Page 48 of Dancing Fools and All That Jazz
Talking ofAnnie, I have seen a new side to Frosty Fay. She had a few too many brandies last night and became quite relaxed. She was more talkative than I have ever seen her. She said the room full of beds reminded her of growing up in St Eulalia’s and the dormitories there. I’m not sure the others realised St Eulalia’s was the local orphanage back then. I only knew because my dad used to talk about what he called theforgotten kidsthere when he helped to re-wire the place.
I couldn’t help noticing there was something wrong with Fay’s feet. Looked as if she was missing at least one toe on each foot, but I was careful to look away as she hurriedly put on bed socks. That must make dancing quite a challenge.
Still, she’s back to her usual irritating frosty self this morning. First, she ticked me off. ‘Please, Ruby, ladies perspire – they do not sweat.’ And then she corrected Batty Bonnie two or three times in the space of half an hour as we ate breakfast in a small café near our grotty hotel.
‘That is not how you pronounce croissant… The Eiffel Tower iseitheran eyesoreorsticks out like a sore thumb, but it is not, I repeat, not a thumb sore.’
And when Ingrida asked what would we do if Sheila’s group tried to intimidate us again and Bonnie responded, ‘We’ll cross that ridge when we come to it.’ Fay nearly exploded with irritation.
I told Fay to cut Bonnie somesack, but I also winked at her so she knew I was only teasing. Fay did a doubletake but didn’t give me her usual glare and as far as I know she hasn’t said another critical word to Bonnie.
Time was moving on, so I suggested we grab our cases with our costumes, props and make-up and head for the dance venue.
‘Just look at us dressed identically in our DICK/DECK outfits.’ I wink at Ingrida. ‘With Fay at the front, I feel as if I’m back on a school trip.’
‘I think we look very smart in our matched tops,’ Ingrida replies as we hurry after Fay.
I do a double take before realising Ingrida is being serious. Well, I, for one, don’t want anyone looking at the awful insignia stuck on my chest, so despite the warm morning, I throw my jacket over one shoulder to hide the damn thing.
Now we are on the packed Metro in the French rush hour. We are still on the outskirts of Paris and the line is overground, but with little to see as we travel through suburbs and industrial areas. As passengers stand to leave, Bonnie, Cath, Ingrida, and I manage to grab a seat. Monica continues to keep a good distance from me. Well, stuff her. If she wants to hold a grudge, that’s her lookout.
As the Tube nears the centre of Paris and goes underground, we lean into each other to talk about the forthcoming competition and the venue.
‘I’ve never heard of the opera theatre at the Bastille,’ Bonnie comments.
I look it up online and show her the images.
‘Hey, it’s huge.’
‘And very contemporary. Get this, the amphitheatre seats five hundred and the main theatre, a couple of thousand.’
Cath whistles. ‘That’s bigger than any of our previous audiences. I hope my nerves don’t get the better of me.’
‘I always dance better in front of an audience.’
‘Bit of an exhibitionist, eh, Ruby?’ Bonnie nudges me in the ribs.
‘Yes, if you like. But Clarissa’s right, we all perform better when watched.’
The seat next to me becomes free and Monica makes to sit down but then thinks better of it and tightens her hand on the rail next to her, studiously looking away. Pathetic.
I survey the other dancers dotted around the carriage. Perhaps I can cultivate a new close friend?
Asha is a positive, friendly type, if a little over-interested in the latest gossip. Plus, when you talk to her she looks at your mouth not your eyes which is a bit off-putting. My hands always go to my teeth in case there’s a piece of food stuck in them or a smear of lipstick. So, maybe not Gnasher-Asha.
Celtic Cath and Batty Bonnie are completely wrapped up in each other.
I’m really warming to Happy-To-Be-Here-Ingrida; she’s a good laugh. I remember her coming to my Ann Summers party and telling us about her unusual sexeducation in a Latvian dance company. Come to think of it, she was one of the few dance ladies who didn’t bat an eyelid at the erotic goods for sale. Mind, she’s dead busy now she’s taken on all those stepkids…
Frosty Fay’s a definite no, although it turns out she’s pretty amazing at navigating the Metro and getting us on the right lines to ensure we get to our destination. She’s a much nicer person when she’s in charge. She even smiles more, which is a pleasant change to her usual icy frown.
I glance at Monica at the other end of the compartment, studiously ignoring me and I feel a pang deep in my gut. Oh, why’s she being so frigging unreasonable?
As the Metro nears our station, the conversation turns to Janine.
‘She seemed the least likely member of the group to cause upset,’ Bonnie comments.
‘Thanks for that, Bonnie.’ Cath pokes her in the arm.
