So I’m a girl, I study fashion at a leading institute/yawnfest in London, and I’m a complete and utter disappointment to both my parents. When they first held me in their arms 22 years ago, pink and squealing, they didn’t realise I’d grow up into a screaming brat they’d spend their lives warily pushing fishfingers towards. But here I am. It’s my birthday and I’m stretched out in a hotel room, a skinny boy from a moderately hip indie band draped over me, snoring and drooling.
I was at an underground club in Soho when I first saw her. Leaning against a wall, she looked fresh-faced and glossy despite the humidity of that dank little hole. My “friend” Charlie whispered excitedly in my ear as we approached, “You know who she is right? You must know”. I shrugged, hoping my nonchalance would cover up both my ignorance of the girl’s identity, and also the sweat patches spreading under my arms. Charlie bounded over, hugging her bit too close. She appraised me over his shoulder before saying loudly, “Where d’you find that?”. Charlie threw a disapproving glance in my direction, a scowl on his weasely face, “Oh, she’s no-one”.
My stomach dropped to my feet, as my cheeks flushed pink. Unfortunately, as if being ridiculed by a complete stranger wasn’t enough, some turd in glasses with no lenses chose that moment to bump into me, spilling his drink all over my dress. I gave him the most withering stare I could manage after being dumped by my “friend” and insulted by a stranger, but unfortunately he mistook this as a come-on, and decided the best way forward would be groping my left boob (or rather the area near my left boob – his aim was poor thanks to inebriation). I pushed him off me and turned away to avoid any further humiliation, tears bubbling up in my eyes.
I heard a voice behind me. “No-one” repeated the statuesque girl responsible for ripping my self-confidence to shreds. “I like her. I like No One”. She pushed herself off the wall and leaned towards me, her voice taking on a conspiratorial tone, “Come outside and watch me smoke”. I followed her upstairs to the piss-streaked alley as Charlie picked his jaw up off the floor.
Outside she flicked ash over a skin-tight black dress, “Why you hanging around with those idiots?” I searched my mind desperately for a less embarrassing way of saying, “Because they’re the only people who will talk to me”. Luckily, she didn’t wait for a response. “Ignore me, I’m just being a bitch. As usual”. We chatted while a stream of hipsters passed us, all seeming to recognise her angelic face and short bleached-blonde hair. As she lit her second cigarette a group of four ridiculously beautiful boys flanked by a gang of even more beautiful girls, sauntered over, air-kissing my chain-smoking companion. One of the boys, tall with pale red hair, announced, “We played a gig down the road, and now we’re taking some friends back to the hotel. You should come”. My new famous best friend (NFBF) shot a glance at me, a mischievous grin twitching on her lips, “Sounds good.”
The hotel turned out to be the one my parents took me and my sister to for big celebrations. We’d sit in the plush bar and have cheap virgin cocktails before heading to a steak house for dinner. It felt weird to be standing in the lobby wearing ripped tights and huge black boots, as if I was spitting openly on the posh carpets my parents admired so much. Fuck you, Mother, I’m in your Church and I’m not wearing a bra. Or something.
We piled into the lift as the staff tried their best to ignore us, falling onto each other as we zoomed up to the penthouse. The polished doors opened with ping and we walked straight into a living room from an 18th century period drama. Well, an 18th century period drama crossed with a piss-soaked squat from 1995. NFBF dragged me to the mini bar and began chucking tins of cashew nuts across the room, before triumphantly retrieving a mini bottle of Dom Perignon and two crystal flutes. “To me and my No One” she whispered, pouring the champagne, “May our love last as long as tomorrow’s hangover”. I gulped a mouthful, desperately hoping it would quash my growing desire to get the hell out of there. “Theo!” NFBF screeched as the glass slipped out of her hand and onto the carpet, “What the hell are you doing here?” She tottered over to him, crushing the glass under her heel as she went.
Overwhelmed by the scenes around me I slipped into a nearby bathroom, shoes sliding on the marble floor. Like a paunchy, pathetic, female version of Eminem in ‘8 Mile’, I started talking to myself in the mirror. “It’s fine. You can handle this, it’s OK. Just enjoy it!” But my embarrassing pep-talk was rudely cut short by the bathroom door swinging open and a couple falling into the room. They seemed completely unaware of my existence so I tried to sneak out, but their conjoined embrace blocked the only exit. Trapped alongside them, I perched nonchalantly on the edge of the sink, as if I was used to being stuck in a bathroom with a violently kissing couple. I started idly looking at the different creams the hotel had provided – hand cream, some sort of nail elixir, even perfume. Ooh! Perfume! As the scene in front of me developed it was harder to pretend I was comfortable, but I managed it by looking carefully at the detail on the gold taps and even trying them out. Unfortunately, this being one of the top hotels in the Country, the water pressure was excellent, so the water came shooting out in an icy stream, bouncing off the bowl of the sink and spraying the couple who had now retired onto the floor. (One of them even had their head on my foot). Now they noticed me, “What the hell are you doing in here, you pervert?” the girl shrieked, while the boy jumped up to defend her honour from this weird looking girl covered in nail elixir. “Well…I was helping you cool off! You should be careful getting involved this way, you know, before you’re married. Anyway I’ve got to go do more visits of a similar kind. God bless”. I pushed past them with my head held high, exiting the bathroom with a pounding heart and sweaty palms. This never happened to Eminem.
Feeling utterly idiotic I took refuge on the edge of a four poster bed dripping in gold furnishings. But my peace didn’t last long. With his black hair and green eyes I’d noticed him earlier at the club…and thought he was a bit of an idiot. Turns out I was right. “Hey!” he drawled, leaning on me slightly more than was comfortable, or socially acceptable, “I know you; you were hanging out with Miss. Fucking London”. I had absolutely no idea what he was talking about. “Blonde hair, long legs, attention span of a toddler? We call her Miss. Fucking London because whenever we’re over here we always bump into her somewhere. That girl is omnitent…omnipteen…omnip…well whatever, she’s God”. I nodded and sipped my champagne pretending I really was in an 18th Century Period Drama. “You know” he said, his voice taking on a Very Serious tone, “You’re cute. You’ve got that whole ‘Daria’ thing going on – with the glasses and the boots – but you’re 3D”. I turned my face to his and was surprised to see that he wasn’t laughing, “Well. Thank you.” He exploded into laughter, throwing himself back onto the bed, “Man, the way you Brits talk cracks me up! “Oh um thank you err yes” Brilliant”. He pulled on my shoulder, forcing me to lie down next to him, spilling champagne on his leather jacket in the process. Mistaking my haste to mop it up as desperation to touch him, he rolled over onto his side and kissed me sloppily. “Well” I thought, trying to enjoy the experience, “this certainly beats last year’s birthday at Nando’s”.
When I woke up in the early hours the “rock star” was still lying half on top of me, his drool soaking through my top as he snored. “So here you are”. I craned my neck round his head so I could see her, “I leave you for 5 minutes and you’re in bed with Chris. What a girl you’re turning out to be”. Somehow my NFBF managed to look even better in daylight, her skin glowing and her hair delightfully messy. She was a bitch. “Come on” she said, heaving Chris off me, “let’s get out of here before anyone wakes up”. She spoke too soon. “Hey, ladies, where you going? Shouldn’t we all go get breakfast or something?” Chris croaked. NFBF made a face, “Maybe another time, we’ve got a very important meeting to get to”. Chris nodded and wiped the sleep from his eyes, “Cool. Well at least let me know your real name…Daria” he said, smiling at me. NFBF looked from him to me and then back again, “Daria? This isn’t Daria. This is No One. And she’s my No One, not yours”.
