As previously mentioned, in late 1981, I was sharing a bedsitter flat in Knightsbridge with a woman who made me nervous but I admired nonetheless. Nora’s energy and loyal, caring nature gave her a great edge as a friend, but as a coworker and then some, she was worrisome. You never knew what she’d do when she started drinking and smoking. At that point, all bets were off. She would do things that were beyond embarrassing at times, things that I’d laugh off but also wonder to myself, “Is something wrong with this person?” Then I’d feel bad I was being judgmental!
Anyway, we’d work at the Main Squeeze on Sunday nights, mostly. Those were the big nights for the discotheque and buffet at the club. A deejay came in to spin current hits, a free buffet (with the price of admission) was laid out and devoured, and the cash bar really cleaned up. Nora was exceptional when it came to clearing & cleaning the dirty dishes; I’d tackle dirty glasses at the bar and rinse & scrub them with the special upright crush gizmo for the glasses at the bar sink. Dunk - plunge up and down - up and down - dunk in water - rinse - dry.
I also sauntered through small crowds of customers flirting with each other, trying their pick up lines on each other while I was trying to hawk drinks, but two other waitresses who were more experienced, taller, and pushier did more selling while I was actually happy to stand behind the bar and be useful there. Gabby was one of the waitresses, a tall, pretty, dark curly-haired English girl who was a bit of a snob and not nice to me . . . she was actually kind of common; I could tell from her accent and the way she talked about things and her mannerisms. She called napkins “Serviettes,” enjoyed eating “courgettes,” and was quite tough. Gabby & her friends spoke a lot about holidaying in Ibiza (“Eye BEE thah”), Spain. Stephanie, the other waitress, was also a favorite of Roger’s (might have been one of his girlfriends at one time). A redhead with long curls that jiggled when she wiggled (med. tall, Stephanie was curvy and soft and pretty). She was always laughing, giggling, very merry and high spirited. We got along just fine.
Anyway, on one of these packed nights at the Main Squeeze discotheque buffet, Nora met John Strange, the actor. I went home the usual time, after work, but Nora stayed on to finish work and have an after-work cocktail. That wasn’t all that she had. . .
About two in the morning, an hour after I went to bed, Nora crashes in to the room with this guy (a young film actor named John). They are both obviously plastered and oblivious to me sleeping in the other bed. They fall into Nora’s bed and make love, noisily, for about 20 minutes. Never the quiet, retiring type, Nora is even louder when she’s in the throes of passion.
I felt very embarrassed, and pretended to sleep. I might have even stuffed my pillow over my head. I hoped and prayed they were ignoring me, because if they tried to get me involved, I wouldn’t have screamed, but would have been disgusted and very uncomfortable. . . and would have had to leave.
That would not have been ideal on such a cold and strange night in loveless Knightsbridge. . .
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