High society by Ben Elton Page B

shouted at him not to touch me. He didn’t care, he just shrugged and walked away. Then there was a screech and a shout and a little bell ringing behind me, and I turned to see a bicycle courier, the chunky front wheel of his machine barely inches from my nose. He was one of those superb specimens that these guys always are, just a great streak of muscle in a Nike bodysuit, plus, blessed relief, he was white. Yes, I’m being honest. That was the thing that mattered to me most at that moment. Pathetic and terrible, I know.’
    The supermodel nodded. She was generally considered to be one of the most spectacularly beautiful women on earth, but she had lost count of the magazine covers that had gone to white girls when by rights they should have been hers. Emily avoided her eye.
    ‘I looked at this young man all sheathed in shiny purple as if he had been sent to me by the League of Superheroes. ‘Please can you help me? I’ve lost my phone. I need a phone,’ I said, fluttering and pouting and generally turning it all on. ‘Get out of the fahkin’ way, you stupid fahkin’ cow,’ he replied. ‘This is a fahkin’ cycle lane, not a fahkin’ chill-out room.’ With that he stuck out a hand to stop the white van that was about to pass us and to the accompaniment of much hooting and shouting he rode around me.
    ‘Tears were coming now and then I heard this deep friendly voice. ‘You’d better get up, girl.’ It was the big man who’d first reached out his hand. He’d heard the commotion and turned back. ‘You’re blocking the road.’
    ‘I let him help me up and the little crowd that had begun to gather started to disperse. A few boys continued to gawp, but, let’s face it, I’d worn that tiny dress with the express purpose of making boys gawp, so I was hardly in a position to complain when they did. I asked the man if he knew where I could get a taxi and he smiled and pointed to three different minicab places within fifty metres, the ones with the orange flashing lights, the sort you go to at three in the morning in Soho, feeling rather brave, because there are no proper taxis.
    ‘ ‘Take your pick, girl, but make them tell you the price before you start.’
    ‘He laughed and then I laughed too. This wasn’t an alien nation at all, it was just five thirty in the afternoon on just another London high street. I wasn’t going to be raped or killed and there were three separate cab companies within a minute’s walk, any one of which would have been delighted to take me back over the river to where my money and my life lay waiting, any time I wanted.
    ‘But, you see, suddenly I didn’t want to, because just as quickly as the paranoia had engulfed me so did the euphoria. I’m sure some of you know the feeling.’
    Emily avoided the masturbator’s eye.
    ‘I was still drunk. I was still coked up and E’d up and I was still a wild wild naughty little miss who got what she wanted, because boys love good-time girls. I’d even got Tommy Hanson, briefly, which is gold medal stuff amongst us wild wild naughty little girls, you know.
    ‘No, I wasn’t going home just yet. I’d set out for a big night and I intended to have one. I was in Brixton, after all, and even though it was still only the afternoon various dub beats could be heard emanating from upstairs windows. This was real life. Tough, street, a little bit scary, but I was a wild naughty girl. Nothing fazed me.
    ‘ ‘Actually, I was wondering if I could trouble you for some ganja,’ I said.
    ‘He smiled again. ‘Where you keep your money, girl? Up your arse?’
    ‘It was a fair point. If I’d had any money, up my arse would have been just about the only place I could have concealed it.
    ‘ ‘Well, actually, I’m afraid I don’t have any money. I wasn’t trying to score, I just fancied a puff. Is that terribly rude of me?’
    ‘He just laughed and took my arm. As we walked together up the high street, many heads turned. It was obvious what