By Friday’s West Side Storyrehearsal, I felt drugged with the need to come, heavy and thick-headed with inescapable sensuality. How on earth I was supposed to shake out of it before Superhead rolled up with his sharp suit and sexy voice I just didn’t know.
The kids did their best for me, though, scuffling in a corner of the hall so that I had to get my mind out of my knickers and into firefighting mode quick smart. Always a reliable bromide, the little charmers of St Sebastian’s.
I was reading the riot act to CJ and Lanh when Mr Marks glided on to the scene, causing a deathly hush to fall on the previously overexcited audience.
‘Can I believe my eyes?’ he asked with deceptive calm, switching a stern gaze from one boy to the other. ‘Has Ms Delaney, who is giving so generously of her free time so that you can enjoy the privilege of taking part in a performance, had to break up a fight at a rehearsal?’
‘He dissed the Buckland Boyz,’ muttered Lanh.
‘He … Are you serious? He dissed the Buckland Boyz? Well, so do I. I diss the Buckland Boyz, if this is their idea of acceptable behaviour. Are you going to fight me too?’
I held my breath. This was a high-risk tactic. There were plenty of boys who would stab a teacher under less provocation than this. But Lanh simply shuffled his feet, pouted and shrugged.
‘Take your places for the first scene.’
Lanh trudged off to join his fellow Sharks at the back of the hall while CJ took to the stage with the rest of the Jets.
Carnage averted. And – action.
‘It was OK,’ I muttered to Superhead, heading for the pile of music scores on the piano. ‘I had the situation in hand.’
‘I’m sure you did,’ he said. ‘But I’m the head. I have to stride in with my cape flying, ready to unleash the superpowers. That’s my job.’
I laughed out loud. He had to know what his nickname was.
All that and a sense of humour too…
‘I’m just glad I’ve got such a terrific Lois Lane,’ he said, turning away while I caught a breath.
Lois Lane?
No. He just meant that we were a partnership in the production of this musical. That was all. I wasn’t going to cradle him in my arms while he was fatally weakened by Kryptonite. Neither were we scheduled to fly through the stars over the bright lights of Metropolis. Alas.
‘More like Robin,’ I said to his back and I saw his shoulders shake before he looked back at me.
‘Holy self-deprecating humour!’ he said.
I’m in love.
I picked up the scores and began to distribute them, hardly able to speak for the rest of the rehearsal.
I deliberately avoided Superhead at the end, leaving with a gaggle of overexcited faux-Latinas clicking fake castanets after the first run-through of America.
I rode my bicycle super-heroically fast through the Friday evening traffic on Albert Road, whizzing past the sex shop of my shame without giving it a second glance until I was home and ready to throw something into a saucepan and log on.
It was only half-past six. SecretSadist was offline.
I picked up my phone and read Lou’s text again. There was a good film on at the cinema. Did I want to meet her at All Bar One at seven for a drink beforehand?
Or did I want to come?
What a choice. Go to the flicks or – flick.
I decided to email SecretSadist and tell him I was going out, so was it possible to reschedule our “date”.
By the time my pasta had reached boiling point, he had replied.
‘Of course. As it happens, I’m busy later too. Shall we wait until tomorrow?’