Although Shane worshipped the fifties, the women he met didn’t.  They were the sort of girls Shane liked to give one to in the alley that ran next to the club, Battlers, where he used to go on Friday and Saturday nights.  They were a bunch of dirty slappers, most of them, he thought.  Dressed in short skirts and high heels, they had raucous laughs, like magpies, and expressions that indicated there wasn’t much they hadn’t experienced.  The only way he ever remembered them individually was because the morning after the night before, he always wrote their names in his sex book, an old diary, along with a mark out of ten for appearance.  As for the shags, differences weren’t worth keeping a record of.   They all kissed and groaned and held him in much the same way.

Shane considered himself, if not good looking, then certainly striking in appearance.  Out of ten, he would give himself seven.  But recently, Shane hadn’t been pulling as often as usual, and his self-assurance was dwindling.  His mates, Mark and Craig, reminded him at every opportunity that he hadn’t had a shag for weeks.  Maybe Craig, with his conventional good looks and boyish charm and normal clothes sense, was finally going to out-do Shane’s total of fifty-eight shags.  Shane had felt his score almost unbeatable, but he was beginning to realise now that fifty-eight wasn’t that remarkable.  Only the other day he had read in a magazine about a male model who reckoned he’d got his end away with over a thousand women.  Shane wondered whether the male model kept a sex book.

Now, placing the silver comb in the top pocket of his jacket, Shane steeled himself for the night ahead.  He checked his wallet for money, and condoms before leaving the house, determined that tomorrow he would be adding number fifty-nine to his sex book.

Shane, Craig and Mark met at Battlers.  Already it was crammed full, like a box of gaudy Christmas decorations, with women in sequinned and glittery dresses and men in bright red or green or shiny blue shirts.  Shane inhaled the smoky atmosphere, and felt music pounding through his body.  Strobe lights bounced across the small dance floor where a few people were flailing awkwardly about.  Squeezing up at the bar, Shane ordered a round of drinks for himself and his friends, while eyeing up the new barmaid, who had soft wavy hair and watchful brown eyes. Mentally, Shane gave her seven out of ten.  Maybe he’d get to take her down the alley later once she’d finished her shift.  He’d had a couple of the barmaids in Battlers.  He tried to recall who they were as the girl placed his drinks on the counter.

“And one for yourself, doll,” Shane said.

          “No, ta,” the girl replied and tapped in the drinks he’d bought on the cash till.  Furiously Shane handed her some money, and she returned his change, hardly aware that she had offended him.

          Shane passed beers to Craig and Mark, glad that the ever-increasing noise would have prevented them hearing his conversation with the barmaid.  The three men stood together, clutching their pints at the edge of the bar, and assessing the multiplying throng.  There were a lot of women in the club that night: the images of them were reflected repeatedly in the mirrored ceilings and walls and columns.  There were short women and stocky women and skinny women.  They had red and brown and black and blonde hair.  Shane was sure, with all these women here tonight, there must be at least one who would be up for it with him.   

          “Get an eye full of her,” Craig nudged Shane as a bony black-haired girl in a red dress walked past.

          The girl smiled at Craig, revealing a gap between her two front teeth.

          “Sexy bitch,” Craig muttered.  Shane noticed a drop of perspiration above his lips.  “She’s dying for it.”

          Before Shane could reply, Craig had moved away from the bar.  Shane watched him tap the girl on the shoulder, and as if she knew he was behind her, the girl turned and gave him a broad grin.  Craig was saying something, but Shane could only guess what it was.  Then the girl started laughing and Craig was laughing too, and it wasn’t long before Craig’s arm was slung across the girl’s shoulders, like a snake, and he was leading her to the door.  Shane guessed Craig was taking her to the alley.  He looked at his watch.  It was only nine ‘o clock and already Craig was probably pulling his cock out.  He might even manage another one after the black-haired girl

“Lucky bastard,” Mark said.

          “Only a five,” Shane said crossly, staring gloomily into his pint.

          “What’s wrong with a five?” Mark wanted to know.  “Five’s all right.”

          “Five’s all right for Craig,” Shane said, but he knew as well as Mark did, that five wasn’t a number to turn down.  And when Shane really began to think about it, there wasn’t a woman he had turned down.  A few months ago, a girl he had taken down the alley, was only a number three, if that, but he had enjoyed doing it with her as much as he had with anyone else.  She was enormously fat, and he had liked the way his hands had sunk into the folds of her flesh, like he was holding a blancmange.   In fact, he had liked shagging her more than some of the number eights and nines who always seemed to sneer slightly, as if they expected more from him.

          “Seven-and-a-half,” Mark said as a petite blonde sauntered past them.

          “Six and-a-half, more like,” Shane said.

          “Bet you couldn’t pull her,” Mark said.

          This was a challenge Shane had to take on although he could feel his stomach twist uncomfortably.  “How much?” he asked.

          “Fiver,” said Mark.

          “You’re on,” Shane replied.

The petite blonde was disappearing into the jostling crowd.  Forcing himself to not move to swiftly; to not appear too eager and therefore desperate, Shane followed her.  As he got closer, Shane could see the outline of her body through the thin stretchy material of her dress.  He wanted to reach out and grab her.  He watched her go in the direction of the ladies and decided to wait at a little distance.  It was occasions like this that Shane knew, no matter how he felt, he had to bide his time.  Within a few minutes the girl appeared again, obviously having tidied up her hair.  Before she could get away Shane introduced himself – gave his usual spiel about how he couldn’t help noticing her and asked her name.

          “Angela,” the girl replied with a smirk, as if numerous men had already approached her that evening with the same question.

          “Can I buy you a drink, Angela?” Shane said, lowering his voice as though he were asking her something very intimate.

          “Lager and lime,” Angela chirped quickly.

          Shane, feeling happier than he had done in what seemed like an age, led her smugly to the end of the bar where Mark was waiting.  While Mark introduced himself to Angela, Shane held up five fingers behind her back, reminding Mark of the fiver he had lost. Nothing in Mark’s face gave any indication that he had noticed.  Shane shifted along to the centre of the bar where it was easier to be served.  But it still took a while for one of the barmaids- a number six with a small pointed nose and wide staring eyes - to take his order.  He got Angela’s lager and lime and a pint for himself.  He didn’t buy Mark another pint though: Mark was notorious for not buying his mates drinks – or even girls, if he could avoid it.  Once the drinks had been paid for, Shane went back to the end of the bar, where Angela was gazing into the long, predatory face of Mark, as if transfixed.  Shane felt anger rising up inside him like bile: Mark couldn’t possibly be stealing Angela away from him, could he?  Silently he gave Angela her drink.                            

“Thanks for getting one for me, mate,” Mark commented sarcastically.

          Shane shrugged and licked some of the foam from the top of his pint: it wasn’t usually something he did in public, but suddenly he didn’t care if he looked like a cat lapping up a saucer of cream.  For the first time ever, he had been totally out-done by his mates.  It was easier to accept Craig, who no one could deny was handsome, catching up with his score, but Mark wasn’t good looking or charming.  Shane would have considered him a four on a good night when he had bothered to wash and shave.  Now, watching him move in on Angela, he could see that there wasn’t any point trying to win her back.  When Shane walked away from them both and back into the heaving crowd they didn’t even notice he had gone.

Shane leant against a mirrored column, watching three girls huddled in a group together.  But there was only one that he was interested in.  She was a brunette and her hair was held back in a red hair band.  She was wearing a long skirt, a short sleeved white blouse and white ankle socks.  Perhaps he wouldn’t have noticed her – she was only a five or six - if she hadn’t been dressed like a teenager from the fifties.  He knew then that he had to have her.  Like the enormously fat girl he’d taken down the alley or the girl with the hawk tattooed over her shoulder, sometimes Shane had a taste for more than just ordinary attractiveness.   And to have a girl who was dressed like a female version of him was more than appealing. 

The brunette was standing with a chiselled-featured blonde who was at least a nine and a Chinese girl who was an eight.  He was aware that the three of them were talking about him from the way they kept glancing over and giggling.  He decided he should approach.

          “Havin’ a good night, dolls?” he said, holding his half-finished pint tightly.

The brunette stared at the cigarette-covered floor.  The Chinese girl raised her eyes to the ceiling and the blonde girl snorted into her drink.  Shane wondered if he had misread the signals.

          “Fancy a drink?” Shane asked, knowing they’d be more amenable if he bought them something.

          “I’m drinking red wine,” the Chinese girl said, turning the stem of her glass in her hand.

          “And for me,” the blonde girl told him.

          Close up Shane noticed the blonde wasn’t as attractive as he had first thought: there were deep lines at the corners of her mouth and her eyes were small and beady.

          “And you?” he asked the brunette.

          “Half a lager please,” she said quietly.

          “D’you mind comin’ to the bar to help carry the drinks?” he asked, hoping against hope that she wouldn’t refuse.

          “Yeah, sure,” she said.

          As they were going to the bar, the girl told him her name was Michelle and that she was a big fan of anything from the fifties.

          “I don’t care what it is,” Michelle said, “but I love it – the music, the clothes.” She looked at him and added, “everything.”
          Shane, gently pushing her towards the bar nodded in agreement, “yeah, I know what you mean.” 

Shane was surprised how easily he could talk to Michelle.  She had a way of perching on her seat and listening solemnly as if he was telling her something very important, although he was just describing his favourite fifties memorabilia.  He liked Michelle’s face – considered her a seven now that he had examined her more closely – the kind of girl he could fall in love with.  When she said it was time for her to go because her friends wanted to leave, she was more than happy to give him her phone number.  And at the door of the club, he helped her on with her coat and kissed her softly on the lips.  He wanted her badly but he didn’t dare let her know how badly or she might lose interest.  That was how girls were, Shane considered.

Now that Michelle had left, Shane decided he’d get a last pint and then go home.  So he made his way over to the bar.  Standing a few feet away he saw Craig and signalled him over.  There was something about the hard, set look on Craig’s face that made Shane feel uncomfortable, but he couldn’t explain, had he been asked, why it was that he felt this.  

          “Get your end away, you jammy sod?” Craig wanted to know immediately.  Shane noticed that Craig’s hand, as he set his pint down, was shaking. 

Shane shrugged and Craig didn’t question him further, presuming that of course he had.  If Shane had told Craig that he wanted to wait with Michelle – that she was special, Craig would never have let him live it down.

          “How did you get on?” Shane asked.

          Craig laughed.  “Wouldn’t give any, would she.”

          “No?”

          “No…tight bitch…tried to run off when I made her.”

          “So what you doing now?” Shane asked, wanting to change the subject; not wanting to hear the details of what Craig did down the alley.  “Hanging on here or going home?”

          “Think I’ll get home.  Are you walkin’?”

          Shane nodded and finished the last dregs of his pint.

Leaving Battlers, Craig seemed even more edgy, Shane thought.  They walked briskly along the side of the club, where a strong breeze made them double over slightly.  Shane tried to think of what they usually talked about, but his mind was blurred from the beer he had been drinking, and Michelle was all that seemed important.  As they became parallel with the alley, Craig suddenly stopped.

She was lying still, sprawled about halfway along the cobble-stoned alley; her red dress was rucked up and one of her shoes was missing.  Shane felt blood rushing to his head; his throat was constricting as Craig grabbed him around the shoulders to prevent him from turning away.

          “She’s just a stupid bird,” Craig said, and then he said it again, like he wasn’t trying to convince Shane at all: rather he was trying to convince himself.  “She’s just a stupid bird.”