false eyelashes?'
'No! I mean yes. But you weren't supposed to notice. They're called natural look.' She goes
over to the mirror and bats her eyelids at herself worriedly. 'Are they really obvious?'
'No!' I say reassuringly, and reach for my blusher brush. When I look up again, Lissy is
staring at my shoulder.
'What's that?'
'What?' I say innocently, and touch the little diamante heart on my shoulder blade. 'Oh this .
Yes, it just sticks on. I thought I'd just put it on for fun.' I reach for my halterneck top, tie it on,
and slide my feet into my pointy suede boots. I got them in a Sue Ryder shop a year ago, and
they're a bit scuffed up, but in the dark you can hardly tell.
'Do you think we look too much?' says Lissy as I go and stand next to her in front of the
mirror. 'What if they're all in jeans?'
'We're in jeans!'
'But what if they're in big thick jumpers and we look really stupid?'
Lissy is always completely paranoid about what everyone else will be wearing. When it was
her first chambers Christmas party and she didn't know whether 'black tie' meant long dresses
or just sparkly tops, she made me come and stand outside the door with about six different
outfits in carrier bags, so she could quickly change. (Of course the original dress she'd put on
was fine. I told her
it would be.)
'They won't be wearing big thick jumpers,' I say. 'Come on, let's go.'
'We can't!' Lissy looks at her watch. 'It's too early.'
'Yes we can. We can be just having a quick drink on our way to another celebrity party.'
'Oh yes.' Lissy brightens. 'Cool. Let's go!'
It takes us about fifteen minutes by bus to get from Islington to Clerkenwell. Lissy leads me
down an empty road near to Smithfield Market, full of warehouses and empty office buildings.
Then we turn a corner, and then another corner, until we're standing in a small alley.
'Right,' says Lissy, standing under a street lamp and consulting a tiny scrap of paper. 'It's all
hidden away somewhere.'
'Isn't there a sign?'
'No. The whole point is, no-one except members knows where it is. You have to knock on the
right door and ask for Alexander.'
'Who's Alexander?'
'Dunno.' Lissy shrugs. 'It's their secret code.'
Secret code! This gets cooler and cooler. As Lissy squints at an intercom set in the wall, I
look idly around. This street is completely nondescript. In fact, it's pretty shabby. Just rows of
identical doors and blanked-out windows and barely any sign of life. But just think. Hidden
behind this grim facade is the whole of London celebrity society!
'Hi, is Alexander there?' says Lissy nervously. There's a moment's silence, then as if by magic,
the door clicks open.
Oh my God. This is like Aladdin or something. Looking apprehensively at each other, we
make our way down a lit corridor pulsing with music. We come to a flat, stainless steel door,
and Lissy reaches for her key. As it opens, I quickly tug at my top and casually rearrange my
hair.
'OK,' Lissy mutters. 'Don't look. Don't stare. Just be cool.'
'All right,' I mutter back, and follow Lissy into the club. As she shows her membership card to
a girl at a desk, I stare studiously at her back, and as we walk through into a large, dim room, I
keep my eyes fixed on the beige carpet. I'm not going to gawp at the celebrities. I'm not going
to stare. I'm not going to-
'Lookout!'
Oops. I was so busy gazing at the floor, I blundered right into Lissy.
'Sorry,' I whisper. 'Where shall we sit down?'
I don't dare look around the room for a free seat, in case I see Madonna and she thinks I'm
staring at her. 'Here,' says Lissy, gesturing to a wooden table with an odd little jerk of her
head.
Somehow we manage to sit down, stow our bags and pick up the lists of cocktails, all the time
rigidly staring at each other.
'Have you seen anyone?' I murmur.
'No. Have you?'
'No.' I open the cocktail menu and run my eyes down it. God this is a strain. My eyes are
starting to ache. I want to look around. I want to see the place.
'Lissy,' I hiss. 'I'm going to have a look round.'
'Really?' Lissy stares at me anxiously, as though I'm Steve McQueen announcing he's going
over the wire. 'Well OK. But be careful. Be discreet .'
'I will. I'll be fine!'
OK. Here we go. A quick, non-gawping sweep. I lean back in my chair, take a deep breath,
then allow my eyes to skim swiftly round the room, taking in as much detail as quickly as I
can. Low lighting lots of purple sofas and chairs a couple of guys in T-shirts three
girls in jeans and jumpers, God, Lissy's going to freak a couple whispering to each other
a guy with a beard reading Private Eye and that's it.
That can't be it.
This can't be right. Where's Robbie Williams? Where's Jude and Sadie? Where are all the
supermodels?
'Who did you see?' hisses Lissy, still staring at the cocktail menu.
'I'm not sure,' I whisper uncertainly. 'Maybe that guy with the beard is some famous actor?'
Casually, Lissy turns in her seat and gives him a look.