Page 77 of Dancing Fools and All That Jazz
I quickly cut short what I was going to say and insteadpass the table with a quick, ‘Hi, Hazel and Clarissa. Just having a break.’
Hazel gives a small wave and smiles – I see in her eyes she is grateful I have not intruded on their conversation – and we hurriedly find chairs on the other side of the café.
‘Is that the great Lady C herself?’
‘Yes, but she’s having a tough time of it. Her friend Hazel is terminally ill. This is probably their last trip away.’
Max nods sadly and gives a barely audible sigh. Again, I wonder if this has touched a nerve like the business with Will’s dad. It makes me realise we need to speak more about the past. Our conversations focus on music, festivals, travel and politics – where we’re in surprising agreement with each other. And much of the time, conversation isn’t needed. I smile to myself.
He goes to the bar and buys me a coffee and himself a beer and when he returns, we move our chairs to be right next to each other.
‘So, are you enjoying watching the dancing?’
‘Surprisingly, yes. There were a fair few mediocre numbers, but I have to confess, one of the dances moved me to tears.’
‘Besides Sheila’s arse you mean?!’
‘Yes, besides Sheila’s voluptuous ass.’
‘You’re not allowed to say voluptuous.’
‘Curvaceous?’
‘Definitely not.’
‘Ample?’
‘No.’
‘Meaty?’
‘I’ll allow meaty, but tell me which dance moved you to tears?’
‘It was a French quartet. Ballet, I think. They did it to a Coldplay track.’
‘“Fix You”? Yes, we saw it in rehearsal. It was fantastic. Very moving.’
‘I was quite taken aback at the effect it had on me. I hadn’t realised dance could do that.’
I smile at Max and take his hand and kiss it, leaving a large imprint of my red lipstick on his knuckles. ‘Oops. Sorry.’
‘I shall not wash it for a week.’ His eyes twinkle. ‘Hey, isn’t that one of the dancers from the “Fix You” number over there?’
I turn to see where he is looking. A few tables away, a young woman sits opposite Fay. They are deep in conversation. Seeing them close up, I realise they look very alike. The conversation appears strained, and when Fay glances up and sees me smiling at her, she quickly looks away.
Max grabs my hand. ‘So, you’re coming to my hotel tonight, Ms Anderson?’
‘You betcha. But my poor, aching dancing bones may need a complete massage.’
‘It would be my pleasure.’ Max rubs his hand up my leg under the table and I squirm with delight.
‘I think the pleasure could be all mine…’ I start to say when I spy Asha, Monica, and the others bound into the foyer.
They home straight in on Clarissa and Hazel, who hurriedly sit back in their seats and listen to Asha. The others join in, and I can see from their animated discussion they are telling Clarissa all about Sheila stealing her moves to “Roxanne” and the unfortunate wardrobe malfunctions.
Ingrida spots me sitting with Max and smiles. I wave her over.
‘Max, this is Ingrida. Ingrida, Max.’
