Saturday Evening

The room was full. The empty hall I had peered into just over an hour ago was now heaving with noise, movement, bright colour and above all — people.

Despite our position on the landing in front of the doors, no one had spotted us yet, so I was able to try and get my bearings. The shapes in the clearer space in the middle were hardly moving — the band must have just finished a piece. In fact I could see them putting down their instruments so the deejay must be taking over for a session. That was good timing.

Patterns began to appear in the groups of people around the edge. Each gathering tended to have one brightly coloured young thing at its centre — often a female surrounded by males, but sometimes a male surrounded by females. There, circulating, the darker colours of the mothers threaded through the clumps, meeting in small groups of two or three and then breaking up to coagulate with others. There was my Mother, head to head with two others, no doubt at work already.

The colours of the dresses were garish en mass, even for those few that were individually tasteful. But somehow it was appropriate. This was the world, on display, determined to enjoy itself. Suddenly the sombre black of my ancient jacket seemed woefully inadequate. How could simply good lines stand up against this cacophony of shape and colour?

Don't panic, I thought. Focus on just one of them — that girl, in the shepherdess outfit. God, what a mess of frills she was. She needed the crook so you knew she was a shepherdess, but she couldn't decide how to hold it. How long had she been sixteen? She looked too young to be here. And then it struck me. The room was full of extravagant gowns and glittering jewels, but most of the wearers were only sixteen or seventeen. They were children playing at dressing up as adults, and on the whole not doing a very good job of it.

I smiled to myself. I could do this. I could do whatever I felt like. After all, what did I have to lose?

I stepped forward, to give the Master of Ceremonies my name. When I told him how I wanted him to introduce us, he demurred politely but firmly. I understood his reluctance — it was after all the accepted euphemism for a paid prole prostitute. However a tenner in the hand did wonders. He banged his staff once on the floor and in a majestic voice rolled out the words.

"Mister James Pilsbury, and ... companion."

There was a shiver, like wind through a wheat field, as all looked up, and in a spreading ripple the room fell silent.

The deejay looked over at me, grinning. I remembered why I preferred the company of proles. They had a sense of humour. I gave him the nod, and just as we had agreed, the music flared into the room. That old Queen classic — We Will Rock You, just that bit too loud. It had been another another ten quid but worth every penny. Now, the girl's in heels, I thought, so let's take the stairs slowly.

One step at a time, and one shout from Queen to each step, we descended the staircase. I could feel Annie on the end of her tether, and I could feel all the eyes fixed on me. No, not on me. I knew there was no one in the room not staring at that body, that mask, and that chain.

The crowd parted as I reach the floor, to reveal my Mother, frozen, with mouth open. Suddenly the room was loud again, loud with the hiss of urgent syllables. I bowed low to her, and then nodded again to the deejay. He faded down the Queen, before moving on to— Strauss. It was not my favourite, but fair enough. The room was back to its usual buzz again, and the crowd swirled — except for those around us, who stood to stare unashamedly. Ignoring the expression on my Mother's face, I turned to face my gorgeous partner, and took her in my arms. We danced, and time fell back into place.

The waltz was not a rhythm I loved, but Annie danced it really well, and her gliding hips just swept me along. But gone was the bubbling child I had practiced with this afternoon. Instead this beautiful woman swirled around me, her faultless steps matching her flawless silver mask. The loop of chain was still in my hand along with hers, and it swung out in an arc as we spun. Although pretending to dance themselves, the rest of the room watched.

The closing chords signaled the end of the piece, and we glided to a halt. I made a small formal bow, and she curtsied elegantly, before taking up her place behind me. The gap in the crowd opened in front and closed behind us as we walk slowly through it to where my Mother stood, staring and motionless. I could not read her expression.

"It is your life, isn't it James." she stated, as if bemused. "I can see there is nothing I can do." And with that she turned around, and walked off, heading for the door.

I opened my mouth to speak, but could think of nothing to say. I had won. So simple, so effortless, and yet — the victory was hollow. The feeling of anti-climax was like a blanket. I actually shook my shoulders as if it could be thrown off, and looked around with uncertain eyes. Now what?

Over there was Penelope, standing motionless between her friends Emma and Claire, and facing me. Feeling reckless, I gave Annie's chain a little tweak to warn her, and set off in that direction.

She was wearing an old fashioned dress of royal blue velvet that was clearly made before the current fashions reached their sillier extremes. It suited her — not many could have carried it off, but she had the figure and the bearing. With full-length skirts and a simple waist, the halter neck lovingly held each precious breast and left her back bared. Suspended in the valley between them, that amazing diamond glittered. In a room full of pantomime costumes, she stood out like a lily amongst paper flowers.

My urge to shock was still unsated, and as I moved with measured pace in her direction, I felt like a wolf stalking its next victim. She woke up and tore her eyes off the chain and collar, just in time for me to lean forward to kiss the left cheek. I took my time, and felt the softness of her face against my lips before I switched to the right-hand one. She tilted her head as she should and I moved back to the left. She froze while my lips oh-so-softly explored the texture of her skin, and then, when I held it much too long to be polite, pulled away, leaving the memory of roses in my nostrils. She looked flushed, and a little perturbed. Interesting, I thought. The society queen was not unshakeable after all.

She shook herself and got a grip. "Mr. Pilsbury, how good to see you. You are perhaps looking a little..."

I smiled "Unconventional?" I suggested. "Don't worry, this is as far as it goes. No more surprises, I am just here to enjoy myself."

Her facade slipped for a second, and a look of relief escaped. She inclined her head in a nod of thanks.

"But it may have a price," I whispered, leaning forward, and I grinned again as she pulled back, slightly alarmed. My left hand moved up to cradle the back of her neck and I ran my thumb under her ear lobe. She stiffened, but did not back off, and I gripped it gently but firmly. Slowly, inexorably, I leant in, sliding my other hand around her waist, while her friends watched in horror. She could not pull away without making a scene, although her face betrayed that she would have liked to try. I reached for her lips with mine. Maybe I just wanted to embarrass her a little, but something in me said to do it this way. Taking my time I tasted her, running my lips over her soft mouth, carefully removing her lipstick with my tongue. She exhaled suddenly, and to my surprise, responded. Just for a second she was yielding into my arms; and her lips were moving against mine — before she broke away.

It was over so quickly an onlooker might have missed it, but the now two of us were panting as we stared at each other. I felt my face break into a grin but she pulled back with a gasp, as if panicking at what she had just allowed, and hurriedly turned away. In a swirl of long blue skirts she was gone.

Wow, what was that about! Penelope Jones was the last girl I would have thought would actually allow me to kiss her like that, but something had definitely happened there. I surreptitiously adjusted my trousers to reposition their contents.

It was just in time, as Mrs. Jones stepped up to me. "Such a striking outfit, Mr. Pilsbury. Such an interesting cut! Who could have designed it?" She must have seen the clinch, and was presumably stepping in to exert some damage control.

"Chap by the name of Armani" I replied with a short bow, accepting her interception with good grace and not attempting to go after Penelope. "Long dead now. Mrs. Haversham thought it was time for a revival." Mrs. Jones' face revealed that she knew the name, and she raised her eyebrows.

"If that is a real Armani, it is worth more than any other suit in the room. I did not think there were any left in the kingdom." I was impressed that she was even aware of whom I was talking about. But, I suppose one should never underestimate the importance of fashion to the determined socialite.

"Just the one that I know of. Needed altering, of course. But hasn't she done it well?" A sneaky notion occurred to me. This would faze her. "Would you care to take it for a spin, Mrs. Jones?" and I held up my arms, inviting her to dance. I had to give it to her, she was game. She raised her eyebrows at my cheek, but stepped into my arms, and off we went.

I had only meant it to throw her off, but she was surprisingly light on her feet, and when I bowed and thanked her at the end, it was with real pleasure. As I slipped past other mothers back to where I had left Annie I could hear the gossip already;

"At her age!"

"Armani — it's the only one left in the kingdom!"

"I've been told it's worth more than every suit in the room put together!"

Annie was standing where I had left her, silent in the centre of a circle of male admirers. They were all staring in fascination but I could see that not one of them dared approach her. I chuckled, as I wondered if the radius of the clear floor around her could be calculated from the contrasting strengths of fear and attraction. As I stepped through them to take the end of the silver lead from her hand they broke up and turned away, each suddenly looking for someone else.

Wordlessly, elegantly and with eyes always on us, once more we danced. By now, I was really enjoying myself. There was no doubt that we had made an impression, and I was not sure that I cared if it was good or bad — either would do. Under that silk she was so naked, and not just to my eyes but to my touch and my command. Owning this beautiful sexual woman in front of the whole assembly was a heady wine, and it tasted glorious.

When the set ended, I set off for the refreshment tables, and discovered that as long as I walked slowly enough, the bubble of space and silence followed us, to be filled in with whispering heads after we passed by. I paced like a king towards the collarwaits and accepted a glass of champagne for each of us.

As I sipped and stared back across the room, I watched the actions of the other girls. Dropping Annie in their midst, really had put a cat amongst the pigeons. Those who were not openly staring at us in envy were flirting even more obviously, quite intentionally putting themselves on display for the boys around them. It was as if they actually were for sale, and were desperately competing to get bought first. God this was such a meat market.

The boys did not really talk to any of the girls either — or not for more than a few minutes. They flitted from one colourful dress to the next, until one caught their fancy and they took it out on the floor. It was almost like bees around a flowerbed — quite poetic if you did not know what was going on underneath.

Not all were bees, I thought, spotting a familiar bulk amongst the rest. Over there was something more like a stag beetle — something ugly, spiky and clumsy. It was Murdoch, and with him his two goons, unintentionally drifting towards me. I started to edge away, and then stopped. If not now, when?

"Stay here, girl," I hissed to Annie, and stepped towards them.

"Boss?" she asked, uncertainly. I turned back. Where could I park her safely for a few minutes? I cast around for a moment. There was Chatsworth, over there, he would do.

"Chatsworth! Hey, Peter, over here!" He approached me warily as if I might bite. I nodded to myself. Yes, solid, socially middle of the road, and basically a decent sort. Peter was perfect.

"Peter, this is Miss A."

"Eh? What do you mean 'A', eh?" His plump face looked puzzled, and I sighed. I handed him the lead. "She will do whatever you ask. You may dance with her, and talk to her but do not touch her sexually or leave the room with her." He stared at the loop of silver chain in his hand with bulging eyes, as if afraid it might bite.

I leaned over to whisper in Annie's ear. "Humour him but take no nonsense. Back soon." I could not see her expression of course, but she nodded obediently, and I swung on my heel.

Murdoch was now facing me with Burke and Cribbens, and his eyebrows scowled as I strolled up to him. They were all in what I guessed had started off as eighteenth century cavalry uniforms, before someone went mad with the gold braid. I wondered how they could take themselves seriously.

"I don't know what you're looking so happy about, Pillsbury," he sneered. "I thought you knew what happened to anyone who crossed me?"

"Just remind me, Vince. Pretend I've forgotten." As if by magic Burke appeared at my left shoulder while Cribbens popped up on my right hand side. I wondered how long they had to practice this sort of thing to get it looking good.

"A little birdy told me that you might be planning on sending that collarslut back." Murdoch growled, apparently not in a cheerful mood. "If you were even thinking of not handing that thing over on Monday afternoon..."

"Oh, no, Vince, your little bird got it all wrong. I'm definitely keeping that collarmaid — it's a delightful little thing. Softest, sweetest cunt you ever used to bury your old todger." I put my arm around Burke's shoulder in a matey kind of way, and looked away from him to smile sweetly at Cribbens. "Although it is true that I would never let a fat ugly lump like you get your grubby hands on her."

Duck backwards. Twist. RUN.

The time delay in slow brains processing unexpected information was a delight to behold. Did dinosaurs work the same way? I was two paces ahead of them as I darted through the crowd, heading for the bar. Now, I just needed a friendly face — any one of my parent's friends. God, I hoped this would work.

In the room at large, the density of fathers was maybe ten percent. That did not mean they were not there, although no doubt many like my father had managed to cry off with one excuse or another. No, it was just that within two arms lengths of the bar, the father density leapt up to about ninety percent. And that's where I was headed.

SHIT! Burke had managed to cut in front of me. I ducked to his right — and bumped smack into good old Mrs Jones.

"Ooof! James! Where are you off to at such speed? In a hurry to ask me for another dance perhaps?"

"Not a bad idea!" I gasped in reply, perhaps a trifle ungraciously, and took her hand. We were spinning off into the middle of the dance floor before Cribbens or Burke had quite caught up with what was happening. They could only glare impotently as I steered us away from them.

"You're breathing a little heavily," mentioned Mrs. Jones. "I hope that's the excitement of getting your hands on me again!"

Despite the adrenalin still flooding me I had to laugh. "Ah, Mrs. Jones. To dance with you will always raise my heart rate. But unfortunately that panting was just me getting out of a spot of bother."

"Young Murdoch is more than a spot. He's a blot on the landscape," she muttered darkly.

"I see you know him, then?" I asked, surprised at her perception. I wondered if it was a complete accident that had put her in my path.

"There is no love lost between his family and ours. Is he giving you any trouble?"

"Let's just say that right now he would dearly like to find me alone down a dark alley, and I am quite keen not to be there for him."

"Hmmmm. Let me see if I can't help with that. I might have a word with some old friends of mine after this dance."

True to her word, after we had bowed and parted, I watched her approaching a couple of burly grizzled fathers propping up the bar, and chat to them for a moment. She returned to my side. "I've just called in a favour, and those nice gentlemen are going to breath down his neck for a while. You should have no trouble for tonight anyway."

"Mrs. Jones, you are incredible. Not only beautiful, but efficacious too."

She laughed. "Very good, James, but why are you wasting this on me? You should be talking to my lovely daughter."

What could I do but grin in reply, and agree to do just that? I had bowed and made my farewells before the implication sank in. Twenty minutes ago, she was steering me away from Penelope. Now she seemed to have changed her mind. Surely she was not trying to foster anything between us? She must have been pulling my leg again.

Penelope herself was over against the wall, along with Emma and Claire. While I watched, the clump of boys around them shifted, and then her two friends were being lead away, each by some eager stud. The two remaining boys were looking at her hopefully and seemed about to speak, but suddenly a pair of mothers claimed them and whisked them off. Just for a second I saw the shadow of disappointment flit over her face, and I recollected what she had confided to me on Thursday night.

I slid through the crowd until I was at her side. "So pleased to catch you off the floor, Miss Jones," I smiled, ignoring her glare.

I leant over to her ear. "So, how is it going?"

"What do you care?" I was surprised at her bitterness, but at the same time, oddly flattered that she was not bothering to be polite.

"Because you told me what this meant to you. And I ... I am sorry I embarrassed you earlier." I had to hold my face close so we could hear each other, and her eyes were very near.

She sighed. "You didn't embarrass me. I embarrassed myself." For some reason the swirling currents of humanity were leaving us alone for the moment, me shoulder to knee with some ghastly statue, and her, with her back against the wall.

"Well, let us see," she continued "I have put up with some of the most inept compliments dreamt up by man. I have had three twirls around the floor, all hopeless dancers. And Murgatroyd asked me on a date next week."

She waved down my attempt to congratulate her. "I turned him down — I am supposed to be going out with you after all."

"Penny! You cannot turn someone down just because of our little arrangement."

"I couldn't leave you to the mercy of these little bitches. You must have noticed all the hungry eyes on you. It was bad enough when you were just rich. Now after tonight, you are both rich and irresistible."

"Well maybe after tonight, I feel like I could handle it. Now, promise me, if anyone else asks me out, you accept, alright?"

She shrugged. "Oh, don't flatter yourself. Supper with Harold Murgatroyd? I'd rather spend the evening waxing my legs."

I squashed the image that sprung to mind quickly enough to carry on, "And what do you mean, irresistible? There is no need to get sarcastic, just when we were getting along so well."

"Sarcasm? Hmmmph. Have you seen the way every female is looking at you tonight?"

"I know. I have actually managed to shock them, haven't I? They are staring at me in such horror!"

"No, James, not horror," she corrected gently, as if to an idiot. "Hot, flustered and damp between the legs, but not with horror." She looked at me strangely. "You actually have no idea, have you?"

"About what?" I really did have no idea what she was on about. It was getting a bit warm in here, but girls were supposed to 'glow' rather than perspire, weren't they?

"Oh, forget it." She sighed as if forcing herself back to business. "Come on. You should be shocking people and I should be working the room."

"Don't you like dancing then?"

"I can't dance if no-one asks me!"

"Oh. No, of course not. Um, should I wait here and..."

"On the other hand, you could ask me to dance."

"Penny, I mustn't monopolise you if there's any one who might make a match..."

"Come ON!" she interrupted. "Can't I have someone take me for a spin just for the fun of it, just for a moment out of the cattle market?" I suddenly heard the stress in her voice. She was right. I had been enjoying myself while she had been in the thick of it, and not winning.

"Miss Jones, may I have the pleasure of this next number?" I asked obediently, with my best bow. With a sunshine mood swing she flashed a smile back at me, one of those rare real smiles that made me want to like her, and took my outstretched hand.

The "next number" was a jive; Buddy Holly, one of my favourites, and I like them hot. And it was not just the music; Penny was hot too. She was really moving. When I was in the mood, I could leave any girl in my dance class gasping, but the more I threw her around, the faster she came back for more. I had never understood how girls even managed to walk, never mind dance, in long gowns and high heels, but she was whirling like a dervish and grinning like a maniac. The light in her eyes shone with a challenge I could not ignore.

As we wound up to the last eight bars, the band started ramping it up and half the room had stopped to watch us. I finished with that move where you flip her over your shoulder, just knowing she would land on her feet in time for me to catch her hand. It was one of those moves that you must never attempt without lots of practice with your partner first, but she pulled it off. We clung to each other, panting amidst the whistles and claps as while the last chord died away.

"Not bad, for a beginner." she puffed. "Thanks for keeping it nice and easy so I could keep up, but you didn't really need to. I could show you a few steps some time if you had the inclination," she added.

"Nice and easy!" I started to splutter, and then caught her grin. "Right, Jones, you're on! Let's see what they are playing next, and then we'll discover who is keeping up with whom."

But the bandleader had decided not to try and cap the last one, and had switched the mood to elegant. The unmistakable intro to "Dancing Cheek to Cheek" floated out and somehow both Fred and Ginger were looking at me over her shoulder.

Penny herself was looking at me expectantly, but now the idea of a slow romantic number with Penny was not right, or was it — too much. God, I could still feel the texture of her lipstick on my tongue; surely I could handle one slow dance. But I was still standing there in an embarrassed silence, way after we should have started off.

"Idiot" she said, in a matter of fact voice, and took my hand to place it about her waist. "Well, if I lead we are going to be all over the place, so you had better get moving!"

It was all right. I don't know what I had been worried about, because it was more than all right, it was really nice. Penny was as smooth and elegant in the foxtrot as she had been fiery in the jive, and she moved in my arms like she was part of me.

"So, who are the good prospects in the room, then?" I thought I ought to make conversation.

"James, do you have to talk about that right now?"

The curve of her waist seemed so natural, so right, under my hand.

"I just never thought about it from the girl's point of view before," I mused into her ear. It occurred to me that, odd though it seemed, I was not sure I wanted her to find someone. On the other hand, now I was not going to screw up her ball, it shouldn't be for nothing. One way or the other, I was getting interested in what happened to her.

"Hah, I can believe that. But to tell you the truth, it feels such an anticlimax now. I have been looking forward to this for half my life, it seems, and now it is here... " She trailed off.

All by themselves, the finger tips of my right hand were counting the little bumps in the curve of her spine, and enjoying the rippling of her lower back muscles under the velvet of that dress. I had to concentrate to stop my hand drifting up to the bare skin just an inch or so above where it rested. "But I've seen lots of boys chatting to you!"

"They are all hopeless. Half of them get their tongues in a knot trying to say 'Hello'. If they've worked out how to speak then they can't dance, and if they can dance they hold me as if I were a stick of dynamite."

I laughed. "You are aware that you do project a certain — shall we say aura, that might tempt some to tread carefully?"

"What do you mean?" she glared. "Are you trying to say that I'm scary?" I presumed she was unaware that, right at that second, 'scary' was an understatement.

"No, no — you are beautiful, indeed, magnificent. But occasionally um ... a little awesome at the same time."

She regarded me suspiciously, while still gliding within my arms, and then suddenly broke into a chuckle. "Magnificent. Awesome. James, if that was your idea of flattery, I think I'm going to have to give you a few pointers."

I smiled back into her face, and for a second just let myself swim in the warm tide of her grin. "Hey, I never claimed that our date next week was going to be any good."

"Oh, no, its too late to put me off now," she glowered at me. I poked my tongue out at her until that intoxicating involuntary smile cracked her pretend frown again. "But anyway, there is not a single decent man in the lot of them. And if there was, his mother wouldn't let him near me," she carried on.

"I don't understand."

"It is all set up by the mothers, scheming in the background, and we are the pawns trying to execute the schemes. Watch my mother." As I spun us round, she nodded in the direction of Mrs. Jones on the far side of the room, deep in conversation with two others of the society ilk. "The real trouble is my poor Mum is having such a tough time about the dowry. She is doing the rounds, but she has to prevaricate, trying to play it down. Did you see how Bertie and Cholmondlley were pulled off?"

"What, their mums took them away?" I said in disbelief. "Who would let their mother tell them whom they can talk to?"

"They are not like you, James. They care too much about their inheritance, and what Grandma will say, and ... oh, basically they are all wimps anyway."

"My poor Mother. She was really upset when she saw me tonight. You know she has stormed off home." I explained. "I was really pleased at how my idea worked, but maybe I went a bit far."

"You know what's ironic? She should have stayed to see what's happened."

"I don't understand"

"Look around. You could ask any girl here for a date, and she would bite your hand off."

"But what about the mums. If my performance tonight has not put them off, nothing will, and you just said..."

"Two hundred and forty seven kay is pretty persuasive. Teenage rebellion doesn't last, but gold in New Threadneedle Street is a very different matter." Penny pulled her head away from my shoulder and looked at me. In heels like those, she was almost my height and could look straight into my eyes. The rest of the room receded. "Half of them would defy their parents any way — see how they're drooling."

"Why do you keep saying that!"

"Because it's true, you idiot!" she replied, but with strange gentleness. The blue in her eyes really was extraordinary. "Look, I have had enough of this crowd. Shall we go and get a breath of air on the terrace?" she asked.

"Of course" I concurred, not really thinking about it. I steered us over to that side of the room, and we broke out of the dance zone. It felt wrong to take my hand away from Penny's back, but of course I could not leave it there.

It was only when we were out there amidst the black silhouettes of pairs of young people clinging to each other, amongst the whispered moans and muttered protestations, that I remembered what "the terrace" was used for.

"Ah, Penny, I am not sure this is a good idea. What happens if people saw me take you out here?"

"Well," she replied thoughtfully but in a teasing voice, "Hanging on your arm can only make me more interesting. If we are back inside really fast, the chaps will assume that you blew it and they will be considering having a go themselves. But if we are here too long, every one will think we got it together, and then most of them will write me off."

"So — it's all in the timing." I got into the game. "What do you think, say a couple of minutes then?"

"Oh, I would say three, no, four. Now what can we do out here for four or five minutes?" She looked at me and suddenly even in the dim lamplight her eyes were very big and very close. "That thing you did when you kissed me. I think you should teach me that properly." How did she manage to turn the tables so effortlessly? Now I was the one feeling like a shy virgin, but before I could object or think, her arms were around my neck and her mouth was fastened to mine.