On my way through the door I bump into an Imperial Storm Trooper in full uniform. White body armour, sharply moulded pectorals, battle helmet with black downturned mouth and intimidating demon eyes. He looks like he has just finished a shift on the Death Star marching-around-looking-bossy.
As soon as he claps eyes on me, though, he lets out a girlish squeal, holsters his blaster and skips to give me an affectionate hug, lifting one foot from the floor as he does.
"Hiya Nick!"
I brush away the bead screen and step inside the shop.
The Storm Trooper takes my hands in his gauntlets and gives me a kiss on the cheek, although the unwieldiness of the helmet hampers his underlying tenderness. When Vader and the Emperor were designing those outfits they obviously didn't put enough thought into how easy it was going to be to kiss in them. When it comes to conveying human warmth they are a terrible handicap.
"Hello Gumdrop", I tell him, returning the peck on the cheek. "You off for a sandwich?"
"You betcha!" he gushes, "It's been absolutely fucking crazy in here this morning!" I can hear from his voice that behind those sinister triangle eyes he is rolling his own theatrically. "I don't know what's been going on! We had a rush of Star Trek people before coffee, and they didn't let up until nearly half eleven. It's been worse than fucking Star Fleet Command around here. Ridiculous!"
Gumdrop's body language is always effervescent, an his unashamedly camp mannerisms seem all the more incongruous from inside Storm Trooper battle garb. The Galactic Empire would certainly not approve.
"Stephanie in?" I enquire.
He taps me playfully on the chest.
"You know she is", he teases, "Because she wasted twenty fucking minutes swapping kissy-kissy texts with you when she should have been helping me do a costume fitting for some Klingons"
"Sorry about that", I shrug. "Hey - I still owe you a latte, don't I?"
"Don't worry Nicholas, I hadn't forgotten. Are you around on Friday?"
"Yep", I tell him. "I've only got one lecture, and that'll be finished by twelve"
"Well, you can pay me back then. Anyway - got to fly - the queues at that vegan place are a fucking nightmare, and I've got to be back here by two"
He skips away, turning briefly to give me a two-handed wave.
The interior of the shop is a science fiction fantasy. Running from right to left around the walls, and subdivided according to specific cult (Star Trek, Star Wars, Terminator, Doctor Who, etc.), the shelves run in multicoloured bands of merchandising that graduate from the mainstream to the serious investment:
1. Toys (for the kids, casual fans and seekers after novelty gifts. Action figures, mugs, pencil cases, lunch boxes, etc.)
2. Collectibles (toys for the grown-ups. Limited edition busts, rare figurines, prop replicas)
3. Graphic novels
4. DVDs
5. Clothing (mainstream - mostly t-shirts, but a few logo'd baseball caps)
6. Clothing (more extravagant - for fancy dress party-goers and amateur fetishists)
7. Deluxe costumes (licensed reproductions of iconic movie and TV outfits - stupidly expensive and within reach only of the most discerning and well-financed convention junkies. Or serious fetishists)
It is the deluxe costumes that get my attention. I remember seeing Stephanie pull this same trick the first time I set foot in the shop, and never tire of watching her signature stunt.
A couple of students come in and make a beeline for the costume mannequins standing to attention along the left wall. They gaze up at a full-size latex Batman, browse their way past Han Solo, the Joker, and stop to gawp at Neo's cassock-of-cool from the Matrix Reloaded.
It is a shame the Princess-Leia-in-Jabba's-Palace-bikini has been sold. Still I bet some lucky fucker is living the dream every night with his girlfriend tarted up in that. Fuck only knows - I would be. Actually, so would any heterosexual male or lesbian who ever watched 'Return of the Jedi'. Some fantasies are universal.
The students obviously aren't here to buy anything - they have just come in to admire the models: like a free trip to Madame Tussauds but featuring only cool characters you recognize. And let's be honest, who in their right mind would pay to see Liza Minnelli and Yasser Arafat, when they could pay homage in person to Captain Picard or Boba Fett for nothing?
My favourite bit coming up. Drum roll!
The last figure they get to takes their breath away, although they clearly can't quite place the costume. Stunning. Suicidally sexy. Her face revealing the ghost of Asiatic ancestry, neon pink hair cut into a sharp bob. An expression of unblinking come-on in her eyes, the irises of which are also day-glo pink. A ragged white t-shirt that looks to have been slashed and bloodied in some maniac attack falling over small breasts, draped with a fluorescent stringy top. A wide belt atop a PVC mini skirt that slicks to the hips like illuminous green oil. Then fishnets - strategically ripped in all the most mouth watering places to reveal glimpses of tattoos on ivory flesh. Culminating in patent leather Doc Martens in mock-crocodile.
"Whoa", breathes one of the students, "Who the fuck is this? What fucking movie is she in?"
The other can't tear his eyes from her body.
"Fuck only knows, my fellow", he replies, "But I am sure as fuck going to find that film and watch it until my fucking pause button caves in"
"Fuck me" The first guy looks like he needs to sit down, catch his breath and adjust his underpants, "This bitch is hotter than Princess fucking Leia in that slave girl bikini"
"Shit"
"Wow. Fuck fuck, fuckety-fuck"
"Man"
Thoughtful pause.
"Hey!" Eureka moment! "I tell you what - she looks a bit like that chick Hit Girl out of Kick Ass"
"Whoa - yeah! But, like, she had purple hair, didn't she?"
He gives his companion a frustrated poke to the shoulder.
"I didn't say she was Hit Girl, did I, twat? Just that she looks like her"
Nodding. "Yeah, yeah"
"Cool and beautiful. Tight costume. Looks like she could kick ass big time"
"Oh fuck yeah. She is welcome to kick my fucking ass any time"
A sudden look of misgiving passes over his face.
"No, wait!" he snaps, hitting his friend again, "But, Hit Girl was, like only fucking eleven years old!"
"Oh, fuck, yeah". Blundering into dangerous waters here, gentlemen. In need of an exit strategy.
"So this one is, like, as hot as Hit Girl is going to be when she grows up"
"Oh yeah". Close escape. "Fucking hot"
As always Stephanie chooses her moment to perfection. One minute the ass-kicking mannequin with the pink hair is motionless plastic, and the next it has sprung to life and stabbed a finger into one of the student's chests.
"I only think it fair to warn you", she says, "that you ought to exercise greater caution when sexualizing a pubescent girl in a public place"
Bill and Ted jump back electrocuted.
"Oh fuck!" they blurt in stereo.
I always love it when she does this. Stephanie has the astonishing talent to freeze herself solid for minutes on end, unblinking and without any sign of life. It is her favourite trick in the shop. Whenever there are no customers to serve she solidifies herself amid the costume models and waits to scare some unsuspecting customer out of his skin.
She steps forwards and links an arm through both boys.
"I accept that Hit Girl's costume is more adult in its tailoring than I would usually approve of for an eleven year old"
The students don't know what has hit them. I lean back against the counter enjoying the free show.
"And I certainly don't approve of your reactions to her outfit. However, I am prepared to concede that Hit Girl is inarguably precocious in many ways - ahead of her years in large part owing to her exceptional upbringing"
The students are trying to back away towards the door. Stephanie doesn't release her hold on them, but walks elegantly into their stumbling retreat.
"Her mother savagely murdered by gangsters, leaving the child to be raised alone by her embittered father, himself a delusional fantasist and super hero. You must understand, I am referring to the cinematic interpretation of the character as opposed to the graphic novel original, in which her mother is eventually revealed to be alive and well"
The slack-jawed boys are nodding confusedly.
"Against the backdrop of extreme martial arts and heavy-duty weaponry that characterized her upbringing, Mindy Macready's childhood could hardly be expected to follow mainstream developmental patterns for a young girl. And, furthermore, you could argue that her Hit Girl costume is obliged to be overtly stylized to reinforce her role as a super hero"
The boys have reached the door, and bumble backwards through it. Chuckle Chuckle Vision!
"Because, let us not forget, every hero needs their costume. Irrespective of the medium - film, novel, TV - the hero characters need their signature style. They have to be immediately recognizable - from any distance and in any lighting. Distinctive, and utterly unmistakable"
The students make a run from the onslaught of the neon apparition, as aroused as they are intimidated.
"And the same principles apply equally to the design of costume for the villains"
Stephanie gives them a cheery wave with a fingerless spider web glove.
"Be sure to come back next Tuesday - if our delivery is on schedule we ought to have a rubber Catwoman suit and an original 1960's Cyberman helmet"
She closes the door, flips the bolt shut, and leans back against the glass. Then she flashes me a delicious wink and blows a kiss that takes my breath away.
"Let's shut up shop for lunch", she says.
She clicks over to me, gently strokes my cheek with a finger and gives me a tempting kiss on the lips.