She wet her lips.  Her eyes went wide, her mouth formed a circle, lips pink and lush, full and pouting, open them just a little wider, yes, that was perfect, her skin stretched taut and firm.  She took a deep breath and began her work.

Layer upon layer of dark mascara followed the judicious application of the dark eyeliner, eyes unblinking in the mirror as the cosmetics dried.  She held position until everything was dry, then closed her mouth and wiggled her jaw to ease the discomfort of holding it open for so long, something she’d needed to do to ensure taut skin throughout the application of her stage makeup; after all, she wasn’t a teenager any more!  She fluttered her eyelashes (real and false!) in the mirror and gave a practice smile.  Nearly perfect.  She applied a touch more rouge to her cheekbones to enhance them, a bit more of the dark pink lipstick to accentuate her lips and then smiled again, there!  The dark wig went on next. 

She stepped back from the mirror and checked her overall appearance, slipping into character with an ease that would have astounded her when she’d started this job only two years before.  She remembered with distant amusement her first afternoon at the job, how frightened and ashamed she’d been.  That had faded as the months passed, and the money was a Godsend, allowing her to maintain a nice nest egg in the bank.  God knows she’d never thought about anything like that before the accident!  It had been touch and go for quite a while after, wondering how to make ends meet, how to simply survive without the driving force she’d known would take her to the top.  For eight long years after the accident, she’d struggled; it had only been since she’d started this side job that she’d had any luxury in her life.  So bless the job and bless the club owner and bless life in general.  Forget about the past, it was done and gone and nothing would bring it back; not regrets, nor prayer, nor wishing it had never happened.  If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.

As she mused, her hands unconsciously checked for sag in her breasts; well, it was no worse than last week, but perhaps a bit more than last month.  She sighed, wondering how much longer she’d be able to continue in this business.  She turned and examined her backside, at least that was still firm and tight, the legs lean and strong from many years of dancing.  Although this job wasn’t exactly the most strenuous, she still had to rehearse and work at keeping everything in ship-shape.   Not bad for a 34 year old working girl in 1960, she thought.  A job was a job, and she was thankful to have one right now.  Every little bit helped, and the dancing and the café work allowed her to make ends meet and to even have a bit left over for the luxuries that made life worth living.  The occasional trips to the theatre, or even just a long weekend by the sea; the cinema every other weekend, perhaps a bottle of imported wine once in a while. 

If she was ever lonely, she tried to avoid thinking of it; the work she did wasn’t very conducive to meeting men and she was mostly used to being alone.

Stage makeup finally complete, she checked her costumes, wondering about the new band that would be backing her show this week.  Her regular crew had deserted her for a holiday, and she knew she was lucky the club owner had found someone to fill in like this, in such a short time.  If not for the band, she’d be out of work for the week and pffft!, there would go her luxuries! 

The Silver Beatles, wasn’t that what they called themselves? 

Well, it was an odd enough name, but as long as they could play her music, they’d get along fine, she was certain.  She felt a bit nervous having someone beside Leonard and William backing her, and had to dig deeper into her character for the confidence she sometimes sadly lacked; her character had the confidence, she would take care of this.

She slipped into the bare essentials of her costume, pulled on her robe and left her tiny dressing room, pausing as always to touch the poster on the back of the door, for luck.  It was lurid and sensationalized, and she knew she didn’t look like that, “Janice and her Seven Veils”, what a laugh!  But Janice looked a bit like that, the character that strutted and smiled and went out on stage as if she owned the world.  Wouldn’t her Mum or Da get a shock out of seeing her like this, using a false name and stripping for indifferent businessmen during the lunchtime shows?  A right waste of dance lessons, her Da would say.  But dancing was dancing and a job was a job.  And a stage was a stage.  This certainly wasn’t theatre, but she performed every day during the week, and an audience was still an audience.

Approaching the stage, her first impression was of a rag-tag group of fellows standing around, four of them tuning guitars and one fellow setting up a drum kit.  The stage was going to be incredibly crowded, and she wondered at the club owner’s reasoning for hiring five lads to take the place of her normal two.  Perhaps they’d been cheap.  The lads looked quite young and scruffy in beat up leather jackets and dark workmen’s pants, like young Teds with dark hair swept back from adolescent faces, identical bored looks studiously plastered on their faces.  But Janice had plenty of practice sorting out men’s expressions, and these boys were just young men; she saw the slight widening of eyes as she walked up and knew they were nervous, probably sweating in the heat of the showroom and all that leather.

“Good morning, we’ll be working together this week, lads, I’m …… Janice.” 

It was always hard to introduce herself under the assumed name.  Even though she’d used the stage name for nearly two years, it still felt unnatural.  When she’d been doing legitimate theatre, she’d used her own name.  It was only since she’d started stripping that she’d taken the stage name, mainly to protect her parents, but also because it had been so difficult that first time, she’d needed to embrace a character in order to get through it.  She smiled again at the thought of auditioning for the club owner; she hadn’t been sure she could do it, but she’d gritted her teeth, summoned “Janice” and had stripped for Toby.  She’d been hired on the spot.

“Mornin’.” 

The reply was in various forms of mumbles, the handshakes quick and hot with anxiety. 

“Paul,” said one.  He had lovely eyes.

“John,” another introduced himself, his handshake lingering a bit longer than the first, oh, he was a sly handsome one, wasn’t he?   And far too young for an old maid such as she, she reminded herself. 

“G……George,” the third stuttered, blushing, barely touching her hand, he must be the youngest, she thought with amusement. 

“Norman,” the drummer said brusquely. 

“Stuart,” the fellow on bass guitar said with a nod and a quick handshake.  His eyes had a near dreamy aspect to them, he seemed somehow removed from the world and she wondered at how different he was from the others.  Giving herself a shake, she smiled gravely at the group of young musicians.

“A pleasure,” she said in a businesslike manner, handing them several sheets of paper each.  “Here’s my sheet music, you’ll be accompanying my act, and I expect you to be able to follow a beat and keep time professionally.  The show lasts from noon until two.  I’ll have three costume changes during the show, I’m very quick, my dressing room is quite close, but you’ll need to keep the audience entertained whilst I’m changing and during a short intermission before the final act.  I also expect you to be here on time each day.  Now, do you have any questions?”

Feet were shuffled, looks were exchanged, dismay grew in their eyes as they looked at the sheet music she’d handed them.  There was much throat clearing before the one who’d introduced himself as John spoke up.

“Errrrr……. sorry, errrrr……miss, but we …… we can’t read these.”

“Excuse me?” she asked in surprise.

“We …… we don’t read music, miss, sorry,” the tall skinny one blurted out. 

Oh, this was wonderful!  There was a show in half an hour and she’d been thrown a group of inept musicians with which to perform?  Fabulous, simply fabulous!  Thank God that Janice was here, she thought with a trace of inner panic; Janice would know how to handle this problem. 

“What?  You don’t read music?  Well, how do you expect to accompany me?  How can you possibly……?”

“We…… we know a lotta songs, miss,” Paul replied smoothly, sweat shining on his round cheeks.  “We can play along ta whatever ……. whatever yer doin’, it won’t be a problem.”

“No, this will never work out!  Where’s Toby?”   She looked around for the club owner.  “Toby, could I see you for a moment, please?”

Her arm was tapped and she turned back to face the tapper, it was John.

 “We can do this, miss, I promise.  Look, we really need th’ gig, please, just give us a try.  We’ve been playin’ ‘round th’ ‘pool fer years, Paulie’s right, we know a lotta songs.  Why, we played out at th’ Neston Institute in Wirral last week, an’ we’ve got a gig at th’ Grosvenor Ballroom over in Liscard every Sat’aday this month,” he boasted, anxiety written in his eyes despite his assured manner.  “Please give us a try, miss.”

She realized she didn’t have a choice, not with a show scheduled in less than an hour.  She’d heard about the Grosvenor Ballroom beat shows, there was so much noise and violence and general destruction that she’d heard police had been called out a time or two due to neighbourhood complaints.  She sighed heavily, checked her watch and nodded to dark haired Toby as he approached the stage.

“Never mind, Toby, we’ll talk after the show, right?”

The warning was implicit, and she hoped the young lads understood that they were auditioning for her.  If they didn’t toe the line, they’d be out even if she had to perform tomorrow accompanied only by records from her own collection!  Eyeing the musicians sternly, she left the stage and warmed up in the hallway, there not being enough room in her dressing room to do the stretches she knew were more and more necessary with each passing year.  Once she was warmed up, she pulled on the remainder of her costume.

As she came out on stage, she was pleasantly surprised with the musical skill they exhibited, although she nearly laughed at their bug-eyed expressions, they must be younger than she’d thought!  The tall skinny lad, George?, turned absolutely beetroot red when she went down to her skin with just the skimpy drawers covering her respectability and barely keeping her decent.  It was disconcerting and it nearly threw her from her character.  But the most disconcerting moment was when she noticed the fellow on bass, he was watching her with a clinical concentration that bordered on obsession, and she finally placed him; an artist of some sort, attuned to the world in a different manner than most.  She might be removed from the world of legitimate theatre, but she recognized ‘the look’ of a fellow artist and she gave him a bare nod of recognition and respect for the passion that ruled his life.  She’d been ruled like that at one point and she sighed in poignant memory.

She took hold of her concentration and turned her thoughts from the past.  It was certainly different to have five musicians on stage with her, and to have them paying such close attention to her!  Her usual accompaniment was so attuned to her routine that they paid her no attention whatsoever, and if she paused to think of it, she thought that perhaps Leonard on guitar and William on drums were rather keen on each other, perhaps even lovers.  Having five young lads watching as she stripped had nearly caused a disaster during her first dance routine, and she had to work hard to recover her composure, to slip further into Janice and let her continue with the job.  The fact that the George lad steadfastly watched the floor or ceiling after her first dance helped matters, although he seemed consumed by a slow fire that kept his cheeks and the tips of his rather large ears red.

As far as she could tell, in spite of keeping their eyes glued to her (or to the floor!), they’d never missed a beat, playing several old standards like Summertime and September Song.  The Third Man Theme fit pretty well to her final act, the well-advertised dance of the seven veils, and the businessmen were as intent or bored as always, so she thought the lads would work for the week.  Thank heavens, it would have been hell trying to find another band to work with on such short notice.

Escaping the stage at the end of the show, she carefully washed off her stage makeup and allowed Janice to wash down the little sink as easily as that.  She changed into skirt and blouse, stockings and flats, checking the time as she hung her costumes to ensure they didn’t wrinkle.  A knock at the little door startled her, and she reached for the handle after determining who had knocked.

“Hullo, Toby.  Good show, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, baby, it was great,” the owner of the club replied with a look of admiration. 

She adroitly avoided his clumsy grab; it was an old game, played nearly every afternoon.  She no longer took him seriously, he was a good chap and he was merely looking for a reaction.  He was the only one at the club who knew her, the real woman, not the character she played on stage.

“Now, Toby, you know this is a business arrangement,” she scolded him gently.

“Yeah, baby, whatever ya say,” he leered suggestively.  “What did ya wanna talk ta me ‘bout?”

“Oh, it’s about the band.  I think they’ll work out very nicely for the week, don’t you?”

“Yeah, sounded ok ta me.” 

The man was tone deaf, she thought affectionately; the band could have been awful and he’d still have thought they sounded ‘ok’.

“Right, then, Toby, I have to run, see you tomorrow!” she said airily.

He made sad eyes at her, and she ignored them as always. 

“Sure, baby, see ya tomorrow.”

He stepped back and let her pass without a grab or making her brush past him, for which she was grateful.  She slipped out the back door and into the alleyway, rounding the corner to the street just as the five young musicians exited through the front door of the club.  They were clowning around and talking excitedly about Janice.  She ducked her head and stepped around them, continuing down the street without them even noticing.

***

“So what colour d’ya think ‘er real hair is?” George asked eagerly. 

Paul slugged him in the shoulder.  “Put yer tongue back in yer mouth, Georgie!”

Stuart chuckled in harmony with Paul’s laughter.  “Th’ bird’s outta yer league, George,” he added.

George blushed and looked down at his shoes.  He’d been dumbfounded when the bird had come out for her second act wearing a long blonde wig, and even more dumbfounded when she’d come out for that veil dance wearing a red wig.  His first impression upon seeing the girl when she’d introduced herself had been that the long dark hair she’d sported was her real hair.  Not that he’d been looking at her hair all that closely, the thin robe she’d worn had barely covered her, she had incredible legs and she was gorgeous, really exotic looking.

George automatically eyed the plain looking blonde bird who walked past them on the street, she had nice legs beneath her calf-length skirt, he thought absently. 

Oh, but Janice had fantastic legs, hadn’t she?  He’d stared at them for the entire show, anxiously trying to keep his eyes away from…… anything else, he’d been afraid she’d catch him looking!  Oh, God, he broke into a sweat just thinking about the ‘anything else’, Jesus, she’d been nearly naked, and only a few feet away from him!  He’d seen more in two hours today than he’d ever seen before in his life!  And that had been whilst trying to avoid looking!

John grinned.  “What, George, are ya askin’ if she’s a real blonde?  I got a good look at ‘er through those little silky knickers she was wearin’, she’s a natural,” he announced confidently.

George could feel the heat rising higher in his face.  He was having a hard time avoiding thinking of the bird as she’d danced …… and stripped out of her clothes like that!  And to think that John had……looked really close, well, that was just making the ‘hard time’ worse, wasn’t it?  He hadn’t dared look, himself!  He tried to turn his mind to other things, but it was useless, Janice was firmly implanted in his brain.  He couldn’t wait to be alone with his thoughts, thinking of her, the way she’d moved on stage, the things she’d done as she’d stripped out of her clothing, her……her naked breasts……those legs……  He nearly moaned to himself as he imagined what it would feel like to……to maybe touch them.  His mouth went dry at the thought

“Let’s ‘ave a drink, then?” John asked, interrupting George’s increasingly lurid thoughts and thankfully focusing his attention elsewhere.  “We can lift a glass ta th’ job, it’s good money fer easy work, lads!  An’ Germany next month!”

“Can’t, gotta get ‘ome,” Norman said shortly.  “See ya lads tomorrow.”  He heaved up his kit in the ingenious pack he’d made and walked down the street.

“D’ya think Norm’s got th’ temperament fer stickin’ with us, John?” Paul asked.  “I mean, I know we just hired ‘im last week before th’ Grosvenor gig, but……”

“Dunno, but we got that German gig comin’ up, an’ we gotta ‘ave a drummer fer that.  He’ll work out, I think, just a bit sticky ‘round th’ edges.  I’d hate ta have ta find a new drummer now,” John replied.  “C’mon, let’s ‘ave that drink.”

John and Stuart led the way with Paul following behind and George obligingly trailed after them as they took off down the street to a nearby pub.  There would be time in the dark of night to think about the bird and imagine what it must be like……

***

She stretched and twisted, trying to avoid thinking of her sore feet.  She’d been on them so long last night, the café had been busy all evening, for a change.  Thank God she wore flats to the café and didn’t have to wear the stilettos she favoured whilst on stage!  She’d made some good money last night, there had been some Italians who’d lingered long over coffee, and they’d tipped her overly well, they must not have known the exchange rate!  Unfortunately, she hadn’t slept very well once she’d slipped beneath the sheets on her bed; her dreams had been erotic and disturbing, and she tried to avoid thinking of them as she continued her stretching.

Finally limber and ready, she peeked out the curtain to see that the usual crowd had gathered.  The band was tuning up, and she mentally went through her routine to ensure the movements remained uppermost in her mind.  It might nearly be second nature by now, but she didn’t want to make any mistakes.  She checked her makeup; she looked good and everything was ready.  She closed her eyes and summoned Janice, letting her take over.  When she opened her eyes and looked in the mirror again, her alter ego smiled back, fully in charge again and ready for her time in the spotlight.

Stepping out onto stage to a sprinkling of applause, Janice began her act, smiling at the businessmen and going through the routine.  As she turned her back on the crowd, shimmying her shoulders at them, she noticed all the band members watching her intently and she almost lost her concentration again as that George lad blushed bright red upon catching her gaze.  Janice wondered idly if he’d fantasized about her the previous night.  He was a good looking lad, but a mere child.  In fact, she’d be surprised if any of the band lads were over twenty, they were all too young for an old maid like herself!  She regained her concentration, smiling at them absently, and continued the show, going through the costume changes, varying the dances a bit because of the music, losing herself in the music and letting it move her through her paces.

When the show was over, she went through her usual routine, carefully removing her stage makeup and hanging up her costumes, brushing out her wigs and dressing in her skirt and blouse.  Goodbye, Janice, love, see you tomorrow.

The knock at the door interrupted her as she was putting on her stockings.

“Yes?”

“It’s Toby, gotta minute?”

She finished pulling up her stocking, snapped it in place and then opened the door. 

“Toby, I have to rush today, I’m sorry,” she said sternly, looking him in the eye to ensure he understood.  There would be no play-time games today, no cat and mouse.  He was a lovely fellow, but not her type, and he seemed to realize that.  Still, she thought he looked to the chase for fun, and she wondered what he’d do if he ever caught her?  Well, it wasn’t going to happen, so he’d just have to enjoy the chase for as long as he wanted to pretend. 

He accepted her denial with a nod and a smile on his swarthy features, saying he’d see her tomorrow and to be careful in the rain.  She opened her brolly as she left the club, rounded the corner on her way to the café and walked past the band members as they gathered in the shelter of the overhang by the front door of the club.  They’d done well, even better than yesterday!

***

Paul eyed the girl walking past, short blonde hair, rather ordinary looking, just a scrubber, nothing fancy.  Nice legs, though.  But oh, those legs Janice had, they were simply fabulous!  Her legs were something he’d like to feel wrapped around his hips as he thrust into her, pounding her a good one!  He wiped the sweat off his forehead and looked vainly for any lessening of the rain that was falling in a steady sheet.

“You lads ready?” John asked.  “Wanna ‘ave a drink?”

Paul nodded, squaring his shoulders and preparing to face a run through the warm summer rain. 

“Yeah, let’s go.”

Norman declined to accompany them again, and went his solitary way down the street.  Paul wondered once more if the newest band member would stay the distance.  He didn’t seem to be fitting in very well, and if they didn’t have a drummer, they wouldn’t be able to keep the German gig next month.  He bit his tongue to keep from saying anything, he didn’t want John to get the impression that Paul was a pansy, a worrier.  P’rhaps he’d have a word with Stuart, in closest confidence, and p’rhaps Stu would talk to John. 

Paul turned his mind back to Janice and the way she’d looked on stage, pleasant thoughts on a rainy day!

Thoughts of the stripper bird filled Paul’s head as they ducked from storefront to storefront on the way to the pub near the bus stop, trying to avoid the majority of the sprinkles.  Yeah, that Janice had some nice tits, too, he’d seen plenty of ‘em over the past two days, and he longed to touch them, taste them, feel them pressed against him in their full glorious nudity.  He wondered if he should give her a pull?  He’d gotten the impression that she’d smiled directly at him today, him alone, when she’d been dancing, shaking her shoulders like that, turned away from the audience, bending back; oh, he’d had a good look at her then, hadn’t he?

He thought John was right, she was a real blonde.  He’d watched her pretty closely and thought he’d have noticed if she had a dark thatch beneath that skimpy cloth that barely covered her; bloody hell, he’d nearly seen the firm swell of flesh, the sweet cleft pressing against the silky material!  He wondered how it would feel to plunge into her heat and moisture.  He imagined that the dancing probably made her so hot she’d be ready to do anything he wanted, and all he had to do was figure out how to get her alone!

Paul shifted in discomfort.  He wasn’t sure if he’d make it home in time, he had a helluva throbber that wouldn’t go away!

***

She grimaced as she stretched.  That had been a nasty fall yesterday evening on the way home from the café, slipping on the sidewalk in the rain and nearly taking a header.  She’d managed to twist and land on her hip, saving her head at the expense of a nasty bruise.  Well, stage makeup had covered that, and she’d just have to ignore the pain in her back that had been caused by the twisting fall.  The back pain brought back some bad memories, though, and she hoped she hadn’t aggravated her old injury.  Didn’t matter anyway, the show must go on, mustn’t it?  If only she could sleep, though; she’d tossed and turned last night with the injury and some barely remembered dreams that had left her twitchy and uncomfortable.

She slipped back into her tiny dressing room and then into character.  Janice checked herself in the mirror; she’d done a good job on the makeup and the bruise didn’t show through.  She was a bit stiff doing her dances today because of her back, but she ignored that and ensured that her smile was dazzling.  Her concentration was utmost, and she made certain the pain didn’t show on her face or in her movements.

She was just about to wash off her makeup when there was a knock at the door.  Toby was early today, wasn’t he?  She pulled on her robe before answering the knock.

“Oh!  Hullo, errrrr, Norman, isn’t it?  Is there something I can help you with?” she asked, pulling the robe just a bit tighter around her, working frantically to summon Janice back from her banishment.  Thank God she was still ‘clothed’ in her makeup and wig!  She tried to put a smile on her face as she waited for the drummer to reply, dismayed at being caught out of character, a bit nervous at the stare he was giving her.

***

He thought if he could get her alone, he’d pull her, she’d be putty in his hands, wouldn’t she just?

Well, that’s what he’d thought, anyway, but now that he was here with his hat in his hand, he didn’t know what to say, she was a right stunner!  He quickly looked her up and down; the robe unfortunately covered up her tits but he knew what they looked like, she enjoyed uncovering them from her lacy bra and teasing him, didn’t she just?  He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about them for the past several days!  His first impression of the bird had been that she had fantastic knockers but not much as far as brains.  Just the way he liked ‘em, good tits and stupid.  He swallowed convulsively, wishing he could pull the robe away from her and touch those incredible knockers.

She just stood there, looking at him in a distant manner, and he realized he hadn’t replied to her question.  He started sweating, she had a glare that could stop a lorry in the middle of the road, and she was leveling it on him.  What had happened to the mysterious smile and the sexy, sleepy eyes?

“Errrr, yeah, errrr, sorry, uhhhh, just wanted ta know if …… errrrr…… is th’ band doin’ aw’right fer ya, miss?” he stammered.

Well, she finally smiled, but it was a bit frosty, wasn’t it?  She was probably frigid, just a cock tease like the rest of them.  Yeah, that was probably it, he didn’t need that, there were plenty of girls who’d put out for him if he wanted it, he didn’t need to beg for it, did he?  No, not a bloody chance, he could have near any bird he wanted just by snapping his fingers!

“Yes, certainly, you’re doing fine, Norman.  I’m quite pleased with the accompaniment.  Thank you for asking.  Was there anything else?”

“Nah, that’s it,” he said abruptly, turning away and escaping. 

If the bitch didn’t want him, well, that was her loss, wasn’t it?  Yeah, definitely!  Thank God there were only a few more days left in this shit gig, with this shit band!  He didn’t like the other lads and wondered why he’d ever joined them.  He’d start looking for work elsewhere as soon as the week was over, wouldn’t he just?

***

Out front of the club, Stuart decided he didn’t particularly like this Norman Chapman character very well.  The lad had a nasty attitude and seemed to enjoy playing the part of loner.  He wasn’t fitting in well, not by any chance!  Stu watched the drummer walk away down the street, then let his eyes follow a blonde bird walking stiffly past in the opposite direction, her eyes steadily examining the ground.  A plain girl, he mused, but that short blonde hair was an attractive cut on her, rather pixie-ish.  He thought the girl looked just a bit familiar, and he had a good memory for faces, but he couldn’t place her, and turned his attention back to his mates as she rounded the corner and went out of sight.

“Good money, innit, lads?” he asked, lighting a fag and taking a deep draw on the ciggie.

“Yeah,” John laughed, punching him in the shoulder.  “An’ th’ benefits are great!”  He reached for the pack of cigarettes and filched one.

“What benefits, John?” George asked innocently.

Stuart groaned inwardly.  The lad’s inexperience was awfully telling, wasn’t it?  And John would simply rip the younger boy to pieces, wouldn’t he?  Paul began laughing and Stu had to grin at the infectious sound.  John shook his head in mock dismay as he lit the fag and took a puff, exhaling with a sigh of pleasure. 

“Th’ bird, Georgie!  Th’ benefit’s in seein’ th’ bird strip off ‘er clothes, lookin’ at ‘er knockers, seein’ ‘er nearly naked three times before tea each day!” he explained as if to a simpleton, his tone exaggeratedly patient.

George blushed, but Stuart was pleasantly surprised that the boy didn’t wilt under John’s scathing comments.  And John hadn’t lit into him as hard as he might have, score one for the older lad’s restraint!  Stu reflected that George was quite good natured, but he’d have to get over his hero worship of John if he expected to hold his own with the cynical and sarcastic Lennon wit!

“Oh, yeah, that’s what I thought ya meant,” George replied evenly, unflinching.

Stuart had to laugh at the kid’s aplomb, slapping him on the back and making him jump in a startled manner.

“Good one, George!  Didn’t think you’d miss out on th’ view!”

The three of them chattered on about the benefits of working in a strip club, but Stu paid only a bit of attention to the conversation as they walked to the pub.  He wondered if he could work up the nerve to ask the stripper bird to pose for him?  He’d worked on a few paintings from memory the previous night, he’d felt compelled to try and capture her on canvas, but the thought of having her completely to himself, to examine her with an artist’s eye, well, that would be just brilliant, wouldn’t it?  P’rhaps even with her red wig and a single transparent veil draped across her.  His artist’s eye was filled with the possibilities.  He thought of the urchin cut of blonde hair on the bird who’d walked by; p’rhaps the stripper had a short blonde wig, that might look good with those high cheekbones and full lips, slightly almond shaped eyes……

Stu paused for just a moment as his artist’s eye put two and two together.  The plain blonde bird ……  Janice ……  No, Janice wasn’t plain, she was exotically beautiful!  His artist’s eye insisted, but his mind laughed at his fancy.

***

It hurt worse today, she realized, but she had to be thankful that nothing had broken when she’d fallen.  She stretched gingerly, trying to work out some of the pain in her back, finally gritting her teeth and realizing she’d have to dance through it.  She tried to turn her mind from it, thinking instead of the oddity at the end of the show yesterday.  That Norman chap, the fellow on drums, he’d seemed so …… well, odd!  She’d been looking at him in puzzlement, wondering why he’d knocked, then he’d finally stammered out his question.  She’d smiled at him pleasantly enough, but he’d seemed to end the conversation rather abruptly after that.  She wondered about it, but it really didn’t matter too much to her as long as the band performed adequately.  And seriously, they were better than adequate, despite the fact that they didn’t read music.  She’d enjoyed the novelty of different music to her dances; a lovely little break in the routine.

As she’d walked away yesterday, she’d known that Stuart was watching her, she’d felt a shiver up her back and had steadfastly refused to turn around.  He’d been watching her with his artist antennae out, but she wasn’t too worried; he’d never realize that she and Janice were the same person.  Janice was exotic, mysterious and beautiful. She was simply a plain Jane, unexceptional and nondescript.  That’s what had always made her a good dancer and performer, she’d been able to fulfill nearly any role required of her; with the proper makeup and costume, she’d been able to become nearly anyone.  She sighed and once again turned her thoughts from the past.  Life didn’t always work out as one expected.  Or wanted.

Stepping out on stage, Janice smiled and widened her eyes, blinking slowly to enhance the movement, noticed that there was a bigger crowd today; that meant a bit more in her pay packet tomorrow!  She danced, she strutted, she slowly pulled off her gloves, following with other items of clothing as the routine required, inching her way down to her bra and knickers, pulling her arms from the lacy straps and finally revealing what the men had paid to come see.  She was in pain throughout the entire routine, but she took care that it didn’t show, and she smiled at the crowd, blowing them a communal kiss as she left the stage after her final act, bending gracefully with a concealed groan to gather her veils. 

Thank God she was done for the day!  And the weekend was very near; she didn’t have to dance on the weekend, perhaps she’d simply soak in a hot tub for as long as possible on Saturday and Sunday before it was time to report to the café for the dinner rush. All she had to do was get through one more set of routines tomorrow and she’d have two glorious days with only the one job in the evenings, no dancing.  Well, she’d have to practice and stretch, but she wouldn’t have to dance for an audience, anyway!

And perhaps during the weekend she could find an antidote to the fever in her blood that kept her awake at night, an antidote to the dreams she continued to experience when she did sleep.

She washed carefully and let Janice dissolve along with the makeup as it washed down the sink, then pulled on her robe and opened the door at the knock, this was becoming a routine this week!

“Hullo, Toby, can I help you?”

“No, but I’m sure ya can help me!” he leered.

She sighed and shook her head at the club owner.  “How many times to I have to tell you, Toby?  The answer is always going to be ‘no’.”

He smiled affectionately.  “Can’t blame a fella fer tryin’, can ya?” 

He became all business, and she blessed the fact that she’d found a good club in which to work.  And a good owner!  She’d despaired of finding either, and to have found both had been a Godsend. 

“Wanted ta ask ya,” Toby continued, “the box t’day is bigger than normal, d’ya wanna split as usual?  Th’ kids in th’ band won’t know any better, ya can ‘ave a bigger take if ya don’t.”

She smiled, hiding a grimace as her back complained.  She thought she’d better stop by the pharmacy for some pain medicine before her shift at the café.

“Thank you, Toby, but let’s keep the normal split, right?  They’re good lads, and they’ve done a good job this week, I don’t want to cheat them out of their money.  Tomorrow’s their last day, isn’t it?”

He nodded.  “Yeah, they did a good job, but I’m a bit surprised ‘bout th’ music ya picked fer ‘em ta play.”

“Oh, that, well, I thought I’d try something a little different,” she lied quickly, wondering why she was covering for the band.

Toby grinned and gave her a light slap on the hip as he turned to leave.  She nearly cried out as her hip protested the slap with a vicious throb, then leaned against the door with tears in her eyes as the door shut.  Oh, that had hurt! 

The throbbing had died down to a dull but malignant ache by the time she left her dressing room, it had been extremely difficult to dress.  Out the back door and off down the street to the café, she ignored the musicians gathered near the front of the club as neatly as ever.

***

John turned to watch the plain blonde bird walk off down the street, she was limping today, he wondered what had happened?  He’d noticed her the past several days, she must have an afternoon errand each day at the same time.  Nice legs, but a bit plain and ordinary looking.

His thoughts turned to the stripper bird; as much as he wanted to pull Janice, as much as he’d boasted to the other lads about his prowess, he was afraid the bird was a bit out of his league.  She was older, of course, but he didn’t think she was much older, and he wasn’t inexperienced himself, but he didn’t feel very secure ‘bout pulling a bird who stripped for a living, she probably had her pick of men.  And his first impression of her had been that she was a bit cold, very businesslike, even a bit posh.  Even though he was nearly twenty years old, rejection from an advance was something he didn’t want to think about, it would simply be humiliating, wouldn’t it?  John hid a sigh, just his luck, wasn’t it?  He thought he’d have to content himself with filling his eyes and mind with the girl, and tomorrow would be their last day at the job.  Well, there were always other birds to pull, weren’t there?

“Ready ta go?” he asked.  “Drink?”

Norman declined a drink, as usual.  John wondered if the taciturn drummer was going to work out or not.  Didn’t seem the friendly sort after all.  He didn’t want to jump the gun, though, so p’rhaps he’d wait a few weeks.  Something would work out, either way, he was certain.  The Silver Beatles were going places!

“Sorry, John, I gotta meet me Da this afternoon,” George said apologetically.  “He’s got th’ day off an’ we’re workin’ on a problem with th’ wirin’ in the kitchen.”

“Well, don’t burn down th’ row,” John advised, cocking an eyebrow at Paul.

Paul shook his head.  “I gotta run off, too, John.  Mike’s got a football game an’ Da can’t go, so I’ve been appointed family cheerleader.”  He rolled his eyes and shrugged in apology.

“Stu?” John asked.

“Sorry, mate, gotta meet me professor,” he replied with a head shake.

“Yeah, right, a bit o’ private instruction, eh?”

The lads took off on that for a few minutes, slagging Stu about his class work at the art institute and the advantage of having a female professor for his drawing class.  John knew the professor was an old lady of near fifty, with thick ankles and gray hair, but he kept the knowledge to himself and let the younger lads have a field day with their imaginations.   He shared a slight smile of conspiracy with his friend.

“Right, then, see you lads tomorrow, ‘ave a good evening,” John said when the conversation died down.

He watched them head for the bus stop, wondering what to do with himself.  P’raps he’d stop by that little café ‘round the corner for tea, he still had some shillings in his pocket and tea might be just the ticket.  He hated to eat alone, but Mims had been in a foul mood the last time he’d seen her and he didn’t feel like stopping into his Auntie’s house for tea.  Mind made up, he walked to the little café and took a table near the back of the nearly empty restaurant, checked the menu and was pleased to see that the prices were reasonable, cheap even!  He calculated the shillings in his pocket and realized he could have anything on the menu, with enough left over for a few ales in the pub!  Well, there was no sense in going overboard, he decided to go with the cheap daily special, roast lamb with mint jelly and mash, the vegetable of the day and salad greens.

When the waitress came to take his order, he gave it to her without looking up, thinking she had a nice speaking voice, somehow familiar.

“And to drink?” she asked stiffly.

“Tea, luv,” he said, finally raising his eyes, meeting hers in surprise, oh, it was that plain blonde bird he’d seen, the one who’d been limping today.  Why did her voice sound so familiar?

“I’ll get it right away.”

She was gone before he could say anything else, her walk stiff and her back straight as she walked……well, limped …… away.  She was quickly back with his tea, steaming in a pot with a teacup and a little mug of milk.

“That’ll hit th’ spot,” he said, taking an appreciative sniff of the fragrant, steaming liquid.  He looked at her name tag.  “Ta, Sharon.”  She had a nice chest hidden under the plain blouse, he thought approvingly.

“You’re welcome.  I’ll get your meal now, it will be just a moment,” the girl said as she quickly turned and left his table.

He watched her walk away, wondering about her limp.  She had fabulous legs, and he found himself wondering what they looked like beneath the mid-calf length skirt she wore.  Maybe he’d give her a pull.  She was a bit ordinary looking and a bit old, but what was the Americanism about older women?  Something about “they don’t yell and they’re grateful as hell”?  Maybe he’d get a bit lucky this afternoon and relieve some of the frustration he’d been feeling all week as he’d watched Janice dance.  He turned his thoughts back to the stripper and wondered what she’d look like without the wigs, how it would feel……

***

Sharon escaped to the kitchen.  She’d never been so embarrassed in her life!  Working at the club was wonderful money and fairly easy work, and she never had to worry about anyone recognizing her, not even the businessmen who frequented both club and café, they simply didn’t recognize her without her stage makeup and wigs.  But here, guess who chanced to walk into the café for tea? She fought her blushes and told herself there was no way he could know who she was, and no way he’d know how she’d been fantasizing about him over the past several days. 

And that’s exactly what she’d been doing, she realized as she examined her dreams and longings that had been so prevalent this week.  To find her latest object of desire at a table in the café had been surprising and embarrassing to say the least!

She pulled herself together whilst waiting for cook to finish preparing his meal.  The restaurant was quiet before the tea-time rush and the tables were empty save for John’s.  Thank God.  She got her blush under control about the time his dinner was ready to be delivered and was thankfully able to serve him normally.

“Here you go, can I get you anything else right now?”

“No, ta.  D’ya ‘ave time ta sit with me an’ chat?” he asked, the question unexpected, her blush starting to rise again.

“Errr, no thank you, I …… I have work in the kitchen,” she replied, thinking quickly.  Where was Janice when she needed her, she wondered anxiously?

“Right.  ‘ow ‘bout tomorrow?  What time d’ya get off work?”

Her heard thudded in her chest and she straightened up even though it hurt her hip.  “I’m sorry,” she answered, frosty with indignation.  “I’m busy.”   She turned and marched away.

How dare he, she fumed, was he trying to pull her?  Somehow, against expectation, he must have recognized her, and he must think she was just a common trollop, willing to bed anyone, no matter how scruffy that ‘anyone’ looked.  Well, she wasn’t, even if she did do a strip routine at the club!  If she wanted a man, she was certain she could have taken Toby up on his offer, and anyway, John was far too young, even if she’d been tempted!  And she wasn’t, of course!  Not at all!  Even though her heart had pounded in her chest when he’d asked what time she got off work, even though her treacherous loins had felt weak with desire, betraying her with the longing she felt. 

She tried to forget her recent dreams, dreams filled with young men and lust and desire. 

She wasn’t tempted by him, she told herself sternly, and he’d better get that thought right out of his head.  Yes, indeed!  Thankfully, there was only one more day with them at the club, and she’d make certain Toby never employed the Silver Beatles again!

Sharon lurked in the kitchen, occasionally peeking out the window to see if he’d finished eating.  When it appeared as if he was done, she went out to give him the receipt, laying it on the table and turning to walk away.  She hid a groan as her hip and back protested the movement.

“Sharon, luv, I jus’ thought we might……”

She turned back to face him, her hip protesting again.

“Look, you, I might be a stripper, but I’m not a whore, so don’t get any ideas into your head!” she burst out, furious yet keeping enough presence of mind to keep her voice low so that cook didn’t overhear.

The utter surprise on John’s face was genuine, she realized in horror.  She watched recognition crawl across his features and wished that a hole in the floor would open up and swallow her.  She’d thought he’d recognized her, but he hadn’t!  Well, not until she’d stupidly blurted everything out!  Oh, this was past embarrassing, it was very rapidly approaching utter and complete mortification.

“Janice?” he asked, but seemed to recover quickly.  “Errr, I never thought ya were, J…. Sharon.  Never crossed me mind, I swear!  I jus’ thought we’d chat a bit.  That’s all, I promise!”

Her blush rose up quite strongly, she was certain she was scarlet with embarrassment.  This entire afternoon had gone from bad to worse.  On top of blurting out her identity, she must have misunderstood him, if she could believe his protestations of innocence, and now she’d certainly fouled things up!  She rushed back to the kitchen as quickly as her back and hip allowed and didn’t venture out again until she was certain he’d gone.  When she went to clean his table, she found a note written on a paper napkin, held in place beneath his empty teacup along with the fare for his meal.

     “Sharon, sorry I embarrassed you.  Would love to chat

     tomorrow if you’ve the time or desire.  Ta ra.     John”

Did he mean ‘desire’ as in ‘desire’, or as in ‘inclination’, she wondered?  It had been quite a while since she’d dated anyone, so long that she never had to think of double entendres any more, never had to wonder what a person was meaning versus what they were saying.  Or writing, for that matter.  Well, she’d simply have to ensure that he knew she wasn’t available for anything besides a chat!  She didn’t like how her heart was pounding, what was wrong with her?  She’d given up on men for the most part, hadn’t she? 

She paused for thought.  What was she thinking, that he …… wanted her?  No, if he wanted anyone, he wanted Janice, not her! 

Oh, this was so embarrassing!  Now that he’d seen her, the real Sharon, he’d probably been looking for a motherly woman to talk to about his latest girlfriend, and she’d simply shot off her mouth at him!  She’d let her dreams and fantasies carry her away and influence her thoughts, and this was the result.  She wouldn’t be surprised if he simply ignored her after this, that would be fitting.  Not that it mattered, they were virtually strangers, with no connection.  But she still wondered how she could dance tomorrow, knowing he was in the band accompanying her!  Oh dear, well, Janice could do it, she had to, and that was that; she’d simply have to ignore them completely.

Sharon spent the rest of the evening in a fog, nearly making the wrong change several times, and delivering the wrong meal once.

Arriving at the club early the next morning, she was grateful that the band hadn’t yet arrived.  She did her makeup, despaired over the purple bruise on her hip and covered it with makeup as best she could, checked all her costumes and began her stretches a bit more slowly and carefully than usual.

She did her best to forget about the dreams she’d had the previous night, but the memories were strong, the desire deep.  Shadowy young strangers with rough hands and rampant desire, plundering her body as she begged for release.  She’d woken with a cry, trembling with desire and frustration, oh, it had been wonderful and awful.  She could feel herself twitching with the remembered dreams, and she tried to pay attention to her stretching, tried to ignore her body’s increasingly urgent demands.

She’d only last year read an underground pamphlet from America that said a woman was most desirous of sex whilst in her early thirties; the book had been scoffed over in medical circles, but she felt somehow certain it was the truth.  It didn’t seem fair for a woman to reach that point as an old maid, how wonderful of Mother Nature to play such a dirty trick.  And it must be Father Nature, though, not Mother Nature; a woman wouldn’t play such a mean trick on another woman! 

Sharon resolutely turned her attention to her stretching, finally achieving the concentration necessary to ignore her aches and pains as well as ignoring the lingering desire that crept into her thoughts from time to time.  Achieving the near trance-like state was difficult, but once there, she knew she was Janice once more, thought she could face her work, and she walked onto the stage at the appropriate time, smiling at the customers and keeping her attention on them and away from the band.  She did her routines perfectly, professionally, cool and collected, never wavering, no matter the continuing pain in her hip and back; at least it was better than it had been yesterday!  And no matter the fleeting shame in her heart regarding the misunderstanding with the tall and handsome lad behind her; the stranger who’d been so prevalent in her dreams each night.  She studiously ignored the lot of them on guitar or drums, never looking their direction, keeping her attention focused solely on the audience.  When the final routine was over, she slipped from the stage with a final smile and wink to the assembled crowd, then rushed to her dressing room and washed, changed clothes and identity, and was out the back door as quickly as possible. Thank God Toby had left her pay packet on the little dresser!

She was early out of the club, but so were they, she realized in dismay.  Ducking her head, she simply walked past them without word or glance.  Coward, she cursed herself as she limped to the café.  But it was better than facing John again, the boy was probably laughing uproariously at her mistake, and she simply didn’t want to see his derision.  She wasn’t certain why she even cared, she’d never see him again and she tried to put him out of her mind.

The night was long and her back and hip ached by the end of it.  She opened her brolly as she left the café, jumping back in sudden fear when someone came out of the shadows of the alley at the side of the building.

“Sharon, luv?” 

Oh, thank God, it wasn’t a nameless stranger, it was John!  Wait, perhaps she shouldn’t be thanking God, a nameless stranger might have been preferable.  Had he come to laugh at her?

“Sorry, didn’t mean ta startle ya, but I thought maybe we could ‘ave that chat.  I think maybe ya think I got th’ wrong impression of ya, but I jus’ figgered maybe we could ‘ave a drink or somethin’?”

She was shivering from the unexpected cold breeze that was blowing, and he’d frightened her with his sudden appearance; she wondered how long he’d been waiting for her.  As he drew into the light of the street lamp, she saw that he was soaking wet, he’d been waiting a long time!

“Look at you!  Why didn’t you come inside?  Don’t you have enough sense to stay out of the rain?” she demanded, confusion reigning in her heart, did he mean what he was saying?

He assayed a sneaky grin at her and then sneezed.  “I figgered you’d kick me out if I set foot inside.”  He sneezed again, and her mind made itself up for her.

“Come along, we’ve got to get you out of those wet clothes.  And don’t get any ideas, young man!”

She took his arm and held the brolly over them both, leading him to the bus stop and waiting for the next bus.  The ride was shivering cold, but English summers were so changeable, tomorrow could even be bright and sunny.  Not likely, but it was always possible, she thought with a sniff.  They were shortly at her flat and she was unlocking the door.  Once inside, she put a few coins into the heater unit and made certain it started up, then went to get her fluffy robe.  It was pink, but it was warm, and that’s what mattered right now.

“Here, get out of your clothes and put this on, young man.”

He looked horrified.  “I’m not wearin’ that!”

Sharon nearly laughed.  “Yes you are.  Now do it, this instant!  I’ll turn my back.”

***

John stared at the robe she’d laid on her sofa.  She stood with her back to him and tapped her foot.

“I’m waiting!”

He sneezed again and had a shiver, finally unbuttoning his soaking shirt, stripping it off and dropping it on the floor, then pulling off his shoes.  His pants quickly followed and he was left shivering in his y-fronts, looking distastefully at the pale pink robe.  He pulled it on with revulsion, tying the belt around himself.  At least it was warm.

“I’m decent,” he groused, hating the idea of her looking at him and laughing at him wearing a bird’s robe, and pink, a fairy colour!  Cyn would be laughing her arse off at him at this point, and this Sharon would probably do the same.  He looked down to avoid her laughter.

But Sharon didn’t laugh.  She merely gathered up his clothes from the floor and took them to the kitchen sink to wring them out as he stood watching, wondering what to do.  She was shortly back with the wrung clothes and was draping them on chairs near the heating vents.  He watched as she arranged them, surprised he was here, surprised he’d even tried to see her again.  He’d been stunned to find his object of desire working a simple café, and looking…… so …… so ordinary!  He’d had to work a bit at changing his first impression of her, but he’d been a bit chagrinned that she’d read him so easily.  Somehow, it had made him uncomfortable, he felt sorry for the bird and had wanted to make peace.  He hadn’t expected the rain this evening, or the cold wind that had blown down from the North. 

John shivered again, felt another sneeze coming on and tried to stifle it.

“Don’t do that, it will give you a headache.  I’m going to fix you some tea, it will be just a minute, why don’t you sit down?  Here, this is for your hair,” she added, and John reached out to catch the towel she threw his direction.  “I don’t understand people who don’t have enough common sense to come out of the rain,” she grumbled, passing him to return to the kitchen.  She paused only long enough to kick off her shoes and tuck them in the hall closet, padding barefoot into the open kitchen area of the flat.

John awkwardly sat down on the little sofa and looked around the tiny living room.  The bird had a decent enough flat, it looked as if it was a bedsit, only one room, but with a small hallway leading to a room that was sure to be a private bath, imagine!  Aside from that, it wasn’t anything fancy, she didn’t have a lot of baubles and frivolous things.  She had a few theatre posters on the walls, but that was all.  Otherwise, it was clean and neat.  He decided he liked the spare look, it was nothing like the flat he’d recently started sharing with Stu, and nothing like Cynthia’s house, either.  He frowned upon thinking of his girlfriend, he’d promised to call ‘round and see her tonight, but he’d have to tell her something had come up; she’d be ok with that, he was certain.  John used the towel to dry his hair, then carefully folded it and set it on the floor, pulling out his comb to put his hair to rights before she turned ‘round in the kitchen.  He couldn’t do it very well without a mirror, he realized in chagrin when she turned around and gave a little giggle.  Shit!

“Here, let me help you.  You haven’t dried your hair enough, it will never hold like that,” she said, coming over and picking up the towel, then applying it with force to his still wet hair.

John sat meekly and let her do as she wished, luxuriating in the warmth from the nearby heater and the warmth from her body that was close enough to him that they were almost touching.  They were close enough that John caught her scent, a warm honeysuckle that evoked memories of Aunt Mimi’s garden in the summer.  So close to her, but not quite touching, he thought with a grimace.  He knew just what would warm him up, but he was feeling tongue tied and very unsure of himself, the Sharon/Janice thing was still perplexing and he wasn’t quite sure how he felt to find out that beautiful Janice was actually ugly duckling Sharon.  Well, not ‘ugly duckling’ exactly, but awfully plain, it was a bit hard to believe.  He sneezed again, nearly knocking himself back into the pillows on the sofa.

“Sorry,” he said, sniffing.

“It’s all right, but you’ll have to remember to keep out of showers, you’ll catch your death of a cold if you keep doing that,” she replied as she pulled the towel away from his head, smiling down at him.

She had a beautiful smile, John thought in surprise, wondering that he hadn’t noticed that before.  Her smile showed warm humour and compassion.  It was intimate, nothing like the smiles she made on stage.  John wondered if there was passion there, as well as compassion.  He realized he was staring only when she started to blush.  The tea kettle began to whistle, and she hurried away.  He noticed her limp again, how had the girl hurt herself?  When she came back with a tea tray and cups of scalding tea, she set her burden on the tea table and appeared a bit uncertain.  John realized the sofa was the only place to sit, the chair was covered with his clothing, and he obligingly moved over to give her some room.

“Ta,” he said as she poured the tea and handed him a mug before sitting down beside him.  He held the cup with both hands to warm himself and sipped it cautiously.  Hot, sweet and wet, just the way he liked......  He pushed aside that train of thought and smiled his thanks.  “What happened to ya, yer limpin’?”

“Oh, I ...... I fell the other day, about three days ago, I think.  Bruised my hip, sort of hurt my back.”

“How bad?” John asked, sipping his tea, enjoying the way it heated him all the way down to his toes.

“Oh, just......just a bruise, it’s not bad, really, I’m better now,” she replied, picking up her cup, apparently deciding it was too hot and setting it back down.

“You been dancin’ an’ workin’ at th’ café through th’ pain, then?”

“Well, dancers know how to ignore pain pretty well, we have to,” she said.  “Pain’s a bit of an occupational hazard, I’m afraid.”

“’ave ya been dancin’ long?” John asked, his curiosity piqued.

“Well, I wanted to be on stage when I was a child.”

“Well, yer still on stage,” John said admiringly.

She snorted a laugh that didn’t quite convey amusement.

“Right, and quite a lovely stage, isn’t it?” she asked.  “Stripping for bored and jaded men.”  She sighed.  “At least it’s a job.”

“D’ya mean ya don’t like it?  Why do it then?”

She looked startled, and picked up her cup to sip before replying.  “Well, as I said, it’s a job and the money is fairly good.  I’m too old for much else at this point, I already missed my chance.”

John frowned, puzzled.  “What d’ya mean, yer too old?  An’ what d’ya mean, ya missed yer chance?”

Sharon sipped again, then shrugged.  “Well, a dancer has a very limited span wherein she can dance well, and I’m past that.  And I was on the London stage …… years ago, but I hurt my back in a fall and that ended it for me.  So the kind of dancing I do nowadays is really all I can do anymore.  But I get on well enough.”

“’ow old are ya, Sharon?” John asked curiously as he thought about how she’d avoided his question.  She acted as if she were old as the hills!  He thought from the sound of it that she was probably in her thirties, maybe 10 or 12 years older than he, but she wore it all right.  He wondered if she’d be interested in a little romp? 

When had he decided he was going to give her a pull, he wondered suddenly? 

Well, that didn’t matter, he’d simply have to find out if she wanted it or not, he thought as he squared his shoulders in determination.  If she turned him down, at least the other lads weren’t around to slag him, and he could just keep it to himself, couldn’t he?

***

Sharon moved off the sofa with a groan. 

“I’m far too old to be sitting here with you, young man.”  She rearranged his drying clothes, moving them a little closer to the cranky heating unit, adding a few more coins to ensure it remained on.  “They’re coming along nicely, we’ll get you on your way shortly.”

She wondered why she’d opened up to the boy like that?  Well, if she were honest, she’d have to admit that she was a bit lonely, but that was all it was.  It was lovely to chat with another person sometimes.

“What if……what if I don’t really wanna be on me way, Sharon?”

She stood very still, her back to the boy, her heart pounding distressingly hard.  He’d merely asked a single question, but his tone of voice left her in no doubt over what he’d meant.

“I’m not a……” she began.

He interrupted.  “I know yer not, luv.”

She waited, but he didn’t say anything more.  Well, the offer was on the table.  Her dreams had been overwhelming of late and she knew she’d enjoy a good frolic; she was hungry for one!  But this boy was just that, a boy; a child nearly.  She was probably near twice his age! 

Sharon nearly jumped out of her skin when she felt a hand on her shoulder, she hadn’t heard him get up!  She swallowed nervously as he urged her with his touch to turn around and face him.  She only had to look up a few inches to meet his eyes, his pupils dilated with desire, staring into her soul so deeply that she shivered.

“You can’t possibly want me, I’m sure I’m old enough to be your mother,” she whispered, the surge of desire flooding her, threatening to turn her inside out.

“Kinda doubt that,” he murmured, a smile playing across his lips.  “An’ there’s a lot ta be said fer a woman with some experience.  Age doesn’t really mean all that much, does it now?”

She couldn’t reply, because his lips descended over hers, and any answer she’d thought to make vanished at the electric touch of his mouth covering hers, firm and hungry, destroying her doubts and fears of their age difference.  She responded to the touch, moving into his arms, opening herself at his prompting, leading him when he faltered, sharing the journey together, neither leader nor follower and yet both at the same time.  And that was just the kiss!  She wondered how much experience he had; since he kissed this well, she might be in for a night of extreme pleasure!

Sharon allowed him to undress her, feeling his eagerness to perform the act of seduction, although she knew she didn’t need seducing.  She was ready for him right now, eager for it, nearly anxious, and she thought she might need to rein back her desire to keep from frightening the boy; she’d got the impression he had some experience, but she wasn’t sure just how much he had.  When his hands touched her breasts almost reverently, she moaned without thought, pressing herself closer to him, encouraging him to fill his hands with her flesh.  If he was surprised or frightened, he didn’t show it, his eagerness was readily apparent, pressing against her even through the fluffy robe that covered him.  Yes, a night of extreme pleasure, she thought with a smile.  She discarded her fear of frightening him and touched him with knowledgeable fingers, stroking him through the cloth, holding him steady when he shuddered with desire.

“Oh God,” he gasped.  “Wait, I’m gonna spill if ya keep doin’ that.”

She considered, hungry for his touch and taste.  Well, a young lad like him should be ready for another go shortly after a first one, wouldn’t he?  And he’d last longer, too.

“Does it take you long after a first……?” she whispered.

His laughter was breathless.  “Not long at all,” he promised.

That settled it.  She removed her hand, smiling at his groan of supplication.  Leading him to the sofa, she encouraged him to sit and then settled on the floor between his legs with a suppressed moan at the pain in her hip, nearly laughing over his excitement and obvious shock at her actions.  She pushed the robe apart with her hands, gently stroking her fingernails over the front of his briefs, then pulling them off with his eager help.  His legs and torso were cold from the rain he’d been in, his skin chilled, but this part of his anatomy was a rich, dark colour, engorged with blood and heat, twitching in her hands.  She wondered if no girl had ever done this to him before, a glance at his face showed surprise and a plea for completion.  Well, she wouldn’t tease him, she wanted her treats as well!

Wetting her lips, Sharon took him in her mouth, stretching her lips to accept his width, sucking him hungrily, taking his length as deep as she could, beginning a steady rhythm, using her hands to assist the process.  She kept pressure on the feverish heat that filled her mouth, using her tongue to enhance his pleasure and tasting the musky flavours of his body.  She didn’t think it would take him very long, but she tried to stretch things out with pauses and changes to the rhythm as she worked to prolong his enjoyment.  His breathless moans finally heralded an explosive climax that seemed to last forever.  She kept her rhythm going even after he was finished, as he lay panting and shuddering under her ministrations.

“Oh God, oh God, that was fantastic, luv,” he murmured, stroking her hair back from her face.  “Oh God, yeah!  Mmmmmm.  Will ya…… would ya dress up fer me, Janice?”

She stilled her movements, released him from her mouth, all desire crashing down around her. 

He’d asked her to “dress up for me”.

He’d called her “Janice”. 

Wear a costume, strip it off for him.  Become someone else, someone she wasn’t, just for his pleasure. 

He was no better than those businessmen who slavered over her in the club at lunchtime. 

Why had she thought anything different?

She stood up and blindly gathered up her clothes, escaping to the necessary, the one luxury of her tiny bedsit, and quickly dressed, numb with fatigue and disappointment.  She splashed cool water on her flushed skin and brushed her teeth, angrily spitting out the foaming tooth powder, angry with herself for letting her guard down.  When she came out of the little loo, she registered startled surprise on his face, but she ignored it.  She checked his clothes, they were still damp, but wearable.  And it appeared the rain had stopped.  She handed the clothes to him and took the tea tray into the kitchen.

“Get dressed,” she called back over her shoulder.  “It’s time for you to go home.”

“What?  I thought……”

“You thought wrong.  I want you to leave.  Now.  Get dressed and go, I want you out of my flat immediately.”

She scrubbed the teacups and spoons with extra violence, listening carefully to make sure he was doing what she asked. 

“Sharon luv……”

“Get out.  Get out now,” she said, keeping her back turned to him, angry enough for tears, desperate that they not fall until he was gone.

“Sharon, I’m sorry, I dunno what I said, what I did, please, luv, lemme make it up to ya……”

“Get out of here!” she hissed.  “Now!  Get out, go away, don’t ever come back!  Leave me alone!”

The tears fell once she heard the door close behind him.  Why had she ever thought he might be different?  He was just another man, someone who only looked on the surface and ignored the person she was.  He only saw the seven veils, but she was more, oh, so much more than that.  Wasn’t she?  Where did Janice leave off, where did Sharon begin?

***

John stepped out into the damp night, utterly confused.  He must have done something that had caused her anger, but he couldn’t think what!  They’d been getting on marvelously, he couldn’t believe she’d done that, and without him even asking for it! Only one other girl had ever done that to him, and it had been a year or two before; he’d been dreaming of it ever since and had been trying to convince Cyn to give it a try, but she’d resisted so far.  That one time he’d had it had been so good that he’d since woken up from mere dreams of it with his hand wrapped ‘round himself, stroking and pulling for the same sensation and release as he’d experienced that once.  And this bird had been ten times as good as that first one!  The touch of lips and tongue, the pressure of her soft and hot mouth touching him like that, oh, yeah, he was stiff again simply thinking of it!

But what was the problem? 

Once she’d done it, Sharon had just changed her tune completely, he’d been looking forward to a pleasant night and she’d simply gone off on him!  John sat on the step to the apartment building and lit a fag, tried to think, tried to concentrate.  Maybe that had been all she’d wanted?  Maybe she got off on doing that to a fella and it was all she wanted from him?  No, she’d seemed pretty passionate and she’d originally asked if he was pretty quick on the rebound, hadn’t she?  He’d got the impression she was ready for it, wanted it like no other girl he’d ever been with.  He’d usually a near fight on his hands trying to convince a bird, this one had definitely been ready!  But then she’d just gone mental on him, ordering him out like that!  What was her problem?

He tried to remember what he’d said afterwards, right before she’d gone off on him, he’d said it had been fantastic, hadn’t he?  Should he have said thank you?  Maybe he should have thanked her, but he hadn’t been thinking very straight, his heart had been pounding so hard, his legs rubbery and shaking in the aftermath of what she’d done; Jesus, that had been fantastic.  John rubbed his hands through his nearly dry hair, pulling out his comb to try and get it manageable for the bus ride home, still thinking about Sharon and trying to figure out what had happened to make such a great night turn so sour. 

He put the comb away and started walking.  To hell with it, he’d go ‘round and call on Cyn, maybe convince her to come back to the flat with him.

He’d reached the bus stop before he finally remembered what he’d said to Sharon, he’d asked her to dress up for him.  And he’d called her Janice.  Could that have done it?  The bird was Sharon and Janice, wasn’t she, how could she take offence at him calling her by either name?  Or had it been the fact that he’d asked her to dress up?  She’d dressed up, hadn’t she?  Too right, she’d dressed and ordered him out!  And she’d said to never come back!  Hell, this was so bloody confusing!  He looked around at the dark and wet night, wondering what he should do.  His eyes fell on the planter beside the bus stop.

***

Sharon finished her bath and dried her hair, combing it into submission, wrapping herself in the pink bathrobe that still smelled faintly of the boy who’d recently been wearing it.  She tied the belt around her, tightening it in anger and disgust at herself.  She couldn’t blame him, he was just like any other lad, out for what he could get off a girl, and he’d certainly gotten it from her.  Well, live and learn, and she never had to worry about seeing him again.  She blushed to think of how he might brag to his mates, but the Silver Beatles would never work at the club again, she’d make certain of it so that she’d never have to see any of them again.

She tried to forget about it, but she knew she’d be dreaming again tonight, and she’d simply awaken frustrated and feeling hollow.  She turned on the radio for the companionship and tuned in one of the indy stations off the coast, it sounded as if it was a German station tonight, full of polkas and ohm-pa-pa’s.  Wearily trudging to the kitchen, she opened a tin of soup and sliced some cheese to go with the crackers she pulled from the cupboard.

The knock at the door was a surprise, she rarely had visitors and it was rather late at night.  She ignored it, it was probably her neighbour and she didn’t feel like chatting.  Old Mrs. Busybody would go back to her flat sooner or later.  She stirred the soup and arranged the cheese and crackers on a plate, then pulled out a bowl and spoon, setting it on the tea tray to carry in when the soup had heated sufficiently.

“Sharon?”

She jumped at the voice, turning so quickly that her hip nearly gave out beneath her, her heart in her throat.  The door hadn’t been locked?  Why hadn’t she checked it when he’d left?  Oh, God, and he was back.  Her teeth were chattering from her sudden fright and she tried to recover the calm veneer she’d worn after her bath.

“I……I told you to never come here again.  What are you doing here?  Get out, you’re n……not welcome,” she stammered.

She watched as he pulled a straggling bouquet of roses from behind his back.

“I wanted ta say I’m sorry, Sharon luv.  I didn’t mean to upset ya.  I was a right bastard, sayin’ what I did, an’ I’m sorry.  I ‘ope yer gonna fergive me.”

The silent tableau stretched, with her standing frozen in the tiny kitchen and him standing at the door to her flat, his expression solemn, his eyes staring into her soul.  Sharon wondered with fleeting humour if they’d remain frozen throughout the long night ahead, and she finally accepted his peace offering.

“Thank you for the flowers,” she said stiffly.  “You didn’t need to, it doesn’t matter.”  She wondered if Janice would help her in this rather embarrassing situation.  She tried to summon her alter-ego, but Janice wasn’t cooperating.  Well, Sharon thought wryly, she was on her own, then.

“Yeah it does matter, luv,” John insisted, tentatively moving further into the room, closing the door behind him.  “I didn’t mean ta hurt ya, I didn’t mean ta make ya cry.”

Embarrassment flooded through her.  She hadn’t thought she was that transparent, but she supposed her face was a disaster after a bout of crying, and it wouldn’t have taken a brilliant scientist to realize she’d been in tears.  She could feel the colour on her cheeks and she swiftly turned back to the hotplate to stir her soup.  When the blush was finally under control, she dug under the sink for a vase for the flowers, finally turning back to face John, surprised that he’d come into the kitchen, still holding the roses out to her.

“Errr……I suppose I should put those in water,” she said, taking the flowers and standing them in the vase, adding water and setting them on the counter.  “Thank you,” she added grudgingly.

“Am I forgiven?” he asked hopefully, and she couldn’t answer, but turned back to stir her soup again.  He just wanted more of what he’d already had, didn’t he?

***

“Smells good,” John said after the silence stretched to the breaking point. 

He was pretty obviously not forgiven, and he didn’t know how to right the wrong. 

When he’d knocked and there’d been no answer, he’d got worried and had tried the handle, surprised that it had opened.  He’d been grateful to see her, but surprised at her red and puffy eyes, angry with himself that he’d made her cry.  He had to set this to rights; he felt terrible, nearly as if he’d beaten her or something.  He still wasn’t exactly sure what he’d done wrong, but he determined to never ask her to dress up for him, and to never call her Janice.  That is, if he ever saw her again, she didn’t seem too receptive to his apology.  But at least he was inside the apartment, so maybe that was a start. 

“Would you like some soup?” she asked stiffly.

Maybe that was a little bit better than a start, he thought with sudden hope.  He wondered why he really cared?  It wasn’t that he was expecting a repeat of what had happened earlier, although his treacherous libido insisted it wanted exactly that.

“Yeah, if ya got enough ta stretch,” he answered.  “Ta.”

She pulled out another bowl and spoon and dished up the steaming soup.  They ate in utter silence at opposite ends of the sofa, and John had a hard time swallowing the rich barley soup because of the tense atmosphere.  He nibbled on a few crackers and a chunk of Stilton, appreciating the rich veins of blue marbling the white cheese.

“Good cheese,” he commented, for something to say.  “Dunno when I’ve ‘ad such good Stilton.”

Silence.  Then, blessed be!  A reply!

“There’s a little market at the corner that has lovely cheese and produce.  I shop there occasionally.”

She still sounded pretty stiff, John thought, but at least she’d unbent enough to say something.  He was wondering how to carry on the conversation when she stood up and collected his empty bowl and spoon, then set it on the tray with the rest of the dinner dishes.  When she straightened up with a grimace, he leapt to his feet and got the tray for her.

“Yer back botherin’ ya, luv?” he asked as he carried the tray to the kitchen sink.

“Yes, a bit.  You don’t have to do that.”

He could feel her standing awkwardly behind him, almost as if he had eyes in the back of his head and could see her.  He soaped the bowls and utensils, rinsed them and then dried them on the tea towel and set them in the rack beside the sink, not quite sure where to put them and not feeling confident enough to start searching the cupboards and drawers. 

Wouldn’t Cyn have a laugh at him washing the dishes?  John grinned at the thought; his girlfriend always complained about the flat and the mess he and Stu lived in, there were never any clean dishes or cutlery.  Squalid, she called it, with a sniff of derision, that Hoylake haughtiness he liked to tease her about.   It usually ended with a flurry of cleaning and the flat would look nice for a short time.

“There, that’s done, then,” he said, turning to face her, hiding a grin at seeing her standing awkwardly behind him, just as he’d expected.

“Thank you, that wasn’t necessary,” Sharon muttered.

They stood in silence for a few moments, she studiously avoiding his gaze whilst he just as studiously tried to catch hers.

“You’ve eaten, you’ve apologized and I accept your apology,” she burst out, a pale blush lighting her cheeks.  “Will you leave now, please?”

John blinked.  “But ‘ave ya fergiven me?” he asked again.

She didn’t reply, still not meeting his gaze, crossing her arms over her chest in a gesture that was more protective than obstinate.  Nearly childishly protective, he thought.

John sighed, wishing he knew how to make it up to the bird.  But his welcome was apparently gone, and he didn’t want to make matters even worse.  Before she could avoid him, he closed the distance between them and swiftly kissed her on the cheek.

Go Read Part Two!

C.A.Jones is a long-time fan of The Beatles, but was never lucky enough to see them together in concert. An avid reader since childhood, C.A. only recently tried her hand at writing and now has another hobby with which she consumes her all-too-little spare time. She lives in the Western United States with husband and pets and computers.