From a Miami girl to a goddess

From a Miami girl to a goddess

26 March, 2007 | 7.39AM

• Section: Music News Topics: Industry Boy Blog
• Written by: Industry Boy

“Will you come visit me in Toronto?” asks Sandy. We had spent days together, but all that was left was seconds. “Of course I will,” I reply. Both Sandy and Industry Boy knew that it was a little lie, but a sweet one all the same. We exchange numbers, and with a ping she is gone. The beautiful Miami girl is replaced by a reflection of Industry Boy in the elevator door who mocks me from his shiny metalic universe. Reality rushes like a slap in the face. 

I missed my flight. I’m stuck in Miami. My Miami date had just evaporated, what the hell am I going to do now?

The answer happens to lie at the bottom of the minibar. By the time it takes to drink the lot, I have booked another flight for tomorrow.

Most of the industry folk I knew had deserted Miami, so I plead with Dwayne to save me from solitude.

“Look I’m going out to dinner with some rich dude tonight, and he’s bringing with him some ridiculously fit girls. If you want to come don’t dress like a twat,” he orders.

Standing in some fancy Japanese restaurant downtown, Dwayne and Industry Boy suck on cocktails, winding down from what had been a pretty exhausting trip.

London is just a few hours away, and this rollercoaster ride is nearing its end.

Dwayne’s friend Troy arrives wearing a suit with four girls in tow. It turns out he owns the restaurant.

“This is Julie, Lesley, and Lillian,” he says, introducing us to the girls one by one. “And this is Briana.”

She turns to face me, and for a millisecond the world stops spinning on its axis.

The restaurant, Miami, Florida and all living and dead matter are sucked into oblivion.

All that stands before Industry Boy is a shining example of divine femininity.

It was Zeus’ goddess, the one from the pool party a few days ago. “What are the fucking chances,” whispers Dwayne into my ear, he too recognising her.

A couple more awkward seconds pass, as my thought processes collide like a DJ wrecking a train.

“Hello, a pleasure to meet you,” I muster, giving her a kiss on both cheeks.

She seems a little taken aback by the friendly greeting. “Oh sorry I’m European, that’s how we all say hello,” I say, with a wink. She smiles back politely.

At the table, I make sure to sit next to Briana. “I can’t use these,” she says, throwing down her chopsticks.

“Let me show you,” I offer, taking her hand in mine like a cliché straight out of a romantic chick flick.

We laugh as she struggles to pick up a piece of salmon. “Screw it, I’m using my fingers,” she shouts, before shoving the food in her mouth.

She licks her fingernails, which are painted baby pink. Every intricate corner of her was perfectly groomed.

We all head to a gay bar after dinner. A DJ mixes indie dance records and electro quite badly, but Industry Boy is having too much fun with Briana to notice.

Dwayne mopes in the corner, for once not the centre of attention, whilst we drink Tequila and challenge each other to drinking contests. The night was only going to end one way.

And so Briana and Industry Boy end up at Troy’s huge apartment, drinking straight whiskey and philosophising over life’s great mysteries underneath the stars.

When we do eventually make it to bed and start kissing, serenity and harmony overcomes me. Before we reach base number two, I fall asleep. I could have sworn I heard Briana call me a lame ass.

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