“Then we sort of got more interested or… I don’t know,” Alice trailed
off, frowning slightly as she looked to Jenny. “What would you call it,
Jen?”

“Invested creatively,” offered Jenny, beaming widely. She appeared to
almost bounce in her seat as she faced Helena and her eyes sparkled
playfully. “We found one particular club patron far more interesting
than the rest and began theorizing on all the facets of her life.”

“Pretty soon we had her whole life story established,” said Alice.
Turning to Jenny, she said almost sheepishly, “Now that we’ve explained
it, I kind of think we’re lame for doing this.”

“It is a distinct possibility that we are,” Jenny replied, grinning and
taking a swig of her beer. “But I don’t think I care since we had such
a good time doing it and it ultimately hurts no one.”

“Good point,” said Alice, mulling over this and drinking her beer.

“And, pray tell, which of these women has found herself subject to such
extraordinarily creative interest?” asked Helena humorously.

On hearing this, Alice scooted closer to Helena. They sat side by side
and the blonde leaned over and she was almost in the British woman’s
lap, her breath warm on Helena’s skin as she nodded subtly towards the
bar. “Her,” Alice said in strangely enigmatic tones. Following the
other woman’s gaze, Helena found herself looking at the focus of her
friends self imagined soap opera. The girl by the bar had to be barely
the age of twenty, if even that, but she gave off a world weary
presence that was absurdly alluring all the same. She was dressed in a
scant silver tinted spaghetti string tank top, black leather pants she
appeared to be painted into, and a pair of large black motorcycle
boots. Her eyeshadow was heavily applied, making already dark eyes seem
that much more compelling, and her shade of lipstick was, unless
Helena’s eyes were failing her, Rum Raisin. Seeing the girl was a
something of a trial as she was flanked at all angles by a crowd of
fawning women who were all fighting for her exclusive attention.
Something that the heiress had to frown at since, again, the girl had
to be twenty at the most and all of these women were far older than
that. “That’s Leather Pants Girl.”

“Leather Pants Girl?” echoed Helena incredulously, releasing a
sputtering laugh and turning her attention to Alice. “Darling,” she
drawled. “Please tell me that is a joke on your part.”