Magical Mystery Tour Christmas Party 1967
I told myself I mustn't keep staring at John. Even as he rested his hand on Patti's bare waist to draw her closer for their next dance, I knew the best thing would be to look away. I should rest my despairing gaze elsewhere.
Elsewhere became the enormous bow atop Lulu's hair and it trembled along with her tight, beautifully styled ringlets with all the rage she was feeling on my behalf. I had to watch as she declared that she was going to give my husband what for, swiped her giant lollipop from our table and stalked toward the dancers.
And so I was witness the the whole surreal scene, though rather lovely in its way, of Shirley Temple lecturing the tough and greasy Teddy boy of John's young days. Patti stood beside him, effortlessly sexy in her seven-veils-and-not-much-else outfit. John's hand remained firmly in the not-much-else region.
The only place to look now was down and even there the haze of embarrassment clouded my vision. A flash of coherent thought saw me asking myself if we were all now living in John's baffling and bewildering film, the one tonight was supposed to be honouring.
"Would you like to dance, Cynthia?" a polite voice asked.
My downcast eyes slowly raised from the food-and-wine-stained tablecloth, meeting first with an offered hand and then with the friendly face of Billy J Kramer. He was handsomely dressed up as the soldier from the quality street tin. All of a sudden I felt a great deal less ridiculous in my lavender crinoline and bonnet. His eyes sparkled with kindness and a touch of drink. I nodded and smiled as I accepted his hand.
The dance was slow and slightly unsteady to begin as we stumbled over our own and each other's feet. Eventually we settled into a fairly graceful waltz.
A song or so later we were in good enough spirits to try something a bit more lively. A little too lively as it turned out. My crinoline was far too stiff and unsuitable for galloping around and jumping all over the place. I flopped to the floor in a billow of material. Sitting there feeling sick and shaken, I resolved never to make such a spectacle of myself again. Every single time I tried to impress anyone, especially John and the dozens of strangers and almost-strangers that came packaged with him anywhere we went, I came off worse than if I'd never tried.
I could not see now and, when I’d realised why, tugged my displaced bonnet from my head and hurled it away. It skidded across the polished dance floor to draw my attention to a pair of pink and gold eastern dancer's slippers and, beside them still, the smart black and white shoes I'd bought to complete John's costume. I looked slowly skywards. My gaze met John's but it became clear that one or two disapproving glances were all he had to spare for his embarrassment of a wife. He shook his head disbelievingly and turned away.
Billy was being terribly nice about it all. He asked me whether I was all right, apologising profusely for essentially dropping me in the middle of our merry dance. But I knew the blame for my humiliation lay with me. I'd made the effort to enjoy myself and all but succeeded until I reached the hurdle of my dress being completely unsuitable for anything as exciting as our attempts at a jive.
"Cindy."
I recognised the voice straight away but I fought my temptation to turn towards it. Of all the times...
A hand found it's way to my cheek. It gently turned my head to the side. The face I found before mine was not show reproach or amusement. Her dark eyes were concerned and sympathetic. Her even darker eyebrows were drawn low. Her mouth was set seriously. Her other hand found one of mine and squeezed it. Joan didn't ask me if I was okay. She simply knew I wasn't.
She was there, kneeling before me with only me in her eyes and her thoughts. She was there.
"I'm sorry I couldn't get here any earlier," she said to me.
I took a deep breath and said her name. "Joanie." I gave her hand a squeeze in return. "I thought you weren't coming. The way you told me..."
"I know. I made it, though. Didn't I?"
"Yes," I agreed. "You did."
Joanie smiled and rose to her feet. Slowly, and with a little help from Billy, she managed to get me standing. All that effort and the change in altitude had clearly left the two of us a bit giddy for we collapsed against each other, Joan laughing and me giggling like a mad thing. Joanie slipped a hand round my waist and led me into the best dance I could have hoped for at the end of such a night. If John was rolling his eyes at me now, I had no idea about it. I'd gained a partner who I could share a simple dance with and not end up a scarlet and lavender crumpled mess on the floor. Nor would she ever leave me with nothing to do with myself other than sit primly in the corner.
"I really like your costume," I told her. Joan had come dressed as a beautiful gypsy girl with a billowing white blouse and a red skirt that was as richly woven as a medieval tapestry. It swirled about her as we span.
She laughed and thanked me and said, "Well, yours is nice too, honey."
I pressed on with my compliments. "You're radiant, really, and completely and utterly marvellous."
"Cindy, that must surely make you the most beautiful and honest woman in this room. And I'm not going to let you forget that ever again."
Most of the other guests had resumed their own dances but there were a few determined spectators who were muttering and trying to point us out to others who probably weren’t all that bothered. I could hear derisive laughter from certain corners of the room. I did not need to voice how much this worried me. Joan knew, tilting her head and saying there was really no use in telling them not to stare.
"Yes," I said calmly. "We must be a sight."
I almost kissed her then, but though I’d been utterly swept up in the emotion of the moment, I hadn't yet lost my mind. There had to be an elsewhere we could go. Alone. Together.
The dance ended with a flourish and I twirled away from Joan and back into her arms in an unbroken movement. I was light on my feet for that brief second. Graceful again, almost. There was even a smattering of applause. I had to promise myself not to look for John's reaction. I would not let anyone spoil this moment. Not even myself in a vain search for his approval.
"I have a surprise for you." Joanie said as we left the room.
"What?" I asked with anxious excitement. "What is it?"
Joan shook her head and gave a mockingly stern warning: "Wait 'til we get home."
I was flumouxed. Home? Kenwood? Her hotel room perhaps?
"What should I say to John?" I asked eventually to break my quiet.
"Just don't say anything. Don't even tell him you're leaving."
I wanted to ask if she was sure that was the best thing to do. John had ignored me for most of the evening, yes, but I wasn't the sort to go off without saying anything. I didn't like to think of myself ever being that way. I didn't like to think of the arguments it would cause the next day when I would see John and he would demand to know where on earth I'd been. Then I'd probably have Joan's gift in tow and I'd have to explain that too.
How would I even explain it now? 'Don't worry about me, John dear. I'm just popping off with my old lover. Very rarely get to see her, you know, sure you'll understand.' I cringed at my mental image of that scene playing out. Perhaps telling John where I was going wouldn't be the best plan after all. It wasn't very likely he'd give us a head start to escape if I was honest.
I smiled briefly and said, "Okay. I won't tell him then."
She nodded, her expression gentle and approving. I wondered if she considered me a little bit brave even though I thought myself a total coward.
Acting quickly, I leaned in and we shared a quick kiss. My crinoline rustled as it brushed against her pure white blouse. In the unreal white light I could see how little it hid. I brushed my hand cautiously against her breast, nervous of unseen eyes. Another kiss. Then I lost what little nerve I had and stepped back.
She looked lost then. I felt glad I wasn't the only one. We could be lost and confused together. This time I wanted more than three weeks by the beach or a tour I happened to be invited along with. More. And who knew what that was? Who knew how it could ever work? I didn't. I knew she probably didn't either.
What does it really matter when the brown-skinned gypsy girl and the woman from the front of a chocolate tin take each others hands and step into the night together? What does it matter when, with their feet numb and wet, they reached a lonely looking house set back from the road with a sign before it declaring it to be sold? And what, dare I ask, does it matter when the only room with any sign of life is the bedroom and only then because they make it so?
Elsewhere became the enormous bow atop Lulu's hair and it trembled along with her tight, beautifully styled ringlets with all the rage she was feeling on my behalf. I had to watch as she declared that she was going to give my husband what for, swiped her giant lollipop from our table and stalked toward the dancers.
And so I was witness the the whole surreal scene, though rather lovely in its way, of Shirley Temple lecturing the tough and greasy Teddy boy of John's young days. Patti stood beside him, effortlessly sexy in her seven-veils-and-not-much-else outfit. John's hand remained firmly in the not-much-else region.
The only place to look now was down and even there the haze of embarrassment clouded my vision. A flash of coherent thought saw me asking myself if we were all now living in John's baffling and bewildering film, the one tonight was supposed to be honouring.
"Would you like to dance, Cynthia?" a polite voice asked.
My downcast eyes slowly raised from the food-and-wine-stained tablecloth, meeting first with an offered hand and then with the friendly face of Billy J Kramer. He was handsomely dressed up as the soldier from the quality street tin. All of a sudden I felt a great deal less ridiculous in my lavender crinoline and bonnet. His eyes sparkled with kindness and a touch of drink. I nodded and smiled as I accepted his hand.
The dance was slow and slightly unsteady to begin as we stumbled over our own and each other's feet. Eventually we settled into a fairly graceful waltz.
A song or so later we were in good enough spirits to try something a bit more lively. A little too lively as it turned out. My crinoline was far too stiff and unsuitable for galloping around and jumping all over the place. I flopped to the floor in a billow of material. Sitting there feeling sick and shaken, I resolved never to make such a spectacle of myself again. Every single time I tried to impress anyone, especially John and the dozens of strangers and almost-strangers that came packaged with him anywhere we went, I came off worse than if I'd never tried.
I could not see now and, when I’d realised why, tugged my displaced bonnet from my head and hurled it away. It skidded across the polished dance floor to draw my attention to a pair of pink and gold eastern dancer's slippers and, beside them still, the smart black and white shoes I'd bought to complete John's costume. I looked slowly skywards. My gaze met John's but it became clear that one or two disapproving glances were all he had to spare for his embarrassment of a wife. He shook his head disbelievingly and turned away.
Billy was being terribly nice about it all. He asked me whether I was all right, apologising profusely for essentially dropping me in the middle of our merry dance. But I knew the blame for my humiliation lay with me. I'd made the effort to enjoy myself and all but succeeded until I reached the hurdle of my dress being completely unsuitable for anything as exciting as our attempts at a jive.
"Cindy."
I recognised the voice straight away but I fought my temptation to turn towards it. Of all the times...
A hand found it's way to my cheek. It gently turned my head to the side. The face I found before mine was not show reproach or amusement. Her dark eyes were concerned and sympathetic. Her even darker eyebrows were drawn low. Her mouth was set seriously. Her other hand found one of mine and squeezed it. Joan didn't ask me if I was okay. She simply knew I wasn't.
She was there, kneeling before me with only me in her eyes and her thoughts. She was there.
"I'm sorry I couldn't get here any earlier," she said to me.
I took a deep breath and said her name. "Joanie." I gave her hand a squeeze in return. "I thought you weren't coming. The way you told me..."
"I know. I made it, though. Didn't I?"
"Yes," I agreed. "You did."
Joanie smiled and rose to her feet. Slowly, and with a little help from Billy, she managed to get me standing. All that effort and the change in altitude had clearly left the two of us a bit giddy for we collapsed against each other, Joan laughing and me giggling like a mad thing. Joanie slipped a hand round my waist and led me into the best dance I could have hoped for at the end of such a night. If John was rolling his eyes at me now, I had no idea about it. I'd gained a partner who I could share a simple dance with and not end up a scarlet and lavender crumpled mess on the floor. Nor would she ever leave me with nothing to do with myself other than sit primly in the corner.
"I really like your costume," I told her. Joan had come dressed as a beautiful gypsy girl with a billowing white blouse and a red skirt that was as richly woven as a medieval tapestry. It swirled about her as we span.
She laughed and thanked me and said, "Well, yours is nice too, honey."
I pressed on with my compliments. "You're radiant, really, and completely and utterly marvellous."
"Cindy, that must surely make you the most beautiful and honest woman in this room. And I'm not going to let you forget that ever again."
Most of the other guests had resumed their own dances but there were a few determined spectators who were muttering and trying to point us out to others who probably weren’t all that bothered. I could hear derisive laughter from certain corners of the room. I did not need to voice how much this worried me. Joan knew, tilting her head and saying there was really no use in telling them not to stare.
"Yes," I said calmly. "We must be a sight."
I almost kissed her then, but though I’d been utterly swept up in the emotion of the moment, I hadn't yet lost my mind. There had to be an elsewhere we could go. Alone. Together.
The dance ended with a flourish and I twirled away from Joan and back into her arms in an unbroken movement. I was light on my feet for that brief second. Graceful again, almost. There was even a smattering of applause. I had to promise myself not to look for John's reaction. I would not let anyone spoil this moment. Not even myself in a vain search for his approval.
"I have a surprise for you." Joanie said as we left the room.
"What?" I asked with anxious excitement. "What is it?"
Joan shook her head and gave a mockingly stern warning: "Wait 'til we get home."
I was flumouxed. Home? Kenwood? Her hotel room perhaps?
"What should I say to John?" I asked eventually to break my quiet.
"Just don't say anything. Don't even tell him you're leaving."
I wanted to ask if she was sure that was the best thing to do. John had ignored me for most of the evening, yes, but I wasn't the sort to go off without saying anything. I didn't like to think of myself ever being that way. I didn't like to think of the arguments it would cause the next day when I would see John and he would demand to know where on earth I'd been. Then I'd probably have Joan's gift in tow and I'd have to explain that too.
How would I even explain it now? 'Don't worry about me, John dear. I'm just popping off with my old lover. Very rarely get to see her, you know, sure you'll understand.' I cringed at my mental image of that scene playing out. Perhaps telling John where I was going wouldn't be the best plan after all. It wasn't very likely he'd give us a head start to escape if I was honest.
I smiled briefly and said, "Okay. I won't tell him then."
She nodded, her expression gentle and approving. I wondered if she considered me a little bit brave even though I thought myself a total coward.
Acting quickly, I leaned in and we shared a quick kiss. My crinoline rustled as it brushed against her pure white blouse. In the unreal white light I could see how little it hid. I brushed my hand cautiously against her breast, nervous of unseen eyes. Another kiss. Then I lost what little nerve I had and stepped back.
She looked lost then. I felt glad I wasn't the only one. We could be lost and confused together. This time I wanted more than three weeks by the beach or a tour I happened to be invited along with. More. And who knew what that was? Who knew how it could ever work? I didn't. I knew she probably didn't either.
What does it really matter when the brown-skinned gypsy girl and the woman from the front of a chocolate tin take each others hands and step into the night together? What does it matter when, with their feet numb and wet, they reached a lonely looking house set back from the road with a sign before it declaring it to be sold? And what, dare I ask, does it matter when the only room with any sign of life is the bedroom and only then because they make it so?