14
Two
June 2
nd
2000.
“Oh, it’s the girl with the pink eyes!”
Jay stood with a flourish. He just managed to keep his feet, butpushed the table up as he got up. I dived in a stopped our drinks from toppling.
He staggered off to greet one of his friends. She was a member of the regular scene. An indie girl. A clubregular with a membership that meant she didn’t have to queue in the event of a busy night. The indieclub scene wasn’t that big, by sight most people could recognise each other.Jay always had these striking girlfriends. Not real girlfriends in the way of lovers, but I guess they filledthe role of them apart from the physical side of things. He used to act as if he had crushes on them.When about this questioned he would just shrug.
“Off course I do Paul. Who wouldn’t?”
He just calledthem his muses. There were several in the time I knew him.Each week these girls would waltz in. Arms linked with men in mod-suits and flat soled Converse shoes.Eloise was Jay’s favourite. You could tell. She was very pretty. Demure is a word that comes to mind.Eloise, sparkling eyes, straggly red hair spilling over her collar. Always with corduroy pants and a newlyprinted hip T-shirt. Bowie as Ziggy, Lesley Hornby as Twiggy or Iggy Pop as Iggy. You name it she has acute T-shirt. I don't think I ever saw her in the same one. I think she made them herself.Jay angled his finger like a firing gun motion, and issued a well-practised monologue.
“Like a flawed speeding car, driven to distraction on a dark road. He lurches all gravel verges and shaky tires.”
He kissedher on both cheeks like an Italian.Jay picked this girl up, Eloise, his pretty one. He spun her in a wide circle. His arms locked around her astwo clamps. It was miracle the poor girl wasn't harmed. Jay’s balance was corrupted by bottles of beerand shot chasers. He was an unstable platform at best.Her name was Eloise der Kuyper, like the butterscotch schnapps. She was a South African. She said “Jar”instead of “Yes.”
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