sip. It was deliciously cool so she took another.
There was a very long and very awkward pause.
Somewhere to her left she heard Max clear his throat.
“Don’t drink much really,” he said. He had a nice voice, light with the slightest touch of the north.
There was another pause.
“What with all the training I usually do, it doesn’t fit in.”
Lucy willed herself to say something. Something witty. Something funny. Blimey, it shouldn’t be that hard, she was a writer after all.
“N-no, I’m sure it doesn’t.”
Was that it? Was that the best she could come up with? She dropped her head slightly and let her hair hide her face. Oh God, this was embarrassing. To have these strong feelings descend on you was so inconvenient. And then to have to face the subject of your crush in person was simply mortifying. Get a grip. He’s gay, she reminded herself, and he’s just trying to be friendly, so make an effort. She blew her fringe out of her eyes and twisted on the stool, tensing herself to finally meet his eyes. But she needn’t have worried as Max was staring into the distance, his drink untouched. Oh, but he was so beautiful she thought, a little incoherently. Given this rare opportunity to stare at close quarters, she gazed greedily. His thin face had a strong forehead and deeply set eyes. An aquiline nose swooped down to a firmly shaped mouth that had full, sensual looking lips. His hair was that lovely colour somewhere between blonde and brown and reminded her of the butterscotch Angel Delight she’d always had for childhood Sunday teas. It was cut savagely short in the way some gay men adopt and curled tightly against his head. Lucy felt her mouth drop open and hoped she wasn’t drooling.
Max must have felt her gaze upon him because he met her look and smiled.
Her heart gave a sudden and painful lurch. Now Lucy was certain she was drooling. She felt a wave of heat spread through her and basked in his gaze. He had grey eyes, she noticed. Slate grey. Cool and clear.
“Lovely,” she breathed.
“Sorry?”
Lucy shook her head. Had she really said that out loud? “The, erm, the show. It was l-lovely. The dresses and sequins and things.” Oh God, this was getting worse. At this rate she’d get the Nobel Prize – for inanity!
Max’s smile broadened into a grin and a deep groove appeared on his left cheek. It made the smile even more wonderful.
“Of course, you’re Who Dares Dances’ biggest fan, aren’t you?”
“I am?” To distract herself from his mesmerising smile Lucy took a long swallow of lager. “Wh-what makes you say that?”
“I saw you in an interview. Last year sometime. You said you were addicted to it.”
“Did I?” Lucy’s brow furrowed in an attempt to remember. Since ‘coming out’ as she privately termed it, she’d given so many interviews it was hard to recall exactly what she said in every one. “Oh! Y-you mean, Who Dares Dances Again,” she said, referring to the Who Dares Dances sister show. “I love that programme. Everything about Who Dares Dances is so minutely examined.” Lucy gave a nervous laugh. “That’s how I ended up here. Well, not here exactly,” she waved a clumsy arm in the direction of the studio bar, “in the competition, I mean.”
Max nodded and picked up his drink. “I remember you saying you’d like to be in it.”
“Famous last words!” Lucy relaxed infinitesimally; he was proving easy to talk to.
Max grinned and took a sip of orange squash. “You were promoting your latest book. The Black Lamp was it? My nephew loves your Davy Jones books, he’s got the whole set.”
“Thank you.” Of course, a man like Max would be close to his family. And, even in this day and age, it was still difficult for gay men to have children, so he must enjoy having nephews. Lucy beamed at him. “I’ll sign a few for him, if you like. I’ll dig out some DVDs as well, get them gift-wrapped as an early Christmas present.”
“Oh, that would make Will’s year, let alone his Christmas. Thank you.” Max rewarded Lucy with another entrancing smile.
She grinned back at him, happiness at being in his company – and lager on top of the wine - creating a deliciously fuzzy feeling.
It was still wonderful to hear of a child enjoying her books. Since the first in her series of adventure stories had hit the best seller list, they had rarely left it. The film adaptations meant she was comfortable enough to indulge in little fancies like Who Dares Dances. Nowadays life was good. She had fame, fortune and a nice house in the country. Her life lacked very little. Well, maybe a man. She looked at Max who was tearing open a packet of nuts with very white teeth. Not likely to find him here either. But he might be a friend and you could always do with friends. And it was one of her new resolutions that she would make new friends. She felt herself relax just a little more and took another drink.
“So, are you still Who Dares Dances ‘ biggest fan?” he asked. He nodded to the dance floor behind them, still thronged with party goers. “I thought you looked pretty good tonight, with Daniel.”
Lucy leaned perilously back on her bar stool. Two years of therapy and a stepped progress of mini challenges had resulted in the biggest challenge of them all – entering this part reality show, part fierce dance contest. Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the kind expression in Max’s eyes but she wanted to talk, to share her triumph, to make up for all the years living so solitarily.
“I love to dance,” she began. “Always have, from ballet lessons at school to jiving around to the radio at home,” she giggled. “But for the last six years, in between writing my books, I’ve only danced in private. The only audience being Basil.” When Max looked puzzled, she added as explanation, “My cat.”
“Ah,” he said and settled back on his own chair, to listen, an intent look on his face.
“When Who Dares Dances started, a few years ago, I adored it from the word go.” Lucy smiled, getting into her stride, almost forgetting it was Max she was talking to. “I loved the camp glitz, the frothy neon dresses, the elegance and excitement. But I never dreamed I could ever be part of it.”
“Why?” Max frowned. He couldn’t think of a reason that this gorgeous creature wouldn’t be able to do anything she liked.
Lucy held up a finger to shush him. It wavered only slightly. “I’m just coming to that. The books got successful. I began to get invites to places.” Lucy bit her lip as she pictured her mantelpiece, awash with cards inviting her to parties, book awards, literary lunches. She gulped more lager. “I couldn’t go to any of them,” she said, mournfully, almost to herself. “Nobody knew, you see, nobody knows now, it’s a secret. Best selling writer Lucy Everett didn’t go out, didn’t leave the house. The only people who knew the truth were my father, my best-friend Julia and Whiz.”
Max raised his eye-brows. “Whiz?”
“My agent,” Lucy explained. “Whiz by name, Whiz by nature.” She hiccoughed a little and drained her glass. The barman, seeing it empty, swiftly replaced it with another pint.
“Erm,
