Jane was allergic to almost everything, including liquor and smoke (she would develop hives on her face and would have difficulty breathing). She carried her mother’s smoking habit in the very fibres of her high school blazer for 4 years straight, which damaged her sinuses forever. Usually whenever she told someone that she was allergic to alcohol they laughed and said that they had never met anyone in their life who was allergic to alcohol. Well, Jane thought, mentally flipping them the bird, there’s always a first time, you idiots!
The day for the three girls to have some fun rolled around much too soon and Jane found herself in front of the mirror, titivating until the cows came home wearing pink, diaphanous tutus and silver ballet shoes. She had two objectives: she had to look hot and sophisticated. Clothes and shoes flew left right and centre, landing like so much abused confetti on the bed, on the floor and over the broad, wooden pelmet. She wished she had thought to buy something special for the evening, something to give her an extra bit of confidence and flair. None of the clothes she had in her closet seemed right. They were too old, too dreadful or just so yesterday!
At times like these, Jane wished she was a supermodel with her own entourage of hairdressers, make-up artists and stylists. She imagined them fluttering around her like gay butterflies and she would emerge out of the cocoon glamorous and picture perfect (thank you, but no photo shopping necessary). She could dream, couldn’t she? It would be like going to the Oscars and winning the golden statue to boot. She would thank everyone and hurry from the stage in a cloud of taffeta and perfume.
After finding something that sort-of- fit and settling for that, rather than something uncomfortable; putting the least amount of make-up on her face to save her from having the morning after slut look, complete with raccoon eyes, Jane stepped onto the bus and out at the mall (which was in close proximity to the bar) to meet the girls. She was so nervous that the bus ride over had become a blur.
Tracy bought her a shimmering, pink wand for the occasion, hoping that if Jane twirled it often enough and said the right words, Prince Charming would appear. Kerry bought her a jewel encrusted, plastic tiara, silently hoping that Jane would one day see that, though buried fathoms deep in her heart, she truly was a princess.
Jane was touched by every gift, even though she always felt that people shouldn’t spend their money on her as she never felt like she deserved it. She waved her wand around contentedly, imagining that she was a fairy god mother silently granting wishes to all and sundry.
Night fell and Frankie Bananaz, which overlooked a large pond with a spouting fountain in the centre; lit up like a Christmas tree. The building sported a coloured neon sign involving a drunkenly tilted cocktail glass and the name in loud letters: FRANKIE BANANAZ. A vintage, impeccably restored Chevy pick- up, the owner’s car, which was parked in front of the bar, completed the picture.