Wasted City (CH15)

              start of  **WASTED  CITY**

👔👗The work's Christmas party was due to take place tonight; an affair of grand proportion. But to say that Neil was an ostentatious organizer of this over-the-top event was true and the opinion of some, the same said some never objected to their Christmas bonus. As well as an added lift in staff's pay-packet of a hundred pounds, they were also treated to this annual work night out. 

   The Bodden Bray hotel was its permanent venue - free bar, free buffet, free gratis all round. Not only was that for present workers but past employees (plus one) also; anyone would be a mug to miss it. Of course, this year had an added added-bonus. 

  For more than a decade, Neil attended partnerless: tonight he would be accompanied by Saskia. And if the word round the office was true, (one or two had casually met her) they were in for a treat.  But for the here and now; there was some shopping for the night ahead still to do. 

To Neil's dismay, Saskia had left it to the last minute to get kitted out for the party. A fortnight prior was the original goal, but her little cafe was doing great business with the lead up to Christmas and that saw her having to sacrifice some Sunday's too. However, this weekend was freed well in advance from cafe commitments, allowing ample time to enjoy it. And for convenience Neil booked overnight rooms for himself and Saskia in the hotel.

   Today would officially be their first proper shopping expedition together and as with most blokes; shopping with or for women always set them aquiver. The hope here was that it could all be done in the one department store; House of Fraser or Harvey Nichols usually catered to his tastes, and hopefully hers too. In, out, done. But whatever one she decided upon, quickness in satisfaction could bag them a longer lunch. 

   Before leaving his room, he stood counting a goodly sum of notes from his wallet. Usually his own spending was done via cards, but he liked to have a surplus in his wallet in case the day had any sudden change to it. Besides, he was a very generous tipper - something you can't do with plastic.

   Neil gently knocked on Saskia's door, before warily peeking his head round; God knows what state of undress she still may be in.  As he took a seat, she popped out from the bedroom with no hello, cursing that she couldn't find the earrings she had put down somewhere so went back into the bedroom for another pair, then located the desired ones in the kitchenette. She gave him a 'won't be long' promise while swapping them over. By now Neil had acquiesced himself to her last minute rushes (where she was now fixing her jeans again in a way that makes it hard not to watch - especially when she added a 'hup' to the jumping action). 

   'Just going to grab my coat, Dad...'

   God, he was weary just watching all her darting around and somehow knew this was just a little taster for how manic the day would become.  When she reappeared, he was pleased to see that she had wrapped herself up sensibly and not about to face the wind-chill factor in anything light or short. Like him, she wore a long, woollen coat (albeit mottled and boucle with nonsensical badges on the lapels) and thick bobble hat.  As much as they only planned to shop at one store, they would most likely have to walk a fair distance getting there due to dire London parking.

   'Ready?'  he asked her in a tone that indicated; are you sure about that?

   'Uhu'.

   'Thought any more about what kind of dress you're going for?'  He was hoping to at least hear a colour she'd decided on.

   'Nope,' she said, pronouncing the 'p' of the word like a popgun pop. He raised - yet again - those expressive eyebrows and tutted. 

   'C'mon then... let the madness begin. Marcus is waiting outside for us.'

     

As expected, parking proved to be a plight, even with the addition of several extra designated zones for Christmas shoppers.  Simply finding a safe drop-off point from the chauffeur took twenty minutes and they had the comfort of calling him back to be picked up despite any time lag. But at this rate they would be lucky to fit in lunch at all; it was contingent upon her and her pernicketiness.

   Blessed with a beautiful dry sun-filled day, it had taken just ten minutes into their walk for Saskia's cheeks to be flushed with rosy winter-chill.  Her reason not to wear gloves always irked Neil, remarking that frostbite wasn't worth the risk for having a constant swiping finger at the ready. Gloves forever on, off, on, off would only risk the chance of dropping one's phone all together, she argued back. But it felt nice to feel Neil's own gloved hand unexpectedly reach to catch hers as they walked as passersby glanced in their direction. She had an innate prominence of both wanted and unwanted attention as the street thronged with swarms of Christmas shoppers. He was never fond of Saturday afternoon people with their shoulder-to-shoulder bumping and dodging, cursing and apologising as it was, never mind seasons greetings added in the mix. But... a promise was a promise.

   It helped him not, mind you, that she didn't quite stick to their plan, just having to buy a few perfect little gifts displayed in windows, for others. Rarely had she the opportunity of deep-London shopping.  While she smelled of a mix of tester perfumes, he smelled of Ultraviolet Man and growing impatience. It was time to curb it and get her own shopping done.

A floor aide, introducing herself as Sophie, greeted them.  The dress, the dress, the dreaded dress! So many hung around her that Saskia even doubted if this Sophia would know where to start. She incited Neil to sit on a luxury sofa, (while Christmas carols bleated mercilessly from hidden speakers) as Saskia was guided towards rails with attire that may suit her. Picking colours that complimented blondes, (which was seemingly the whole spectrum) eventually the selection had been whittled down to three. It was a bit of a relief for Neil to see her taking them into the fitting room. He expected to be lunch-bound within ten minutes. Mug. 

   What in God's name was taking her this long in front of a mirror? Half an hour. Half a ruddy hour and still no sign of her!  An accompanying 'victim' sat across from Neil, waiting for his missus to reappear, and they exchanged nods and witless expressions.  Both their heads whipped round at the sound of footsteps, but it was the other bloke who, at last, was granted liberation. As he made his way to the till with his wife, he threw Neil a commiserating smile. Seriously. How much longer?

   Neil started to randomly hum tunes out loud to mask the Christmas tosh surrounding him, convinced it was getting louder.  He was so fed up that he started venting his annoyance by talking at the mannequins next to him.  At this (slow) rate, there would be more chance of one talking back than Saskia having made her mind up!  But they seemed to have heard his plea. Out she comes for his opinion, wearing a very becoming lilac dress.

   Neil's face was blank. The outfit didn't quite receive the response hoped for.  

   'Well, what do you think?' she asked, while Neil's lips thinned into a grimace. 

   'It's nice, but I can't really say with the— ' he pointed, indicating the very much out of place hat on her head.

   'Just concentrate on the dress - ignore the rest of me.'

   'Kind of hard when it's staring you in the face.' The easiest thing to do was to simply say perfect - and they were out of there, ending all this festive-anguish. But when he's asked for an opinion, he delivers it.  Saskia gave a frustrated sigh.;

   'Yes, but the hairdressers not coming till five o'clock, and my hair's a mess right now, so it's staying on!'

   'You could whip it off, just for a mo—'

   'Not gonna happen'

   'And the umm.....' He then pointed to her thick, heavyset boots, which had been mostly hidden under her jeans.

   As much as 'for fuck's sake' was bouncing around in her mouth for an exit, she gave a little tense growl at his stymied attitude and constant aversion to clumpy shoes.

   Sophie was finding their exchanges amusing. Men usually gave an abrupt, agreeable opinion (when in reality they don't-give-a-shit) just to get the hell out of there, and here was a father - a man awash with gentry - in the throes of boredom and shop-weariness now seeming to be pissing her off on purpose. Still, they were rather entertaining.

   Saskia turned and took the other two contenders from Sophie, holding one up either side of her.

   'So, which one of these do you like?'

   'Which one do you like?' he said straight back at her.

   'Well them all, obviously... gimme ruddy strength!'  She turned to Sophie: 'Would it be okay to quickly try the aquamarine one again?'

   Neil's head jerked up at the word 'again'. 'No, no, I'm not hanging around any longer.'  He'd resigned himself to the fact that lunch would be well out of the question now, but a drink may not.

   'Why not?' 

   'Look, Saskia, just buy the three of them.'

   Saskia's head shot round to him, scowling doubtfully. 'Don't be ridiculous Dad, the cheapest is £300!'

   He shrugged and smiled and gestured with his hands. 'It's Christmas!  You can make your mind up at the hotel - surprise me!'

   Saskia's skilled collaborator looked at her with highly raised eyebrows, and a 'you lucky girl' smirk on her face. Time for her to capitalize further on her sales pitch with the foot factor about to butt in. 'We have the perfect shoe to match every dress?' Spoken in the form of a question.

   But before Saskia had a chance to reply, Neil stood up and took over: 'She's a size 5. Give her a pair to match each dress, just make sure it's a neat looking shoe and not a... ' Neil waved a finger at her feet, words failing him, 'bloody... chunky type thing!'

   The girls' faces exchanged mischievous delight at his comical descriptive. 

   'You mean platform, Dad.' 

   'Whatever. Just make sure they're nothing like those things you galumph about in!'

   'What the hell does galumphed even mean? Is it a Scottish word?'

   'No, it was invented just for you!'

   As much as Sophia could have listened to them for ages, she felt it was time to interject. 'So, a three inch court shoe?' she suggested correctly.

   'Yes, but I'd like the turquoise pair in metallic.' Saskia said, already having checked-out the shoes on the sly.

   A very satisfied Sophia watched in glee as a daughter's excitability near knocked her father down in thanks. That was the thing with the opulent, they easily cough up to ease their day; she made a fortune in commission through Daddy's Little Girls.  Had Saskia not disclosed the reason for the hurried dress hunt, she would have suggested chucking in accessories too, but she left some regard for their busy schedule.

He offered to carry her bags for her - which was always the gentlemanly thing to appear to do in a deluxe store after purchase. It had been her first experience of upper crust spending, whereas he had shopped there regularly, but never with a daughter, so it gave them a unique, two-way sense of importance. If happiness could jump she'd be swinging off those diamanté chandeliers right now. They said their polite farewells and he hankered even more strongly for that quick-fix drink.

   The second they were out of there she freed him of the bulge of bags on his left, latched an arm through his and he smiled fondly at the gesture.

   'Sorry that took so long...' she said, feeling she had to fit in an extra dollop of appreciation, not having expected to be coming away with three outfits.

   'No worries,' 

   'I feel quite bad now we've missed lunch.'

   'Wouldn't have missed all that indecisiveness for the world,' he replied, keeping deadpan, enjoying toying with her. 

   'Picked out a suit for tonight, then?'

   'Three weeks ago.'

   'Dicky or straight?' she inquired, referring to his neck wear.

   'Whichever one's still in the pocket, most likely.' 

   'Sure you don't want to at least get yourself a new... I dunno... aftershave or something?'

   He gave a cordial smile knowing exactly what she was doing - trying to fit him into focus (hers having been £1,500 pounds worth of focus) too.

    Stopping her suddenly in their tracks, he turned his head to look at her, 'Saskia, this was your Christmas present from me, lunch was only a possibility - we got there in the end. Let's see if there's a pub we can fit a swift one or two in before Marcus comes back for us.' 

   Jostling through London streets - her looking tawdry, him chic - was becoming one heck of a challenge and they were having no luck in finding a muted pub; his head peeking in doors, then straight back out again. To be expected really, this close to Christmas. Neil had rarely been the type that tolerated standing in places where he didn't know the clientele. No. They had no option but to make their way back to the drop off point to be picked up again, and it was during that wait that she wished she'd owned a pair of gloves.

They hit the shower at roughly the same time. His water flow was strong and cool, meant for a zing-hit, while hers was hot and steamy, meant for a pore-cleanse.

   Out first, Neil inspected his suit once again, double checking that it was stitch perfect, though he always travelled with a spare.  He'd plumped for one he'd worn only the once before; a dark greenish-grey main colour with a mild tartan through it noticeable when close up. His usually sharp mind couldn't recall exactly where or when that had been, but he was certain it was less than a year old.

   As yet he still wasn't sure what colour shirt would suffice (he had multiple to choose from with him too) as long as it was not office-white.  For round his neck, he had chosen a ribbon tie with a slightly stronger black and green tartan to it. Sorted. All he had to do now was get dressed and check up on whatever stage of preparation Saskia was at. Men usually have a headway advantage over women, but she had exactly one hour until their dinner date. 

He gave three rapid taps on her room door. 

   'S'open,' she called, 'just come in!'

   Neil entered, and Saskia greeted him towel-wrapped on both head and body. He was just about to remind her of their tight schedule until the incredulous gawp on her face kept him silent.

   'Wow, Dad!,' she scanned him head to foot. 'You look... amazing.'

   'Uh ... thank you?' he frowned, not quite thinking he deserved the laudatory reaction but he took it all the same.

   'No, I'm really impressed!' She loved the shape of his suit: jacket slim fitted with just the right amount of sleeve peeping out: trousers tapered and settling neatly on the foot.  'And you're not wearing tan or grey shoes either!'

   'Oi!' he snipped back at her. 'Where do you think I get my clothes from - Sunday magazines? I'm pretty careful in paying attention to what's happening in the world. Sometimes. Life's not just work and waste paper bins, you know!'

   Saskia smiled rather ruefully at him, then hung her head, as in shame, and this puzzled him.  

   'What's up?' he asked.

   She averted her eyes from his and swallowed, catching his look again. 'It's nothing, I just didn't mean to imply you were some kind of old fogy or anything.'

   'Don't be silly,' he dismissed her worry away with his hand, wanting to give her hug to reassure her she hadn't, the silly mare.  'Look, we've got less than an hour to get to our table. I'll pop down and see how the function room's coming along and let you get on.' 

   'Okay, the hairdresser will be here any minute anyhow. Oh, before you go, Dad, could you do me a favour?'  She picked up a plastic tube from the table and handed it to him.  'Rub some of this on my unreachables for me.'

   'Huh? '

   'It's body glitter,' she laughed at his mystified look,  'just over my back and shoulders please.' She turned round, posing like a scarecrow.  

   Slowly and somewhat reluctantly, he started to rub the squidgy stuff over whatever skin was on view, being careful not to rub too near to the towel-fold holding her decency up. God forbid that dropping down!

     'Jeeesus,' he said as he performed the grim deed, 'I'll never get this shit off my hands.'

   

Saskia stared into a long wardrobe mirror and was taken aback. Rarely did she look and feel so refined, until her tummy grumbled in unladylike fashion.  The very second she checked on the time, Neil knocked on her door. 

   'Coming,' a rather half-nervous, half excited Saskia called to him and he backed up a few steps, in wait of her appearance.

   On opening the door a strong waft of scent escaped (since knowing Neil, she'd sprayed perfume liberally around as if it were air freshener) and out stepped his very own starlet. With a smile unable to stretch any wider, he reached gently for her hands and spread her arms out for a better look. 'Simply beautiful.'  

   The dress that left the other two party-deprived, fit impeccably.  It carried a sweetheart neckline and a criss-cross of open panels down each side. The waist nipped in neatly and dovetailed to just under the knee in full circle. Her perfectly-matching shade of shoe, with it's metallic-look leather, saluted the subtle sheen of the dress. Opting for the aquamarine (it had a prominent advantage from the start) was the best colour to accentuate her hair. 

   'What's this?' he asked, lifting the long herringbone plait that draped over her left shoulder, falling to the front.

   'An extension the hairdresser attached for me. Looks real, doesn't it?'

   Freeing her hand, he gestured with a finger that he wanted her to twirl.  She spun a few times, the hem of her dress fully out, causing a small eddy of air around her knees from the movement, while her plait (which almost hit him) settled back in its prime position over those light scintillated shoulders once she stopped. This simple, unadorned dress was the perfect compliment to his suit. 

   'You mean the world to me, you know,' he told her in full sincerity.

   She stepped closer to him and stroked down his cheek with the back of her hand. 

   'I know. You're a sweet old thing really, aren't you?'

   Neil did not commit himself to answer her evincing sentiment and drew his gaze directly downwards, needing a second to compose himself.  After a short cough he lifted his head, then jutted his elbow out to her and she readily took it.

   'C'mon kiddo, let's go eat.' 

   Inside the lift, in a heavily accentuated Scottish accent - which he knew made her squirm - he proclaimed:

   'Don't know about you, but I intend to get blootered tonight!'

   'Scottish for getting pissed?'

   'You're getting good at this game.'

   They looked at each other, then snickered ridiculously.

                  end of  WASTED  CITY 

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