Millicent Binks: Cheers, Dita Von Teese, for adding colour to our lives

Grabbing an idle waiter by the arm, I ask him to take a picture for me. I'm lined up with Octavia, Annette and Annette's gay friend Tom in front of a huge wall of booze bottles - like a grown-up version of the Hansel and Gretel gingerbread house.

I'm wearing a Thirties-style long, satin gown. Annette has donned her sequined diva outfit and Octavia is in a shoulder-padded black jumpsuit.

All of us had our hair done by Tom, who insisted on rescuing us from our own efforts - which he said made us look like a bad wedding party.



We're at the opening night of Dita Von Teese's pop-up speakeasy club, Cointreau Privé. None of us can wait to see her perform.

Behind the bar are scores of mixologists. We order a range of cocktails and choose a purple booth to sit in and sample each other's tipples.

The conversation quickly turns to Octavia's break-up with her boyfriend Brian, the stagehand. She's now convinced she'll be single for four years.

"Darling, don't worry, you won't be left on the shelf," comforts Annette. "Brian has commitment issues anyway."

Tom cuts in and gets to the point. "He loves himself way more than he loves you." Octavia blubbers over her margadita (a violet margarita), mixing salty tears into her cocktail - until a handsome waiter stops to ask if she's all right and she cheers up immediately.

Annette and I leave Tom to apologise for being so blunt and go meandering among guests. Suddenly we get caught in a stampede of people rushing to the balcony. Dita's striptease has just been announced. We have to poke our heads under someone's arm to see.

Dita is a vision of orange twinkles - Swarovski crystals creating a halo of light around her hourglass figure. Once she has completely unpeeled, she gets into her martini glass. I look down at my own glass and wish I had a little Dita in it.

When the show is over we return to find Octavia and Tom still in the booth and so bleary-eyed that they missed the show.

The handsome waiter has apparently been returning on a regular basis with more cocktails.

Just before he arrives with yet another round, Octavia pops a note into an empty glass. "I don't want more cocktails, I just want your c**k," it reads, with her number below.

We all giggle as the waiter collects the glass. When he reads the note he raises his eyebrows.

On the way home in a cab, Octavia's phone bleeps. "It's the waiter," she squeaks and reads it out loud. "I want your c**k too."