Chapter 5
Five
The upper deck has been converted into a living room.
There’s a sofa, coffee table, piano, and an oversized vintage boxy television.
It takes me a moment to realize that the telly is hollow, and people can climb inside and pose for photos with different props, like large colorful novelty glasses, feather boas, and signs with different thought-bubble emojis.
“This is brilliant.” I can’t stop myself from grinning ear to ear. If there were ever a true I Love Lucy experience, this is it.
“Happy to hear you approve.” Amanda winks.
We enjoy dinner and some musical entertainment with a Ricky Ricardo impersonator before the dance floor officially opens up.
“Is it just me, or does everyone seem like they know what they’re doing?” I whisper to Clara.
She lifts her head and studies the couples for several moments. “You’re right. They’re all dancing the same mambo. It wouldn’t surprise me if Amanda organized dance lessons for ticketholders beforehand.”
Suddenly, I feel the light touch of a hand on my shoulder. I twist in my seat. A lad in a white tuxedo with blond hair and brown eyes holds out his hand. “Miss, would you care to dance?”
“Um . . .”
“Go on and enjoy yourself,” Clara urges. “If I can’t dance, you might as well.”
There goes my excuse for hanging out at the table. Now I don’t have a reason to say no to him. “Are you sure? I really don’t mind keeping you company,” I emphasize.
“I have Amanda and my phone. I’m fine. Now go.” She gently pushes my arm.
Amanda wanted to make tonight special. I owe it to her and Clara to participate in at least one dance. I can’t be a wallflower forever. Digging deep into my reserves of courage, I force a smile onto my face. “I’d love to,” I answer, putting my hand into the man’s.
“Brilliant.” He sweeps me out of my chair and out onto the middle of the dance floor. “I’m Geoff.”
“I’m Ali—son.” I stop myself from giving my full name to him to buy a little time before I’m recognized. I’m curious to see how he’ll treat me if he thinks I’m just another girl.
The band picks up their instruments and begins playing.
Although Mum ensured that Eddie and I knew the basics of ballroom dancing, it’s been a good long while since I’ve had to put any of that knowledge to use.
I’m heavy on my feet. Thank goodness my boots don’t have heels.
I’d be stumbling around like a baby fawn just learning how to walk.
Forcing myself to relax, I let Geoff take the lead.
Our conversation stalls for a few moments. I hear the band and the buzz of conversation around us. Pulling from one of my go-to icebreaker questions, I ask, “So, Geoff, are you a Londoner?”
“I am now, but I grew up in Shropshire.”
My eyes widen. “That’s a dramatic change.” Shropshire is one of the most rural counties in England. Situated on the Welsh border, it’s packed full of endless wide-open fields and rolling hills.
“Yeah, it was. I couldn’t wait to move far away from it. My parents might be keen on farming and running a B and B, but not me. Unlike London, there’s nothing to do in Shropshire.”
He places a hand on my waist and pulls me in a little closer to his body. He’s tall, about six feet. I’m forced to look up at him.
“I wouldn’t say that. There’s quite a few national parks. And some lovely hiking trails.”
“True, but they get old quickly. Once you’ve seen one field, all the others look the same.”
“Uh-huh.”
Geoff dominates our conversation, choosing to give me his life’s story.
I can’t get much of a word in edgewise. When the music finally ends, I thank him, and before he can ask me for an encore dance, flee to the safety of my table.
Except I never make it that far. Another guy named Nick blocks my pathway and claims me for a swing dance.
“How’s your evening going so far? Are you enjoying the I Love Lucy theme? It’s rather clever if you ask me,” I say.
“You’re enjoying this rubbish? It’s so tacky. So American.” He wrinkles his nose. “The band isn’t playing anything decent. It’s all old-timey stuff. And the food—for what a ticket costs, it should be a top-of-the-line menu, not items you could pick up at a takeaway counter. Then there’s the . . .”
I suppress a groan and seriously consider making up an excuse to flee back to the safety of the dinner table. Out of all the guys I could’ve attracted, it happens to be a person who has the top characteristic on my deal-breaker list—a complainer. The next few minutes are going to be painfully long.
“What did you say your name was?” He furrows his brow.
“I didn’t. It’s Alison.” I know using a fake name may be futile, but the less he knows about me, the better. I’m actually pretty shocked I haven’t been recognized by either of my dance partners yet.
“Well, I like that you’re quiet. The last girl I danced with talked too much.”
The longer I spend in this bloke’s presence, the angrier I become. Everything that comes out of his mouth is negative.
“If you hate everything about the themed dinner, why did you bother coming?”
“My mum made me escort her. She didn’t want to come alone. If I didn’t come, she threatened to withhold my quarterly allowance.”
Is he joking? Where is his backbone? Find a job if you disagree with your mum.
If he’s having trouble now, how will he manage later in life?
It irritates me that he’s so immature. Nick has to be in his late twenties.
I bet he’s never worked a day in his life.
Eddie and I may be part of a privileged family too, but our parents made sure we always made good use of our time.
We were expected to volunteer with different charities during our school holidays and even hold part-time jobs. The summer I turned sixteen, I remember Papa telling me that I’d be working as a salesclerk in the palace gift shop. It was important to him that we each had some real-life experience.
“Do you have a job?” I ask.
“Pfft. No. It’s beneath me.” He puffs out his chest. “I come from one of the wealthiest families in the country.”
That’s the final straw. I can’t stand his smugness and ego any longer.
I drop my hands from him and step away. “Nick, you’re a good dancer, but you need to work on your attitude and your conversation skills.
” I clench my fists. “Did you know that one of my good friends planned this event? And I think she’s done an amazing job.
You may not be enjoying it, but look around you.
” I gesture to the smiling couples surrounding us.
“Everyone else is. If you don’t have anything positive to say, I’d advise you to stay quiet.
You never know who you’ll manage to offend. ”
Turning on my heel, I leave him staring cluelessly around me and march over to the refreshment table for a nice cool drink. I blow a lock of hair out of my face and mutter, “After Mr. Entitled Motormouth, I never thought I’d appreciate the quiet.”
“Ma’am.”
I jump and splay my hand on my chest. My pulse beats wildly in my ears. “Arthur! Where did you come from?”
“I’ve been here,” he says. He hands me a cup of juice.
“Thanks.” As I take a long sip, the strawberry and cherry flavor hits my tongue. It’s the perfect ratio of sweetness. I can’t drink it quickly enough.
“Refill?”
“Um, sure. I guess I was thirstier than I thought.”
Taking hold of my cup, he picks up a ladle and scoops a spoonful of juice from the punch bowl into it. I have to admit that even though I’m determined to have him replaced, he looks handsome in his black suit with a crisp white dress shirt.
“Was there a problem?” He nods toward Nick, who’s claimed his next unwilling victim.
“Yes, but nothing you can fix. He’s like a peacock who only cares about preening his own feathers. He’s the center of his own universe and unaware of anything else that’s going on around him.”
“I see.”
“If I need rescuing in the future, don’t worry, I’ll let you know.” I smack my lips together. “Should I make some sort of special signal to you if I need rescuing?”
He helps himself to a drink and frowns. “No. I’ll be watching you.”
“Are you sure? I can make it subtle. It can be something like me tugging on my ear?” I demonstrate, and somehow manage to tangle some of my hair in my hoop earrings.
“Ugh.” I place my cup down and reach for the offending piece of jewelry, tilting my head to the side. My cheeks warm in embarrassment.
“Do you need help, ma’am?”
“No, I’ve got it.” I feel around for the backing of the earring and remove it. “But maybe you’re right. We don’t need a secret sign,” I admit.
Arthur doesn’t answer me, taking a long drink from his own punch.
“Excuse me?” Another lad, this time with red hair and a smattering of freckles, approaches us. I turn around. “Are you two together?” He glances at Arthur.
“No.” Arthur takes a few steps away from me so he’s standing alone to the side of the table.
“Brilliant.” The redhead cracks a cheeky smile. “Care to have a go on the dance floor with me, Princess?”
“Um . . . sure.”
He grabs my hand and leads me away from the table. With a fleeting glance, I notice that Arthur’s gaze is indeed on me. He continues to track me like a submarine’s sonar system. I have no doubts that nothing will escape his notice.