Monday, bad mood.
I had an impressive weekend though. Friday I discussed the project with Ivor
over lunch at Gloria’s in
That night we went
to have dinner with De and Alan at Boon Hall Oasis. We were the only ones there.
Alan and De went on to a mass-up or something like it. A prelude to carnaval.
We didn’t. We went to bed. Sunday we had lunch at Heather Pinnock’s house on
the university common. I met her father whom I like very much. Her mother is a
lovely lady with a full and unrestrained smile. Josh won. After that to collect
Rosie at a party where we also had to go and then to another party on
The evening came
to an end. The waitresses started clearing up. Pat asked me if I wanted to go
for a drink. I said sure. He said. Do you want to go somewhere rude. I looked
at him. Yes sure. I would drive behind. I had little petrol. But it wasn’t that
far. On Half-Way Tree road, Halfway to Crossroads. Gemini. We paid a hundred
dollars. The black light flashed across my shirt as I passed through the door.
I turned left and saw a stage with women dancing in skanty bikini’s. I have
never been in a place like this. The girls were writhing on the floor and
spreading their legs as far as they would go and then pretend to be pussy-cats.
They lived the gooey songs that were being sung. One naked girl with a
reasonable body but a pasted face just stood in the corner of the stage
shivering her body. Another played tiger. They seemed to be enjoying
themselves. We got ourselves a beer and went to sit down at a table. Are they
prostitutes, I asked. No, but they do prostitute themselves for a pair of
shoes. One girl took off her panties and spread her legs while hanging from the
eaves of the low shed roof over the stage and swung there awkwardly. The men
sat there isolated from each other. Deep in their own desires. Another girl
with a large scar which went right down the front of her jelly belly, played
with the column as if it were a phallus desperate to be taken by a real man. We
got up to see the back stage. A very young girl with poited small breasts held
up by a generous cantilever was bopping up and down. We stopped at the bar to
get another drink. A slender Chinese lookng girl came up to me and put her hand
on my crotch. She smiled knowingly and I smiled and said Don’t do that. I am
married. So am I, she said. And she showed me a ring. Evidence. Even so I said
and put my hand on her back to pat it in a determined way. It was covered in
grease to make her skin shine in simulated sweat. Buy me a Red Stripe. Sure, I
said and bought two Red Stripes, one for me. She took a straw. She did not want
her lipstick to spoil. She asked me whether I would go and sit with my friend.
Yes. I left her there and went to sit with Pat. You are all of these girls’
dreams he said. So am I, he said. This place specialises in brown women Pat
shouted. I come here all the time. I like black women too. I unwind here after
work. I like it. The music was very loud. The girl who had drunk my beer went
onto the stage and spread her legs as wide as she could and smiled at me giving
to understand that I was a naughty boy. Despite the lack of evidence for this I
smiled back. Pat went to buy a Canei. Canai is a sickly drink with which the
girls like to profile themselves. It is a mark of favour. When he returned an
ugly girl joined us. I had seen her dancing. Her vaginal lips had swallowed the
her bikini bottom and were pushed apart and swollen. She had small tattoes on
the front of her thighs. One of them represented a car drawn by the hand of a
child it seemed. High-heeled thigh-high patent leather boos were standard
issue. She did too and had one gold front tooth and one discoloured front
tooth. Her eyes looked Egyptian. The always do it seems. She fiddled with Pats
arm in an easy, familiar way. She is going to