After the Last Dance

by Sarra Manning

  ‘Are you crazy? That’s a thousand dollars. It’s money in the bank. Better than money in the bank and you want to throw it away? And where did you get it from anyway? I thought you were out of funds?’

  It was hard to step onto a escalator when your brain and your legs weren’t in agreement and you were trying to reason with a man who didn’t even have a passing acquaintance with reason; the kind of man who’d marry a complete stranger just for the thrill of it.

  Leo grinned. ‘I found it. It’s a sign. It’ll be fun.’

  They reached the roulette tables and she was still trying to reason with him. ‘Darling, life isn’t even a little bit like the movies. I know that you’re imagining the moment when you kiss the chip, like you’re in a Martin Scorsese film, and place it on the table with a little flourish. Then your number comes up even though all the odds were stacked against you and everyone cheers and claps and you feel you’re invincible, but your number’s not going to come up. Newsflash: the house always wins.’

  ‘Not always.’ Leo shook his head. ‘What about if I don’t kiss the chip first and I just place it on the table quietly? With decorum.’

  The croupier stared right at them. ‘Place your bets.’

  ‘Come on, Jane. Ten minutes ago we had nothing. Now we have something. It’s a sign.’ He actually fluttered his eyelashes at her and she honestly couldn’t tell if she wanted to ruffle his hair or smack him. ‘We’ve got nothing to lose.’

  ‘We’ve got a thousand dollars to lose.’

  ‘It’s a night for taking chances. Don’t be so boring,’ Leo said cajolingly. ‘Never had you down as the boring type.’

  ‘One thing I have never been is boring,’ Jane said grandly, though she was bored with arguing about this when Leo held all the cards. Or rather he held that orange chip. ‘Oh, if you must,’ she capitulated with a weary sigh. ‘But double or nothing. Better odds. Black or red. Put it on black.’

  ‘What’s the fun in that?’

  ‘Put it on black,’ Jane said and Leo did with a muttered aside to the man sitting next to him about ‘the old ball and chain’. The man shook his head and smiled sympathetically.

  ‘Final bets,’ the croupier said and Leo moved so fast that Jane was still blinking as he flicked the chip to rest on twenty-seven, in the time it took to call no more bets.

  ‘What have you done?’ Jane wailed. Leo shrugged but looked immensely pleased with himself.

  ‘Nothing ventured and all that,’ he said and Jane turned away and closed her eyes as she heard the wheel spin. There was a deathly hush around the table, despite the chatter and clink of glasses and expectant hum in the huge room that seemed to stretch for miles.

  ‘I can’t look,’ Jane said rather unnecessarily. She heard the ball settle into its final resting place. There was a moment of silence then Leo said, under his breath, ‘Fucking hell.’

  It served him right, she thought. ‘Well, that’s that.’

  ‘Too fucking right it is.’ He had to force the words out past the lump in his throat. ‘Too fucking right. Thirty six thousand dollars, Jane! We’re rich!’

  It was just as well that Jane was beautiful because she didn’t know shit . The house didn’t always win and the people gathered round their tables were cheering and clapping and Leo couldn’t help himself. He turned her round, saw her eyes gleam as realisation dawned, and then he picked her up and spun her round.

  ‘Luck be a lady tonight,’ he boomed and she laughed out loud and he had never seen anyone, not in real life, not even in his dreams, look as heartbreakingly beautiful as she did in that moment. So he kissed her for the sheer hell of it and for the delight of their audience, although the cheering was starting to peter out because it was only thirty-six thousand dollars. There were people here who’d won and lost ten times that much in the course of an evening and it hadn’t even mattered to them. But thirty-six thousand dollars mattered to Leo.

  ‘Oh God, if you keep twirling me, I’m going to be sick,’ Jane suddenly said and Leo put her down just in time for the croupier to push a pleasingly substantial pile of orange chips towards her. ‘Hello, my pretties. Come to Mummy.’

  Even the croupier managed to crack an indulgent smile. ‘Place your bets,’ she said.

  ‘Let’s go again!’

  ‘Let’s not,’ Jane said as she hurriedly scooped up the chips. ‘For the first time in your life, you’re going to quit while you’re ahead.’

  That was something he wasn’t wired to do. ‘But Jane, I’m feeling lucky. It’s you. You’re my good luck charm.’

  ‘I’m really not. I’m your better half,’ she said firmly, though that Park Lane diction was a lot less crisp than it had been. ‘We had a thousand dollars, now we have thirty-six thousand dollars. Do you really want to risk that on the turn of a wheel? You can’t be that drunk?’

  ‘Final bets?’ the croupier said and she looked at them. Jane shook her head.

  When you had money, everything fell into place. A man from the casino suddenly appeared and for one heart-stopping moment Leo thought he was going to ask them where they’d got that first orange chip from, but he only wanted to help them cash in the chips. Even though they weren’t high-stepping high rollers, there was every chance that with the right kind of coddling they might give the casino back their thirty-six thousand dollars. Besides, they’d just got married and everyone loved lovers as much as they loved winners, so while another casino employee was charged with organising a hotel room for them, a beaming hostess presented them with a complimentary bottle of champagne.

  Jane said she couldn’t touch another drop. ‘I’m not sure that I like being this drunk and there’s still a chance that I might throw up.’

  But Leo wanted her to be drunk, because he was drunk and the coke high had become a winning high and he didn’t want to come down just yet. ‘Food. You need food,’ he decided. ‘Something to mop up the alcohol. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.’

  ‘Aren’t you sweet?’

  Leo didn’t think that he was particularly sweet. Not when he left her on a sofa in the lobby, picking at a club sandwich, so he could go to the nearest bathroom and snort two more lines.

  Once he returned, he sat much closer to Jane than he had before, couldn’t stop jiggling his leg as he watched her slowly nibble one half of the sandwich then push the plate away. ‘I don’t feel like I’m going to be sick any more,’ she said. ‘Now I feel quite giddy. You make everything so much fun. I haven’t had any fun in the longest time.’

  ‘Not even with Mr Ex?’ he asked, his leg knocking against hers until she put her hand on his knee to still him.

  ‘Don’t get me wrong, darling, he has lots of admirable qualities, but knowing how to have fun isn’t one of them. Not like you. You’re very good at having fun.’

  ‘I’m good at all sorts of things,’ he said and he deliberately lowered his voice, made it as dark and insinuating as he could and Jane couldn’t quite arch an eyebrow, not with the Botox, but she could still feign surprise.

  ‘Oh, my! What sort of things?’

  Leo moved in close enough to see that her complexion was soft and flawless like vellum, and so was the upper curve of her breasts. He was horny as well as high and all he could think about was what it would feel like to unhook her dress and shape the soft weight of them. Just had to be certain Jane was on the same page. ‘I’m the sort of man your mother warned you about.’

  Her laugh was a gorgeous, throaty, plughole gurgle. ‘Somehow, I doubt that.’

  ‘You’d better believe it,’ he said and he lowered his head and pressed his lips along her collarbone, her perfume faded and powdery now but he could still smell the lingering scent of blackcurrants. He reached the corner of her mouth and her breath hitched and that was his cue to pull away.

  Leo knew this game of old. Advance, retreat. Advance, retreat. Let them get used to it, like it, start to want it, withdraw. Make them panic that you were going to leave them high and dry, then press your adv
antage home.

  So, as a porter took them to their room, an upgraded presidential suite, Leo danced Jane around the elevator and down a long, long corridor, halting every now and again so he could lean into her and kiss her cheekbone, her ear, her shoulder. Each time, Jane would giggle, then the giggle would become a sigh because he’d stopped. Then he’d take her back in his arms and the dance could start again.

  When they came to their suite, at the very end of the corridor, the porter opened the door, ushered them inside and put down Jane’s case. Then Leo took Jane’s handbag, which was stuffed full of hundred-dollar bills, and gave one to the porter, who left them with a wink and a knowing look.

  ‘I think there’s a special hell reserved for people who don’t tip well,’ Jane said approvingly.

  ‘See, I told you I was good at lots of things,’ Leo said and she was standing by the door, looking maybe a little uncertain and unsure. She breathed in and exhaled, which did wonderful things to her already wonderful breasts.

  Leo danced towards her with a little quickstep that even Gene Kelly would have been proud of. She didn’t resist when he wrapped his arm round her waist and danced her the few steps that had her pressed up against a wall.

  Leo didn’t even have to think of his next moves, because he was good at this. He always got the girl, even if he didn’t want to keep her afterwards. He peppered kisses along her shoulder, lifted up her arm and kissed her there where her skin was so soft.

  ‘You’re scratchy,’ she murmured and he kissed her better. Kissed her neck, nuzzled against her pulse point, which was beating out its own frantic little rhythm, along her jaw, to her mouth, which curved into a tiny smile.

  Jane was breathing heavier now. Her lips parted and he stopped. Body still pressed against her, but he wasn’t kissing her any more and she pouted.

  ‘You’re so beautiful,’ he said and for once, it wasn’t just a line. ‘I know I keep saying it, but you are and I want you so badly. I’m hard just looking at you.’

  ‘Are you, darling?’ She bit her lip. ‘Just from looking?’

  ‘Yeah, imagine that.’ Even though he’d been working her, teasing her, building her up for the last half-hour, and her dress was wilting, wisps of hair escaping from that tightly wound, honey-blonde coronet, her make-up practically a memory, there was still something untouchable about her.

  Leo took Jane’s hand, which was warm and a little sweaty, and kissed her palm before he placed it on his crotch. Her fingers clutched convulsively and her tongue crept out to moisten her lips.

  She wasn’t that untouchable.

  He lowered his head, so his mouth was against her ear and he could whisper, ‘Can you feel how much I want you? Do you want me too?’

  She shut her eyes, her fingers clutched once more and his dick got harder, throbbed against her touch. Then she took her hand away and his heart skipped one painful beat until she threw her arms round him.

  ‘Yes! Oh, yes!’

  Leo didn’t bother teasing her any more, but kissed her hard and Jane kissed him right back. He walked her over to the huge bed, mounted on a dais, swathed in swagging and tiny pillows and didn’t stop kissing her, so she wouldn’t have time to think.

  But she was right there with him, happy to fall back on the bed, twisting underneath him as he fucked her mouth with his tongue. Leo wanted his mouth on her breasts next, but he’d seen the impossible number of tiny silk-covered buttons that held the bodice of her dress together and it would take too long to undo them. Long enough that Jane might change her mind, and he needed this. On a day of a week of a month that melted into all the other months and became years when he never got what he wanted, never achieved anything much, some strange twist of fate had let him get this girl.

  ‘You’re fucking perfect,’ he breathed into her skin as he mouthed the top of her breasts and he started to tug down the bodice of her dress. Jane froze.

  ‘No, don’t, darling,’ she said. ‘It’s vintage. You might tear it.’

  ‘I really want to get you naked.’

  ‘And I really want you to kiss me again,’ she said and he could do that and she didn’t mind when he pulled up all those yards of silk tulle and taffeta and settled himself between her legs.

  Jane hummed as he ground against her, lifted herself up so he could pull down the wisp of white satin and lace that covered her. He pressed his palm against her, she was bare and smooth; not quite wet enough, but he worked her with his hand. One finger inside her, thumb rubbing against her clit and she whimpered a little, eyes screwed tight shut.

  ‘You really are good at this, aren’t you?’ she said, her voice thick.

  She tasted like blackcurrants too when he sucked the finger that had been inside her into his mouth. He thought about going down on her, he never minded that, quite liked it, sometimes he even loved it, but she was wet now. She didn’t need it and he really needed to get some.

  ‘I’ll die if I don’t get inside you,’ he said, as he placed his thumb just shy of her clit so she wriggled to try to get him where she wanted him. ‘I can’t wait to fuck you.’

  ‘I don’t want you to die.’ She arched her hips. ‘God, I think I might die.’

  ‘Do you want it? Do you want me?’ Leo said but Jane didn’t answer, because she’d arched her back to a point where it looked painful.

  He pressed his thumb against her clit again, let her ride it a little, but when she arched her back again, whimpered again, as if she was going to go without him, he stopped.

  ‘Yes. I want you! Please. I do want it.’

  He could do this with his eyes shut, one hand tied behind his back. Could keep her right up there, teetering but not going over the edge, as he fucked her with two fingers now, while his other hand groped in his back pocket for a condom, tore the foil with his teeth, unbuttoned and unzipped. He took her limp hand and put on his cock, closed his fingers around hers as she jacked him off. Then the condom was on and he was so hard that he hurt from it, could feel the ache deep in his balls, and sliding deep into her was the only thing able to save him.

  She was tight. Even tighter when she gripped him, wrapped her legs around him. Leo hadn’t even taken his jeans off and she deserved someone who’d do it sweet and slow, make love to her. But he couldn’t be that guy.

  So he pulled out then slammed back in and she shut her eyes and gripped him even tighter though he hadn’t thought that was possible.

  Then her eyes opened. ‘Oh, darling, is fucking me into the mattress another one of those things you’re really good at?’ she purred with a cat-like smile. ‘Go on, then. Show me what you’ve got.’

  5

  October 1943

  Rose thought about going back to Durham many, many times. When she had telephoned home on that first uncertain grey London morning a month ago, everyone had been out except Shirley, who’d screamed at Rose for borrowing her dresses. She’d said that if Rose did come back, she was going to be confined to her bedroom knitting balaclavas until they could ship her off to the Land Girls, if Father didn’t have her arrested first.

  Rose hadn’t called home since. She was managing perfectly fine on her own. She’d found a job in a café in Soho, owned and run by a Mr and Mrs Fisher. She did everything from waiting tables to battling with the cantankerous hot water urn to make tea, peeling vegetables and washing up. By lunchtime her feet ached and her hands were now red raw and split in places from scrubbing at pots and pans.

  Every day Rose enquired about vacancies at the Lyons Corner House on Tottenham Court Road. She’d much rather be a Nippy in a neat black dress instead of wearing a stained pinny over an old summer frock and cardigan. She was paid two pounds a week plus tips, which were so scarce as to be non-existent, and rented a shared room with half board in a house just off the Edgware Road for one pound and ten shillings a week, which didn’t leave much for her to live on.

  Her landlady Mrs Cannon was thin and mean-looking and had commandeered Rose’s ration book. She had to be at the café
for seven every morning and Mrs Cannon left her out one measly slice of bread with a scraping of margarine for breakfast. When she got home from work at five, there’d be a bowl of stew with a lot of cabbage floating in it and a few pieces of something grey and both gelatinous and gristly. Rose was never sure if it was meat or fish.

  But she got a decent lunch every day and the girl she shared her room with, Olive, volunteered as a roof spotter. The two of them would set the alarm for eight o’clock in the evening and go straight to bed, after their bowl of tasteless, indeterminate stew, for a nap.

  At eight-thirty Olive would jump on the trolleybus to the City for her shift and Rose would head back into town. After two weeks, she’d stopped trying to get into Rainbow Corner. It was impossible without finding a GI willing to sign you in and those sharp-looking girls thronging the spider’s web of streets around Piccadilly Circus didn’t take kindly to newcomers trying to queer their pitch.