Read Online Painted Faces by L.H. Cosway - Free Book Online

into a taxi. We have to go in groups of three since none of the drivers will allow six people in one car. I find myself sitting in the back seat, wedged between Nicholas and Sean. Nicholas is a little too close for comfort.
    “ You really don't know the horror you're about to witness,” I say to him on the drive.
    “ Life's all about new experiences,” he answers mysteriously. His hand is leaning flat against the seat beside my thigh. His fingers brush my leg ever so slightly, which is something I wholeheartedly try to ignore.
    Five minutes later we're on Harcourt Street, surrounded by guys in jeans, crisp shirts, and stinking of the latest overpriced aftershave. Not to mention a string of girls in skirts too short to be decent and shoes that should be made illegal for being so uncomfortable looking. One girl in a tight blue dress is getting sick out on the road. Her high heel gets stuck in the tram tracks and she struggles to try and pull it free. Her friends drag her back to the path just in time before she gets run over by a car.
    Coppers is short for “Copper Face Jacks” and it's in an old Georgian house on a street filled with similar buildings. In my opinion it's a waste to have such a den of iniquity in a historical building like this one, but what can you do. We go through entrance and pay the fee. Well, Nicholas insists on paying for everyone, although Harry, Anny and Nora are already inside since their taxi had been ahead of ours.
    A heavy beat blasts my ears, with some guy singing about being sexy and knowing it. Yeah, sure. The activity of going around telling people you're sexy sort of negates the whole point of being sexy. It's supposed to be something other people notice about you. (When your brain starts having these pointless arguments about meaningless pop songs, that's when you can safely say that alcohol has set up shop in your system for the night.)
    Nicholas pulls me close and shouts into my ear over the music, “I thought you were exaggerating when you described this place, now I see you were actually putting it mildly.”
    I laugh as my eyes drift over the masses of young men and women, scrambling for each other on the dance floor. Desperately seeking a small piece of affection, affection that's all about gratification and nothing about love. Not that I know much about the latter. I've never been in love. It's sad but it's true. I think the most I've ever been in has been low grade lust. Pathetic. The next song to come on is some new one by Lady Gaga.
    “ Come on,” says Nicholas. “Dance with me, I love me some Gaga.”
    I want to ask him if he's sure he isn't gay after that statement, but I let it slide. He pulls me into the sweaty masses, and I try to lose myself in the beat. The only way I can do dancing is jokey or not at all. I cannot do serious. I cannot do sexy. I can do a good robot though, and that's what I end up doing. Yes, I do the bloody robot right there in front of the most beautiful man I've ever met. He laughs at me, at least that's something, even if it's just polite laughter.
    Nicholas is determined to get me to dance with him properly. Like any normal adult woman would be able to. He grabs my hips and turns me around, slipping his arms tight around my waist so that his front is pressed all along my back. He sways me back and forth with him, but my body has gone rigid and despite the alcohol in my system I'm as self-conscious as I can possibly get.
    His breath is like hot, humid air on my skin when he breathes, “Relax,” into my ear. “Follow my lead,” he continues.
    I try to follow his lead, God help me I try. I think I just about get used to the rhythm. One of his hands leaves my waist to travel to my neck where he lifts my curly hair up, allowing his fingers to get lost in its thickness.
    “ You still dreaming about that wig, Viv?” I shout to him over the music.
    His hand returns to my waist and he seems to hold me even tighter then. “No, I'm dreaming about