‘You’re Stantz, I’m Spengler. What do you mean? We’ve been friends for years.’
I look down and smirk to myself. I know I said this jumpsuit afforded me some level of dance freedom, but if he wants me to do that right here and right now, then I will not look cool. At all. I twitch my shoulder, though, and that makes him laugh, I hope with me, as opposed to at me.
A werewolf suddenly appears next to us, holding a platter of sushi shaped like little jack-o’-lanterns.
‘You all right, Josie?’ the werewolf asks me, animatedly.
I peek through the mask. ‘Yeah, I’m cool, Charlie. That’s a good look.’
Cameron watches the interaction, helping himself to a couple of pieces of sushi. I’d take more than that – it’s the good stuff. I signed the order on the salmon, it was literally in the water eight hours ago.
‘My mum said it was an improvement. It is mad here. Proper mad. Drink later?’
‘Of course…’ I fist-bump the werewolf and he moves on.
‘You do work here then?’ Cameron asks, assuming Charlie to be a work colleague. He is to a point. He’s just left school and works at our warehouse office, he’s only here as my brother offered him an evening’s work. ‘This is just next level. I can’t even imagine this level of wealth. I still rent a flat in Streatham. Party food to me is crisps and dip.’
There is dip downstairs. It’s guacamole that’s being served out of a rubber severed head, which I don’t think is going down too well.
Cameron looks around the mezzanine level. As mentioned, Sonny has never really known how to spend his wealth, as proven in this space that houses a real-life Stormtrooper suit, a signed football shirt in a frame and a bronze sculpture of a naked man with quite the package that people are using for photo opportunities tonight.
‘And the rumour is that his parents are totally mega rich too. I didn’t know this until I went on Wikipedia, but his parents own The Love Shack, that online sex shop. Apparently, they both used to be in porn.’
I take a deep breath. Not apparently. That is the truth. Our parents were huge in porn. Back when you used to get porn on DVDs from shops in Soho with blacked-out windows. In some ways, it’s quite a romantic story, if you think about it like two actors who met on a film set. A closed film set with bad scripts, sturdy bedframes and fake plumbers who had no intention of fixing your fridge. But it became more than that. It became about two people who then got out of that game, got married, had kids and used all their sex knowledge to start the UK’s premier online sex shop and now earn their money selling forty-five varieties of dildo.
Cameron waits for me to be surprised by this revelation. I’m in too deep now to come out with who I am. I try to slacken my jaw.
‘Really? Well, sex sells, obviously.’
‘I’m really in the wrong profession,’ he says, examining a portrait of Sonny and Ruby, naked and on a beach, hands and legs entwined so they cover all the rude bits.
‘What do you do, Cameron?’ I ask, desperate to move the conversation on.
‘I design video games. And you’re in catering?’
‘Oh, well – I do the organising, mainly sales…’
I choose the dildos, make sure we can sell them at a profit, and make sure they come from a reputable supplier who manufactures them and ships them in at a competitive price.
‘I mean, you seem pretty normal compared to most I’ve met tonight,’ Cameron says.
I want to take that as a compliment, but I’m not sure whether to be offended at how he’s semi-judging my family. Still, this isn’t the first or last time anyone will do that and I’ve played this charade many times over the years.Oh, Dad? He was an actor. Will he have been in anything I’ve seen? I really hope not.
Our conversation is suddenly interrupted as the music comes to a halt and the famous DJ, who is still wigging me out with the authenticity of his costume, grabs a mic.
‘ARE WE ALL HAVING FUN?’ he roars.
The crowd howl from the smoke, drinks fly through the air, and I’m glad I advised Sonny to put a temporary floor down as a lot of the cocktails served tonight have been very green.
‘I want to introduce you to the main man tonight. Mr Sonny Jewell, our spooktacular host. Big ups for Sonny…’ He lets out a noise that sounds like a machine gun, and the crowd explode again as my brother walks up to the stage, standing there and busting out a dance move to go with his red Joker costume and make-up.
I chuckle and shake my head. He’s the exhibitionist, the performer – always has been. He’s clueless about practical matters in life, but he’s funny, generous, immensely likeable.
‘Why so serious, everyone?’ Sonny says, rolling out his best impression. It makes the crowd erupt, but you’ve quoted the wrong Joker film to go with your costume, little brother.
He keeps dancing for the rise of the crowd. It reminds me instantly of how he used to do this at Christmas to Tom Jones, entertaining our nan, who’d clap along, fuelled by Babycham.
‘OK, OK, OK. So I just wanted to come up here to thank some people. I’d like to say I did all of this myself, but we had some beautiful events people involved and where’s my sis? Is she about?’
