So I’m dancing with Evie, and I don’t know how this happened, but it has. Rita left for the front lawn after the speeches, for a bit of air she said. Are you coming? No, I said. I’ll stay for a bit. So she goes, and I stay put. Then Evie appears, a beer in her hand, and she’s trying to get me to go outside because Rita’s out there by herself. But I’m not budging. And she says she’s not budging. So we settle in. And start talking. And all the time we’re knocking back the beers. And she’s no slouch with a beer, this Evie. And then somehow, somewhere along the way the talk stops, and we haven’t got our glasses in our hands any more, we’ve got each other.
So, there I am. I’m dancing with Evie. And she’s a beautiful dancer, Evie. I haven’t danced in years and here I am dancing with her. She’s beautiful at it. She’s built like a dancer, too. And because I haven’t danced in so long I’ve forgotten how you get the feel of a woman when you’re dancing with her. Especially if she’s built for dancing, like Evie is.
Did she ask me to dance? Did I ask her? Did we just start? I don’t know, but we’re dancing at the back of George Bedser’s hallway near the kitchen. Everybody else is standing round after the speeches and there’s a quiet song playing, and I know it so well but I’m buggered if I know where from. And all the steps are coming so easily, we seem to be gliding over this linoleum floor like it was marble. And I don’t know if it’s my imagination or the grog or what, but I could swear she’s snuggling up to me. The way you do when you’re dancing. Whatever, I’m bloody sure I can feel a whole lot more of Evie Doyle than I could at the start of the dance.
That’s when I start singing. And I’m surprising myself because I’m remembering all the words, they’re coming so easily, even if I still can’t remember where I know the song from. It’s got me buggered because I like to connect a song to a place or a time or a memory, because a song’s not a song without a little bit of your life wrapped around it. So I’m singing away while we’re dancing. Well, sort of whispering really. And she’s a funny one, this Evie. She never calls me Vic, Victor or anything like that. She calls me handsome. Always has. And I like the sound of it, even if it makes me laugh. Neither of us are saying anything at the moment because I’m still singing while we’re shuffling round in small circles across that linoleum floor, with a bit of a breeze coming in from the back door. And just when I’m humming the piano solo, just when I’m about to start singing again, that’s when I feel her hands go up around my neck, like she’s supporting herself, or tired, or something.
It’s automatic. The action pulls my head down towards her and I’m singing right in her ear. But soft. So only the two of us can hear. Besides, everybody else is standing round in the lounge room waiting for their cake. I can see the faint, light veins along her ear, I can see where it’s been pierced, and I can see the colours of the stone earring hanging from it. And there’s the perfume, and just below the perfume, I swear I can smell Evie’s skin. And all the time I’m singing I can see how clear that skin is. Almost transparent. And warm too. I can feel the warmth coming off her. I’m singing in her ear so close I could almost kiss it. And then I do.
I close my eyes and don’t ask me why or how, but I know she’s closed hers too. I know this as surely as I know the song’s finished, we’ve stopped dancing, and we’re both standing perfectly still on the linoleum floor at the back of George Bedser’s hallway.
I tell you, my eyes are only closed for a second. When I open them again Rita’s standing by the kitchen door staring at us both and straight away I know I’m in a bit of shit. Evie looks around and she’s gone without a word. Suddenly, it’s just me and Rita. And I know, I know at that particular moment, I shouldn’t be thinking any of this. But I can still feel Evie pressed up against me, like she’s left dints in me or something. I’m standing there, trying to think of something to say to Rita, but all the time I’m whimpering inside like Bruchner’s dog after he’s waved a steak under its nose.
But before I can say a word. Before I can tell her it was an accident, that it was the grog, that it was just one of those things. That it was nothing. Before I can say any of this, she’s off. It’s all a bit confusing. One minute I’m dancing with Evie. Then Rita’s at the door and Evie disappears without a word and I’m left standing in the hallway staring at Rita who shoots through before I get a chance to open my mouth. And to make things worse this crazy song starts up on the record player, and I’m listening to some young bloke with a bad case of hiccups. And everything seems louder. And when I step out from the hallway into the lounge room it looks like everything’s gone slightly mad too. Because everyone’s cleared a space and Patsy Bedser is dancing with some flash-looking type in the middle of the room. What’s more nobody seems to quite know what’s going on because Patsy Bedser’s not dancing with the bloke she’s just got engaged to. And it’s obvious to me, and it’s obvious to everyone else in the room that, whoever he is, they’ve danced together before.
But that’s their business. I’ve still got the scent of Evie on me somewhere, Rita’s just disappeared out the front door, giving it a good slap as she goes, and things have got themselves a bit tricky. But there’s nothing else for it. I know she’s at the front gate giving me two seconds to catch up. So I slide by the two dancers, which isn’t easy because they seem to be all over the room at once, and call out good night to George over the music. Thanks for the party, I say, but George’s not listening. And he doesn’t see me wave because he’s looking down at the floor.
It’s only when I hit the warm, fresh air on the front porch that I realise I’m drunk. And it takes me by surprise. So I stand there for a moment just to steady myself. Bruchner, and Younger and Younger’s wife are all standing in a small group on the lawn beside me. I’d give them a wave but I can’t see the point because all I can hear is Bruchner’s voice.
When I hit the street and look up to see Rita well in front of me and Michael on the other side of the street like he senses fireworks, I can’t believe it’s the same street we walked down just a few hours before. The sky’s dark. I can barely see the long grass of the vacant lot next door to Bedser’s and I can just make out the figure of Rita up in front of me. And even though I can’t see it, I picture that dress of hers with the one strap and remember how keen she was to wear it tonight, and I know I’ve made a balls-up of things again.