Page 37 of Dancing Fools and All That Jazz

Ruby

I sneak into the amphitheatre to find Max. He’s in the back row, right where I left him. Creeping down, I slide into the seat next to him. He turns, and I’m rewarded with a beaming smile as he opens his arms to hug me.

‘My God, Ruby, you were incredible,’ he whispers into my ear.

‘Honestly?’

‘Honestly. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but your dancing was far better than anything I could’ve imagined. The “Dancin’ Fool” routine was inspired. I couldn’t take my eyes off you. You have real stage presence.’

I bask in his praise and cuddle in close.

‘This is nice,’ I murmur.

‘When are you on again?’

‘In just over an hour. We’re doing a Bollywood number. Different again.’

‘Now that I must see. Want to slip down to the theatre café for a drink?’

‘Yes, let’s. But I must keep an eye on the clock and make sure I get back to the dressing room in time to change into my sari. It’s dead complicated to put on.’

‘I need to see if I’m right as to which lady is which. I barely remember Saint Monica from our brief meeting on the train. And I can’t wait to meet Batty Bonnie, Celtic Cath, Gnasher-Asha, Frosty Fay, and Happy-To-Be-Here-Ingrida.’

‘I bet you’ll have them all correct.’

We start to make a move when I see Sheila’s group strutting onto the stage in their skimpy outfits.

‘Wait. Let’s just watch this. These are our big rivals from the North West.’

‘Wow. Those costumes don’t leave much to the imagination.’

I smack his arm lightly. ‘No lusting after other dancers, you. Besides, this group’s vile. We have to share a dressing room with them and to say relations are strained is a gross understatement.’

The lights dim and Bold as Brass start their “Roxanne” number.

What the… I move from Max and sit up, back erect, staring at the stage.

‘What’s the matter?’

‘Frigging hell. It’s Clarissa’s dance.’ I scan the tiers for Clarissa and Hazel but can’t see them anywhere.

Max sits forward too and gives me a quizzical look.

I whisper sideways to him as I stare at the stage. ‘They didn’t generate the choreography to this – it’s Clarissa’s number. We won the Expression Cheshire competition with the exact routine a few years ago. It’s… well, it’s cheating.’

I watch with a growing rage as the group repeats the steps still held in my muscle memory. How dare they?

‘Am I allowed to say they’re good?’

‘No. Even if it’s true. Although, to be fair, they’re dancing really well,’ I mutter grudgingly. In fact, they’re outstanding. Perfectly in time, full of sass, and looking way sexier than we had in our cover-all leotards. Damn them.

The sharp tango moves hold our eyes to the end when the spectacular costume disaster unfolds. The entire audience gasp and I can’t tear my eyes away from the calamity on stage.

‘Grief. That’s a surprise ending.’ Max pretends to hide his eyes behind his hands.

When Sheila’s skirt splits open, revealing her shiny white ass, I find myself stifling a laugh and rushing Max from our bench to the exit.

‘Are we running away?’

‘Yes.’

‘Should I ask why?’

‘No.’

We laugh all the way to the main foyer area.

I don’t feel an ounce of guilt. I only cut a few stitches on a couple of the tops. I didn’t touch Sheila’s skirt.

I spot Clarissa and Hazel in the café. Hazel’s in her wheelchair and they are at a quiet table each sipping a glass of red wine. I cross to introduce Max and tell them about Sheila, but I then realise Clarissa is crying, dabbing her wet eyes with a handkerchief.

I quickly cut short what I was going to say and instead pass 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.’

Max stands and shakes her hand. ‘Pleasure to meet you. Your dancing was fantastic. I loved the section in “Dancin’ Fool” where you had to dash back to the group. It put a real smile on my face.’

‘It was terrible mistake.’ Ingrida laughs. ‘But it work out OK. Very nice to meet you, Max.’

‘Ingrida, did you see what happened to Sheila’s Maggots?’

‘ Ja . We see from the dressing room. It was very bad, but I could not stop laughing.’

‘Us too.’

‘I laugh so much I cry off one of my false eyelashes.’ She holds up the eyelash between her finger and thumb. ‘I will have to ask Fay to stick it back on.’

‘She’s just there, but I think she’s a bit preoccupied.’

Ingrida glances at Fay and nods back at me. Max indicates for her to take one of the spare chairs at our table.

The rest of the group heads towards us, apart from Monica who is crouched next to Clarissa and has a comforting arm around her.

‘Poor Clarissa. She is just having a moment,’ Asha tells me. ‘She did not see Sheila’s dance. Did you?’

I nod but before I can say more Bonnie and Cath gush, ‘Who have we got here Ruby?’ and ‘Are you going to introduce us to your friend?’

‘Bonnie, put your tongue back in your mouth.’ I wink at them. ‘This is Max.’

‘Max, this is Asha, Bonnie, and Cath. Monica is over there.’

I hold my breath as Max smiles at each one, giving a brief lingering look at Monica in the distance. He gives nothing away but smiles at me as he raises an eyebrow to indicate he’d guessed each dancer correctly.

‘Delighted to meet you all, ladies. Your dancing was excellent. Can I get you all a drink? You certainly deserve one.’

‘Five gin and tonics.’ Cath smiles before adding, ‘To be sure I’m only kidding. We can’t go on the gargle until we’ve finished dancing for the day. Mine’s a Diet Coke.’

The others politely add their orders for soft drinks or water and lots of cake and Max goes to the bar.

We chat and giggle about the Bold as Brass debacle.

And then I see Monica walk to the bar where she ends up right next to Max.

I find myself tensing. I see Max introducing himself and he goes to shake her hand.

She declines and the conversation around me dulls to background noise as I freeze, watching their interaction but unable to hear their exchange. My stomach is churning.

Monica is listening to Max. She’s not smiling.

Her arms are crossed and at one point she briefly looks back to where I’m sitting before unfolding her arms and addressing Max again.

One hand is now on her waist and the other is raised palm up, moving sharply up and down as she speaks.

The hairs on the back of my neck prickle.

I then realise Ingrida has been speaking to me as she leans her head in front of my face, blocking my line of vision to Max and Monica.

I focus on Ingrida. ‘Sorry, what?’

‘Are you OK, Ruby? You do not look well.’

‘What? No… I’m fine…’ I move my head until I can see Max again. Monica’s returning to Clarissa’s table and Max has his back is to me as he pays for the drinks.

Oh God, I should have told him about Vince. It’ll be much worse to have come from Monica. He won’t understand. Hell, she doesn’t understand.

I bite the inside of my lip and feel the metallic taste of blood as I pierce the soft flesh under the pressure. Damn.

By the time I’ve rummaged for a tissue in my bag to dab at the wound, Max has returned to the table with a tray of drinks and cakes. His expression is unreadable, but he doesn’t make eye contact with me.

‘How long are you in Paris?’ Asha asks Max.

‘I’m not sure. I may be travelling back tonight.’ Max doesn’t even look in my direction.

I bend to put the tissue back in my bag, so the table hides my face.

‘Well, Ruby has certainly kept you a secret, Max.’ Bonnie jokingly nudges him.

Bonnie, shut up. I want to kick her.

‘Oh, Ruby likes her secrets.’

I lift my head and Max is staring straight at me. The others giggle and I slowly shake my head at him. Max, don’t do this…

‘Did you watch both dances?’ Cath asks, but I cannot focus on his reply or the ensuing conversation about the competition, the Opéra Bastille , Paris, and hotels. All I can hear is the blood pounding around my head.

I need to speak to Max – alone.

‘What’s our hotel called again?’ I vaguely hear Bonnie ask.

‘Charbon. It’s pretty dreadful.’

‘I’m not surprised,’ I hear Max reply. ‘In French, charbon de blé means coal product or smut.’

‘ Ja , that is what I say…’

‘Oh, my goodness.’ Asha springs up from her chair, pointing to the café clock. ‘Look at the time. We need to go get changed for our last dance.’

Everyone hurriedly downs the last of their drinks. They thank Max again and leave the table. I linger. He stands to leave, and I grab his arm.

‘Max?’

‘What?’

‘What Monica told you…’

‘Yes?’

‘She… well she…’

‘Is it true?’

‘No, I mean yes, but you have to know…’

‘Know what? If I think about it, I don’t think I know that much about you at all, Ruby.’

‘You’re fucking kidding me…’

‘Look, I need to clear my head.’ He turns away and then back again as he adds, ‘Thing is, I’ve had it with relationships based on lies and deceit. I thought you were different.’

‘Max, what the fuck—’

‘Ruby, hurry up, you can talk to lover boy later,’ Bonnie calls loudly across the café.

‘Max. Talk to me. For crying out loud…’ I fold my arms and challenge him with my eyes.

‘I’m not sure. I’m not sure about anything right now.’

Max walks away and exits through the main Opéra House doors.

I slump down into the chair and press my fist into my forehead.

Fuck… fuck… fuck.

‘Ruby?’

I look up to see Clarissa staring anxiously at me.

‘Oh dear, I do not know what has happened, but you do know you will be on soon?’ She taps her watch. ‘I hope you can compose yourself and that you will you be able to dance?’

I nod.

‘Are you sure? We must put our dance performance above and beyond any personal concerns.’

‘Yes, sure… No problem.’ I give Clarissa a weak smile and mechanically head for the dressing rooms.

Well, Monica. Thanks a bunch. You’ve had your revenge good and proper.