The Liberation of Alice Love - Abby McDonald [54]
“Alice, where have you been?” Cassie accosted them in the front lobby, waving her membership card at the sleek, black-clad staff behind the desk and signing them in with a careless scrawl. “Oh, hi, Flora,” she greeted her briefly, before turning back to scold Alice. “I’ve been waiting for you forever!”
Alice doubted that. Cassie was constantly behind, if she ever made an appearance at all; it was Alice who felt flustered if she wasn’t five minutes ahead of schedule and made a point of calling if she would be even a little late. But not tonight. “I’m sure you survived somehow.” Alice kissed her on the cheeks and followed her to the lift. “Isn’t Flavia dancing on the tables yet?”
“Almost.” Cassie squeezed in the tiny space with them and selected the top floor. “Lexi and Noel are here too, in from Berlin, and Petros is in town as well—you remember him, right?” she didn’t wait for a reply. “He said he ran into Dakota the other night at a show. He was with some hipster bitch: perfect hair but no boobs, Petros said.” Cassie glanced down, as if to check her own chest was suitably perky, encased in a sheer black blouse tucked into loose, wide trousers. Alice sent Flora an amused look. Two minutes before a mention of the ex? The sad thing was, that wasn’t even a record.
“Anyway.” Cassie eyed her reflection in the shiny lift interior, smoothing down her already-glossy hair as they came to a halt. “Come say hi to everyone and start drinking. You’re way behind.”
Everyone turned out to be lounging on the far side of the slim, rooftop pool, balancing cocktails precariously on padded recliners as they laughed and chatted and otherwise eyed the rest of the fashionable crowd. Cassie led them over, carefully picking her way across the damp tiles and throwing a wave and a careless smile to people as she went.
“Look,” Flora hissed, jerking her head at the man who was, for some inexplicable reason, swimming laps after dark in tight-fitting white trunks.
“Modest,” Alice laughed, before they were swept up in enthusiastic greetings.
“Darling!” Flavia pressed a glass of wine into her hand. Teetering on thick wedge sandals, her curves were barely constrained by a skin-tight red dress stretched over a lacy black bra. “Mwah, mwah. You look fabulous!”
“Happy birthday.” Alice hugged her affectionately. A six-foot, Brazilian ex-model with wild, curly hair, Flavia could get away with acting like an Ab Fab character, a cigarette dangling from her left hand and lips smeared with red. “You don’t look any older, I promise.”
“Oh, hush.” Flavia giggled. “I’m booked in for Botox tomorrow morning.”
Alice gasped, “No!”
“Yes!” Tossing back her hair, Flavia struck a pose; one hip jutted out and her breasts thrust forward. “You think I’m letting anything sag? Darling, this ass is all I have in the world!”
“A toast!” Vitolio cried out. Alice had hardly recognized him fully clothed. “To Flavia’s fantastic arse!”
“Hear, hear!”
***
With a group as extroverted as Flavia and her friends, Alice wasn’t required to do anything more than sip her champagne and appreciate their ever-more-outrageous stories. She and Flora settled back on the loungers and for the next hour bore witness to the increasingly drunken antics of European cool hunters, South American fashion designers, and, of course, the London creative elite. But by the time the fifth bottle of champagne arrived at their table, and Cassie once again began to describe the perilous working conditions in Poland, Alice was beginning to feel restless.
Unfolding herself, she slipped her shoes back on and turned to nudge Flora. “Do you want anything from the bar?”
“Maybe some water?” Flora suggested. A chivalrous member of their group had draped his jacket over her as protection from the faint chill, and she was curled up, happily watching the crowd with a dreamy expression