Page 87 of The Frog Prince
“Shut up.”
He laughs, reaches for the bottle of red wine in the center of the red-and-black table, and fills David’s glass and then mine. Candlelight flickers, shadows dancing across everyone’s faces. I glance at David, who is talking to the man seated to his right. In the candlelight David looks relaxed. Young. I smile faintly, a little wistfully. Life’s good, I think. Hard, but good.
*
Later, as thedinner plates are being cleared, the band starts playing again, and it’s a great song, one by Wild Cherry.Play that funky music, white boy…
I can’t sit still. I’m tapping my foot, drumming with my hand, dancing in my seat. David looks at me, black eyebrow arched, and I toss my head and just keep dancing. It’s been so long since I felt this good, so long since I had fun like this. The costumes, the colors, the mood, the music, make me feel as if anything is possible, and maybe anythingispossible.
Kirk rises, grabs my hand, and drags me out onto the dance floor. “What about David?” I protest, but follow him anyway, eager to be free of my chair and out on the dance floor, where the party has moved.
“He doesn’t dance, and I’m doing him a favor. You’re darling in that outfit, but your breasts were jiggling quite a bit back there.”
Before I can punch him, Kirk takes my hand again, pulls me against him in a provocative bump-and-grind that’s meant to shock, and hip to hip, knees between knees, Kirk and I do some very dirty dancing.
We dance for nearly an hour straight, the dance floor jam-packed, outrageous costumes everywhere, shocking amounts of skin exposed. It’s hot on the dance floor, but Kirk and I keep dancing and sweating, and we don’t stop until the band takes a break.
As the band clears the stage, we thread our way back to the table, breathless and laughing. Kirk’s T-shirt is plastered to his chest. I reach up to catch the perspiration running down the side of my face, and my fingers come away inky black.
“What’s happening to my face?” I ask as we reach our table, showing him my hand smeared with black color.
“You’re melting,” he answers in a wicked-witch voice, “and it’s very scary.”
At the table, Kirk drops into his seat, and I reach under the table for my purse and head for the ladies’ restroom.
In the bathroom mirror I inspect my face, and it’s even worse than I thought. One false eyelash has lifted up and off, as if about to fly away, and the heavy mascara and black eyeliner form circles and smudges that make me look like something fromThe Rocky Horror Picture Show, when Frank and gang have all been swimming and are dancing wet on stage.
I do my best to wipe away the excess eyeliner and blot the rest of the face, apply a little powder over the still damp skin, and redo my lips. As I snap my purse closed, I realize I’m having an absolutely amazing time.
This is craziness—me in leather and fishnet stockings and a wide dog collar—but it’s the kind of craziness I needed. This is freedom. Freedom and fun.
Leaving the ladies’ room, I go in search of Tessa and Josh, but before I make it very far, someone grabs my hand.
I look up, a long way up, straight into a mask.
He’s tall, and he’s wearing a loose white shirt and strange-looking pants and he’s carrying a… whip.
My mouth opens, closes, as he snaps the whip and it makes a sharp cracking, hissing sound.
“That’s… impressive,” I say.
The masked man laughs and uses his whip to push up his mask onto his forehead. Brian Fadden smiles down at me. “You think so?”
I make a face. “So what are you?”
“A eunuch.”
“Aeunuch?”
“I’m in charge of the sultan’s harem,” he answers quite seriously. “It’s an honor.”
“Yeah, after you’re castrated.”
“Itwasquite painful.”
“I’m sorry.”
He smiles. “If I’m allowed to compliment you, you look…” He shakes his head and exhales. “Hot.”