Jess paraded around the house in legwarmers and a tiered skirt, giggling that ‘Return of the Rad Eighties’ was the best possible theme for a ball imaginable. I stirred my coffee and leant on the bench.
“I’m not going.”
Jess kicked off her costume. “You are so going.” She climbed into her jeans. “Are you worried that Matt will be angry with you still?”
I sipped my coffee. “He was really pissed off.”
Jess turned on the TV and started flicking channels. “What else are you going to do? Stay home and watch Titanic for the hundredth time? I think we’ve all worked out it wasn’t unsinkable.”
I wandered into the lounge and sat cross-legged on the floor. Examined the black elastic waistband of the disco skirt. “This is truly ugly.”
Jess snatched the skirt. “Don’t change the subject. Tell you what. I’m going to ditch that guy from the pub and go as your date instead.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I want to. You have to come. Roman’s going to try and pick up that hot singer, Thomas. Besides, I’m kind of over that pub guy anyway. He keeps trying to impress me with baked goods.”
“Baked goods?”
“Or,” said Jess. “You could just play. Who cares what those snobby divas think? How hot is this weather man by the way?”
I glanced at the TV. “I don’t want to ruin my reputation.”
Jess rolled her eyes. “You sound like Clara. Nothing’s going to get ruined, okay. Just do it for yourself. No, do it for Matt. You know how much this means to him.”
Roman shone like a beacon in his vintage eighties attire; his luminescent clothes glowing among the dinner suits and ball gowns. He tugged testily at his fluoro orange shorts.
“Why isn’t anyone else in costume?!”
“I’m in costume.” I bent my head so he could see the blue feather pinned into my hair.
“One lousy feather. What kind of lame-arse costume is that?”
“We’re pretty early,” I said. “There might be more people dressed up soon.” I clutched the white arm poking out his cut-off t-shirt. “Come on, I need a drink if I’m going to get through tonight.”
After a few champagnes, Roman’s gay-dar spotted the proclaimed tenor, Thomas, strutting into the ballroom in an expensive pin-stripe suit.
“Oh. My. God.” He sunk into his yellow slouch socks and dashed desperately back to our table. I stumbled after him.
“Roman! Go talk to him!”
He shook my shoulders. “Abby! Look at me!”
I couldn’t hold back a giggle. I wondered if Thomas would find slap bands erotic.
Jess and the disco skirt staggered to the table in mile high pink stilettos. I sat between her and Clara, clutching a glass of champagne. We looked up in surprise as Richard the viola player swanned up to our table in green tights and britches.
“Why are you dressed like that?” I laughed. Richard tossed the white plait on his wig over one shoulder.
“I thought I’d bring back the seventeen-eighties,” he said proudly. “I’m Mozart.”
Jess shrieked with laughter. “Oh my God, you are such a music geek…”
Matt had been setting up the P.A. and he squeezed an extra chair up to the table as entrée was served. “Thanks for saving me a seat, guys,” he drawled. “Now they’re not going to give me any food!”
I poked tentatively at the fluorescent pink crabmeat. “Have mine.” I pushed my fork into his hand. “I’m not hungry.”
He rolled up his shirtsleeves and speared a limp piece of seafood. “What’s wrong? You nervous?”
I wound a strand of his hair around my finger. “Are you?”
“Nah. It’ll be sweet. You’ll see.”
I glanced across the table at Julian who was swigging from a bottle of red; giant sunglasses over his eyes. I wrapped both my hands around one of Matt’s. “Do you think you should tell Jules to stop drinking? He’s going to be too drunk to play.”
Matt laughed. “Relax. He’ll probably come up with some really great alcohol inspired riffs or something. I know I do my best work after I’ve had a few.”
To illustrate his point, he raised his beer and took a swig. He turned back to me. “Are you glad you decided to play?”
I nodded uncertainly. “You know when you said you wouldn’t have wasted your time on me? What exactly did you mean?”
Matt put his beer down. “I meant I wouldn’t have written you all that music if I’d known you weren’t going to perform it,” he said. “That’s all.”
“I thought you meant you didn’t want to be with me if I didn’t play in Standing Waves.”
Matt shook his head. “No. I’m sorry you thought that.”
“You sure?”
“Positive.” He stood up and pulled me to my feet. “Let’s go tune up.”
Julian flung his bass strap over his head and draped an arm around my neck.
“D’ya like my costume?” he babbled. I glanced at the wide lapelled brown suit he wore for every special occasion. “I’m myself frum las chear’s music ball.”
“What’s with the sunnies, man?” laughed Matt. “You look like you’re watching a 3D movie.”
“You’re choking me,” I spluttered, pushing Julian away. “Are you going to be able to play?”
“Sure.” He plugged in his bass and plucked out a tangled riff. I took a deep breath and began to tune my violin. I wished I was as relaxed as Matt. No one had seen me yet. There was still time to back out.
I shot a nervous glance across the ballroom. With three napkins hanging from the back of his shorts, Roman swanned past the stage and pirouetted with David Bowie. A guy dressed as Madonna was showing a group of shrieking girls all the moves from the Vogue film clip. Another girl was hitting on one of the waiters. Maybe the Con would be too pissed to be critical.
I lifted my violin. In the corner of my eye I could see Clara and her boarding house friends perched on stools at the bar. Clara was sitting with her legs crossed, her black dress sliding up her thighs. She and the other girls were clutching champagne flutes, watching with tiny smiles and exchanging whispers. I felt Matt’s hand on my shoulder.
“Don’t worry about them,” he said. “They’re just freaking out because they’re about to hear a real violinist play.”
I angled my music stand so my back was to Clara. I could hear the syncopated rhythm before we began to play. The beat was inside me and I began to tap my toe subconsciously. I didn’t need to count myself in, my entry felt so natural. Matt caught my eye and smiled. Hell, I thought, if I was going to ruin my reputation, I might as well enjoy it.
Matt crawled into the back of the taxi. He threw an arm over my shoulder and howled out a pissed rendition of We are the Champions.
“They loved us, didn’t they?” He stumbled up the stairs above the coin laundry. I unlocked the door and followed him into his bedroom.
“Yeah, they loved us.”
Matt knelt over me. “You are the best,” he told me between kisses. “The best there is. You’ll be my star violinist forever, won’t you? You won’t listen to those divas.”
I giggled and pushed him onto his back. “Fuck the divas.”