We all rolled into some chauffered cars that were waiting outside for us and I remember taking the shortest trip of my life, about 15 seconds round the corner to the Westbury Hotel on Bond Street. Actually scrap that. One year I went to the BAFTAs with my sister and we were just walking up to the red carpet when we were quickly ushered inside a car with Jimmy Carr. We sat silently not really knowing what to think when only two seconds after getting into the car I found myself getting rather ungainly out again. Flash bulbs a go-go until they realised they didn't know who I was (hey my mum loves me!) - THAT was the shortest journey ever!
I digress!
We pull up to the Westbury Hotel and make our way to the party. Aparantly the Arab guys have a penthouse suite in the hotel and plan to carry on all night. These boys were hard core! I realise Saskia isn't with me - she must have gone off with some boy she was chatting to all night. He must have something cos he was as ugly as sin. I wasn't too keen on the Arabs either until she said the magic words: "I can SMELL the money! It's dripping - and if you want it dripping on you - get in there!" So I did!
It's only when I entered the penthouse that I realised I had walked into some strange kind of sex party. I am not even joking. Bearing in mind we had all just come in from a club, there is one girl already walking around in just a thong. (so very wrong) and there are way too many blonde girls for this to be just any old party. I stay for a bit, chatting and dancing, dancing and chatting then I hit my low point. The end. It's 5:30am - I have been at work all day, had to endure The Kuwaiti for more than an hour, I have drunk best part of a magnum of vodka, danced all night and flirted my little butt off - I was going to bed.
I crawled into the first bed I could find praying, like only a truly drunk/hungover girl prays that no one will disturb her blissful oblivion of unconciousness. It wasn't to be. these boys wanted to party and party I would.
I woke up over five times that night with various men stradling me holding my arms down. The first time I screamed and got the reaction of the hottest guy I have ever seen who came in to look after me. He told me to go to sleep, told the man in question where to go and to leave me alone and then stayed and stroked my hair until I was in a peaceful slumber once more... until the next time. (once there were people having sex about 5 inches away from me, but I was too tired and drunk to care.)
Now call me naive but I didn't realise that laying down on a double bed in the middle of a sex party was more or less an open invitation. I really didn't. So I didn't take what happened too seriously. I woke up that morning lying next to Hot Dubai Man and it sounds soooo gross, but I had never felt so safe. I felt I could trust him so much - I felt like.... no surely not! I maybe liked him more than... The Footballer? Can't be!
We laid in bed and talked for what seemed an age - not because it was strained or boring, but because I felt like I had known him forever. For risk of sounding gay - I was on top of the world! He told me he the director of his family's investment business (cher ching!) in Dubai and that he comes to London about twice a month. He flies two or three of his friends over each time for some hard-core partying and hires a penthouse for 'whatever else'. I was enraptured! He told me he was going back to Dubai on Monday so would I come out again that very night? I couldn't as I promised my sister I would go back to Essex and go out, plus - I can't hadle that kind of shit two nights in a row!
I then did something I haven't done in a long time - I slept with him on impulse, a virtual stranger to me. I didn't care - he was been so kind, and he was going back to Dubai, somewhere I had never been and had to think twice about before spelling. I threw caution to the wind and we had the most amazing sex (safe of course, duh!) for what seemed like forever. It was only once we were laying down again that some random got up off the floor and staggered out. I coudln't believe it!! For the first time that morning I looked around me and realised there were about two or three of the Arab guys were passed out on the floor and were in various stages of undress. Oh well, you could call it a variation of Cosmo's 'getting caught' scenarios!
He had to leave to take one of his friends back to their hotel (a whiney boy who obviously couldn't go on his own - what's that about?) but left me over £100, enough to get a car home from the hotel. It was just as well - all I had with me was my tiny short dress and it was now Saturday midday in busy, busy London!
I took a look around the penthouse whilst waiting for my car to arrive and it looked just like a Robbie Williams video I have seen where everyone's passed out in various stages of undress and intoxication, there are bottles of champagne EVERYWHERE, along with an extraordinary amount of condoms and cigarettes. There's even chewing gum in the carpets. Jeez. This party was going to cost them a pretty penny - and it was starting all over again tonight!
Finally concierge call to say my car's there and I leave, wondering if I'll ever be back. It's only as I get in the lift with a pervy old man and a young family with children that I realise I am wearing the shortest, most see-through dress, full makeup from the night before and heels as high as you like. I am painfully aware what they're thinking and not for the first time this year I want to shrink into my own pocket. (If I had one. I didn't even have proper underwear.)
I try to finally relax for what seems like the first time in what seems ages and enjoy the ride home.
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