I have just walked into Miami and there are a load of spongers insisting on getting free tickets to this evening's sex party, but I say I haven't got any more and I hand out the cut-price tickets. I leave and phone Dimitri and I dictate the names of the people he is to put on the list and the groups that have booked tables. I go back inside and I meet Tony. I ask if he's coming to Labyrinth this evening and I give him a couple of drink vouchers because he always moves a big gang of people and he's also one of the greatest fanny magnets in town and he's earned the evening.
If we don't pack the joint this evening we never will. I've bust my balls and worked day and night on promoting this sex party, helping the staff to put up posters and handing out invitations in the bars in the town centre, in the suburbs, in the gyms, the high schools and the universities in Parma, Modena and Reggio.
Thanks to my press releases, the news was even in the local newspapers. Word of this sex party has spread like an oil slick throughout the region. It's enough to look around to see everybody will be there because everyone – especially the girls – is wearing sexy and outrageous outfits and, as I expected the 'indecent outfits' expressly demanded in the slogan on the tickets and the posters has not put anyone off, quite the opposite.
YOU ARE READING
LAST CUBA LIBRE
General FictionIf you're looking for a gripping read, look no further than "Last Cuba Libre". Meet Jessica, who's a bit of a slag. Claudio, who rocks designer threads and snorts lots of cocaine. Then there's Tony, cruising in his Porsche, leaving a trail of broken...
