My Daughter, Audrey [ON HOLD]

The Dance

“Night, Bill,” Peter said in his bubbly tone as he slipped his coat on.  “Ya lockin’ up?”

                “Yea, mate, go and have a good time.  Won’t be joining you at the pub tonight though,” Bill replied wearily as he folded up the last of the sewn clothes.  He placed them on the top shelf and walked over to the entrance, opening the door for Peter as he tipped his bill cap.

               “Not going to the pub tonight, Bill,” Peter informed his friend, stepping out of the shop and looking out at the smoky streets of Liverpool.

               Bill’s top lip curled up in a snarl as he glared at the playing record.   He eyed Peter, who was straightening out the collar of his jacket, and remarked in a disgusted tone.  “Must you always play that record?  They’re getting on my nerves!”

               Peter’s ashen eyebrow lifted in surprise and his thin lips parted.  “Wot?  They’re The Beatles. Ya can’t disgrace them, mate.  It’s me favorite one, too!  They jest came out with it.”

               “Yes, yes,” Bill groaned, “P.S. I Love You, you’ve told me.”  Bill rubbed his sore, wrinkled forehead before brightening up in remembrance of a question he had meant to ask Peter earlier.   “Oi, while it’s fresh on my mind, going to see that bird again then?”

               The young man turned a scarlet red and he hurried off down the street before a silly smile flashed across his face.  Peter’s comrade chuckled and shook his head.  He didn’t have to see Peter’s smile to know—the boy’s actions had done the answering. 

               Peter Holmes lived an awfully good life in the “Swinging Sixties”.  Though, being a tailor for Buckeye’s Custom Tailoring and Fitting wasn’t quite “swinging” for Peter.  However, he was content and had nothing to complain about.  He had lived most of his younger years in Glasgow, Scotland with his younger brother, Jamie, and then, under certain circumstances Peter avoided speaking about, he moved to Liverpool, England by himself. Despite Liverpool’s hard, rough, and rubbishy environment, Peter developed a soft part for the lower class because they were all hardworking people who were fairly nice towards him. 

               Upon advancing the red-tinged nightclub with its squeaky sign titled, Too Much Lass, fighting against the breeze, Peter buttoned his cuffs and tidied his collar.  He slicked back his blond hair once more and made sure he smelled somewhat decently.  He trotted into the musky smelling club and took a seat at the front.   The older gentleman looked at him strangely, as if he had to be thirty years older to sit there.

               “Aw, lad, ya in the way!  Git in the back with the rest of the younger buggas!”  One old man growled, his jowls wiggling in irritation as he thumbed over his shoulder.

               “I reserve this seat every time I come ‘ere, now bugger off!”  Peter sunk deeper into his seat and crossed his arms tight across his chest.  But that didn’t keep the glaring eyes off of him.

               A bright light spewed onto the stage in front and the audience was swallowed up by darkening lights above.  A voice overhead presented the girls and slow violin music escalated from underneath the stage.  Peter had his complete and undivided attention on the curtain to the left, where the girls would undoubtedly enter.  To lose one glimpse of the girl he hopelessly adored would ruin his entire evening. One by one, in choreographed patterns, the girls in their lacy and reveling outfits strutted out onto the platform. They lined up, hooked arms, and in syncopation, they swayed their hips to the vibrations of the violin. The men clapped, wolf whistled, and threw money onto the stage.  The girls in return tossed their jewelry, shoes, and outer garments into the crowd along with flirtatious smiles and waves. 

               Peter sat up in his chair, moving side to side in search for his lady. The bright lights and crisscrossing of the scantily clad girls hid the one Peter sought, causing his irritation to escalate.  Two girls with matching wigs came into view with their plastered smiles and curtsied suggestively in front of Peter.  Peter only shooed them away with a frantic flapping of his hands. They exited to their left, letting another pair of girls come forward and give exaggerated winks to certain men in the crowd, including Peter.  But Peter would not have them!  He motioned for them to leave his presence, but the men behind him halted his actions. 

               “Sit down, lad!”  an older man ordered, shoving Peter back into his seat.  “You can see her after the show or you can get lost!”

               Peter didn’t want to wait after the show; he wanted to see her now!  His eyes turned into slits at the man and he crawled up to the first row.  Much to the exasperation of the other spectators, Peter managed to squeeze in between a drunken man and a sleeping one.  A look of shock spread across his face as he saw that he was close enough to touch the edge of the stage—how exciting!   And then, right before his eyes, Jennie Willis took center stage.  Her slender legs kicked out to the beat of the music and her delicate hands were perched seductively on her hips.  She nodded to the audience and feigned innocence too well for it not to contain some degree of truth.   Compared to the other performers, she wasn’t an accomplished showgirl and perhaps that was the reason Peter had his eyes fixed on her alone.  Jennie was sometimes clumsy and fell out of step, messing up the number once or twice.  But she was good-natured and a natural beauty—traits Peter fell for easily.  

               Having stated often that he preferred the “quiet life”, Peter secretly fancied this beautiful blonde showgirl, Jennie Willis.  He denied his love for her when his mates at the shop questioned him, but his blushing and changing the subject gave his whole charade away.   Even though he adored her so, he knew he didn’t have a chance with her—she’d lose her job over him and he’d lose his reputation over her.  But Peter couldn’t help but dream that he could win her heart and they could move to Paris, France, and be together one day. 

              Peter, however, wasn’t aware that the girl was interested in him—he couldn’t possibly dream of such a scenario.  She knew him from afar, as he came often and treated her kindly, even if it was only for a few minutes.  She admired how Peter treated her and said sweet things to her when the show was over.  Though, she could hardly see anything happening between them—she wasn’t the wife type and her job was all that could keep food and shelter around her.  Nonetheless, Jennie thought it would do her good to at least get to know a man as more than an acquaintance.  Jennie pranced over to the edge and kneeled down in front of Peter.  The men beside and behind Peter attempting to squeeze him out of the Jennie’s reach, but Jennie frowned and flicked them away.

               The girl smiled at Peter sweetly and even touched his nose with the end of her finger.  “I’d like to take you up on your offer.”

               “Me offer?”  Peter repeated, quite surprised that she had remembered their conversation from the previous time they had spoken to one another.

               Jennie smiled wider and nodded her head; her blonde hair bouncing around her face, making her look childlike. “Yes, darling!  The one about you treating me to dinner?”

               “Oh yes, of course!  I forgot ‘bout that. Ya ‘ave ‘n excellent memory. I will arrange it directly!”  Peter opened his jacket and tried to grapple for his pen and paper, but Jennie laid a soft hand on his, stopping all his efforts.

               “Talk to me after the show, love.”  She winked and retreated back into the dance routine just in time for the bows.            

               When the curtains floated down, Peter scrambled over the bald heads and raced to the backrooms.  He weaved in and out of the oncoming girls for the next numbers and ducked under transporting equipment.  When he finally arrived at the dressing room of “Ms. Willis”, he tidied up his suit, hair, and made sure he didn’t look like he had been dashing around like a streak of lightening.   He rapped on the door and waited somewhat patiently.  He lifted his hand again to knock, but then took it down.  He began questioning his worth and wondered if she would either accept him, or tell him kindly that he was no good for her.  That strong fear traveled to Peter’s feet and he began walking away from her door.  When he was but only several feet from her room, he heard her approaching the door to open it.  A thrill of changed excitement raced up Peter’s spine and he pivoted on his heels and was back in front of her door by the time the doorknob twisted.