Twenties Girl
Page 100
“I’d love to,” I say sweetly. “But I must just make a call. There’s a conversation I need to have.” I direct the words meaningfully at Sadie. “If I don’t have this conversation, I won’t be able to dance.”
Sulkily, Sadie descends to the pavement, and I pretend to punch a number into my phone. I’m so angry with her, I almost don’t know where to start.
“How could you just leave me like that?” I spit in an undertone. “I was completely lost!”
“No, you weren’t! You did very well. I was watching.”
“You were there?”
“I felt rather bad,” says Sadie, looking distantly over my shoulder. “I came back to see if you were all right.”
“Well, thanks a lot,” I say sarcastically. “You really helped. And now what’s all this?” I gesture at Ed.
“I want to dance!” she says with defiance. “I had to take extreme measures.”
“What have you done to him? He looks shell-shocked!”
“I made some… threats,” she says evasively.
“Threats?”
“Don’t look at me like that!” She suddenly rounds on me. “I wouldn’t need to if you weren’t so selfish. I know your career’s important, but I want to go dancing! Proper dancing! You know I do. That’s why we’re here. It’s supposed to be my evening. But you take over and I don’t get a look in! It’s not fair!”
She sounds almost tearful. And suddenly I feel bad. It was supposed to be her evening, and I did kind of hijack it.
“OK. You’re right. Come on, let’s go dancing.”
“Wonderful! We’ll have such a good time. This way…” Her spirits restored, Sadie directs me through some tiny Mayfair streets I’ve never been down before. “Nearly there… Here!”
It’s a tiny place called the Flashlight Dance Club. I’ve never heard of it. Two bouncers are standing outside, looking half asleep, and they let us in, no question.
We descend a set of dim wooden steps and find ourselves in a large room carpeted in red, with chandeliers, a dance floor, a bar, and two guys in leather trousers sitting morosely at the bar. A DJ on a tiny stage is playing some JLo track. No one’s dancing.
Is this the best Sadie could find?
“Listen, Sadie,” I mutter as Ed goes up to the neon-lit bar. “There are better clubs than this. If you really want to dance, we should go somewhere a bit more happening-”
“Hello?” A voice interrupts me. I turn to see a slim, high-cheeked woman in her fifties, wearing a black top and gauze skirt over leggings. Her faded red hair is up in a knot, her eyeliner is crooked, and she looks anxious. “Are you here for the Charleston lesson?”
Charleston lesson?
“I’m so sorry,” the woman continues. “I suddenly remembered we had an arrangement.” She stifles a yawn. “Lara, is it? You’re certainly wearing the right clothes!”
“Excuse me.” I smile, haul out my phone, and turn to Sadie.
“What have you done?” I mutter. “Who’s this?”
“You need lessons,” Sadie says unrepentantly. “This is the teacher. She lives in a little room upstairs. Normally the lessons are during the day.”
I stare at Sadie incredulously. “Did you wake her up?”
“I must have forgotten to put the appointment in my diary,” the woman is saying as I turn back. “It’s not like me-thank goodness I remembered! Out of the blue, it came to me that you would be waiting here.”
“Yes!” I shoot daggers at Sadie. “Amazing, the powers of the human brain.”
“Here’s your drink.” Ed arrives by my side. “Who’s this?”
“I’m your dance instructor, Gaynor.” She holds out her hand and Ed takes it, looking bewildered. “Have you always been interested in the Charleston?”
“The Charleston?” Ed looks mystified.
I feel a bit hysterical. The truth is, Sadie always gets her way. She wants us to dance the Charleston. We’re going to dance the Charleston. I owe it to her. And it might as well be here and now.
“So!” I smile winningly at Ed. “Ready?”
The thing about the Charleston is, it’s more energetic than you realize. And it’s really complicated. And you have to be really coordinated. After an hour, my arms and legs are aching. It’s relentless. It’s worse than my Legs Bums and Tums class. It’s like running a marathon.
“And forward and back…” the dance instructor is chanting. “And swivel those feet…”
Sulkily, Sadie descends to the pavement, and I pretend to punch a number into my phone. I’m so angry with her, I almost don’t know where to start.
“How could you just leave me like that?” I spit in an undertone. “I was completely lost!”
“No, you weren’t! You did very well. I was watching.”
“You were there?”
“I felt rather bad,” says Sadie, looking distantly over my shoulder. “I came back to see if you were all right.”
“Well, thanks a lot,” I say sarcastically. “You really helped. And now what’s all this?” I gesture at Ed.
“I want to dance!” she says with defiance. “I had to take extreme measures.”
“What have you done to him? He looks shell-shocked!”
“I made some… threats,” she says evasively.
“Threats?”
“Don’t look at me like that!” She suddenly rounds on me. “I wouldn’t need to if you weren’t so selfish. I know your career’s important, but I want to go dancing! Proper dancing! You know I do. That’s why we’re here. It’s supposed to be my evening. But you take over and I don’t get a look in! It’s not fair!”
She sounds almost tearful. And suddenly I feel bad. It was supposed to be her evening, and I did kind of hijack it.
“OK. You’re right. Come on, let’s go dancing.”
“Wonderful! We’ll have such a good time. This way…” Her spirits restored, Sadie directs me through some tiny Mayfair streets I’ve never been down before. “Nearly there… Here!”
It’s a tiny place called the Flashlight Dance Club. I’ve never heard of it. Two bouncers are standing outside, looking half asleep, and they let us in, no question.
We descend a set of dim wooden steps and find ourselves in a large room carpeted in red, with chandeliers, a dance floor, a bar, and two guys in leather trousers sitting morosely at the bar. A DJ on a tiny stage is playing some JLo track. No one’s dancing.
Is this the best Sadie could find?
“Listen, Sadie,” I mutter as Ed goes up to the neon-lit bar. “There are better clubs than this. If you really want to dance, we should go somewhere a bit more happening-”
“Hello?” A voice interrupts me. I turn to see a slim, high-cheeked woman in her fifties, wearing a black top and gauze skirt over leggings. Her faded red hair is up in a knot, her eyeliner is crooked, and she looks anxious. “Are you here for the Charleston lesson?”
Charleston lesson?
“I’m so sorry,” the woman continues. “I suddenly remembered we had an arrangement.” She stifles a yawn. “Lara, is it? You’re certainly wearing the right clothes!”
“Excuse me.” I smile, haul out my phone, and turn to Sadie.
“What have you done?” I mutter. “Who’s this?”
“You need lessons,” Sadie says unrepentantly. “This is the teacher. She lives in a little room upstairs. Normally the lessons are during the day.”
I stare at Sadie incredulously. “Did you wake her up?”
“I must have forgotten to put the appointment in my diary,” the woman is saying as I turn back. “It’s not like me-thank goodness I remembered! Out of the blue, it came to me that you would be waiting here.”
“Yes!” I shoot daggers at Sadie. “Amazing, the powers of the human brain.”
“Here’s your drink.” Ed arrives by my side. “Who’s this?”
“I’m your dance instructor, Gaynor.” She holds out her hand and Ed takes it, looking bewildered. “Have you always been interested in the Charleston?”
“The Charleston?” Ed looks mystified.
I feel a bit hysterical. The truth is, Sadie always gets her way. She wants us to dance the Charleston. We’re going to dance the Charleston. I owe it to her. And it might as well be here and now.
“So!” I smile winningly at Ed. “Ready?”
The thing about the Charleston is, it’s more energetic than you realize. And it’s really complicated. And you have to be really coordinated. After an hour, my arms and legs are aching. It’s relentless. It’s worse than my Legs Bums and Tums class. It’s like running a marathon.
“And forward and back…” the dance instructor is chanting. “And swivel those feet…”
