Hope And Vanity

A spare Friday is a rare and special thing, and I was taking full advantage. HR had messaged me to say I had three days leave to take before the end of the month which I decided meant I was working four-day weeks until June.

This week I was mainly lazing in a spa. A sauna, a massage, a visit to the beautician for a manicure, pedicure, and full wax and now I was lazing by the indoor pool with a refreshing mocktail and a gentle chat with Emma, a tall blonde girl I've known for a few years, I say girl, woman, she's around thirty-one, so only four years younger than me.

I've sort of known Emma for three or four years, only on a 'seeing each other at the Spa' and an occasional girls night out sort of basis, but we were friendly enough for me to know she's just been through an acrimonious divorce and worked as a dancer, filling in with some telesales work to keep the cash flow running.

She also runs some of the dancercise classes at the gym that I'd taken a few times, quite sensual stuff interspersed with some higher intensity stuff to get the heart rate elevated, lots of head thrashing and thrusting of the pelvis.

Emma knows I work in medical sales, shifting dressings to specialist wound care teams around the Southeast.

We've had a couple of evenings out with a few of the other girls from the Spa, again nothing too formal, just a few cocktails, a meal, and some chat.

A blonde head rolled towards me on her sun lounger, "Jess, what are you planning for the rest of the afternoon? It's just I've got a couple of free sessions at a new Yoga class over in Appledore later on, fancy it?"

I gave it some thought for a moment or two before agreeing. My husband was working a late shift and it was Yoga or an evening alone on the sofa.

"Yeah, sounds fun. What time?"

I took the details, storing it all on my phone and went back to another hours hard lazing.

We had a few hours before the class so I went home in the early afternoon to change, and was slightly surprised to find Roe, my husband, sitting in front of the TV eating a bowl of cereal, watching a recording of the Champions League semi-final from the previous weekend.

Roe is short for Roland, but no one ever calls him that. His med school mates call him Cod, as in Cod Roe, everyone else calls him Roe. Even his work ID says Dr. Roe Cunningham.

"Hi Babe, I thought you were on lates today?"

He's a senior Registrar in our local hospital, we'd met seven years earlier while he was a freshly qualified doctor and I was a medical sales rep trying to shift prosthetic limbs, I'd moved on from prostheses to dressings, he'd moved on to Cardiology.

Lates would normally mean leaving home at twelve, and it was currently gone three.

"Carole's husband, you know, Mike and Carole?, yeah he called and asked me to swap shifts, she's starting nights today but it's their wedding anniversary and he's booked tickets for Hamilton and a meal at La Parisienne. I told him he owes me."

I climbed onto his lap and took my sweatshirt off, revealing a low-cut tank top, my braless boobs poking out in what I hoped was an alluring manner.

"Oh, gonna miss out on my lovely smooth goodies are you? Ah well, I'll be here when you get home at 8 tomorrow morning....mmmmmmmm"

The last bit was because he'd lifted my top and was nibbling gently on a nipple. I let him carry on for a bit then pushed away.

"No, stop that, I've got a Yoga class up the road in a bit, and I don't want to go stinking of sex.

Have a strong coffee before you come home, I'll want you awake for at least an hour in the morning."

I jumped off and went upstairs to change. I couldn't find any of my under-armour sports thongs, then remembered that was because they were all in the wash and I was planning to set the machine going before I'd gone out and had promptly forgotten. Instead, I pulled on a bright red one I'd got from Victorias Secret, figuring it was going to be under my Yoga pants and I didn't want ugly knicker lines.

My workout top has an inbuilt elasticated bra, so I didn't need any additional support. When you're a C cup or more the underwiring gets very uncomfortable when you exercise, and my sports bra was in the same washing machine as my under-armour thongs.

As I changed, I shouted downstairs,

"Do you want to take my car if you're on nights?"

I get a company car, a very nice BMW 3 series, the hybrid one so I can save the planet in comfort. Roe has an aging Golf Diesel, battered but functional. He prefers driving the Beemer so when I followed up with, "It will need petrol though," he wasn't too concerned.

I took a moment to check my reflection. I wasn't disappointed with the view. Grey three quarter length yoga pants contained a toned bum and normal length legs, not in any way short, despite what my sister claims.

Pink Lycra crop top holding my 34C boobs in a firm grip, dark brown hair in a functional bob, high cheekbones and brown eyes set off the look.

Like I said, not disappointed. "35 and looking good" I whispered to myself with a smile.

An hour later I climbed into a baggy track suit, grabbed my Yoga mat, water bottle and hairband, and drove off in a rattly cloud of Diesel fumes.

I pulled up at the village hall, slotting Roe's Golf in beside a very shiny and sleek two-seater Mercedes. Emma was leaning against the front wing with her yoga bag slung across her shoulder.

"Hi Jess, haven't seen you for a while?"

"Hi Emma, yeah, got to be what, 2 hours?"

I carried on the joke,

"Work's been manic these past few weeks. It's coming up to year end and everyone's trying to spend their budgets. I've racked up close to three thousand miles since the beginning of the month."

She gave a roll of her eyes. "There's no way I could do that sort of driving, it would send me mad. Even in my new toy."

I gave the deep sparkly blue Mercedes a stroke on the bonnet,

"Nice, is it new?" I asked admiringly.

She nodded with obvious enthusiasm, "Yes, I bought it with my divorce settlement. I deserve something nice after Mr. Nobhead."

It wasn't an amicable divorce but having met her ex on a couple of occasions I think she was being charitable.

"We've all done stupid things when we were younger," I told her in solidarity.

"Yeah, but I carried on doing him even after I found out how stupid he was." She laughed; I faked a look of shocked outrage.

The class started and we spent an hour or so bending and stretching, into a variety of poses. Now, I'm fairly flexible, and I know I'm nearly five years older than her, but Emma always puts me to shame. Her forward fold was almost a perfect one-eighty-degree bend at the hips, and her standing split and standing bow almost had her free leg vertical.

I mean, she is a professional dancer, but I still had joints envy.

Putting feelings of being awestruck and jealousy behind me I concentrated on my own positioning for the balance of the class. (See what I did there? Balance?) At the end we stood, rehydrating, and chatting.

"Emma, I'm home alone tonight. Fancy a girls night? Cocktails, a meal at Marco's? Maybe some dancing?"

Her eyes lit up, then faded.

"Love to, but I've got a gig tonight, next week maybe?"

I was disappointed but intrigued.

"A gig? Are you dancing for a band or something? Can I come and watch, I've got a free evening."

She looked slightly shamefaced, "No, not a band. You know I'm a dancer, right?"

I nodded.

"Well, it's a sort of a solo dance gig." She muttered.

I carried on, oblivious to the signals. "Ooh, great, what are you in? is it a leading part?"

"No, it's not musical theatre, nor before you ask is it Ballet. It's ah....exotic."

I was more embarrassed than Emma at this point. I felt bad for pushing her for details, then bad for not realising sooner, then bad for the implied judgement on my friend. Desperate to make amends I started babbling.

"No, I er, yes, I mean, er I think that there's nothing wrong with it. Girl power and all that. No, genuinely. Good for you."

My mind was racing, I really did think it was fine, as long as she's not being coerced then I couldn't see anything wrong in using the assets nature gave her.

I knew she was a dancer, but I'd always assumed that meant either Chorus line stuff or ballet.

Not exotic.

I didn't have an objection at all, when Roe and I had been in Las Vegas a year earlier we'd dared each other to go into Spearmint Rhino and had been amazed at the poise and elegance the girls had shown, the fact that they were mainly moonlighting showgirls probably helped, but I thought they were sexy and empowered.

Oh god I was even babbling in my mind.

I took a deep breath.

"Emma, I would love to go out next Friday, it's a date, ok?"

She looked a bit happier.

"Yeah, that would be great. It's just when most people find out what sort of dancing I do they either look at me like I'm some form of hooker, or that I'm going to try and steal their husbands.

The guys try to rescue me or just hit on me. So, I don't spread it around."

We were last to leave. We picked up our bags and left the room, as we turned the corner around the front of the building Emma started panting, as if hyper ventilating.

"My car, where's my car? It was right there. Where's my car?"

I looked, and she was right, where there had been a very shiny and beautiful Mercedes there was just an empty space, then Roe's tatty golf.

Emma sat down on a concrete post in front of where her car had been, her head in her hands. A steady stream of low-level profanity filled the air.

"Oh shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. This isn't happening, I only got it this afternoon."

I decided it was time I became the grown up.

"Emma, I'm going to call the Police, you need to report it stolen. Then we need to call your insurance company. OK?"

She nodded, dumbly, tears starting to streak her cheeks.

The police were borderline unhelpful, promising to get one of the Vehicle Theft Task Force to call her for a full statement and description but here's a crime number for your insurance claim.

Emma hadn't a clue about her insurance. All the paperwork was at home, I surreptitiously checked the insurance database on my phone and was pleased to see it was insured, so that was one thing less for me to worry about.

Then something else occurred to her.

"My gig How do I get there? It's thirty miles away. I haven't got my outfits with me; I'll miss it and if it gets back to the agency I'll get dumped."

There were a few things there to unpack, some were easier to fix than others.

I grabbed her by the shoulders and gave a firm shake.

"Now, listen. Do you need to do the gig?" She nodded silently, wiping a tear from her cheek.

"OK, what about costume? What do you need?"

She sniffed, "My stuff for tonight was in a sports bag in the car, I've got more at home, it's all in a suitcase in my spare room. I just need to grab it and I'm good to go."

Now we were making progress, thinking about her gig was giving her something to focus on other than the disappearing Mercedes.

"And your insurance, do you know where the paperwork is for that?"

It was in the kitchen drawer apparently.

"And where is the um gig?" I felt slightly self-conscious using the term, feeling like an imposter pretending to be part of the dance world.

Oh great, details were on an email which was on her phone, which was in her car.

Back to being a grown up for me then.

I opened the passenger door on the golf and pointed.

"Come on then, drop me at home then you can use the Golf."

Realisation broke through her tear-stained face, and she moved to give me a hug.

I'm not the most tactile person in the world so I ducked and ran round to the driver's side.

The familiar diesel fumes billowed, the engine rattled, and we were away. I only lived about two miles from the village hall, in a modern three bedroomed terraced house on one of the new estates just outside the village.

My car was gone, so I assumed Roe had already gone to work, a bit early but as a senior reg he'd score brownie points with the consultant for being there early, and with the day shift for letting them knock off early.

I climbed out, leaving her with the ignition key. A moment passed and the tears were back.

"It's a manual. I can't drive a muh muh manual."

I opened the front door, threw my bag in, shut, and locked it again then turned and walked back to the car, fending off another teary hug on my way back to the driver's seat.

It took less than ten minutes, and we were at Emma's place, she opened the door and led me through to the kitchen then disappeared upstairs, leaving me sweaty and kicking my heels in the immaculately tidy kitchen.

I heard a muffled shout from upstairs and poked my head round the corner, just in time to see a tall naked blonde headed shape disappear into the bathroom, she paused in the doorway and turned, her left breast exposed. It was quite a pretty breast, nicely shaped, slightly larger than my own, maybe a D cup. Tanned with a deep pink nipple.

"Hey, eyes up here" she called with a giggle. "I said, help yourself to tea, coffee, there's wine in the fridge. I'll be ten to fifteen minutes."

She was actually closer to thirty, but when she came down, she looked like a different woman. Make-up immaculate, hair backcombed and fluffed and looking a bit underdressed in a loose-fitting plain shift dress.

She saw me take in the ensemble and explained "I don't want marks from tight clothing when I perform."

I nodded as if it was obvious, which when I thought about it, it was.

Her iPad was on the table and with a couple of swipes her emails revealed the gig was at Old Thomasians Rugby Club for their season end Gentlemen's Dinner.

Emma was due on at half past eight for ten minutes, then again at nine for another ten before a break of forty-five minutes and a finale for twenty minutes at ten thirty pm.

I pulled up outside a flat roofed, two storey concrete nineteen sixties style building, a large blue painted sign on the wall announced it as home to "Old Thomasians, County Champions 1997".

Waiting inside the double doors was a tall dark-haired man in his early forties, solid but with an engaging smile and nice eyes. Next to him was a taller man, slightly younger but similar build, with a battered ear and brown eyes.

The shorter guy greeted us, "Hello, I'm Bill Cartwright, I'm the club president. Welcome to The Old Thomasians. This is Mark Belting, he's first team captain and Monday to Friday he's Sergeant Belting of the Thames valley Police, we'll be making sure no one gets too rowdy."

I was a bit taken aback at the need to have a Police presence but rationalised it as using someone's day job to good effect.

Bill was still talking.

"Are you happy sharing a dressing room? We weren't expecting two of you, I've put you in the first team referees' room, it's got its own shower and toilet." He was almost about to tell us it had a sunny aspect and views of the Avon Valley when Emma closed him down.

"No, Jess is just my driver and assistant tonight, it's just me."

That seemed to settle things, and he went back into explanatory mode.

"Ah, ok. The comedians are using the first team changing rooms so can you knock on their door ready for the changeover." He pointed at the door opposite, the one with 'First XV' painted on it.

I was a bit confused but kept it to myself.

Mark asked if we wanted anything to drink while we waited, I went into auto mode and asked for a large Sauvignon Blanc, Emma asked for a diet coke.

We sat in the changing room, a faint smell of deep heat and mud in the air.

"Comedians? Door knocking? What's the story?" I asked.

Emma laughed, "They have a main compere, normally an older more experienced comedian, and a couple of others who fill in. The compere goes on, does a bit, introduces the first one who does about ten minutes, then he comes off and gives me a knock while the compere does a bit more, then I knock up the next comedian and so on to the end of the evening."

It all became clear.

A knock on the door signalled the arrival of the drinks. Mark smiled and told us if we wanted any more the bar was free for all performers.

A few minutes later the door echoed to another tap, I opened it to a short man in a bright red suit.

"Hello, my lovelies, I'm Mickey Spinner, I'll be your MC tonight. What are your stage names, and how do you want to be introduced? Has anyone sorted your music yet?"

I was getting quite a buzz at being asked about my stage name and giggled into my wine.

Emma shook his hand, "I'm Hope when I'm out there, Emma in here. They took a play list from me at the booking, but if you can check I'd be grateful."

He looked quizzically at me, saying nothing. I filled the empty space in the conversation with "And I'm Jess in here, Vanity out there, but I'm just on driving duties tonight."

He nodded. "Hope, and Vanity. But Vanity's not dancing tonight." I got another quizzical look. "Shame. I'll check your playlist, Emma." And he was gone, only to return five minutes later to announce the playlist was set up and ready.

Emma opened the suitcase and selected her first outfit, pulling a shiny gold lowcut dress over a selection of skimpy underwear topping it off with a pair of five-inch gold heels.

As she slipped the shoes on Mickey was at the door again to tell us he was up.

"You'll be on in around fifteen Emma. You good?"

Emma nodded, then as the door shut started stretching, it looked fairly incongruous in her dance outfit, but it made a certain sense.

Shortly the door knocked again, a relieved looking sweaty man in his mid-thirties requested Hope's presence.

Emma walked through to the double doors that led into the main club room.

Through the small windows in the door, I could see what looked like a hundred or more men aged between nineteen and seventy, all in dinner jackets, a couple with Kilts, sitting facing away from us towards Mickey Spinner who was on a raised stage area at the far end of the room, laughter rolled around as he spoke.

"...No, I said, it looked so good I ate it me fuckin' self!..." A pause while the laughter subsided.

"Right, you don't want me for the next bit, cos my tits aren't as big as hers," He raised an arm and indicated to the door, "Gentlemen, put your hands together and welcome to the stage,"

The sound system started the opening bars of 'Simply the Best.'

"The lovely .... HOPE"

He walked towards the door as Emma, no Hope now, strode in, confidently waving as she reached the stage.

Mickey came through the door and paused beside me.

"You gonna watch from here love?"

I was a bit hesitant; I hadn't planned on it but now I was transfixed.

"Er, yeah, probably."

He put a hand on my shoulder.

"Thank fuck for that, means I can take a break. Can you tap on my room when it's all off so I can take over as she finishes?"

He pointed to the door marked 'Second XV Referee.'

"I'll be in there with me feet up."

A cheeky smile and he was gone.

Back on-stage Emma, no, Hope, had lost the shimmery dress and was dancing in a halter necked gold bikini top with matching bottoms. She threw her head back and shook her blonde hair in a shimmering wave, bringing her hands to her boobs and pushing them together and up in a bulging cleavage that threatened to burst out.

There was a hush hanging over the audience, broken only with occasional mass groans as she teased them with more and more skin.

She spun on one heel and started walking slowly, high stepping, towards the front of the stage where one of the older men was watching, eyes bulging with excitement.

She climbed down and sat sideways on his lap, wiggling her bum into his crotch with her arms around his neck. His delight becoming more obvious as she shimmied her boobs in his face, then took his hands and playfully held them to her chest before giving a theatrical shocked look and waving a finger with a 'no no no' look.