She Slips, He Scores

August rolled into view and with it the stunning summer heat of the Balearic Islands.  Tony, a tennis pro and sometime playboy had been frequenting Confusion for the past month.  He owned a yacht and had sailed between the Islands and the Spanish mainland most of that summer.  Tall, blond, late thirties and he was confident that he had what it took to attract women and invariably wandered into Confusion with a new girl on his arm most evenings.  He liked me as I would take him along to Star and Es-Paradis nightclubs and gain free entry.   In return and as I had a few days off as Confusion was shut due to another licence infraction, we took a couple of girls onto his yacht and sailed around the headland past Calla Bassa and Port des Torrent, the two main beaches served by water taxi’s from San Antonio and out into the clear blue waters of the Mediterranean.   As Tony guided the yacht around the headlands and smaller, uninhabited Islands near to Ibiza I lay on the deck and slept under the warm blanket of sunshine, a nubile body close to mine within stroking distance.

We anchored two hundred metres offshore, a small beach and Café at Cala Tarida serving lunch to the sun worshippers who were finding the heat too much during midday and the beach was as yet unspoilt by the developments of the future.  I grabbed flippers, goggles and a snorkel and slipped over the side into the warm waters and dived some 3-4 metres or so to the bottom of the sea and silently glided along looking around at the small fish darting out of my way, the sunlight catching on the waves above and slicing down through the blue, illuminating the depths around me. 

I dived again after taking in air and saw an old clay pipe about six inches in diameter and a metre long.  I picked up one end and peered into it only to disturb a large Octopus that slid out the opposite end and propelled itself away in a cloud of sand and ink.  I laid the pipe back down and looked up at the hull of the Yacht and swam up towards the stern and the ladder hanging down into the water.  Climbing out I slipped of the flippers and headgear and grabbed a beer from the cooler. 




Tony was lying on the deck with the girls and we sat talking and sharing ideas for the evening ahead.  I spent much of the afternoon below decks whilst Tony sailed the yacht back to San Antonio in time for dinner at the Chinese restaurant by the harbour.

My partner that day and for the week had been an English girl who worked as a dancer at a bar/club called The Wigan Pier; a stunning brunette, she was tall, graceful and pretty.  I’d thought I could attract beautiful women but I was frankly playing on the substitutes bench for a Premiership Team in terms of pulling power, given that I was 5’8’’ in my socks and walked with a slight limp by now.  I was a good-looking Roger “Verbal” Kint if you will.  He was Kevin Spaceys character in movie, The Usual Suspects, but I was definitely not any kind of “Keyser Soze”.  That said I regularly made first team appearances and played way out of my league and often out of position on most occasions, if you’ll forgive the Footballing analogy.  Needless to say I was very much apt to falling in lust with her and she was not shy in saying what she wanted me to do for her and to her.  In fact her confidence in all bedroom affairs left me open-mouthed to an extent and I rapidly assumed that our relationship was one that could / would last the remainder of the summer.  Wrong again!  After a week of some seriously debauched bedroom gymnastics I was substituted for a taller, smoother sucker who probably believed that he was onto a summer long good thing but who was also dropped for the next guy on the bench not long after.

“The Vern” was a Londoner friend of Dave Bennetts.  Easily 6’5” he had jet black hair slicked back Dracula style and a presence like a sleeping volcano.  The Vern always wore a long overcoat, no matter the weather and he turned up in San Antonio to stay with Dave for a few weeks.  The Vern was a character insofar as the meaning applies to someone who was definitely operating on the cusp of the law or appeared as if he did.  But The Vern was fun, often very funny, had stories to amaze and enthral and was a genuinely likeable man.  

I was booked for a George Michael appearance at The Playa Bella complex across San Antonio Bay and asked The Vern if he would accompany me and act as Body Guard.  He thought this would be a blast and readily agreed, so on the night he and I climbed into a Mercedes belonging to the Playa Bella Hotel complex’ owner and were driven around the bay to the hotel.  Most of the action was taking place by the pool area where there was a permanent stage and plenty of people crowded around to watch the band perform and more importantly watch very attractive young girls in their swimwear parade across it.  I stayed out of the way, changing into my outfit in a closed office in the near dark to avoid being seen.  I could hear shouts and cheers coming from the show and wondered how many people were there, such was the noise.  The Vern knocked on the door and said it was time to go and we climbed back into the car for a very short drive down to the pool area.  I climbed out and was greeted by a huge cheer from the massive crowd; there were easily two thousand people who had come from all over the bay to see the show and to see me as the band had been plugging my (Georges) appearance for some time and it helped that the real George was again on the Island staying at Pikes for a holiday.

Current Playa Bella

The Vern came around the car and led me through the crowd towards the stage.  A pathway appeared in front of him as people moved back to allow us through and keeping my head down we walked briskly towards the stage where I found what looked like a moat in front of it.  A plank was laid over it and I danced across as it wobbled beneath my feet.  In front of me the bands singer who was acting as the evenings compere’ was stood alongside a row of stunning and some not so stunning women wearing swimsuits, (not bikini’s) and high heels.  The girls looked at me and I could feel their excitement; it was if they believed that George Michael was there in person to present the winner with her sash, bouquet, prize money and crown.  I stepped forward and the compere’ shook my hand and started interviewing me!  

I had no idea this was going to happen and we had not rehearsed in any way as I had been told I simply needed to sing two songs and present the prizes.  Asking me questions such as: - What is your next album called George?  What about these girls George, do any take your fancy? was ok but I needed to think on my feet in order to carry off the deception and he wasn’t helping.  To make matters worse they had forgotten my backing tape and we saved ourselves from a nightmare only due to the fact that I carried a copy in my leather jacket, but this had the original tracks on the reverse.  The sound engineer or “knob head” put the tape in the wrong way around and pressed play, only for George to start singing “Faith”.  The crowd went silent and I quickly said into my microphone, “You can hear the real thing when this guy shuts up!” to nervous laughter from the Band and I gave the engineer a look that could kill.

The tape was quickly changed around whilst I told the crowd that I’d be singing two songs, one either side of the prize giving.  “Faiths” strumming guitar intro began and I performed well, dancing around the stage in between the women, the lyrics relevant in their references: - “If I could touch your body, I know not everybody has got a body like you” etc. and it went down well.   Applause and cheers came as I finished the song and I stood next to the compere’ who said he now had the final decision from the Judges, who had been using the time it took me to sing the song to choose the winner.  He announced the result in the time-honoured fashion; reverse order and I presented a sash and bouquet to the third and second place girls.  The drummer started a drum-roll and with a smash of the cymbals the winners name was announced and she stepped forward only to wobble on her high heel and she slipped arse over tit straight into the moat.  The moat was empty so she fell a few feet to the bottom but stood up almost immediately, hair slightly askew and a look on her face that dared anyone to laugh, just once. 

The Vern leant over to lift her out and led her towards and across the plank to get back on stage.  The compere’ asked the crowd not to laugh, (which was a bit impossible) but instead to cheer her back on stage as she walked awkwardly across the plank and took her place at my side.  I leaned in and planted a nice big kiss on her cheek and as I placed the sash over her head said, “Well done, are you ok?”  Despite glowing with embarrassment she said she was fine and this was her first ever win in a beauty contest.  “This is a first for me as well,” I replied and gave her another kiss for good measure as I placed the crown on her head.  In fact she did well not to cry as she’d taken quite a fall and then had to stand there whilst I sang “Father Figure” to her, the poor sod.  

As soon as I finished I wished everyone goodnight and for them to, “Join me at Amnesia later and I’ll buy you a drink if you ask me nicely,” figuring that if they were going anywhere, they may as well go see the real George at his favourite club on the island and pester him to get the beers in.  I walked off stage towards The Vern who led me through the crowd and by this time some had decided that I was not George, ‘a damned imposter!’  The Vern was having none of that, so anyone stepping forward to offer such an insult found one of The Vern’s large hands in their face for daring to suggest such an untruth and shoved back into the crowd. 

Meanwhile at Bar Confusion Dave was up against it.   He’d steadfastly refused to hire any cover during my absence and was becoming overwhelmed with customers.  He could open a bottle and slosh a spirit and mixer into a glass perfectly well enough, but my forte’ was cocktails and slammers and he didn’t have the time nor the patience to mess about perfecting those skills and was telling punters, “Only got beer and spirits.  Nothing special tonight, whaddya want”?  In the main our customers stood for it as the music was the draw but even that required Dave to mess about loading cassettes and he was going from one end of the bar to the other and losing patience with customers who couldn’t decide what they wanted!  He was quite annoyed when I wandered back into Confusion with The Vern, and it was near total confusion as I said, “Beer please Dave and one for The Vern,” as we reached the bar.  “Fucking cheeky twat, get it yourself,” replied Dave.  “You’ve got a fucking cheek you have, I give you the fucking night off to go do your singing and you drop in as if you own the place, fucking big time Charlie, fuck off.”  Dave was obviously annoyed, but sod him, I could have been back in England on TV for all I knew and that opportunity was long gone.  He probably wanted me to get to work behind the bar there and then, but I felt it was worthwhile to let him work alone and realise how lucky he was to have me.  So I walked back out and wandered through town, still in all my George Michael finery towards the Star and Es-Paradis Clubs.

Es Paradis

Star and Es-Paradis were located in a side street a hundred metres from the road running around the bay and as I stood outside deciding which club to go into, the winner and faller from earlier in the evening came wandering up the side street, still wearing her sash, swimsuit and crown, carrying her flowers.  She’d obviously shaken off her embarrassment and walked unsteadily towards the clubs no doubt having taken on a few shots of Dutch courage along the way.  I walked towards her and as soon as her eyes focused in on me she shouted, “I saw the real George tonight, he gave me this (she tugged the Sash) these (and waved the Flowers under my nose) and a kiss,” as evidence of her meeting George.  I smiled and said that was nice, “You look like him though,” she carried on, “he kissed me twice.”  I asked whether she wanted to come to Es-Paradis or Star as I could get us in free.  “I’ll get in free anyway, I won these,” she whooped and continued thrusting her winnings at me.  I let my “bad” self get the better of me as I leant into her ear and said, “It was me tonight, not George and I can prove it, I said that this was the first time I had done this, as I gave you your sash, as you’d told me this was your first ever win.”

She stopped dead, looked at me and slowly the realisation dawned that it was me who'd crowned her.  “It was you?” she asked.  “Yea, me, sorry to let you down,” I said suddenly consumed by guilt, and afraid I’d ruined any chance of a shag, which had been my ulterior motive all the time.  “Great,” she roared, “Great.”  This threw me for a moment but only until she grabbed me and kissed me with far more enthusiasm than I had when I kissed her earlier.  “Es-Paradis?” I asked slipping my arm around her waist, “Lead the way,” she said.  

After a nights drinking and dancing we stopped by a bakers as the sun was rising and bought ham rolls, (Ah, the romance of it all). I let us into my room and we crashed for a few hours where upon we consummated our relationship and soon afterwards went our separate ways.  I went to work and she went back to her hotel with a story to tell about a win, a loss, a fall and a fuck.