We're downstairs in the Allegra Sands Hotel, between reception and the spa, watching the barman mix up Midday Margaritas. N.E.R.D.'s Don't Worry About It plays on the surround speaker system, and the atmosphere is one of relaxed affluence. "The cocktail, or the barman?" Elaine asks. "Oh, I would, but he's so gay," Martha shrugs. "Check out those sideburn tramlines. And fake tan. Even from behind I know he thinks he's the next Iglesias, only gay. No, I want a Cranberry Margarita. Or two. And then get de-toxed in the spa. How about you?" "I like your style," Elaine enthuses. "That's nearly a Rude Cosmopolitan, isn't it? I want a Chocotini. Or a Gingertini. One of each. How about you, Lara?" "I'm on Superflu," I reveal, with suitable regret. "It'll have to be a Virgin On The Beach for me." Elaine groans, and Martha rubs my back in sympathy, but they both know me well enough to understand when I'm not drinking, it means just that. Martha winks, and I guess from her expression that she's indicating Elaine didn't drive here on purpose.
What do You think about Death & The City Book Two?
