Want to find me.. I will be at the bar with a glass in my hand, but not eating the nuts... bar nuts are sort of scary.

Wednesday, February 10, 2010

Mind the step!

It is the early 90’s.  I am young and lookin’ good.  I roll with the cool gang.  I live in Istanbul.  I know, right… exotic!

One of the 5 Star Hotels is opening a new nightclub.  The buzz on the street about this incredible new venue, has been hot.  Tickets to the opening night are like the Holy Grail.  And I have them.

It is grand, greater than grand.  There is one room after the other, each more dramatic, each more stylish than the other.  The music is loud, all the beautiful people are holding court.  Champagne flows. It is exclusive, no ‘little people’ allowed until after midnight.

Studio 54

We could see the queue winding down to the car park as we gathered our coats to leave.  Our time had come, now the gates would be open to the public.  Coats in hand, headed toward the foyer, where a line of ‘primed and hair-sprayed’ youth were champing at the bit for their chance to enter the Life Style of the Rich and Famous.

I strutted past them, clearly the envy of them all… after all, I had the golden ticket.  I tossed my long hair, and with a grandiose flourish, swirled my cape-like, full length coat into the air, slipping it on.  Then it happened.

I felt myself falling, that sickening feeling that you get when an aeroplane hits an air pocket.  That drop in your stomach, when you put your foot out and discover their is nothing there…

Flat on my face.  It was so quick, I don’t actually remember the fall… just the landing.  It would have landed me an Oscar for Best Slapstick Comedy Fall.  I stayed where I was.  Considered for a quarter second that perhaps no one had noticed.

A lot can run through your head when you are face down, lying spread-eagled on a marble floor.  With a crowd watching.  There was silence.  Nobody said anything.  Nobody moved.  I could hear the blood rushing through my veins, most of it making its way to my furiously blushing face.

Someone picked me up.  I looked down at the damage.  What was before, a chic & sexy pair of black stockings, now resembled the designer wardrobe of an emo/grunge/I have no money bands’ lead singer.  My knees were skinned and a trickle of blood was winding its way toward the white marble floor.

I pushed my hair out of my eyes, turned my head to the right.  They were all still there… the before labelled ‘little people’ had now become my judge and jury… their cold, hard eyes sentenced me to a lifetime of uncool goofball, with no possibility of parole.

Pride comes before a fall, never seemed so apt.


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