Saturday evening I showered, sprayed my pits and chest with Lynx Gold Temptation^®, brushed my teeth twice, gargled Listerine^® and put on my newest underpants, a black t-shirt with gold lightning bolt, black jeans and bowler hat from an op shop on Crown Street.

‘Where are you off to?’ Dad said.

‘The Dance for Fergus.’

‘The guy with no legs?’

‘That guy. What do you think of my outfit?’ I spun around on the spot. ‘The theme’s black and gold. I don’t want to look like I tried too hard.’

‘You’ve certainly achieved that.’

‘Could I use some aftershave?’

‘On my dressing table, champ. Don’t go overboard – less is more with fragrance.’

 

The cabbie said ‘Woof!’ when I got in and he lowered every window – a bit dramatic, considering the interior was already ripe with tobacco and arse sweat. Mercifully for both of us, the ride to Penny’s place in Surry Hills was short. She came out looking a million bucks in a dress made of tiny sparkling gold disks.

‘Wow! I’m unworthy.’

‘Tan’s not too dark?’

‘Not at all.’ The fake nutty brown set off the gold perfectly.

On the trip to Crestfield, I gave Penny the lowdown on my friends and suggested we invent a code word in case either of us needed to get away from an awkward sitch.

‘What about “ukulele”?’ she said.

‘Random but perfect.’

‘I miss my high school days.’

As I was paying the driver, a black stretch Hummer pulled up in front. A door opened and the chorus of ‘Don’t Cha’ by the Pussycat Dolls spilt out, along with Phoenix in a slinky black catsuit, gold belt and super-long fake ponytail. ‘Over here!’ a photographer called from the pavement. Phoenix obliged with a series of feline poses, swishing her hair extension to max effect. Her date, Kirk Shepard, stepped out, shielding his face. ‘Don’t be like that,’ the photographer said. Phoenix pulled Kirk close and the photographer snapped away.

‘That’s enough now, Dad,’ Kirk said.

Next out was Tibor in a gold jacket with padded shoulders and his cousin Ziska in an eighties gold puffball dress. The photographer took a perfunctory single shot of them.

The song ended and Isa emerged in a long black sheath dress with a gold halter neck. Hair pulled back. Gold hoop earrings. She had a corsage of black flowers tied around her left wrist, which Pericles must’ve bought. He was wearing a sharp black suit, thin black tie and suede winklepickers. Hair sculpted into a high fifties Elvis pomp.

‘Ohmygod,’ Penny said. ‘They look like movie stars. Are you going to introduce me?’

‘Maybe later. The ukulele player’s about to perform his set.’

Penny scrunched her nose. ‘I’m not mad about the ukulele.’

‘Remember the code word?’ I said. ‘Let’s go in.’

Heather’s team had transformed the auditorium into a glittering party palace, with all the decorations donated for the night by local businesses. Black foam stalactites hung from the ceiling between gold polyhedrons reflecting lasers in a thousand directions. Behind the DJ booth was a massive revolving cog, shafts of gold light strobing between its spokes. And on either side of the stage were video screens. Across the dance floor I spotted the pop-up mocktail bar that Manos had agreed to let Helena and Christina run – all proceeds going to the cause.

‘Wow! Interesting look,’ Christina said as we approached. ‘Dressed by San Vincenzo de’ Paoli?’

‘Close,’ I said. ‘Christina, this is my friend Penny.’

‘Hi, Penny. Love the dress. You look so expensive standing next to him. What would you like?’

Penny examined the specials board. ‘The Pash-and-Dash sounds exciting.’

‘Make that two,’ I said.

Penny excused herself to go and freshen up her make-up. Christina leant forward and said, ‘Ohmygod, Lincoln. She is drop-dead gorgeous. Pericles told me you were going stag.’

‘Seems he was mistaken.’

‘Have you seen his hair? Took me an hour and a half. He’s so fussy. But don’t they make the perfect couple?’ she said, looking over at him and Isa. The word ‘couple’ hit me like a stone in the eye.

Helena returned with drinks garnished with pineapple spikes. ‘Specially for you,’ she said.

Wearing a surprisingly daring and constrictive dress that appeared to be made of gold latex, and with her hair in a gold-sprayed beehive, Heather Treadwell waddled onto the stage and delivered the official welcome, making a very dubious connection between Fergus Martin’s bravery in learning to walk again and being unafraid to make a fool of yourself on the dance floor. ‘I suppose that I should lead by example,’ she said. ‘SO LET’S GET THIS PARTY STARTED!’

On cue, the DJ started playing the old Pink banger. Heather came down and danced around David York like a duck snapping at the heels of a gazelle.

‘That’s seriously painful to watch,’ I said to Penny. ‘I’m sorry for dragging you along to this.’

‘Don’t be silly. I’m having a great time.’

‘You’re being charitable.’

‘I think we should both be charitable and help them out.’ So we joined Heather and David on the dance floor. Penny was a very expressive mover and when I complimented her, she explained that she’d taken salsa and belly-dancing classes. To be honest, she could’ve made the Chicken Dance look sensual. We danced for almost an hour, me trying with limited success to emulate her, and gently steering her away whenever Pericles and Isa were in close proximity.

Heading to the entrance for some fresh air, we saw Nads, Mullows and Starkey arrive with Cheyenne Piper and the Petersen twins. The guys were in black sweats, reversed baseball caps and fake gold chains. The girls wore gold crop tops, black hotpants and thigh-length boots.

I bought Penny a Don’t Let Your Man-go at the mocktail bar and she told me all about how much she missed Curtis and how she’d thought he was the one even though they’d been together for a grand total of six weeks. Again she asked me if I had the Cupid she gave to me ages ago and I confessed I’d defaced him in solidarity, which made her laugh. At that exact moment, ‘Single Ladies’ started playing. Penny said ‘That’s me!’ and pulled me back onto the floor. Liliana Petersen and Cheyenne Piper suddenly flanked her, and the unexpected trio matched the moves of Beyoncé and her two dancers on the giant video screens as if they’d spent a week practising the choreography. A crowd including Nads and Mullows gathered to watch.

Feeling less needed than a fridge in Siberia, I surreptitiously tried to shuffle into the background. But Penny wouldn’t let me go so easily, and started dropping and fanning and twerking against me. Terrified she might inadvertently touch the tail and freak out like Nicole Parker had – but this time with spectators there to witness the destruction of my last skerrick of dignity – I excused myself for a pee.

All of the men’s cubicles were occupied and Starkey was leaning on the wall, so I turned to leave.

‘Can’t you piss in the urinal?’ he said, with scant whiskers twitching like those of a sewer rat sniffing an opportunity for trouble.

‘I like my privacy.’

‘Did you come in here for a tug or a slug?’

‘Neither.’

‘Loosen up, man – try this.’ He thrust a silver flask at my face and hit my teeth. ‘Fuck, sorry about that.’

‘I’m fine.’ I tried to get past but he grabbed my arm.

‘Not so fast.’ His breath was sour and smoky. ‘Where did you find the hottie? You’re punching above your weight with that one.’

‘She works with my mum.’

‘You got your mother to pimp for ya? I was expecting you to make some faggy statement by turning up with your boyfriend Pappas. You must be shat off that he stole the bitch you’ve been spading despite Nads warning you to stay away?’

There was no way I could pee in peace with Starkey there, but I was still aching for a leak so I headed for Old Block. Walking through grass that hadn’t been cut over the break, I felt the dew soak into the cuffs of my jeans and a breeze chill the sweat on my neck. Crickets stopped chirping as I approached Old Block, and a fruit bat swept low enough for me to smell its fecundity – the moon revealing the veins in its membranous wings.

The Old Block toilets were locked and there was nowhere else to go, so I walked down to the roped-off Port Jackson fig, trusting its girth would protect me from view. In its upper reaches a hundred or more of the bat’s friends were hanging upside down, conducting their own social event, eating figs, chattering and screeching. It was the first time tonight that I’d felt like I actually belonged. But the second my stream of piss hit the trunk of the fig, every dark and furry creature took flight, wings buffeting the air, making it thrum and shudder. It was the most terrifying wee I’d ever taken.

On my way back towards the auditorium I spied two figures cosy on a bench but couldn’t make them out. ‘Locke!’ Pericles called. ‘Leave those bats alone and come over here.’ As I approached him and Isa, I felt the tail shift into a new position, almost vertical, and begin vibrating, which I assumed indicated a perceived threat. But instead of jumping onto Pericles and sinking my teeth into his throat, which would have been a very literal example of overkill, I said, ‘Oh, it’s you two! Great night, eh? Heather and her crew really pulled it off. Just came out for some fresh air. I’ll leave you to it then.’

‘Wait,’ Isa said. ‘Why have you been avoiding us all night?’

‘Penny, the girl I brought – chronically shy.’

‘She didn’t look shy on the dance floor,’ Pericles said.

‘She’s okay with dancing but doesn’t speak English very well. It’d be unfair talking to my friends when she can’t join in.’

‘Where’s she from?’ Isa said.

‘Croatia.’

‘I went to Croatia in Year 7. All the students there learn English. Bring her to the afterparty so we can talk.’

‘She has to get home before midnight. Anyway, I’d better get back.’ I walked away as quickly as possible, trying to look like I wasn’t.

I found Penny where I’d left her. She was now dancing with my Maths teacher and a cluster of students. Monaro was popping and locking to Daft Punk’s ‘Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger’, and everybody else was trying to copy his moves. ‘Show us your Lawnmower!’ Penny shouted. Monaro robotically mimed pulling the starter cord and pushing a mower along. I really wanted to disappear but Monaro pointed at me and shouted, ‘Robot Packing Boxes!’

‘What?’ I shrugged.

‘Like this!’ With stiff arms and a jerky pivoting motion, Monaro actually resembled an automated production-line worker, removing any doubt that he was the most massive tool in the faculty’s shed. Penny was clearly enjoying herself, though, and it would’ve been rude to pull her away, so I joined in and played Follow the Leader until we’d virtually exhausted all the animals, occupations, sports and famous people we could think of.

Mercifully there was no slow song to finish. Heather took the stage, golden beehive deflated and tilting, and introduced a short video of Fergus expressing his gratitude. She announced that $17,000 had been raised tonight, and >BOOM!< glitter cannons shot out golden hearts that fluttered down upon us all.

‘How beautiful!’ Penny said. ‘I’ve had the best night ever. Is there an afterparty?’ But I saw Pericles and Isa approaching, so I told Penny I had a headache.

‘I’ve got some Panadol in my purse. Let’s get you a cup of water.’

Pericles and Isa were almost upon us. The tail went fully vertical again, rigid and prickling.

‘I’ve got ukulele lessons in the morning,’ I said.

‘Right,’ Penny said. ‘Let’s blow this joint.’

On the cab ride to Surry Hills, Penny asked me why I’d been so edgy around my friends and I confessed that I’d wanted to ask Isa to the dance but was too insecure.

‘Take it from me, there’s no reason to be,’ she said. ‘You’re handsome and charming and any girl would be lucky to have you for a boyfriend.’

‘Thank you so much for coming with me,’ I said as the cab pulled up to the kerb.

‘My pleasure,’ she said, and kissed me on the cheek. ‘Anything for Fergus, eh?’