I wait for his text in a nearby pub （genuinely the first and last pub I’ve seen in East London to have been completely untouched by gentrification – it was refreshing not to see a sad old stag’s head on the wall or a pile of tatty board games in the corner）， half expecting him to forget or find a better plan. But he texts at five to midnight, saying that he’s outside the station.
Great. Meet me on Bushell Street, I text back. Two minutes later, a black Mercedes four-by-four pulls up. I wince slightly, there’s no way to hide his arrival in that monstrosity.
The driver opens the door for him, and he emerges into the night. Lee is wrapped up in an enormous sheepskin coat with a large dragon stitched across the back. His black cowboy boots have a snakeskin effect, clearly he’s broken out his fanciest pair for the evening. He looks around for me, and I let him waver for a minute as I stand in a doorway just yards away. He’s away from his usual stomping ground and he’s vulnerable. I want him to know it. To understand I’m in charge here. I am leading the way. So I linger for a few more seconds as he looks increasingly self-conscious, wondering whether he’s been stood up, or worse – he might have been set up. I can see him weighing up whether to retreat back to the safety of the car and lock the doors. Just before I can see he’s about to cut and run, I step forward and quietly whistle, as though to a lost dog.
Lee looks over and smiles in relief. Coming towards me, he reaches out, grabs my hand and kisses it. ‘Thank God, this place is a fucking dump and I thought I’d wasted a journey.’ I withdraw my hand as gently as I can and return the smile, forcing my mouth to curl upwards. ‘Nice hair, suits you. Makes you look younger. Hop in the car, we don’t want to walk around here, babe, I’m wearing a Patek Philippe which would pay for a house in this neighbourhood.’
I tell him that the walk is mere minutes and tease him lightly about being a coward. His frown tells me that he doesn’t much like it, but he signals to the driver and the car pulls away.
‘How does it work?’ I ask as we started walking. ‘Does he just wait for you wherever you go, or do you pay him by the hour and sometimes have to get the night bus home with the rest of the masses?’
This makes him throw his head back and roar with laughter. It is always easy to make Lee laugh. It basically just involves saying something about how rich he is. I guess the concept of a night bus was funny if you’d never had to actually take it.
‘My boy Ke works round the clock for me. I’m a busy man and time is money, as they say. Nowhere he can’t get me in twenty minutes, and for what I pay him, he’d happily wait around in the motor for days. I’ll give you a ride home later, if you’ve been a good girl.’ Thankfully, I am very much not about to be a good girl, so the ride home will go unclaimed. We turn the corner and reach the archway which is the entrance to our final destination. Well, his final destination.
‘Ta da!’ I say, and throw out my hands. Lee looks slightly horrified and stops still in the street.
‘I’m not being funny, babes, but what is this? A tunnel or something?’ I roll my eyes, and beckon him to hurry up.
‘Look I know you’re unused to clubs without butlers, but you’re also, in your own words, bored. This place will freak the fuck out of you, but I guarantee you’ll enjoy it in the end. Just try it, your trusty driver is only round the corner if you need to run back to Chelsea.’
‘You better make sure it’s as naughty as you say it is,’ he mutters as he follows me down the stairs and into the club.
To my relief, it’s heaving now, the bar area has a queue three deep and there are already people beginning to get undressed as we wait for a drink. I take off my hat, and subtly feel the front of the wig with one finger for any slippage. Lee has brightened up immensely in seconds, surveying the crowd. It might not be what he’s used to, but he knows debauchery when he sees it. His coat is over his arm （he’d refused to check it in, half-jokingly telling the bored cloakroom assistant that it was a one-off Gucci commission and he’d never trust her with it） and he’s standing straight, sucking in his stomach a fraction. However much men over 50 hit the gym, there’s always a slight thickening around the gut. A nice little reminder every time they try to look down at their dicks that they are losing their youth. I can see his eyes narrowing as he scans the room, already looking for bodies he wants to explore. If I left him right now, he’d have hardly noticed. I grab us double vodkas and steer him further into the room. I’d already decided that I was going to let him play for a bit. He could have his last meal, there was no need to rush it all.