Kate's Exhibitionist Journey
Chapter 4 - Naykay Vaykay
In which Kate answers a new nude call to adventure, and very quickly gets in above her head with three clothed women.
"I want you to come, Kate."
I squirmed slightly in my seat and felt more than a little overwhelmed at what was being asked of me. Not to mention overwhelmed by my surroundings.
I was sitting at a table in a painfully trendy bar right in the middle of the City of London. The sort of place where high-flying workers in smart suits ordered expensive drinks and swapped anecdotes from their life in the public school system. Not the sort of place where a slightly awkward copywriter like me should be. Especially not one wearing her third-scruffiest pair of jeans and a patterned short-sleeved top which I was pretty sure had a noticeable stain on the front from where I'd spilled a dollop of salad dressing at lunch.
And yet, here I was. Sitting and sipping a glass of red wine from a bottle that had cost more than my last weekly food shop. And feeling deeply, deeply uncomfortable. That was the sort of woman I was now, apparently. Baring my whole body to a bunch of strangers on a beach, I was completely fine with. Sitting drinking wine in a bar, in contrast, was an exercise in crushing social awkwardness.
On the other side of the table, Nicole looked entirely in her element. She perched elegantly in her seat, dressed in a jet black business suit, her long, stocking-covered legs effortlessly flowing out from underneath her knee-length skirt. She even held her wine glass with a certain elegance, her hand delicately cupping it each time she took a sip in a manner that I was sure, if I tried to emulate it, would result in me somehow clumsily breaking my glass, to the annoyed glares of everyone else in the bar.
We had been friends since university, all thanks to the whims of whatever randomised computer program was used to assign first year students to rooms in the residential halls. We'd been neighbours in the same hall. Me in room 317, and Nicole in 319. And, on my first nerve-wracking day living away from home, she had taken me under her wing, almost like a big sister. She was, in fact, two years older than me, having taken some time off from her education before university to go travelling. Because of course she could afford to do that.
As our time at university had gone on, we had both formed closer friendships with people who lived more than one door away from us. Nicole had found more of her kind. Rich, demanding, driven women who knew what they wanted out of life, studying business degrees and corporate law. I had found more of my kind. Awkward, arty dreamers with no clue what they wanted to do when they graduated, studying English literature and philosophy. But our own friendship had endured, like some sort of odd couple. And even now, we were still close. We still loved spending time with each other, catching up. Though I wished she'd occasionally let me choose the venue. Somewhere a little heavier on kitsch reclaimed furniture and a little lighter on £85 bottles of French merlot.
But that was just Nicole. She wanted what she wanted. She had gone from strength to strength after university. Working her way up the ranks of the financial firm she joined as a graduate. She had even done exactly what she'd said she'd do back at university. Meet a tall, dark, handsome stranger and marry him by the time before she turned thirty. No enjoying single life for Nicole. The sooner she found the right man, the sooner she could get married, and the sooner they could buy her perfect marital home, out in the Cotswolds.
And despite our surroundings, I knew that, as ever, she'd pick up the bill. Not in a flashy, show-off sort of way. More in a way that she was aware that this was all her idea, and it was only fair that she paid for it. But even if she understood her financial responsibility tonight, it seemed like she was somewhat oblivious to my own bank balance in general. Given what she had just proposed. What she wanted me to come along on.
She had dropped the bombshell after our first glass of wine, as casually as if she'd been asking me whether I wanted to go for cheap noodles at Wagamama after we'd finished the bottle. She'd asked if I wanted to come with her, and some of her friends from work, on a villa holiday on Spain's south coast. In two weeks' time. One of her party had been forced to drop out, and she'd thought of me first. And she acted like all of this was a straightforward financial decision for me to make on the spot.
I could just picture the wanton luxury right now. Nothing but the best. Some vast Airbnb property nestled in a perfect Mediterranean watercolour scene. All mod cons in the kitchen, a huge pool in the garden, luxurious furniture and fittings in every room. And all eye-wateringly expensive for a girl like me in my stained top and jeans.
"I'm serious," she persisted, taking another calculated sip of wine and setting her glass back down on the polished table, "I'd love for you to be there, Kate."
I squirmed again and took an altogether less elegant sip from my own glass.
"I know," I sighed, "And it sounds amazing. But...I'm not sure I can afford--"
"Don't worry about that," she cut in with a dismissive wave of her hand, "That's the beauty of it. Georgia's had to pull out, but she feels so bad she's not asking for her split of the villa costs back. All you'd need to pay for are flights and a bit of spending money."
I didn't want to admit it to my high-flying friend, but even that felt like an expense I couldn't really afford right now.
"But, I'm not sure if--"
"Flights are easy," she continued, "There's, like, a thousand budget flights down there every day, so no worries there. And spending money...sort of depends on what we do. The villa will have everything we need, so it'll only be if we head out for an evening."
I sighed patiently at the familiar pattern of a conversation with Nicole when she wanted something to happen. Each point you could think of to offer was usually dealt with by her methodical counter-argument before you'd even had a chance to make it.
"Ok, but it's super short notice--"
"It's over a weekend for the most part. Fly in Thursday evening, fly out Monday morning. Worst case, you can arrive later and leave early. I can pick you up from the airport."
"I don't even know these friends of yours--"