The only adjective I can think of to describe this party at Labyrinth is surreal... there are so many people that I can't move and the heat is suffocating and the air unbreathable due to the smoke and the kids are wandering round the spaceship-style corridors and they are almost all smashed or on acid and I am still decidedly too sober to have fun and I decide to stop off at the bar with Tony to get something that will rev me up in a hurry.
In single file – Greta and the girls in the front, Tony and me behind – we follow the path indicated by the futuristic signs pointing to the bar in the central room where a mass of semi-naked kids are dancing to house music in a bath of foam... Tony orders a Black Hawk and I shout at the barman – who is wearing only jeans and a black bow tie – to make me a Jungle, and he looks up the ingredients in the IBA cocktail book and prepares it, vigorously shaking the dry vermouth, sherry and tequila with ice and serves it to me in a low chalice with a cherry on top. I hand him my drink card and he punches it and hands it back.
Greta's friends are giggling hopelessly and Greta tries to kiss Tony, but he moves away... I stare at the tangle of bodies jiggling on the dance floor like one of the circles of hell and I take a long sip of my cocktail. Greta leans towards the barman and flirting asks him for a non-alcoholic fruit drink.
Tony is smashed and being here with his girlfriend is terrible, and I can understand him... Suddenly I realise that I haven't the faintest idea where my other half is and I try to send her an SMS, but there's no signal.
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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...
