Ten to two, that magical time of night
where those wallflowers left without a date would have the dance of desperation with another sad, lonely wallflower just so
the night didn’t feel like a complete waste of time. Karen was there again.
Every week she went down to Fantasia
in the hope that she’d leave with the man of her dreams and every week she
ended up having the last smooch with some loser who would think one dance meant
he had the right to cop a feel and maybe take her home.
Karen had seen him looking at her for the
last twenty minutes, lining her up as his
ten to two. And now, right on time, he was coming over. To be fair he wasn’t
that bad looking. He had a bit of the Nick Heywood about him, only a tiny bit,
but that tiny bit had been magnified by booze and desperation.
“Hi, I’m Jim,” Jim yelled, “wanna dance?”
Karen nodded and allowed Jim to take her
hand and lead her to the dance floor. The DJ was playing Woman by John Lennon and couples swayed gently like trees on a
summer's day. Men were testing the waters with roaming hands, women were marking
boundaries; some allowing freedom of movement, others with strict border
controls.
Jim clamped Karen to him and started swaying
in time with the music, while dry ice and cigarette smoke circled around their
bodies. His chin was on her shoulder and his warm breath on her neck.
Karen soon realised that it might have been
better to remain a wallflower this week. It wasn’t because Jim’s cheap aftershave
and tobacco smell were mixing with the vodka she’d drunk and making her think
she might puke any minute. She was a little perturbed that it wasn’t his cigarette
packet that she could feel bulging through his trousers, and she didn’t really like
the fact that Jim seemed to be moving his hands rather too close to her bum for
comfort, but they weren’t the worst of his problems either.
The DJ had changed songs and Jim had
stopped trying to nibble her neck, instead he was singing along. He was about
an inch away from her ear and terribly out of tune. But what was really upsetting
Karen was that he knew all the lyrics, every single one of them. Not just the
chorus, everyone knew the chorus, but Jim knew the verses as well. The song
faded out and the lights came up. The DJ was promising an even bigger and
better night next week and saliva was being shared all around the club. Jim
released Karen from his vice-like grip.
“Can I walk you home?” he asked.
Karen looked at him. In the light he was
quite cute, but no, there was no way she could say yes. How could she even
consider starting a relationship with someone who knew all the words to SevenTears by the Goombay Dance Band?
this one
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