Soubrette: Chapter 11

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Soubrette

Nick was happy playing the system,unemployed and unemployable but it had to end some time.

'Why aren't you enormous?' Turning my back on the young blonde woman in my bedroom helped. I could almost forget that apart from French knickers, and a pair of lace top hold ups, she was
entirely naked.

'You know you weren't going to finish those chips,' Kirsty protested. 'And why can't I wear a bra?'

Without offering an answer I asked Kirsty to lift her arms, and dropped the bias cut dress over her shoulders.

'I made this just to see if I could,' I said, arranging the black silk around her shapely figure. Patting the fabric against Kirsty's flat stomach, I tried to explain, 'I don't have the body for a dress like this.'

'But why can't I wear a bra?' Kirsty continued to ask, until I turned her profile to the chevalier mirror.

'Because it's backless, darling,' I said, running my hand along Kirsty's bare skin, from her nape, to the small of her back. 'And you really don't need a bra anyway, your boobs are perfect.'

'Aw,' she wrapped her arms around my waist, and kissed me. 'But this frock shows everything, I look practically naked.'

'I know,' I sniggered, not at all sympathetically, as I'd been on the High Street all week, dressed like a stripper.

'I brought something for us to wear,' Kirsty's said brightly, pulling a small bottle from her bag. 'This is art deco isn't it?'

'Chanel number five most definitely is,' I answered. 'Did you buy it just for tonight?'

'Nah I found it in mum's bedroom,' Kirsty said from between air quotes, 'but we'd better not go overboard.'

'We are going to smell so posh,' I said, 'now help me on with my dress.'

'But it's such a boring frock,' Kirsty said, buttoning it at the back for me.

'It's what flappers wore,' I explained, smoothing the fabric down to just past my knees. 'Just the thing for a girl with no curves.'

'That may be, my flat chested, friend,' Kirsty drawled, twirling in front of the mirror, 'but my dress is getting you fucked tonight.'

'That's not very ladylike,' I chided primly.

'I'm not planning on being a lady,' a smirking Kirsty said, and gave my bottom a resounding slap.

*****

'I can't get my head around a living room without a television." Kirsty settled herself gingerly on my settee, carefully arranging her dress's rustling skirts.

With a couple of hours to kill before the taxi arrived I was at a loss to entertain my guest.

'It'll take a while for the wireless to warm up,' I said, 'but we could listen to records.'

'I wasn't complaining; your life is just so different.' Kirsty's eyes followed me as I crossed the room to the gramophone, and placed several platters on the changer.

Aunt Fenn said you could always tell a lot about a person from the answer. 'How do you like your martinis? I asked.

'I don't think I've ever had one,' Kirsty replied, looking around to the sideboard, where I was already pulling out ingredients.

'That's a well-stocked cocktail cabinet for someone on benefits,' Kirsty said, arrives roving over the bottles within.

'It's mostly gifts from neighbors, or their families at least,' I said defensively.

'Hold on, we got you an interview at a cocktail bar last month,' she said through pursed lips.

'The manager asked me to make an appletini,' I moaned, as though that were defence enough.

'I like those' Kirsty beamed at me.

'And I still don't know what's in one,' I said, and quickly darted off to the kitchen for ice, trailing apologies.

When I returned, Kirsty had moved to the gramophone player. 'It's like being in the past,' she said wonderingly, 'I half expect to hear air-raid sirens.'

'I make mine a little wetter than modern martinis,' I said, advancing with our drinks, 'three parts gin to one part vermouth.'

'I haven't the foggiest what you're talking about,' Kirsty said, with a shake of her head, and took a sip of her cocktail. 'Blimey that's strong.'

'On a clear day you can see France from here,' I said, motioning my glass toward the window, 'if you favour the Churchillian rule…'

Kirsty's method of telling me I was talking too much was very direct, and equally pleasant.

'Do you dance?' Kirsty asked as she broke our kiss. Being habitually dumbstruck in her presence, I nodded, as her arms encircled me.

'You're leading,' I said down for, as she began guiding me around the furniture.

'In university we thought ballroom dancing would be a good way to meet men,' she said with a shrug, 'but the classes were almost exclusively female, and I always seemed to end up leading. Problem?'

'I've never learnt to lead,' I said, 'but you've probably already guessed that.'

'You're very good,' she said, as we rounded the coffee table. 'Where did you learn to dance?' Kirsty asked, her cheek brushing my own.

'You know, the neighbors showed me a few things,' one I said in our cloud of Chanel, while we danced on.

'I'm in heaven,' Kirsty whispered dreamily, 'I'm dancing with Verity, and being serenaded by Nick.'

'Sorry…' I started, but was apparently talking too much again.

*****

A knock at my front door brought us both back to the surface.

'Can we ignore it?' Kirsty asked softly, before my eyes had opened.

'I'm surprised that it's taken them this long,' I said with a shake of my head, and dragged us both to the door. Kirsty didn't seem inclined to let go of my waist, and was still clutching me tightly as I opened the door.

'Drinking alone, Verity, tut tut. ' Mr. Blum and Mrs. Rose crowded the doorway, the latter with cake tin in hand.

'We didn't know you had company, dear,' said Mrs. Rose, pushing past us. 'I thought you might like some of this Dundee cake.'

'We were just getting ready for a night out,' I said, closing the door behind my visitors.

'Mmm cake,' drooled Kirsty, who was still clinging to me, although her attention was wandering to the fruitcake.

'But mainly dancing,' I added, 'may I get you something? It's a gin and it for you Mrs. Rose?'

'Are you and Nick courting?' The elderly woman asked Kirsty, who'd frozen like a rabbit in headlights. 'Or is Verity your special friend? We are very open minded around here, dear.'

'I um like them both,' stammered Kirsty.

'Good for you, they needed to meet someone.' The older woman clapped my girlfriend on the shoulder, and continued, not as confidentially as she supposed, 'you appear to have forgotten to put on your bra.' Kirsty flushed, and mumbled something in reply.

'It's the fashion, Vera,' I said forcing myself between the two, while I handed Mrs. Rose her drink.

'Al Bowly is a little before even my time,' Mr. Blum said from the gramophone, and chuckled. 'Shall I put it back on?' Taking my assent as a given, he dropped the needle onto the shellac, and with remarkable agility stepped over to my other neighbour asking, 'shall we?' Mr. Blum might have been in his eighties, but he was still a smooth operator.

'You're quiet,' I said softly, as Kirsty wound her arm around the too.

'They're acting like you're just an ordinary person,' she whispered in my ear.

'They're my friends,' I said softly. ' I really am the girl next door in this building.'

'It'll take some getting used to,' Kirsty said softly.

'I'm sure putting your hand on my bottom will have really helped,' I said, nibbling her ear.

*****

'They were kissing,' Kirsty hissed as we stepped onto the pavement.

'Mr. Blum and Vera have been carrying on for years,' I said, quickly catching the waiting cabbie’s eye.

'Doesn't her husband know?'

'Of course,' I admitted 'just as Vera knows I place bets for the old fella when he's got a red hot tip.'

'Has everyone got a secret in that building?'

'Almost certainly,' I said sliding into the taxi's back seat.

'Budge up!' Kirsty climbed in beside me, and told the cabbie our destination. After an exchange of glances, she took my hand in hers, and kissed me on my cheek.

'Worried?' Kirsty asked.

'A little,' I answered. I'd been out in the evening in college, and stood half naked on the High Street this week, so this wasn't a leap into the dark for me. Still, part of me expected villagers with pitchforks.

'It's like the Saint Valentine's day massacre down there tonight,' the cabbie said from over his shoulder.

'My nipples are poking through,' Kirsty hissed, and placed an arm protectively across her chest.

Cruising down the Promenade, to the cab rank opposite the cinema, the pavement was awash with fedoras, the occasional violin case, and attendant molls wearing far too little. 'Relax,' I told Kirsty, 'you're practically wearing a bourka.'

We skipped across the road hand in hand, dodging the slow-moving traffic idling past the crowd.

'See, nothing to worry about,' I said breezily, squeezing her hand. Then the whistling started.

'We should have booked an earlier cab,' Kirsty said in a flat voice, straightened her back, and almost began to strut along the line of cinemagoers. Damn, my girlfriend was wearing the hell out of that dress.

'Hey where have you been? We saved you a spot.' Where exactly we were being hailed from was hard to tell, but Kirsty dragged me to the sole group in the line that didn't look like they called the windy city home.

'Do we know you?' Kirsty asked a boy in cricket whites.

'Not really,' he confessed, 'but we had to know where you got that dress.'

'My boyfriend made it for me,' Kirsty said quietly.

'How about you?' I was asked by a tweedy young woman on his left.

'I'm her boyfriend,' I said, looking left and right to see if anyone else in the line over heard.

We'd fallen in with a group of theatre students who'd availed themselves of the costume department, and spent their evening criticising everyone else for their unimaginative showing. The sole exception was a thin boy in plus-fours who was at pains to point out he is that deed architecture, but gave a hand with the scenery.

Naturally everyone curious about Kirsty's and my own occupations. Kirsty simply said that she was a civil servant, and refused to be drawn further. In a similar spirit I confessed to being a domestic servant, which everyone refused to believe when I sewed so brilliantly.

'Not any old servant mind,' Kirsty said excitedly, 'Verity's the soubrette girl.'

'The French maid on the High Street?' Terry, the architecture student asked, his mind truly boggled.

'It's just a job,' I tried to say as everyone rushed to ask me questions. 'It's just standing there,' I said with a shrug.

'So brave,' said the tweedy girl, 'can we see your legs?'

Fortunately, the line started moving forward, before I was asked to lift my hem. Instead I concentrated on frowning at Kirsty. Why did she have to spill the beans like that?

'Sorry, darling,' she said, as the line briefly bunched and brought us closer together. 'I'm just so proud of you,' Kirsty gushed, kissed my cheek and went on, 'you're my greatest professional achievement.'

Was that a backhanded compliment, I wondered as we entered the cinema's foyer.

There were gasps all round at the decor, a restoration I'd have been proud to call my own. Speaking as someone spends much of my time in the nineteen thirties, it really was a remarkable job.

Everything shone, from the gilt motifs on the marble columns, to the rich dark woods used everywhere. I may just have peed a little.

'It's wonderful,' I told Kirsty as we queued for our tickets.

'Last time I was here,' she said smiling, 'it smelled of wet tramp.'

Undaunted I allowed the crowd to carry me into the auditorium, and let Kirsty pull me down into a seat amid our new thespian friends.

'You know the girl who lives in my flat,' I said to Kirsty in awed tones, 'this is where she comes to dream.'

'Where do you live,' Terry who'd attached himself to us asked.

'Packney House,' I answered absently as I drank in my surroundings, and was hushed by Kirsty.

'Ladies and gentlemen we have a small problem with our projector and there will be a short delay.' Disappointingly the announcement was not made in a clipped nineteen thirties accent, but I was sure there'd be a suggestion box somewhere.

'In the meantime the house orchestra hopes you will enjoy a selection of popular dance melodies.'

'It doesn't sound like any dance music I’ve heard,' grumbled someone in the row behind us.

'It's the song you sang to me earlier,' Kirsty's said.

'It's Gershwin,' I answered, softly singing the first line again, 'the very thought of you…'

'Did women dance together then? Kirsty asked excitedly.

'Well they were rather short of chaps in the Twenties, because…' I started, but found myself being simultaneously kissed and pulled to my feet.

'There's what looks like a dancefloor by the first row of seats,' Kirsty said as we threaded our way along the aisle.

'No one else is dancing,' I said, between apologies.

'Art deco lesbians remember,' Kirsty said through a grin, and paused long enough to kiss me again.

Without further complaint I allowed myself to be tugged along the remaining seats, and onto the long stairway leading to the front of the cinema. Just how long I appreciated when the first tune ended, and the orchestra struck up something more strident.

'Do you know how to Tango?' Kirsty asked, as momentum carried us out onto the floor. When I nodded, she continued, 'who taught you that? Mr. Blum?'

'Fred and Ginger,' I laughed, and pressed my body to hers.

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Comments

Gotta know all those "new"

Gotta know all those "new" dances, like the Tango (it takes two), the Lindy, the Jackson, the Rumba, and a few others if you are a 20s-30s girl.
Had to learn them all when I was in the 8th grade, as our school would not allow us to ever learn the newest dances coming out in the middle-late 50s and early 60s. Oh no; no self-respecting girl or boy, for that matter, would every allow herself or himself to learn or know those, as it was all "devil music". At least that is what our parents back then used to say.

Love It!

joannebarbarella's picture

That dichotomy! And you haven't lost the art of repartee, my dear.

I have a hot tip for Verity but I'll have to whisper it in her ear!

I had the image of Pete and

I had the image of Pete and Trudy Campbell(from Mad Men) dancing the charleston in mind when I wrote this, and I suspect it may become Verity and Kirsty's 'thing' in later chapters as Kirsty fits in to Verity's world

I'm glad the longer chapter has been a success though it's been a mare to proof aurally, which has given me the impetus to buy word-processing software.