a Hollywood wax done this morning.’

‘Yeah, I’m the same the day I get mine done. There’s just something about being bald that makes you want to grab a man.’

‘God, I haven’t been with a guy, properly, in ages. But I so couldn’t go there tonight, even if I got the chance … I’m like a plucked chicken!’

Feeling my plight, she offered up some sisterly advice. ‘You know, tea tree oil is the best for reducing the rash. Oh, and Sudocrem is great.’

‘Is that true?’

‘Yeah, and a bucket of booze … The rash mightn’t be gone – but you won’t give a fuck till the morning!’

As the two of us curled up with the laughter, one of the toilet doors swung open, stopping me in my tracks. There before me was my arch-enemy Caroline Higgins. Once upon a time we used to be friends,
but
she betrayed my trust and any friendship we ever shared was long since gone.

In retrospect it was like a John Wayne movie. Or a toilet stand-off. Unfortunately my bessie bud was oblivious to the situation, and quickly brushed past Caroline complaining, ‘About time.’

Instantly my mood flipped from jovial to stressed. Caroline was the only person I knew who had the power to upset me by just looking at me.

Several years back I had fallen in love with a suit. Unluckily for me, she was his best friend and sometime occasional shag from college. Though I think leech would have been a more appropriate title.

His name was Kevin Brennan. Looking back, he was pretty dull. But of course, ever the optimist, I overlooked his nerdy ways. Yes, by day he was an IT something-or-other. By night he was a bit of a madman. Like me, he had his moments – loved to party, loved spending money. Most of all he loved the trivial glamour that my job as an ace celeb reporter and columnist in a national magazine brought.

Despite being highly successful in his own field, he revelled in the excitement of being my Eva + 1. Like a fanatical teenage girl he took every opportunity to star-spot and loved the chance to hobnob with our minor local celebs. Once we even bumped into Bono and his mates in Val’s nightclub. The poor fella nearly passed out with the enthusiasm.

Now, I know that Kevin didn’t really care about me. It was more the life that I could provide for him.
But
at the time he had my heart, and thorn-in-my-side Caroline Higgins didn’t want me around.

In short, she did everything in her power to split us up in our brief six-month relationship. We had started off as friends, and often did date things together as a threesome – which on reflection, made her a major gooseberry; but at the time we had a laugh, and I dismissed the inconvenience of her being around.

Unfortunately, the happy days were numbered, when Caroline decided three was a crowd, and that I was the unlucky spare.

Extremely cunning, she easily manipulated him into thinking that she was as sweet as pie and I was a nuisance that he needed to get rid of.

Talk about an ego dint. I thought I’d never function again. Eva Brennan certainly had a ring to it. Or so I thought.

I was devastated at losing a possible husband. Though I think I was equally pained because I let her win. I felt like I had failed. And that is something I hate to do. Effortlessly she took her prize after provoking me into being such a frenzied nag. And he walked off into the distance with HER!

Now here we stood, face to face, neither one of us daring to flinch first.

She still looked as hard as I remembered her. Her peroxide hair and her ever-present dark roots to match her black eyeliner. She was rough when she wanted to be, but she didn’t scare me. I had booze on my side.

I was going to brazen out this staring match. After all, I’d had a bad day, and I needed to muster up some confidence before depression kicked in.

After what seemed like a week, Lisa, Maddie and Anna fell through the main door, singing and bumping into unsuspecting pedestrians on the way.

‘Hey Eva, I was just filling in Anna on Daveybaby’s spillage,’ shouted Maddie, before realizing that Caroline was standing in front of me.

Now, I’m not one to back down from a confrontation, but even I gasped when I saw Maddie stepping forward, as she was bolstered with the same amount of grog as me. For a second I thought she was going to start a tirade of abuse, but instead she gave Caroline the silent treatment and brushed past her to the mirror.

‘You look fabulous tonight, Eva,’ mused Maddie, doing her best to ignore Caroline. ‘Do you know that?’ she continued. ‘You look absolutely fabulous.’

Clearly intimidated by our numbers, Caroline lowered her head in submission and just ran straight out the door. Probably just as well, otherwise our mugs could end up on the back page of some gossip newspaper in some Cheryl Tweedy style brawl. So we just avoided the tag lines ‘Showbiz hack gives a Higgins a diggins!’ or, ‘Model gone Mad-die’.

The rest of the night was a bit of a blur. I vaguely remember boring some bloke who knocked half of his pint over me, telling him I was a woman on the edge, and the incensed face of the taxi man who had to
shake
me awake when we arrived at an address fairly similar to mine.

Thankfully, after much pleading he did drop me at my place, but despite the € 8 tip he sped off as soon as I hit the path instead of waiting for me to get inside my door like he’d promised.

Sunday lunchtime I awoke to the sound of my own brain thumping. The distant beat of next door’s stereo blasting out Fat Boy Slim was almost soothing compared to my internal drum.

The glass of water beside my bed was coated with a layer of dust, but I still drank it to the bottom. Consuming stale two-day-old water was better than having none.

My body needed fluid.

It also needed another ten hours’ sleep.

As I lay in bed, memories of the previous day’s events came flooding back.

My mischievous snog with the creepy David Barron exposed. Ouch. This is going to come back and bite me, big time. Without doubt I’ve created myself seriously bad karma with this situation.

What if his wife finds out? Christ, that’s all I need. Barron was
so
not worth the bother.

Kissing a married man is something I said I’d never do. I’m not religious, but it’s still a cardinal sin even in the unwritten atheist’s book. In moments such as these I wish I were Catholic, just so I could say a few Hail Marys or whatever and have my soul cleansed
and
my sins forgiven. If only it could be that easy.

‘You’re such a naughty girl,’ he told me, undressing me with his eyes. ‘You’re very naughty and very sexxxy.’

‘And what else?’ I asked him, thinking I was oh, so seductive.

‘You’re mine,’ he replied. ‘Mine, all mine for the night.’

He hit the nail on the head. I should have heard alarm bells ringing there and then, because he spoke the truth. Just for the night, that’s all he wanted me for, like I was some disposable object. One use only, not needed ever again.