The ineffable sound of Yo-Yo Ma playing the opening movement of Elgar's 'Cello Concerto' filled the cabana. Clementine shivered. It was glorious.
Sam said, 'Shall I open these chocolate nuts Erika brought?'
'Oh yes, please,' said Tiffany. 'Just what I feel like.'
'Like your nuts then?' said Sam.
'I just love sweet-tasting nuts,' said Tiffany.
'Is that so?' said Sam, his hand on the lid.
'Oh stop it, you two are so rude,' said Clementine, and felt a burst of warmth because she could see already how a fun, flirty friendship between them all was about to unfurl. It would be a friendship involving good food, wine and music, and there would be a sexual frisson to everything they did, and God knows her life could do with a bit of sexual frisson.
(When was the last time she and Sam had even had sex? A week ago? No, two weeks ago. Had they crossed the finishing line? No, they had not. Holly had called out for 'a glass of water, pleeeease!' Her timing was uncannily and hilariously precise.)
Instead of the painful little foursome with Erika and Oliver, they'd become an easygoing group of six. It would be so much easier to like Erika and Oliver with Vid and Tiffany around as a buffer. Vid and Tiffany were edgier and rawer (and richer) than all their other nice, normal, middle-class friends. Vid and Tiffany opened up possibilities. Possibilities of exactly what? She didn't know. It didn't matter. It was like that non-specific anticipatory feeling of being a teenager.
'So I don't see how this cremeschnitte could be any better than your strudel,' said Clementine to Vid as the music billowed and blossomed around her.
He raised an eyebrow. 'Ah, Clementine, you know I am not one to blow my own trumpet, as the saying goes. Ha ha! Yes I am! I love to blow my own trumpet. Ha ha! I'd be a good trumpet player because I have outstanding lung capacity.' He banged his chest King Kong style.
'You've got the right personality for a trumpeter,' said Clementine.
'You mean he's full of himself?' said Tiffany.
'How many trumpeters does it take to change a light globe?' said Clementine.
'How many?'
'Five. One to change it, and four to stand around and say, "I could do it better".'
'How many electricians does it take to change a light globe?' said Vid.
'How many?'
'One,' said Vid.
'One?'
'Yeah, one,' said Vid. He shrugged. 'I'm an electrician.'
Clementine laughed. 'That's not funny.'
'But you're laughing, you know. Anyway, listen, Clementine, you be the judge,' said Vid. He dug a spoon into the decadent dessert and held it close to Clementine's mouth. 'Try it.'
She took a mouthful. It was good. The man cooked like a dream. Clementine pretended to swoon, her hand against her forehead. She let herself fall against his arm and he steadied her. Vid smelled deliciously of cigarette smoke and alcohol. He smelled like an expensive bar.
'Jesus, this lid is on tight,' said Sam with gritted teeth, the jar of nuts under one arm like a football.
'Come on, Muscles,' said Tiffany.
'Listen!' said Vid, his head on one side as the second movement began.
'You can't exactly dance to this, though, can you?' said Tiffany.
Clementine tried to imagine Tiffany dancing in some dark, smoky club, mirrored disco balls hanging from the ceiling. Where did she get that idea from? She'd never actually been in a strip club. All her knowledge came from TV shows. She looked around. Erika and Oliver weren't there to look disapproving. This was her chance to find out more. She was a tiny bit tipsy, she knew it, but this was fascinating, amusing, and she wanted some fun lowbrow tidbits to share with her highbrow friends. She lowered her voice and leaned towards Tiffany. 'Did you used to do ... you know, what are they called?' She knew perfectly well what they were called. 'Lap dances?'
Tiffany looked back at her speculatively.