The Art School Dance (13 page)

After I’d
finished the beer I had a couple of glasses of port, too lazy to
make another trip to the off-licence, and by nine o’clock had drunk
enough to see me through that miserable phase of self-pity and
bring me to a state where I was quite content –if not deliriously
happy- with my own company. The drink made me a little tired but I
thought that it would be a sin to go to bed before midnight, felt
that I really should stay up until the factory whistles blew to
announce the new year, take a peek at the door on the stroke of
midnight to see the ‘first footers’ lining the street.

Struggling
towards that time, fighting to stay awake, I was feeling a little
dozy when the knock came on the door. Close to sleep, I couldn’t
think who it might be, unless perhaps it was Stephen feeling guilty
or already bored with the dinner dance. The knock came again,
impatiently, just before I opened the door, and there stood
Paula.

‘
Paula?’
I asked, in case I was so tired that I was seeing things. ‘Is it
you?’

‘
Oui, c’est moi
,’
she smiled, and she seemed a little tipsy herself, had a dreamy
heavy-lidded look to her eyes. ‘I’ve been to every place I can
think of and can’t find a single person I’d like to see the new
year in with.’

‘
So-?’

‘
So the
least you can do is treat me to a drink. Have you got anything in
the house?’

‘
Not a
drop,’ I hurriedly said, not wanting her to see inside a place
which must seem squalid enough from the outside.

‘
Then
come on, we’ll drink out,’ Paula said, reaching for my
hand.

‘
Hang on
a minute, let me get my coat,’ I told her. ‘You go warm up the
car.’

I ran back
inside the house and grabbed a coat. Luckily I didn’t need to waste
time changing, I was dressed respectably enough to keep my mother
happy over the holiday, wearing decent black trousers and the
sweater Stephen had bought me. When I got back to the door Paula
was in the car and had the engine running.

‘
All
revved up and raring to go,’ she grinned, as I climbed in beside
her.

*

We drove into
town as speedily as on the last occasion but I could see that Paula
wasn’t drunk, simply exuberant and quite in control.

‘
How did
you know where I lived?’ I asked her.

‘
I’m the
college secretary, remember, as well as the woman who takes her
clothes off. I know all there is to know about everyone in that
place.’

‘
So what
prompted you to call around?’

‘
Company. Everyone needs company on New Year's Eve,’ she
said, and laughed as she braked to let a drunkard step back onto
the pavement, gave him a friendly wave as she drove past. ‘Now
where should we go?’

Paula parked
the car in the town centre, convenient for most places, and the
streets were even worse than they had been on Christmas Eve; there
were arguments everywhere, people shouting and reeling and throwing
up in the gutter, and it disturbed Paula as much as it did me, we
held onto each other as we walked along the street, holding on more
tightly whenever there was trouble ahead, someone staggering too
drunkenly or a crowd suddenly breaking into an argument, our bodies
so close that I could feel those contours that I’d previously only
traced in pencil or charcoal.

‘
Disgusting, aren’t they?’ Paula said.

‘
They
are,’ I agreed.

‘
Still,
if it’s their only pleasure then I suppose you’ve got to pity
them.’

We stopped off
for drinks here and there, at a number of pubs and bars; they were
all so full that we could only stand, so noisy that it was
difficult to talk. I wanted to ask Paula why she had called for me,
for me rather than someone else if she had everyone’s address, but
the cacophony made it impossible; I suspected, though, that if I
did question Paula she would only answer as before, that she had
wanted company, someone to share a drink or two with. We didn’t
stay in any one pub for long, we moved on quickly, and after the
fourth or fifth drink we both agreed that our eardrums were aching
with all the noise, so Paula led me on to a place which she said
will be a little more peaceful. Her arm around my waist, mine
bravely around her shoulders, we walked by the side of the park,
away from the centre of town; we were both a little drunk and it
seemed only natural that we should support each other.

‘
Where
is it you’re thinking of going?’ I asked Paula.

‘
The
‘Bellingham’.’

‘
You
have to be joking!’ I said.

‘
Why?
What’s wrong with the place?’

The
‘Bellingham’ was more of a select club than a pub, a restaurant, a
hotel, everything to anyone who can afford it; a favourite haunt of
town councillors and Rotarians and the like, I’d worked there as a
waitress the previous year.

‘
You
don’t have to go in to dine. There’s a regular bar where you can
just have a drink.’

‘
They’ll
never let me in there,’ I told Paula. ‘Not after some of the
arguments I had with the snootier customers. Those councillors very
nearly got me the sack last summer.’

‘
Don’t
worry, they’ll have forgotten you by now,’ Paula assured me. ‘You
know what town councillors are like, senile to a man, every last
one of them.’

Paula was
insistent, she took my hand and led me into the cocktail lounge,
and I couldn’t help but give a smug little chuckle at being back in
the place in such circumstances. We bought drinks at the bar -I let
Paula get them, she more at ease in the place- and sink into the
soft upholstery of the chairs. It was a lot more dignified than the
other places we’d visited, there was a gentle hubbub of
conversation, women coming and going with their escorts, some
stopping for a drink in the lounge before floating through to the
restaurant. Some even wore evening dresses, it was that kind of
place, and I asked Paula what I was doing there.

‘
Should
I say that you’re having a drink with me, that we’re enjoying each
other’s company? Or don’t you think that's getting a little
repetitious by now?’

‘
I
suppose it is, rather,’ I agreed.

Paula shook
her head slowly, defeatedly, as if I wearied her; she leaned
forward, her head a little to one side, her smile inexplicable and
her gaze fixed on me. As an excuse to shift my eyes from Paula’s, I
took a sip of my drink.

‘
So, you
gave Stephen aftershave for Christmas?’ Paula said.

‘
That’s
right. I couldn’t give him the painting he wanted, could
I?’

‘
And
what are you going to give me, Ginny?’

I laughed.
‘It’s a little late for Christmas presents now, but what would you
like?’

‘
I was
rather taken with that last drawing you did of me.’

‘
Then
you can have it,’ I said without hesitation, but Paula refused,
reminded me that I would need the drawing for my portfolio. ‘What,
then?’ I wondered.

Paula’s head
came closer to mine, her hair tickling my cheek, and I found it
difficult to focus on her face as she said, in a soft, secretive
voice, ‘Do you know what I usually like, right on the stroke of the
new year?’

‘
No.
What?’

Paula gripped
mind hand tightly, pulled it towards her as if guessing that I
might recoil, and answered without a hint of shame, ‘An
orgasm.’

I blushed, as
if everyone in the room might have heard, glanced anxiously around
but saw that no one was looking; Paula laughed at my embarrassment
and I searched her eyes for any sign of drunkenness, saw none, only
merriment. I wondered if Paula was serious.

*

It was only
when I was sitting on the edge of Paula’s bed, in her flat, my
fingers trembling as I removed my shoes, that I realised that the
woman was perfectly serious. We had kissed on the walk back from
the ‘Bellingham’, kissed on the doorstep and in her flat as Paula
led me through to the bedroom.

I didn’t hear
her come from the bathroom, stepping bare-footed across the thick
pile of the carpet. I sensed rather than saw that she was there,
could smell her warmth at the same time as her perfume. She stood
before me and as I looked up she began to unfasten the buttons
which ran down the front of her skirt, parted it when it was held
only by a single button at the waist to reveal her thighs and the
darker blonde clump of hair which I had seen so many times before
in the life class. She cupped her hand there, stroking herself
gently, then ran a finger across my lips, feeling slightly sticky
and smelling a little stale. I had never known a woman do this
before and it excited me, I saw Paula smile down at me and though I
ought to have been revolted still I found that I was kissing the
fingers which were offered, licking at the soft tips and smooth
nails.

Paula moved
closer so that my cheek was resting against her thigh, my lips
against the prickly hair, and the pressure of a hand behind my neck
coaxed me on. I kissed Paula, forgetting where it was that I
kissed, had my fingers behind her thighs and beneath her buttocks.
Her two hands held my face and she shifted a little to place me
just where she wanted me, her body tensing. She kept holding me
away from her and then clutching me close, as if fighting whatever
it was she feels, until finally the factory whistles blew in the
distance and she grasped me to her even more strongly. I was held
there for what seemed a dark interminable period, so close to Paula
that I felt a part of her, until her body slowly softened, her
embrace relaxed and she slipped down to sit astride my lap.

‘
Lovely,’ was her eventual response, an acknowledgement of
pleasure rather than a statement of affection. She grinned, said,
‘And a happy new year to you, too, Ginny.’

I was still
catching my breath, Paula was running her fingers through my hair
like a mother tidying her little child. ‘Do you know, I've never
done that before,’ I confessed.

‘
Done
what?’ Paula asked, her hand slipping beneath my sweater, tugging
it away from my waist.

‘
Kissed
a woman, like that,’ I said awkwardly. ‘You know, down
there.’

Paula could
have made fun of my artlessness, but didn’t, simply said, ‘Oh,
really? There’s a name for it, you know.’ Then, her fingers at my
trousers, she said, ‘Want to give it a try?’

*

It was late
afternoon before I got home, and as soon as I walked through the
door my mother wanted to know where I'd been. I lied, of course,
told her that a couple of friends had called around to invite me to
a party, it had got late, I slept on a couch.

‘
Reprobate,’ said Gran; after ‘confession’ it was the
longest word in her vocabulary, and her favourite when it came to
me.

‘
You
could have left a note,’ my mother complained. ‘We had no idea
where you were.’

‘
I’m
sorry,’ I said, and gave her a kiss. ‘Anyway, happy new
year.’

It was only
after I’d kissed her that I wondered if she could smell anything,
worried about that special fragrance that a woman has and that it
might be lingering about me, so I said I’d go and have a bath. I
drenched myself with salts and soaps, it was best to be cautious,
my mother had a sharp nose and a suspicious nature.

On the second
day of the new year Stephen called around and was amusingly guilty
when he told us of his evening at the dinner dance, made it sound
so much like Prince Charming’s ball that Gran and mother listened
enraptured, as attentive as children being told a fairy tale; they
asked him what the women wore, what food there was, I could see
them keep looking at me and wishing I was a part of that world of
black ties and flowing gowns. When Stephen said he was sorry I
couldn’t have been there I saw Gran give a nasty little smirk.

Well sod them,
I thought, sod the lot of them. My mind was on Paula. I was going
to meet her again, and it was Paula who had suggested it.

Stephen
lingered and I wanted some reason to be shut of him, or at least a
reason to leave without him. Gran and my mother continued to make
him welcome, though, I began to get impatient when we had a lunch
of turkey sandwiches and Stephen tucked in, then settled down to
watch a film on television.

‘
I’ve
got to nip out for a while,’ I finally said, and sensed Stephen
ready to spring from his seat at the slightest hint of an
invitation.

‘
You’re
surely taking Stephen with you for the walk?’ Gran said, as if he
was a pet who might be about to piss on the carpet.

‘
I
can’t. I'm going to see Gus. College business.’

‘
There
isn’t much of a bus service today,’ my mother warned me, knowing
that Gus lived a couple of miles away.

‘
That’s
why I have to go on the bike,’ I said, which is my excuse for not
taking Stephen with me. ‘I won’t be too long.’

So I was out
of the house on my own, leaving the disappointed Stephen behind,
but was stuck with the bloody bicycle, which really wasn’t the
thing to arrive at the ‘Bellingham’ on, not even if it was a racer
with ten gears and tubeless tyres. I pedalled like mad up the
street, soon out of breath since I hadn’t ridden the bike for ages,
wondering what to do, decided that Jeff was closer than Gus, and
more or less on my way, so called at his house.