“Oh my God!”
“I see what you mean, Darce! Those girls are hot! Look at this one, the… one, two, three,… ninth one, her body is perfection!”
“What? Charles! Are you serious? How can you find some dancers wriggling on something close to our National anthem hot? And look at their costumes! They’re ridiculous! And how the Hell, are you able to distinguish one in the whole bunch?”
Charles exhaled his discontent and didn’t grace his brooding companion with an answer. William’s ability to not enjoy himself anywhere but at work had always astonished him; nevertheless it had never induced him to stop dragging his friend out with him every time he could. He was sure that someday, somewhere, there would be a spark that would revive the sleeping fire William hid deep inside. Whether his friend would be able to master the flames was the only concern he had with his scheme.
The scene on stage involved only one dancer in a Broadway Burlesque number. She was very good and she communicated to the spectators the fun she had in dancing it.
As he usually did, Charles had managed to befriend the waiter. The fact that they were attended by a male waiter had surprised William; indeed they were few waitresses and all the staff wore the same classic garcon de café suit. No short and tight skirt, no low-cut or form-fitting tee-shirt, everything in the public space of the cabaret was proper.
“Philippe, what’s the dancer’s name?”
“That’s Lottie Boum, Monsieur. She’s one of our soliste. There are not many of them, you know, it’s a privilege to be one!”
“Well, she deserves it, she’s very good!”
“Merci Monsieur.”
“Oh, look, look, she’s there again!”
“Who? Lottie Boum,” William answered mockingly, insisting on the silliness of the name. “How could she be there, when she was dancing the previous scene?” He grinned ironically. “But then, it’s true that she doesn’t need a lot of time to change costume!” William laughed at his own joke while his oblivious friend kept staring at the stage.
“No, no, the ‘ninth one’. She’s with the platinum wig… She’s beautiful, she’s…” his power of speech had left him with the proceeding of the scene.
Well, she certainly knows how to move her body. And she’s graceful, I’ll grant him. She manages to hide all the vulgarity of the choreography.
“Philippe, what’s the name of the blond one?” William asked.
“That’s Angie Sweetness, Monsieur. If you or… your friend…” he added with a conniving arched eyebrow, “appreciate her, you may like the second solo.”
Charles nodded his thanks to his friend for asking and to the waiter for answering.
On watching more attentively the dance, William noticed that the showgirls didn’t only differ by their wigs. Some had smaller or fuller breasts; some were smaller or taller. He conceded though that this was not enough to break the harmony of the ballet. His more careful study led him to notice another dancer. She was of the smaller with fuller breasts kind. Where Charles’s favourite was blond-wigged, she wore a black one. She was not as graceful as Charles’s Angie Sweetness but he soon felt that a powerful sexual energy came from her. Indeed, he felt the spell coming quickly over him and struggled to regain his senses.
“Philippe, may we have two more flutes, please.”
“Mais certainement, Monsieur.”
“This is it, it’s the second solo!”
Charles had drained his glass at the end of the previous dance; he had barely got over his daze during the entertainment scene; he was ready to fall again for Angie’s magic.
The scene was much sexier than the last one. It was based on Leonardo de Vinci’s sketch of a man in a circle. Her faultless body moved graciously and it emphasised the perfection of the thought, the purity of the drawing. At the same time, her movements were enticing and certainly inspired desire.
Even William couldn’t but admit that this scene was a very good one. As an engineer, he had always admired Leonardo de Vinci’s works and he felt that there was no betrayal in this representation.
Charles was in another universe. No such considerations were possible. He could no longer think, he just felt. His whole body felt the dance. Of course, he felt a little tight in his trousers but it was only a part of it. His heart was beating wildly, his hands were moist, his skin screamed for her touch every time she gestured in his direction. Charles Bingley had never known such a physical experience and he revelled in it.
As soon as the curtain opened, William saw her. They were six for this dance and she was still wearing her black wig but he noticed that after he had recognised her. The scene was a classic 1930s cabaret number transformed with modern music and a light show. He tried to resist once again but the full five minutes of the dance proved to be too long for his will. Before the end, he was bewitched. He no longer saw the other dancers, he no longer saw the lights, he no longer heard the music, he was no longer aware of his friend.
Meanwhile Charles was slowly landing from his space flight experience. The realisation that his friend was strangely silent came gradually. His observation told him that the spark he had long been waiting for might be happening right under his nose. He tried to fathom which girl was the one but none were William’s usual type. Indeed, it’s hard to imagine Darce’s usual type naked!
Charles noticed a woman dressed in a plain suit carrying some one-rose-bouquets. On a whim, he called her and bought the least skinny one. He knew he would never meet Angie but he had to let her know she had meant so much for him during this one-hour-and-a-half show. He took one of his business cards and wrote on the back, as distinctly as he could as he didn’t know if she understood English:
‘Angel, your dancing touched my soul and my heart. I’ll forever cherish this night for I found out today that Beauty exists in this world. Thank you, Charles.’
While he was trying to fix the card on the crystal-wrap of the flower, the scene finished and the claps broke William’s daze. He blinked strongly as if to erase the feelings he had been lost in. What the Hell has happened? Why can’t I close my eyes without seeing her there? He had lost his basic power of directing his mind to where it should be; and that feeling was not at all welcome. He grabbed the slightest pretext to express his rising rage.
“What’s that?” he snarled.
“Oh! Welcome back, Darce!”
On seeing William’s eyes blacken even more, Charles understood that he had poorly chosen his time for teasing.
“That dead plant that used to be a poor-looking rose.” Wincing in the scarce light, he added: “And that’s one of your business card you’ve put in? I knew it, Bing, you just came here to find an easy fuck!”
Charles was not used to this hurtful William Darcy. He knew that his friend could be rather cruel when he so wished and had witnessed before such pitiless comments; but they had never been directed at him. And he couldn’t tolerate that Mr. Darcy played the boss in their friendship.
“Yes, William, it’s a rose; yes it’s one of my business card and yes it is for Angie. I don’t ask her to call me. I just tell her how happy her performance tonight has made me.” Witnessing Darcy’s disgusted reaction, he went on, unable to contain the anger he felt. “I don’t care what you think. I don’t care if you find me a hopeless lovesick teenager. Do you think I should behave like you? Always looking boringly on the world? Always thinking that everyone only lives merely to use and abuse everybody around him? That may be the way you live, Darce, but does that make you happy? No! Will you allow that girl who has so bewitched you a moment ago to roam in your dreams, like the hot and joyful fantasy she could be? Or will you only think of her as the slut you’re sure she is? Oh, I’m sure you’ll dream of her, but it will be a nightmare where, after a quick shag, she will take the gun she has in her bag and steal all your money before killing you and vanishing in the night!”
By the end of his tirade, and as William’s face progressively showed that he saw the point he was trying to make, Charles couldn’t repress a chuckle at the inanity of the dream he had invented. To his surprise, Will laughed freely and held his glass to him.
“Cheers, Friend! You’re right! I promise that if she comes around during the night I won’t have a look in her bag!”
Both finished their glass to seal that pact and Charles called Philippe.
“Philippe, I was wondering if you could give this to Angie Sweetness?”
The waiter’s reaction astonished them both. In a haughty tone he replied:
“I’m afraid not, Monsieur. We don’t practice that here. It’s not some kind of bordel you’re in. Our créatures are not for sale.”
He was about to leave them when Darcy went on, in an authoritative yet gentle voice.
“I’m afraid you misunderstood my friend’s purpose, Philippe. He just wants to express his admiration.”
“Indeed, I do. Just read the card for yourself…”
The waiter was torn between the very strict orders he had been given and the so-far real amiability of the fair gentleman. He decided to check for himself the content of the message and, touched by the sweetness and the feelings in it, he decided to forget the rules.
“Bon… d’accord. But keep it quiet, okay? I don’t want to be fired!”
The fact that Angie was the recipient made the decision easier as he knew that she would never tell how the flower had come to her
After several scenes, Charles’s happiness increased as Angie appeared in another small group number. The tantalizing intensity of the dance revealed even more her power of seduction. The champagne that had kept flowing since they had entered amplified the drunkenness of his feelings. He was floating in a sensual world where she was the only other living soul. She was not a body, he was not a body, they were a part of the same spirit.
William respected his friend’s dream and enjoyed the scene. Angie was really a wonderful dancer. She didn’t have the black-wigged’s power to hypnotise him and it helped him appreciate the dance even more.
His relief was short, nonetheless, as, when the curtain was raised for the next dance, she was there, alone with three vertical bars. The music was very rhythmic and very low. This scene was obviously the sexiest so far. This was exactly the kind of dance William had been expecting. A seduction dance, obviously reaching its purpose, as he was not the only one bewitched. Very quickly, his breathing became shallow, a few pearls of sweat appeared at his brow. He felt absently that Charles had taken his flute from his hand, and for lack of anything remaining, he curled his fists into tight knots, unaware of the pain caused by his nails in his palms.
When the dance ended, he stared at the spot where she had last been. Unconsciously following his friend’s advice, he relished in the memory of her body swaying to the music.
The only other occasion for both to enjoy their favourite dancer’s performance was the finale. Although the teasing spirit was still present, its intent was to make the spectators fondly remember the show, and not to have the male audience jump onto every available female specimen outside the cabaret. So many dancers diffused the power of each and the friends were able to remain conscious enough during the number.
As the house lights went back on, they decided to wait until most of the crowd had left. This allowed both of them to regain most of their sanity. They didn’t comment on the show, though. Neither of them was quite ready for that yet.
*Author’s note: I’ve taken some numbers from the real Crazy Horse show and have invented others.