Free The Bad Girls' Club by Kathryn O'Halloran Page A

perfume and over-zealous oestrogen inside were giving me hives.
    ‘ That’s OK,’ said Sandra. ‘You can join us. We’ve got plenty of room.’
    Oh goodie.
    We paid and the woman led us into the bar with a twitch of her head. Inside was dank and steamy – like hell. Not even real hell but an antechamber of hell that they reserve for the poorly dressed. It had all the charm of a bus depot – moulded plastic chairs and fake wood tables, green nylon carpet, turning black from cigarette burns, a faint vanilla scent covering up something far less pleasant. A long stage jutted catwalk-style into the room, disappearing into a curtain of silver tinsel.
    Our hostess led us around the stage, past tables full of cackling women in all manner of sequined atrocities. It was like walking through the birdhouse at the zoo.
    Our table was at the side of the stage. Juliette grabbed the end seat and Imogen sat beside her, her back to the stage. I sat opposite Imogen and Sandra plonked herself down next to me.
    ‘ Bet your glad you’re with us,’ she said. ‘This is the best spot in the club.’
    I smiled. Yeah, I was really glad. Must have been my lucky night.
    ‘ You’d better grab some drinks. The show’ll be starting soon.’
    As I leant over to Imogen and Juliette, my arm stuck to the melamine table.
    ‘We need drinks,’ I told them, then handed Imogen some cash. ‘Can you get a bottle of champs?’
    I watched her walk to the bar then grabbed Juliette ’s arm.
    ‘ We have to get out of here.’
    Juliette nodded but looked at Imogen. ‘I know but no way is Imogen going to leave. She wants to be here.’
    ‘ Think of something. Can you fake some kind of fit?’
    Juliette twirled a strand of hair around her finger until I brushed her hand away. Then I had a brainwave.
    ‘Can you go to the toilet and ring me? I’ll pretend it’s an emergency and we can leave.’
    Juliette rolled her eyes. ‘That’s going to be so obvious and anyway I left my phone at home.’
    ‘ Damn.’
    Before I could think of anything better, Imogen sat a jug of beer on the table.
    ‘It was either this or Spumante,’ she said. ‘But I can go back for the Spumante if you like.’
    Sandra followed behind with a jug in each hand. ‘Jugs are the best value anyway.’
    Just then, the music stopped and the lights went down. The show was about to start.
    There was silence, then a buzz of whispers. Why didn’t they hurry up? Someone down the end of our table began thumping. ‘Tony, Tony, Tony…’ Soon women around the room joined in. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I noticed Imogen was thumping and chanting along with them. She shrugged back at me.
    The entire room gave out a blood-curling shriek as a spotlight swept the stage. It stopped centre stage, lighting up the silhouette of a man. The light travelled up his body – highlighting his perfect thighs, his perfect abs, his perfect arms. And his long greasy hair.
    As a tinny version of ‘Male Stripper’ blasted out of the speakers, he minced down the stage, swinging his hips. I looked at Imogen and she grinned back. This guy might strip for women but that was as close to women as he got.
    Green and blue stage lights hit his oiled skin, reflecting a reptilian sheen. He swung his hips into figure eights as the bass beat pounded. Around us, women panted to that beat.
    Imogen rolled her eyes.
    ‘ This was your stupid idea.’
    ‘ It isn’t that stupid,’ she said and turned her chair to face the stage. She folded her arms and tilted her head so we weren’t in her line of vision, then realised she had to turn back to grab her beer.
    On stage, Tony stroked the silky fabric stretched across his chest, inching the top up to reveal a rippling six-pack of belly. It was like watching a steroid-enhanced snake shed its polyester skin.
    As he eased the top over his head, Deb and Sandra and the rest of their gang screamed for him to throw it their way. He winked at them, pumping the shrieks up to