Twenties Girl
Page 61
“We’ll probably make up two tables. You know, do it properly. We’ll probably have expanded by then…” I trail off. I don’t know why I’m making any effort to impress this guy. He clearly isn’t interested in anything I say.
As I swizzle my drink again, I realize the music has stopped. I turn to look at the barman, and he’s standing by the CD player behind the bar, obviously experiencing a momentous struggle between his own will and the sound of Sadie shrieking something in his ear. What is she up to?
At last, with a visible capitulation, the barman takes a CD from its box and slides it into the machine. The next minute, some scratchy, old-fashioned Cole Porter-type band music fills the air. Sadie sweeps up behind Ed’s chair, a beam of satisfaction on her face.
“At last! I knew that man would have something suitable in his drawer. Now ask Lara to dance!” she instructs Ed, and bends close to his ear. “Ask her to dance!”
Oh God. No way.
Resist her , I silently message Ed. Don’t listen. Be strong . I’m sending him my strongest telepathic signals. But it’s no good. As Sadie bellows in his ear, a pained, confused look is coming over Ed’s face. He looks like someone who really, really doesn’t want to vomit but is having no choice.
“Lara.” He clears his throat and rubs his face. “Would you like to… dance?”
If I refuse him, Sadie will wreak her revenge on me, I know it. This is what she wanted; this is why we’re all here. So she can dance with Ed.
“OK.”
Hardly able to believe what I’m doing, I put down my glass and stand up. I follow Ed to a tiny patch of spare floor next to the bar stools, and he turns to face me. For a moment we both just stare at each other, paralyzed by the enormity of the situation.
This is a one hundred percent nondancing scenario. We’re not on a dance floor. This isn’t a club, it’s a bar. No one else is dancing. The jazz band is still playing its scratchy music through the speakers, and some bloke is singing about his fancy shoes. There’s no beat, there’s no nothing. There’s no way we can dance.
“Dance!” Sadie is flitting between us like quicksilver, a whirlwind of impatience. “Dance together! Dance!”
With a look of desperation in his eyes, Ed starts moving awkwardly from side to side, trying as best he can to follow the music. He looks so miserable, I start copying him, just to make him feel better. I’ve never seen less convincing dancing in my life.
Out of the corner of my eye I can see everyone turning to watch us. My dress is swishing backward and forward, and my necklaces are jangling. Ed’s eyes are focused far ahead, as though he’s having an out-of-body experience.
“Excuse me.” A member of the bar staff, carrying a plate of dim sum, ducks between us.
Not only are we not on a dance floor, we’re in the way of everyone. This is the most excruciating experience of my life.
“Dance properly!” I turn my head to see Sadie regarding me in horror. “That’s not dancing!”
What does she expect us to do, the waltz?
“You look as though you’re trudging through mud! This is how to dance.”
She starts some twenties Charleston-type dance, all flying legs and elbows and knees. Her face is beatific, and I can hear her humming along to the music. At least someone’s having fun.
As I watch, she shimmies right up to Ed and places a slender hand on each of his shoulders. Now she’s running a hand adoringly down his cheek.
“Isn’t he blissful?” She runs both her hands down his chest, circling his waist and skimming down his back.
“Can you feel him?” I murmur incredulously, and Sadie flinches, as though I’ve caught her out.
“That’s… not the point,” she says defensively. “And it’s none of your business.”
OK, so she can’t. Well, whatever rocks her boat, I suppose. But do I have to watch?
“Sadie!” I hiss as her hands travel even further down his body. “Get a room!”
“I’m sorry, what did you say?” With an obvious effort, Ed focuses on me. He’s still dancing from side to side, totally oblivious to the fact that he has a twenty-three-year-old flapper running her hands voraciously all over his body.
“I said… let’s stop.” I avert my eyes from Sadie, who’s trying to nibble his ear.
“No!” protests Sadie furiously. “More!”
“Great idea,” says Ed at once, and starts back toward our chairs.
“Ed? Ed Harrison?” A blond woman interrupts his path. She’s wearing beige trousers and a white shirt and an expression of incredulous glee. At the table behind her, I can see several other well-groomed business types watching avidly. “I thought that was you! Were you just… dancing?”
As I swizzle my drink again, I realize the music has stopped. I turn to look at the barman, and he’s standing by the CD player behind the bar, obviously experiencing a momentous struggle between his own will and the sound of Sadie shrieking something in his ear. What is she up to?
At last, with a visible capitulation, the barman takes a CD from its box and slides it into the machine. The next minute, some scratchy, old-fashioned Cole Porter-type band music fills the air. Sadie sweeps up behind Ed’s chair, a beam of satisfaction on her face.
“At last! I knew that man would have something suitable in his drawer. Now ask Lara to dance!” she instructs Ed, and bends close to his ear. “Ask her to dance!”
Oh God. No way.
Resist her , I silently message Ed. Don’t listen. Be strong . I’m sending him my strongest telepathic signals. But it’s no good. As Sadie bellows in his ear, a pained, confused look is coming over Ed’s face. He looks like someone who really, really doesn’t want to vomit but is having no choice.
“Lara.” He clears his throat and rubs his face. “Would you like to… dance?”
If I refuse him, Sadie will wreak her revenge on me, I know it. This is what she wanted; this is why we’re all here. So she can dance with Ed.
“OK.”
Hardly able to believe what I’m doing, I put down my glass and stand up. I follow Ed to a tiny patch of spare floor next to the bar stools, and he turns to face me. For a moment we both just stare at each other, paralyzed by the enormity of the situation.
This is a one hundred percent nondancing scenario. We’re not on a dance floor. This isn’t a club, it’s a bar. No one else is dancing. The jazz band is still playing its scratchy music through the speakers, and some bloke is singing about his fancy shoes. There’s no beat, there’s no nothing. There’s no way we can dance.
“Dance!” Sadie is flitting between us like quicksilver, a whirlwind of impatience. “Dance together! Dance!”
With a look of desperation in his eyes, Ed starts moving awkwardly from side to side, trying as best he can to follow the music. He looks so miserable, I start copying him, just to make him feel better. I’ve never seen less convincing dancing in my life.
Out of the corner of my eye I can see everyone turning to watch us. My dress is swishing backward and forward, and my necklaces are jangling. Ed’s eyes are focused far ahead, as though he’s having an out-of-body experience.
“Excuse me.” A member of the bar staff, carrying a plate of dim sum, ducks between us.
Not only are we not on a dance floor, we’re in the way of everyone. This is the most excruciating experience of my life.
“Dance properly!” I turn my head to see Sadie regarding me in horror. “That’s not dancing!”
What does she expect us to do, the waltz?
“You look as though you’re trudging through mud! This is how to dance.”
She starts some twenties Charleston-type dance, all flying legs and elbows and knees. Her face is beatific, and I can hear her humming along to the music. At least someone’s having fun.
As I watch, she shimmies right up to Ed and places a slender hand on each of his shoulders. Now she’s running a hand adoringly down his cheek.
“Isn’t he blissful?” She runs both her hands down his chest, circling his waist and skimming down his back.
“Can you feel him?” I murmur incredulously, and Sadie flinches, as though I’ve caught her out.
“That’s… not the point,” she says defensively. “And it’s none of your business.”
OK, so she can’t. Well, whatever rocks her boat, I suppose. But do I have to watch?
“Sadie!” I hiss as her hands travel even further down his body. “Get a room!”
“I’m sorry, what did you say?” With an obvious effort, Ed focuses on me. He’s still dancing from side to side, totally oblivious to the fact that he has a twenty-three-year-old flapper running her hands voraciously all over his body.
“I said… let’s stop.” I avert my eyes from Sadie, who’s trying to nibble his ear.
“No!” protests Sadie furiously. “More!”
“Great idea,” says Ed at once, and starts back toward our chairs.
“Ed? Ed Harrison?” A blond woman interrupts his path. She’s wearing beige trousers and a white shirt and an expression of incredulous glee. At the table behind her, I can see several other well-groomed business types watching avidly. “I thought that was you! Were you just… dancing?”
