Sheri had had some offers in her time but this one took the biscuit. In fact, she could hardly believe what this woman was asking her.
‘Have you ever had an STD?’
‘Excuse me?’ She stared back incredulously.
‘A sexually transmitted disease.’
‘I know what a fucking STD is, you cheeky cow.’
Sheri had hit the town with Envy to celebrate her wind-fall courtesy of Billy Brown. She’d squeezed in an appointment at the hairdresser’s and felt great showing off her new mane of dark blonde extensions. The peroxide ones had been too hard to maintain as her roots came through. She looked altogether classy, even if she did say so herself. Her Fantasy Tan was much more realistic than the St Tropez she’d been using. And her royal-blue mini-dress with the zip all the way down the front made her look as skinny as any of the famous footballers’ wives, but with a far superior cleavage.
Envy had got them into the Met Bar and it was brilliant – loads of famous people, big-name models and cool DJs. Bet they had some quality gear – top-of-the-range coke. She thought about making a run for it when Kirk Kelner came in – he might take issue with her kiss-and-tell. Then again, she had made him sound like the sex god he was far too drunk to have been. She had made eye contact with him for a second and, with just a whisper of a smile, she could tell he recognized her. He had quickly turned his attention to a member of staff who was showing him to a booth. Even though he had come in alone, he had seemed distracted, then totally focused on the blonde who joined him. She was stunning, must have been a model. Sheri had been making eyes at the DJ – apparently the next big thing, who looked the sort who’d be well up for a threesome with her and Envy – when some woman had tapped her on the shoulder. She was a pretty girl, even if she needed a bit more make-up.
Sheri couldn’t understand why this woman was being so nice to her. She was shouting over the music, asking if she was having a good time, if she came here often.
‘Look, darlin’, I’m no carpet-muncher.’
‘Sorry?’
‘Dyke. I ain’t no bloody lesbian. At least not if no men are involved. Not interested, if that’s what you’re after.’
Knowing she was looking h-o-t tonight, Sheri could hardly blame this bird.
The girl had apologized, insisting that’s not what she had meant. She said something about her job and could she ask a personal question. Then, bang, asked if she had had a bloody STD.
She seemed to have sussed she was out of order from Sheri’s reaction.
‘Have I had a fuckin’ what?’
‘Oh God, sorry.’
This bird was from Manchester, a Manc – the same accent as Liam and Noel Gallagher, but a bit softer.
‘I don’t think you heard me introduce myself. My name is Amy and I work for a charity that raises awareness of STDs and safe sex.’
Sheri stared at her, then gazed over her shoulder, wondering if the DJ would have any coke.
‘The thing is… How can I say this? I can help design posters about the dangers of chlamydia until I’m blue in the face… but it’s almost impossible to get the attention of the young people they’re aimed at.’
Sheri looked back at her blankly.
‘Sorry, I’ll cut to the chase.’ Amy was grateful the music had quietened a little. ‘I recognize you; you’ve had a few, erm, relationships with famous people, yes?’
‘What’s it to you?’
‘You are, well, a bit of a role model to some young girls who dream about going out with a famous footballer or pop star.’
This was stretching the truth somewhat but working on the basis that flattery got you everywhere – and that she didn’t want to be lamped by Sheri in the middle of the Met Bar – Amy continued.
‘I’ve been thinking of getting a celebrity to front a campaign aimed at teens and young women but I’ve not come up with anyone I think they would really believe.’
Amy could tell she had hooked Sheri, who was now nodding and ‘uh-huhing’ as she spoke.
‘And I thought that you, being a girl with real experience, could be perfect for –’
‘Bloody right,’ Sheri cut in. ‘The stories I could tell you. I know better than most you can never judge a book by his cover – bloody footballers might look gorgeous, but I can tell you from itchy experience they might often have crabs too.’
Amy laughed. ‘That’s just what we need – someone with humour, who can tell it like it is and make people take notice.’
Sheri had visibly perked up. ‘Well, I’m your girl.’