Fake Tan and White Stilettos

By Janet Baldey

 There’s black marks, smeared all over me piller an me eyes are so swollen I can hardly see.   Must’ve been crying all night.   Bet I look a proper fright.  Plus, me back’s on fire.   It’s that mattress, you can feel every effing spring.

         God, this is a dump.   No room to swing a cat and there’s no carpet.  To fink I’m stuck here for another three weeks.   Don’t fink I can stand it.  Wish I was back in me own bed, under me pink satin duvet cuddling the teddy nan giv me.

          It’s all Lauren’s fault, silly moo.   Fancy daring me?   Done it on purpose, o’course.  Mind you, we were all half cut.  We usually go places on a Saturday.  This time it was the Rocking Rhino, wicked groups they get there.  Mind you, we sobered up a bit as we marched back to Chantelle’s, straight down the middle of the road, singing at the tops of our voices.

         “S’okay.’  She’d said.   ‘Me parents are in Marbs.”

         Once inside, she’d kicked off her stilettos and scampered over to the bar.

         “What’s it going to be then?”  She’d waved a bottle in the air.

         We sprawled on the blond leather sofa and Paris switched the telly on.   Seemed like the whole wall exploded into high def colour.   Must admit, I was wel jel.  ‘Course I knew Chantelle’s family were well wedged up.  That bar would look good in any pub and they were always off chasing the rays.”

All of a sudden, Lauren squealed.   “OMG, It’s Joey”

         “What?  From TOWIE.”

         “Yeah.   Ain’t ‘e smexi!”

         “Din’t know he was on the Riki Rich show.    BOGOFF, eh girls?”

         “Joey’s all right,” I said  “but Riki’s my fave.  He’s real bang tidy.”

         That was true then, but not now. Not after what ‘appened next.

There was a deafening blast of music and Riki stepped forward.   Teeth flashing out of ‘is tan, he opened his arms, ‘ugging us all.  

         “Ladies and gentleman.   You’ve heard of ‘Wife  Swap?  Forget it. Now bigger and better, you’ve got ‘Life Swap!”   The drummer went bananas and the audience went mad.  It was well-staged.

Eyeballing Riki, we giggled and nudged each uvver.  Apparently, there was this bird in Odessa with a brother who was a druggie with Aids and she was desperate to come to England to graft some loot for ‘is treatment.

         “Wha’s he say? Swap places with her and live in Odessa for six weeks?  Where’s that?  Sounds, alright?  Gotta be better than Basildon.”

         Then, Lauren went and opened her stupid mouth.  

         “Hey, you do nothing but chill, Chels.   Why don’t you go in for it?”

         “Bee-ayve…” 

“Go on, I dare you”.

         Well, that done it.  Mind you, I never expected to be picked.  Forgot all about it till I answered me Beyonce ring tone a few weeks on.   It were only the producer of the prog weren’t it?   Nearly wet me knickers.  “They’d had a good response”, he said, but I’d been chosen and could I come and discuss it?

         I was dead excited but when I met him it was a right let-down. He seemed a real nerd.  Well educational and skinny wiv it.   His glasses kept slipping down his nose and he had white eyelashes that blinked all the time.  He had odd socks on and what looked like me grandad’s fair isle cardie.   Nigel’s his name. The producer, not me granddad -‘is name is Alf.

         He said that this was a new venture for the programme and Riki was very excited about it.   It was to be a sort of social document.  LO flippin L!   Then, he said, would I be prepared to rough it?

          I sat fiddling with me Louis Vuitton handbag wondering how to say ‘no’ when, suddenly, Riki appeared.   ‘E was amazing, even more fit in the flesh than on the telly.   He was wearing a pair of skin-tight black leathers wiv a white silk shirt open to the waist with a gold medallion round his neck.  Well, me heart started beating so fast I couldn’t say a ruddy word, so I just nodded.

         Afterwards, me and Nigel had another chat.   The girl’s name was Nadya and she was an orphan and worked in a shop.   I’d go over there, live at hers and do her job - sort of fly on the wall thing.   He realised I didn’t speak the lingo, but he didn’t seem to think that’d matter, the customers could always point, or maybe I’d just do shelf filling.  In turn, Nadya would come over and live at ours.   She could help mum and dad wiv the ‘ousework and maybe do a bit of gardening. 

         ‘Course, then I had to sort it with the olds.   Dad was well vexed but I’d always been able to manage him and even Mum calmed down when she heard Nadya would help around the house.

         “That’s more than you ever do, me girl.”  She said.

         In the plane going over, they told me that Odessa was in the Ukraine which was a very poor country.  Even so, I was shocked when I saw where I was ‘sposed to live.  WTF!   I just stood and stared.  Nadya lived on the seventh floor in one grotty room and had to share a toilet and kitchen with four others.  They were really sick.   There was a creepy middle-aged geezer with oily black hair who offered to help me cook some golubtsy, (turns out its just cabbage and a bit o’ meat).  He’d stood so close, I couldn’t get his smell out of me nose for hours.   Then, there was a girl called Oksana.   She was about the same age as me but obviously never cleansed, toned or moisturised, cos her pores were well clogged.  She ‘ad dyed hair and wore a very short skirt wiv an ankle bracelet, so I guessed what she did for a living.    Worst of all, there was this minging old bag who didn’t stop staring at me from out of eyes like dried currents, well past their sell-by date.  She seemed to think she owned the kitchen and spat at me in Russian if I even picked up a tea towel.     

                The worst bit about the whole thing is that I’m wired for sound every minute of the day, can’t even fart without the whole world knowing.   There are cameras fixed to every wall and every time I go out one follows me.   I had to force meself the first time.  Well, it’s part of me contract, so I sort of ‘ad to.    There’s a lift, about the size of a coffin and you ‘ave to seal yourself in by pulling a sort of metal trellis shut.  Din’t trust it, so I walked all the way down six flights of stairs, every one smelling of pee

         Outside, it’s grim.   Dirty streets wiv crumbling concrete buildings and on every corner there’s groups of ugly old men playing dice.

         Me wages don’ go far.  At the end of the first week, I’d just got paid and went for a walk.  After a bit, the area picked up, there were avenues with trees and shops, some of them very smart, like you’d find in the West End.  So I window-shopped and that’s when I noticed the prices.  Then, I came to a one of them posh cake shops.  As soon as I saw all them meringues and pastries, me belly started to rumble.   So, I went inside and bought a cream slice.  I couldn’t believe me eyes when I saw me money shrinking as the assistant pecked away at it with long scarlet fingernails.; nearly half me wages gone on one small luxury  I felt for Nadya, then. Couldn’t be easy; not being able to afford stuff, no wonder her room was dingy

         Once or twice, I passed groups of beggars; young blokes mostly.  They’re gear was all ragged and they looked well spaced out.  Some of em muttered as I passed by,  prolly asking for money. I couldn’t help wondering if one of ‘em was Nadya’s brother.

 Then, it started to get dark, the wind got up and there was sleet in the air.   I shivered and thought about winter.  I bet Nadya’s room is an icebox.  There’s a big old-fashioned radiator under the window but it probably don’t give out much heat.   Not like our Baxi back home. 

 Mind you, all this made me fink.  I always blank the Big Issue sellers who whine at yer down the High Street back ‘ome but maybe some come from places like this.   Thass a thought.  ‘Cos this place ain’t reem.  It really ain’t reem at all.

  

Copyright Janet Baldey