“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, are you sure you want another drink, Lucy?” Max was disconcerted. He hardly knew the girl and she was getting very drunk. She was also telling him things she might regret sharing in the morning, when sober.
Lucy nodded. “I want to start living a little, Max. I haven’t done very much of that so far.”
“Well, okay but have something to eat as well.” He retrieved her forgotten packet of crisps, opened it for her and put it next to her glass. “Go on, eat. They might soak up a bit of lager. Look, let’s grab some of these little sausages too and these mince-pies.” Max slid a plate of forgotten bar snacks over to her. “It’s supposed to be the season of indulgence and I reckon, after all that dancing, you’ve earned it.”
Lucy made a face. “Very bossy.”
“That’s me.” He took a crisp himself, and was mollified to see her begin to nibble too. “Are you happy telling me all this, Lucy?”
She nodded vigorously. “I know I can trust you. Don’t know why, I just do.”
Max took another crisp and eyed Lucy thoughtfully. Whatever was nagging away at her was desperate to come out. “Okay, let’s hear the rest. And yes, you can trust me not to let it go any further. I’m all ears.”
“Lovely ears,” murmured Lucy and then shook her head. “Sorry. I meant you’re a good listener.”
Max grinned. “Come on then, I’ve only had half the story, I’ve a feeling there’s more.”
Lucy nodded and continued. “Once the film rights to the first Davy Jones adventure had been sold,” she explained, “Whiz was determined that I should change.” Lucy recalled her agent, in her no-nonsense, hectoring fashion, forcing Lucy to see the best psychotherapist in the country. As Whiz had said, money was no longer an issue. And what was the good of having money when you couldn’t use it?
“So I went to have therapy.”
“What was it? Agoraphobia?” Max asked.
“Amongst other things,” Lucy answered, with a tight smile. Then she lapsed into silence as she remembered.
Progress in her rehabilitation had been slow, painful and erratic. And then, on one glorious spring day, a breakthrough had been achieved. She managed to walk from her father’s Oxford home into the nearby park. Dr Frank Everett and Whiz had watched Lucy’s stumbling hunched progress, witnessing her tense face and rigid shoulders. She had reached the park, paused, then turned and given two wobbly but triumphant thumbs up.
“After time, I began to improve and now there’s no stopping me!