Thought I'd post up another one of my fictions even thought the attraction here is pretty low..

[div align='center']Chapter one- Touching the Tune[/div]

It’s 1938, I’m wearing a pretty dress, and unlike everyone else, the only thing I liked about Daniel Radcliffe was his voice.

It felt refreshing to be outside, in the crowd, with my hair swept up and my fingers in the air grasping the music, bodies brushing up against me and numerous tangy, unfamiliar scents lingering on my senses.

I brought a hand up to my gold, rhinestone-littered earrings and smoothed my fingers over them in contemplation; Daniel’s band preparing for the next song.

Meadow, panting next to me, whispered breathlessly in my ear, ‘I wish you could see his moves, Carrie, they really are something.’

I smiled roguishly at her and rested my hands on the waist of my butter-yellow dress. It was my favourite colour. Not that I knew what it looked like, but it sounded nice. Yellow.

Mother had added a wide orange sash around the waist to up-style for summer. She’d made most of my things since the depression hit ten years ago. We’d coped better than most.

It had been a hassle getting out of the house that evening. My hair was neatly curled and pinned back, I wore jewellery and I was even allowed to wear a little perfume. The scent had long been lost in the hours of rigorous dancing but it made me feel older all the same. There was something so emancipating about turning 17, and every time I remembered what day it was I would grip Meadow’s hand tightly with the thrill of it all.

The jazzy tune of ‘The Swing Dandies ’ sprung to my ears and the familiar nudges from the crowd engulfing me set me back into the motions.

“The wind in the willow played, do you really love me
Love's sweet melody, as I love you
But all of those vows we made, will you still remember
Were never to be, when the night is through”

Some songs later I felt a flush coating my cheeks and chest and a light perspiration was soaking into the slip I wore. Whispering excuses to Meadow beside me, she gripped my arm tightly and weaved me through the thick, invisible crowd to find the bathrooms.

She didn’t tell me how long the line-up was, but I could tell by her small sigh of annoyance that we would be waiting a while. My palms were growing sweaty but she refused to let go of my hand. My father was a fierce and difficult man to convince, and Meadow was just as pleased as I that we could go to the biggest concert of the year together; so she was not prepared to lose me.

Instead of unsuccessfully trying to listen to the fading sounds of Daniel’s vocals in the background, I switched my attention to the shrill voices in the queue.

‘Do you think Steven will remember me?’ A girl in front of me spoke inquisitively, her jaws thrashing a piece of gum.

‘I doubt it,’ a second voice tuned in, ‘The Dandies have visited seventeen other countries since you last saw him. Think of how many other girls he’s met.’

There was a thoughtful silence. I knew Meadow was listening as well.

‘But we were backstage for twenty-five minutes. He let me hold his Saxophone.’

‘Steven Relano thought you were hot enough to take back stage and the only thing you were excited about touching was his saxophone?’

I turned my head to giggle silently. Mother had always warned me about groupies, and here I was, listening to the very highlights of their misdemeanour. Meadow stood in quiet contemplation beside me. I knew she found the idea of running off with a band member exciting, but never quite had the chance to. It didn’t help that she had me with her that evening.

My ears pricked up again when Daniel’s name was mentioned.

‘No Lani. Dan is untouchable. Even my cousin back in England said no girl lays hands on him off-stage.’

Meadow leaned into me and whispered silently. ‘I bet I could.’

I shot her a small grin, assuming she was joking, but quickly forgot as the line surged forward.

Some moments later, after I gratefully left the walls of the tiny cubicle, I held my arm out, waiting for Meadow’s familiar touch. My hand went limp after a short while and I shuffled towards the basins to wait for her. The bathroom was too crowded for me to call out to her and I began to panic.

‘Are you coming or leaving honey?’ A gruff voice assaulted me with the smell of cigarette smoke.

I bit my lip and uttered a small reply, gripping my purse tightly and walking towards what I remembered as the entrance. Somehow I was shoved down the line and stumbled to a stop, still in the midst of the crowd, but thoroughly lost, and utterly afraid. Being on my own was something I had never gotten used to; my family had made sure of it.

Listening intently for Meadow’s voice, I walked tentatively in a direction until my hands lay on a rough brick wall and I relaxed slightly, my ears pricking up at the sudden silence. I realised the music hadn’t been playing for some time now.

I could hear someone whistling a pitchy tune a few yards away, and the steady strokes of a broom.

‘Excuse me, could you tell me where I am?’

The sweeping ceased. ‘You’re standing in a concert side-alley.’ He let out a small chuckle. ‘What’re you blind?’

‘Yes you fool. Or I wouldn’t be standing in an alley.’

‘Oh. Sorry mam’.’ And on the last note he continued his sullen cleaning.

I had almost been impressed by his attractive British accent had I not known that he was just another Dandies fan desperate to skip countries with them, so had taken up the lowliest job possible.

I felt awkward standing there, but dared not move. Instead I rubbed my arms to move the chill, biting my lip and mentally calling out for Meadow, who had never left me alone this long before.

The next hand to grip my arm was not my own. I recognised the scent and rough touch immediately.

‘Pa?’
~~~

[!--sizeo:8--][span style='font-size:12pt;line-height:100%'][!--/sizeo--]‘Blueberry Hill’- Louise Armstrong, 1932. (Song lyrics- chap one)[!--sizec--][/span][!--/sizec--]

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