I warm up nicely with the compliment. ‘You’re pretty unique yourself.’
He laughs. ‘Did it hurt?’
‘What?’
‘To throw in that little compliment?’
‘Not at all. I’m a very good liar.’ I grin at him.
He grins back. There is something soft in his eyes. It is the way a parent might look at their child. Indulgently. With pride. It confuses me.
‘Shall we go?’ I say, shrugging into a light coat.
He takes me to a fabulously extravagant subterranean cabaret club in Aldwych, called Voltaire. A set of neon lights points downwards. We go down gleaming aqua steps illuminated by thread lighting embedded in every step.
‘Voltaire,’ he says, ‘used to be a public toilet.’
‘Great. You’re taking me to a public toilet for our first date. Very unconventional.’
An enormous bouncer shakes Jaron’s hand and opens a bright blue door.
Public toilet it may have once been, but it is now lavish, decadent, and a lot risqué. There is not a bright light, shiny surface, tourist, or cashmere sweater in sight. Instead there are gorgeous fallen angels (waitresses and bar staff with wings) buzzing about serving sophisticated, quirky people.
It made for an edgy, unusual atmosphere.
‘Well done. It is actually the perfect location for an illicit affair,’ I say with a smile.
He smiles back, a heart-melting smile. ‘It always reminds me of scenes from Berlin movie stills of underground clubs from the thirties.’
‘I love it,’ I say and squeeze his hand.
‘I’ve booked a table but let’s have a drink at the bar first.’
Jaron orders a champagne cocktail and I get myself a fluid called The Control Word Is Voltaire. It is unquestionably potent and it makes me buzz almost immediately. I twist on my kiss me/lick me bar stool and, facing Jaron, cross my legs. His eyes drop to my thighs.
‘So,’ I say, and pause until he brings his eyes back to mine. ‘What’s Ebony up to tonight?’
‘No idea,’ he says with a careless shrug.
‘Don’t you…um…care about her at all?’
He gazes at me, and suddenly our surroundings drop away, and it feels as if his eyes, which look violet in the red lights of the bar, are boring into me with uncanny perceptiveness. As if he is seeing right into my soul. It does not last long, but they are an incredibly and startlingly disconcerting few seconds. However, his voice when he speaks is amused and light. ‘What makes you say that?’
My whole body trembles, but I keep it cool. ‘I was just curious about your…odd relationship.’
‘Odd?’
I look at the smoothly tanned skin at the opening of his shirt collar. ‘If I were her I would be jealous.’
‘Are you jealous?’
‘Obviously not. I’m not your girlfriend and we’re just having fun.’
‘Hmmm.’
I take another large sip of my drink. ‘This is delicious, by the way.’
A spotlight comes on and falls upon a black drag queen with a truly impressive amount of make-up, a glittery evening dress, and long, trailing earrings that go past her shoulders. Oozing cool, she glides from the sliding door that she has come out from and goes to a small platform that serves as a stage.
She introduces herself as Nina Simone.
Sitting at a piano she tells us her first song will be: I Put a Spell on You.
Simone turns out to be eye-bleedingly good. Her voice is so strong and clear it makes the hair on my arms stand up. Her Nina Simone is exquisite. When the song is over she stops, wisecracks, and then smoothly eases herself into the song that electrifies the entire room and defines it as hers. Sinnerman!
So I ran to the devil, he was waitin’.
I ran to the devil, he was waitin’.
Ran to the devil, he was waitin’.
She gets everyone going. I turn at the end of her performance to look at Jaron and he is staring at me. His eyes are intense and almost quizzical, as if there is something about me he cannot understand.
‘What?’ I ask.
But he doesn’t tell me what is truly on his mind. ‘Wait till you see the toilets,’ he says lightly instead.
‘Why?’
‘The doors are transparent until you lock them and then they mist up.’
‘Sexy! Shall we try one together?’
‘Nope.’
‘Have you gone conventional on me then?’ I tease.
‘A: I like this joint and I want to be able to come back and B: I have other plans for you.’
‘Oh yeah?’
‘Yeah.’
It is an amazing night. I eat chicken—well, I hope it is—I drink loads of Voltaires and thoroughly enjoy Jaron’s company. He is charming and suave and attentive. By the time we leave Jaron is stone cold sober and while I am not exactly drunk, I am what you could call merry and what most people would class as very, very horny. The taxi turns into Upper Belgrave Street and Jaron runs his hand along the inside of my thigh. I shift my legs farther apart when his fingers start brushing the crotch of my shorts.