Does Anyone Know Where I Left My Jacket?
Fiction
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” The guy had to yell to make himself heard above the din of the music. Leaning out across the bar, his shaved head shone under the red spotlight. I smiled and nodded, picked the fresh beer from the counter, and took a swig. Either this guy was the greatest wind-up merchant in history or he really didn’t know what I was talking about.
Fifteen quid for a drink! Jesus, I’m in the wrong business.
The dance floor had the usual crop of skinny girls with faraway looks in their eyes, bumping and grinding to drum and bass — the sound changes with the years, but the pace and the intention never seem to vary, as far as I could recall.
How far was that?
This one girl was wearing some sort of wrap around top that flipped and flapped each time she twisted her body. Her breasts were small, disappearing altogether when she raised her hands in the air, but I could clearly see her nipples so I watched her mostly, although there was naked flesh pulsing in and out of the darkness everywhere I looked.
The little dial on my watch wouldn’t stay in focus long enough for me to work out what the time was. I’d had — how many drinks? Was it late when I got here? I had to sit down for a while — didn’t want people to think I was wasted and get my ass thrown out.
It’s crazy. Like, everyone is completely sober. No staggering guys groping every chick in sight, no crying females with eyeliner all over the place and puke in their hair. Give it time. It’ll happen. Always does.
“I haven’t seen you here before.”
Christ! Where did she come from? This girl was smiling at me with those playful sort of dimples. She’d probably curse her sagging jowls when she got older and had less reason to keep on smiling, but for now she looked terrific. “No,” I replied, trying to look sophisticated but only managing to clank my beer off the ashtray. “My first time, but I’ll come again now I know you’re here.”
She was still smiling, looking around at the others, head bobbing to the beat. I couldn’t tell if she’d heard my lame response, but I hoped she hadn’t.
“What’s your name?” I asked, a question I couldn’t embarrass myself with.
She said something — it looked like she said China.
“What?” God, it’s so loud in here.
“Jenny.”
She smelled delicious when she leaned close, a mix of coconut and gin and flowers and heat.
“You been here long?” I shouted into her ear, bundles of light brown hair brushing against my cheek.
She made a sort of don’t know, don’t care face. “Yeah, sure. A while, I suppose.” She took a hit from the clear longneck she’d been cradling. I was impressed. She was what? Twenty-three? Twenty-four? She had that clarity in her eyes you don’t normally see in places like this — the look of someone fresh off the street but all warmed up too, like she’d been here forever. Cooking in the music, the heat, the booze — whatever.
“Come on.” She was getting up. “Dance. I love this one.”
Her hand was warm in mine. I felt like a ton weight. I couldn’t tell if a new song had started or if it was the same thing playing over. “I’m not much of a dancer,” I yelled up at her, desperately wanting to feel her body against mine but fearing she’d realise pretty soon I was just another loser with no rhythm and no hope.
“Oh come on.”
I could see her saying it but couldn’t hear the words.
I wasn’t the only guy on the floor. Not by a long shot. The others were all trendy clothes, giving it loads, taking no notice of the girls they were supposed to be dancing with. It was hard to see anything up there with the lights flashing and spinning.
Jenny had her hands up in her hair the way these young girls do; eyes closed, wiggling away for all she was worth. I was doing the usual: shuffle, shuffle, clap, point at stuff.
Jesus, I was tired.
There’s that girl with the nipples again. Christ, she’s still going strong — I don’t know how these kids do it.
That’s enough of that for now.
I made the drinking gesture at Jenny and started zig-zagging my way between the dancers in the direction of the red spotlights.
My drink wasn’t where I’d left it. Fuckers. I looked about, checking my spot –right of the chair, in line with the lamp on the wall. Nobody standing nearby, robbing bastards.
Where was I before I came here again? Was it somebody’s birthday party or something? I could remember a street, and it being night time, but somehow it was light outside — the sky was blue and I could read the time on my watch. I still can’t see the bloody thing in this light. That guy was there — what’s his name again? The guy in the white suit? He’s the last one I remember seeing. He came over when I was trying to get a cab. He had one of those slim little cigars with the white plastic holders, and he leaned over and whispered something in my ear. I like the smell of cigars, but his smelled terrible — kind of sulphury. What was it he said?
I need another drink. Maybe I should go after this one, or maybe if I can find some of the others from the party, I could get a ride home with them.
“Another of those.” I don’t know how this guy does his job, I can’t even read what it says on the beer bottle, and I can’t hear a word anyone’s saying over this music. Sign of a good barman, I guess. At least he seems happy in his work.
That girl’s there again, flashing her tits all over the place.
The beer lands on the counter and the barkeeper’s leaning over smiling at me. Shit. Did I pay for that last drink? I can’t remember.
“What do I owe you?” My throat’s killing me from all this yelling, and my ears will be fucked in the morning. I’m not even going to think about the hangover. I should have got that girl I was dancing with a drink too. Where did she go? Oh yeah, fifteen fucking quid. Now I remember. Where’s my wallet? That barman seems familiar. “Don’t I know you from somewhere?” There’s one of those little white cigar holders in the ashtray on the bar.
“What do you mean?” He’s asking me, shaking his head and looking like he thinks I’m an idiot. No, he really doesn’t know what I’m talking about, does he?
God, this is weird. I really must be wasted. “Listen, this might seem a funny question, but do you know how long I’ve been here?”
“Do you think it matters?”
That’s a bloody odd question. “I’m a bit out of it, mate. Maybe it’s time I was going.” He gives me another one of those looks. I know he heard what I said but it’s like does not compute or something.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says.
This is way too hard, what with the music and the lights all going at once. This beer must be serious stuff. I definitely know that guy behind the bar, but I haven’t the energy to strike up a conversation at this volume. I head back over to the table under the lamp on the wall. The weirdest thing — I just caught a look at myself in some sort of mirror over behind the bar, and I don’t look half as wasted as I feel. I look younger — must be some trick of the light — I look like…
How long have I been here?
“I haven’t seen you here before.”
“Hi… what? God, it’s so loud in here.” What did she just say to me? What was her name again? “What’s your name?”
She said something. It looked like she said China.
