The Disco at the Heart of Dusk, Chapter Two

“I’ve been to a hundred and two discos,” Sheila announced as she and Miss Ugly strode down the plaza that evening. “Or it might even be a hundred and three, because I stopped counting at ninety-seven but I know it’s somewhere in that region. So, you just stick close, Miss Ugly. I can’t guarantee this one’s going to be any better or worse than the other discos I’ve been to.”

Even if the effect of this gravity was less to awe Miss Ugly than convince her Sheila had been to about as many discos as she herself had, stepping inside the Empire Ballroom did the trick for them both. It was the first time either had smelled a dry-ice machine in operation, and for all that the glitter and the colourful lights and the party-clothes on their fellow patrons were the stuff of wonderland, none of it compared to one inhalation of that artificial sweet crispness. Nostrils tingling with the grown-up world hitherto known only to other people’s big sisters, Shelia and Miss Ugly hit the floor as The Reynolds Girls began to jack.

It was more than either could have dreamed. Here they were, the younger generation. They were going to show all those who’d gone before them how it was done.

Miss Ugly had been a diligent pupil in what little time was afforded her, and quickly adapted the basics to this different kind of dancing. Presently Sheila was following her lead, as heads began to turn all throughout the junior disco. Looks of approval and admiration and even envy thrilled the friends. To think this should have happened on their first ever time!

It was amazing, how much was summarily swept aside to life’s dusty old afternoon by that single annihilating dance.

Teachers and parents, who’d never understand.

That archaic social world where parties took place before teatime instead of after.

And, more than anything else, every kind of music composed or conceived of prior to that of The Reynolds Girls.

“Didn’t realise it was fancy dress,” someone said to Miss Ugly afterwards.

“It’s isn’t, don’t worry,” Miss Ugly assured her, and the other girl went away much relieved, as she’d been anxious about not having worn her own tutu.

While Miss Ugly took the lead when it came to motion, Sheila’s advantage was that she knew the lyrics to pop songs, so was able to help her companion pick up those parts you were expected to sing along to. Thus they whooped their way through Deacon Blue like a proper pair of real gone kids, then to the strains of George Harrison pointed and affirmed in staunch feminine solidarity that each had her mind set on the other. It was all so euphorically elating as to exceed by some distance the long line of imaginary discos Shelia had hitherto attended, and this it might even have done, had the clouds of scented dry ice remained the only ones on the horizon.

Discovery came slowly to Shelia that all was not well in this kingdom of delights. However, once she was aware, there was no ignoring it.

Boys. Boys who’d apparently only come to ruin the disco for everyone else. Horrid boys.

Big boys.

It was their looking at her and Miss Ugly that Sheila couldn’t take. Their incessant looking.

Bravely she tried to dance on, but to no avail. Soon it was just too much and Shelia broke from her astonished partner, tugging the hood of her sweatshirt up so no-one would see her blushes or tears. Then remembering she had a surer way of accomplishing the same she did that too, and unto the disco appeared a mere little ripple in the luminous cumulus as she fled.

Summer’s night outside was comparatively cool, and the noise from the Empire Ballroom muted. More big boys were loitering by the entrance, all leather jackets and leers.

Shelia was done hiding. She refused to give them that satisfaction.

So once she’d barged by she threw back her hood and reverted to visibility, showing a face both incensed and determined, not that she even inclined it at the idle ones. It went without saying they mocked her, striking up catcalls and half-hearted threats, that Gachna was looking forward to seeing her again, and they hoped she’d claimed her discount for returning campers. Sheila had reason to suppose they wouldn’t dare do anything worse, so limited herself to poking at the boys the place where her security resided, then strode stiffly away with her nose high.

From the glance Sgranes and Skogness exchanged once she was out of sight, however, some observers might have concluded Sheila supposed too much.

Hamaunji, slouching by the wall beneath the disco sign, was supremely disdainful.

“Kids’ stuff,” he told the other two.

“Yeah, well,” said Sgranes with a shrug. “You were never a kid.”

Then accompanied as always by Skogness he loped off, with Gorm and Huraeas and one or two others, in the direction Sheila had gone.

That one found a quiet spot by a big fibreglass moose, and sat down to sob under its antlers. She was still at it when faithful Miss Ugly gradually joined her.

“I just can’t stand them looking,” Sheila choked out. “At all the girls,” she was then quick to add. “You the most. Actually I don’t think they even noticed me.”

“They did,” Miss Ugly comforted her at once, keen to repay the compliment. “You were getting the horridest looks. From the very nastiest boys.”

This kindness so moved Sheila that she blubbered Miss Ugly was a great girl and when a friend needed her she was there, which was enough to start Miss Ugly off, who blubbered in reply that Sheila had confidence and the only thing those boys hadn’t liked was the idea of a girl having confidence. Then without coherent words they bawled and sniffled together a bit until the power of spoken communication returned.

When it had, they both felt better and dabbed their eyes. “Thanks, Miss Ugly,” Sheila twinkled through the last of her tears. “I can’t believe how silly we’ve been! If E. Gary Gygax was alive today, he wouldn’t go out with us. Let’s hurry back to the disco and we might not miss the last dance!”

“That’s a great idea,” affirmed Miss Ugly. “We’ll – ”

A big boy sprang out at them from around the side of the moose.

END OF CHAPTER TWO