The Doll's House

‘As always, Stevie, my friend.’


Tonight wasn’t for eejits. Tonight was a million miles away from work, and even further away from the fuck-up of a week he’d just had. When Stevie looked back at Silver Stilettoes, she’d been joined by her mates, none as classy as her. No point heading over yet. Best to give them time to settle. Nothing like a few drinks to loosen things up. He’d downed his first pint and it was time for another. He’d been gagging all day for a few scoops and the first couple of drinks were always special, the taste hitting his mouth like old friends getting back together.

He spotted Joe and Kev at the far end of the bar and waved to them, all the while keeping his eyes on his mark in the stilettoes. He liked how she crossed her legs, how, when she bent forward, he could see her breasts and the outline of a black bra, the imprint of her red lipstick on the glass. Her expression, too, was a pull. Confident – you don’t look that hot without bleeding knowing it, he thought. She wasn’t cheap either. Apart from the shocking red lipstick and high heels, she had the makings of so much more, and no doubt proper good at it. Her long black hair was tied sideways off her neck, falling down in soft curls, touching her bare shoulders. She was putting it out there all right, with just enough class to say, ‘Only if you dare, mate, only if you dare.’

‘What does a guy have to do to buy a girl like you a drink?’

Although there were five of them, each girl knew who Green Eyes was talking to. Stevie gave them one of his captivating smiles, the kind that said he was the guy all of them wanted to fuck.

‘Just ask – vodka and Coke, no ice.’

‘Gen.’ A warning shot from one of her female fan club.

‘He’s just being friendly, aren’t you?’

‘Steve, Steve McDaid, or Stevie to my friends.’

‘Thanks, Steve … Stevie.’

‘Cool.’ Stevie was pleased she planned on being a no-nonsense type from the start. And with that, he shouted over to Mick, ‘Vodka and Coke, no ice, and another pint … Are you girls sticking around for long?’

‘We’ll be here for a while,’ said the oldest and ugliest one, giving Stevie the I-fucking-hate-blokes-like-you look. The ugly girls always had the biggest mouths, a sort of compensation for lack of other qualities.

Stevie placed the vodka and Coke on the table with a fresh beer mat. Women loved attention to detail. ‘For you, Princess. I didn’t catch your name.’

‘Gen, as in Genevieve.’ Her body moved a little as she lifted the glass.

‘The naked beauty.’

‘That’s me.’ She laughed, even though she’d probably heard the same line a thousand times before.

Stevie laughed too. ‘Catch you later, Gen.’ He smiled with his pearly whites again. There was no point in having a major asset if you didn’t use it. Holy crap, he thought. Sometimes it was so fucking easy.

Pint number three was slower. Why mess up the night when it was proving promising? As Joe and Kev ranted on about the usual suspects, soccer, cars, and women, Stevie kept a watchful eye on Gen, sending the odd nod, letting her know he wasn’t forgetting about her.

Timing was everything. Let her get a few more vodkas into her, ease out some of the rough edges. Soon enough the girlie groups always disintegrated. Give it another hour and they’d divide, turning outwards instead of in. It was just a question of waiting.



The arsehole from the garage and his slick cronies were well gone by the time the night hit fever pitch. And as Stevie decided he’d had about enough of Kev talking about his failed marriage, and Joe acting like he was Ireland’s answer to Dr Phil, it became time for a change of company. Looking back at the table behind him, he was full sure Silver Stilettoes would still be waiting for him. But Mick was already picking up their glasses from the table. Maybe they’d gone to the jacks. Fucking hell, why do women always go to the toilet in groups? Clearing the table wasn’t a good sign. He shouldn’t have listened to Kev for so long. Fuck, fuck, fuck and fuck again, he thought.

When he heard a girl laugh behind him, he turned expecting to see Gen. Instead he saw one of the young ones separated from her pals. She was small, fake tan, orange hands, and straightened long brown hair. Her pretty face said underage for sure. A prick of a suit was mauling her. Stevie could tell she was pissed. Asking for it, she was. The gang of guys hovering around her all looked married, each of them smirking, egging on their pals. She was out of her depth and the guys knew it.

Stevie wasn’t long in making up his mind. Better him than those arseholes. He overheard one say, ‘Be nice to little Susie now,’ laughing as the mauler stuck his tongue so far down her throat that Stevie wondered if it would ever come back out. With no sign of Gen, Stevie hung back and waited. Soon little Susie was holding up a wall on the way back from the toilets.

‘Come on, Susie,’ he whispered. ‘Time to go home.’ It was like picking candy from an opened bag.