Well… two weeks is enough to rekindle a girl's hopes! I hadn't spotted my Alastor in ages, and had only my photographs, stolen possessions and memories to go on. It never compares to the real thing, not at all! So I prepared to go dancing. Sally is wrong, I thought, she's wrong, wrong, wrong! I'll know it when I dance with him. She's no judge of the chemistry between the two of us; I would know it, bien-aimé!
Now, because Johnny Evil (ugh!) and his band play jazz, yours truly dressed efficiently, for quick and easy movement. In place of my usual constrictive attire, I chose a dress, fitted at the upper body, with short, somewhat loose raglan sleeves. The skirt is flared, but not outrageously so, and it hits just below the knee. To go with it, I found a cardigan, gloves, stockings and my nicest underwear. I have seen many a photograph of young swingers being chucked about by their men, flashing their upper thighs to the world… I don't think that will happen to me, but better safe than sorry!
The color of the dress was important. It should stand out to Alastor — but not white. I'm nearly white myself, and it washes me out. Also, it should try not to clash with his clothing… the trouble was, I didn't know what he'd wear. Probably red like his hair, or something in that triad, or complementary… argh! In the end I went with blue and hoped for the best!
Since he was used to me in other garments, I hoped the dress was not too modern for his tastes. Certain sinners take decades to let go of the era of their deaths, and embrace modernity. Some sinners never manage it!
Personally, I try to appreciate the present. Much about the 1950s has been welcome: for example, improved cameras and other such innovations. And the music, of course! I am obsessed with Nina, Tom Lehrer, the collaborations of Louis and Ella… there are such good things in the human world, really! We're lucky to taste them. Some new things I cannot stand, however, like all those flat, lifeless pieces of furniture. My friend Velvet owns a fold-away cocktail stand which might as well be an ironing board! She goes around too much with Vox, I think.
I wildly digress, dear diary! You must be wondering how it went. Well, I prepared all day. I soaked myself, shaved and plucked, curled my hair and painted my face with a light hand. Finally, once a shadow checked my seams were straight, I flew out the door and trotted the mile-and-a-half to Medusa's. Mother would have cursed at me for walking - but if I hadn't taken after her, I might've had Father's power of teleportation!
I feel her presence more on nights like this: when so much is in the balance!
Alastor had promised to see me there between eight and nine, and I wanted a drink for my nerves. Oh, if only I had his trace, diary! I was so nervous and lost without it: and when I am that nervous, it's impossible to sit still. For what seemed like hours, I made paths in the head of snakes that was Medusa's dance floor, or docked myself in the flooded bar to take another cocktail. People always seem to give me a wide berth, I have noticed - out of respect, or fear perhaps - and at least it allowed me to survey the crowd for my Alastor.
He actually surprised me with a tap on the shoulder, close to 9pm, and was he a sight for sore eyes! His suit was more of a merlot, less fitted, and I hoped he would've gone sans necktie, as some hellions in this era do… but alas, his throat was clothed into obscurity. His hair was clean but disheveled, with odd strands sticking out (I wanted to bite them).
"Oh, thank God!" I chuckled. "I knew I could count on you to show!" Then I fanned myself, for with all the dancing bodies in this room in late Spring, the temperature was heightened.
"Yes, good night for it," Alastor joked, "but you were right about the brass!" Then he hollered in appreciation of a trumpet solo, so suddenly that I clutched my heart. But I copied him, to show I shared his fun-loving nature.
Before the song could change, he steered me towards the skirt of tables, to introduce me to someone. Remembering Sally's conjecture, I was nervous to meet this friend. Then upon glimpsing him, I felt nothing less than utter, tongue-chewing horror - it was Derringer, dear diary! Of all people!
(It appears upon investigation that I've burnt the journal which knew our tangled former companionship. All you need to know about the man, dear diary, is that he loathes me, and tries to sabotage my new friendships.)
The weaselly prick made no attempt to be cordial for Alastor's sake, either. "Ah," he said of me, "thought I smelled hairspray." He is tall, bien-aimé - toothsome in the right light, or we'd never have been friends at all - and dresses in obnoxious colors. Chartreuse today.
"He was my ride here," Alastor told me over the music. "Good fellow, has something to do with opera! Derringer, this is Rosie. She… I think runs an antique store?"
Oh, surely my face was lilac from mixed emotions… but I determined to make the best of it. "Yes," I said. "We know each other."
Derringer confided in my love's direction with his eyebrow, as if to say, This is the one I told you about — and paranoia struck fast! Oh lord, there was no knowing what damage had been done! For his part, Alastor kept his smile, but his eyes darted, remembering. I wonder what Derringer called me this time: 'covetous' is a favorite of his, 'overwhelming' another… or perhaps it was just plain 'mad'!
It's silly, but the matter of Alastor's romantic proclivity went out of my head. Salvaging my reputation seemed more important.
"I won't tell you stories about Dee," I assured Alastor. Sometimes taking the high ground works in one's favor, especially as a woman. "Much better to judge a person's character for yourself!"
"Forewarned, forearmed," Derringer shot back. "People deserve to know their friends from all angles."
"Hm, I wonder if people tell stories about me!" Alastor said, finally sitting down, so I joined him. "Not that I care what they say! That's the joy of misanthropy, isn't it?" he said airily. "Tends to allay the concern for others' opinions!"
Not a bad point, dear diary! Sometimes I wish I was detached from other souls, even to the normal extent. It might spare me the pain! But what stories could possibly be circulating about my Alastor? He was perfection manifest! Then I remembered again what Sally said, and figured I should do something. The song changed, kicking up the tempo from the last one. "Care to dance?" I asked Alastor.
"I wouldn't," Derringer cautioned, but I ignored him.
Alastor gave the dancefloor a cursory glance, then looked at Derringer, then at me. "Maybe not this one," he said. "I only dance swing!"
"I can swing!" I assured him.
"We may be at different levels," he clarified. "I'd rather not leave you in the dust! But by all means, find someone else for this one!"
Leave me in the dust? It was almost funny. Well, time to show him, I thought, and put down my purse. I reached the floor in ten steps and launched straight into it, not even bothering to find a dance partner. It was actually one half of a routine I'd memorized from some motion picture, but I think I could have done the original justice! Oh, it felt so good to shake out those nerves. Not long into it, I even swung into a backbend, winking in our table's direction - but only Derringer was there. I spun, forlornly kicking my heels as I wondered where Alastor had gone. Perhaps I'd made a mistake in leaving them alone to talk!
But then (!) he appeared at my elbow.
"Attagirl!" he said, clapping in time. I laughed and spun again, twirling my dress skirt. "Where do you get off, knowing this kind of thing?"
"It's- ha- fun!" I gasped.
That was all the explanation he needed. Alastor soon joined my dance in earnest, and oh diary, how my pen shakes, but it was terrific! And fast, very fast! First I was relieved he was here, then at once I was excited - for by God, does he have rhythm. Not quite enough to leave me in the dust (ha ha!) but more than I was prepared for! We were often in open position with hands highly clasped, or hopping to and fro. Sometimes he spun me and I laughed. Sometimes his hand was on my waist, and I feared my heart would beat so hummingbird-fast that I'd die on the spot!
There was never any particular moment when we were pressed torso to torso - more's the pity! My Alastor tended to throw me about, or whisk me at close quarters, or keep me in that exaggerated handhold, as before. Hence, my favorite parts were the clumsy missteps: it happens even between the best of dancers, dear diary! Now and then, one of us mistook a flourish for a hand to take, or turned too hard and collided accidentally. Alastor just laughed it off… which is to say he didn't mind it! Most encouraging, bien-aimé!
I tested his endurance against my boundless hellborn energy, taking him through another three songs in succession. He was pleased to go on - in fact, he seemed to be testing me a little, handling me with more confidence as we dialed up the complexity. We were both showing off… but isn't that so much better than being meek and mild? (I wonder how many boring partners he's had to endure!) By the end, a little space cleared around us on the floor, and my Alastor had hair sticking to his forehead, but still going! What a thrill it was!
Finally, he halted us, clasping his hands over mine. "Woah there!" he huffed. "I need to cool off!"
I nodded agreeably, patting my head: the curls were a tad looser. I daresay we were both slightly damp! "Alright, sweetpea! Let's have something over ice." As we went for refreshment, Mother was on my shoulder, scolding me for being unrefined; she always frowned on livelier activities. Ah, but a lady is at home anywhere, I'd tell her - and I am a lady to my fingertips!
Alastor and I found another table, since Derringer appeared to have slunk away in what he probably thought was sophisticated umbrage. "I've lost my ride," Alastor said, peering around.
"No matter," I smiled, pleased that Dee was nothing else to him, "I'll call you a cab when we get sick of each other!"
"Do you come here often?"
"Only when I like the band," I said. "Besides, not every man is a gentleman, you know! It is a coin-flip with sinn- with, ah, other sinners, depending on their sin."
"True," he said, "including the women! Not you, of course." Then Alastor tilted his head at me. "Bet I can guess what landed you here," he said. "Let's see… were you a poisoner?"
"No, no!" I laughed. "If you belong in the colony, you're not a poisoner!"
"Ohh," he said, clapping a hand to his head. "Of course. You live in the colony? I do too, for my sins! But I'll tell you that some other time… quite a story, if I say so myself!"
I steered us clear of the topic of My Life Upstairs; I'm not sure I could be wholly convincing! The rest of our date went well: we talked some more, danced some more, and even the lingering ghost of Derringer's gossip went out of our heads. As I was walking Alastor out to wait for the cab, I touched his lovely elbow. "Thank you for a good time," I said. "I hope we can do this again."
He gave me an odd smile. Poor thing! I used to know the pain of being ruthlessly pursued; it must be far worse for one as beautiful as he.
"Don't worry," I said comfortingly, "I'm safe."
A different smile, more genuine… relieved. "You remind me of someone safe," he said. "I can call you at the store, can't I? Yes, we can do this again!"
He now has my upstairs number too, just to be sure. Thank God it went well! So nuts to Derringer - who should feel free to retreat to some deeper pit of Hell where I cannot find him - and nuts to Sally for her own undue remarks! I win! Alastor and I are friends - and more than that, soon enough!
But my elation is on a leash; the threat of further tattle-tailing prevents me from going to bed, to enjoy the mental retreading of mine and Alastor's dance… I may have to keep Alastor close, until his loyalty is assured. I will tell him all that makes me powerful and formidable in time, but I don't want it to be the reason he likes me! We have so much life to live together, dear diary. I cannot wait.