About some fancy footwork
By Amrita Dhingra

AS you descended the steps of your club, it was with a feeling of satisfaction. You felt like a man who had accomplished a mission. Edmund Hillary and Sherpa Tenzing would know that you were talking about. Not only had you succeeded in uncovering the nefarious designs of Alan Stokes, that rat!, but you also felt generally good after visiting your club, it was after all where you belonged. You did not go as far as whistle a tune but you came pretty close. And no doubt you would have begun had your attention not been attracted by something across the road, even as you slid into your car.

You froze in mid-side, for if you were not mistaken there was..... could it be?..... yes, of course it was Amanda Spence. Hailing a cab and getting into it. Your heart skipped a beat and you gulped nothing abnormal about either of the two since you’ve become accustomed to the fact that the very sight of her is enough to make your state fraught with internal strife, as old Brutus was fond of saying. And just as automatically as your gaze follows her speeding cab, you find yourself racing after her. The cabbie seems to have instructions to step on it because you have a pretty hard time keeping up with them, weaving through the traffic like two demented cockroaches in a race.

You remember to thank God for small mercies, namely that the cabbie and not Amanda is behind the wheel because had she been driving you knew you wouldn’t have a chance in hell of catching up with her. Where was she off to anyway and why not drive down in her own car or the limo? Whatever the answer you were sure that it would be something completely unexpected? The Boss and his wife would have been more on target had they called their first born caprice instead of Amanda......

You were still grinning at your wit when you realised the car was pulling up outside a boite. Surprised, for it was hardly the place you’d expect her to drop in for a bite, you pulled up a block short of them and watched. She paid the taxi cab off hurriedly and disappeared through the revolving doors.

Given the fact that you had not met either the boss or Amanda for several days and the storm clouds that had been brewing under aegis of Alan Stokes, you were understandably anxious not to lose sight of Amanda. However, in the interest of honesty it must be confessed that at that moment all these reasons took a backseat and as you locked your car and looked for the back entrance of the boite, you were busy making plans about exactly how you would extract revenge on Amanda, the cause of all troubles.

You found the back entrance easily enough and cutting through the general confusion of the kitchen chefs and waiters you made your way around the place. They apparently had a dance floor next to the dining area from the level of noise out front you could tell it was a pretty popular place. A live band was playing and as the number ended the M.C. announced, ".....and now ladies and gentlemen that delicious singing sensation especially for you. Give it up for........"

You couldn’t catch the name but there was a flurry of activity behind you as a girl in leggy gown ran up on stage followed by a retinue of dancers dressed as Egyptian slaves. You pretended to find the adjoining wall very interesting as they crossed you but you needn’t have bothered as they were in too much of a hurry to pay any attention to you. Having decided that you’d taken a good enough look backstage you decided to head into the joint through the right door this time.

As you walked in through the revolving doors the sound of an old favourite caught your ear. You had been prepared that nothing would surprise you, so sure that nothing could shock you, but as you walked into the darkened room standing there under the spotlight singing her heart out was Amanda Spence, the blight of your life. She was just rounding off the song,"..... casue baby" she paused for effect. ".....it’s you!" She pointed out into the darkness and it may have been your imagination but it seemed she was looking straight out at you.

The crowd went up in applause as you leant against a neighbouring pillar for support and picked up a glass of the old restorative from the passing waiter.

And if ever a man had the right to feel dazed surely it was you. Given that you knew Amanda Spence had a penchant for parading around disguised as a maid, sicing miniature pigs on you, getting you thrown into coolers and then coming to your rescue on racing motorbikes before totalling them—but surely this was going too far, even for her.

Why should a girl could probably buy ten joints like this one with the small change in her purse want to sing here? Did she have some secret ambitions of becoming a diva?You threw your mind into reverse gear and searched for any indications of such a desire. No, you couldn’t come up with anything. You looked at the stage. She seemed to be enjoying herself thoroughly. The next number a special request from a couple in the audience.

You still couldn’t get yourself to believe this was happening. What, after all was wrong with the girl! Had she suddenly decided she didn’t like being a financial whiz, and heiress and did she now want to pull out her own rags to riches story? And more importantly just what stunt did she think she was pulling? The conglomerate was in a mess and here she was behaving as if life was a laugh! The girl needed a talking to, someone to give her a piece of their mind! And you knew somebody who was just right for the job.

Meanwhile the crowd had quietened down, waiting expectantly. The piano played softly and then she said, "...of all the bars and bistros and gin joints in town and you had to walk into mine....." she may not have Bogey’s voice but she certainly had a style of her own. You may have heard many a rendition. As time goes by but none of them compared to the one sung by the girl who had very successfully turned your life inside out, crawled under your skin, thrown handfuls of insult and injury at you and all without a single word of apology. And here she was singing as if she didn’t have a care in the world. You may not like her, you may wish your paths and never crossed but when she finished you applauded with the loudest of them.

When she ended that evening’s session after a few other numbers, you caught up with her.

"Miss Spence," you said as she descended from the stage, "may I have the honour of the next dance?" " I am sorry, you’re mistaken my name is not Miss Spence I am....." she turned around a smile on her face, ready to make her excuses...."You"

You shrugged

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"Could I ask you the same question," you said taking her hand and leading her to the floor.

"I told Daddy not to hire you in the first place," she hissed as you began to dance.

"Now, now Amanda watch that temper!" you cautioned, "could it be that I’ve finally caught you out?"

"Oh go to hell!"

"After you, mademoiselle, " you said twirling her around on the floor.

"Just what are you doing here anyway?" she asked casually a few moments later, during which time she had apparently regained much of her customary cool.

"I just followed you here on a hunch."

"Playing detective are we? How sweet. Since when did you get into this business?" she gave you her best saccharine sweet smile.

"I am, "you said lowering your voice just that bit, "in the business of suspecting people."

"Really, " she said now well into her stride, "good. Because I suspect you."

"If you carry on this way, one day Amanda Spence you’ll fall flat on your face, " you tried to drill some sense into the young gumboil.

"And you’ll be there watching the show."

"With relish," you smiled.

"Well," she said matching you step for step, "don’t hold your breath."

"Ha! Don’t try and hide behind all that banter. Surely you realise what you’ve managed to accomplish. You hired that worm, that crook Strokes and now here you are playing diva while the biggest financial crisis looms on our heads.

"Does it now?" she opened her eyes wide and looked as if you’d just told her NASA had confirmed the moon was made of green cheese.

"What’ll it take to make you see reason?"

"Give Daddy your resignation," it didn’t take her more than ten milliseconds to throw that at you.

"Ah, so now I understand,"

"Do you?"she laughed softly.

"I think I do."

"Very good," she said with the air of a teacher encouraging a not-too-bright fourth grader.

"Then why on earth did you have to come rescuing me from Constable Dunstable’s custody," you were perplexed, "surely I was well out of your way as an international-pig-pinching kleptomaniac safely behind bars."

"Daddy was planning to bail you out —the proper way. I volunteered to get you out, I just didn’t specify how." Her countenance was perfectly serene as she outlined her strategy.

"Besides, you are more of a criminal now than before I rescued you. Then you were simply an international-pig-pinching-kleptomaniac. Now you are an international-pig-pinching kleptomaniac who broke out of jail holding tow officers of the law at gunpoint!"

Stunned, you could do nothing but listen in amazement. Clearly you had once again underestimated Amanda Spence.

"So now when Constable Dunstable or any other member of the force catches up with you not only will you have to answer for your tendency to pocket miniature pigs but also your penchant for breaking out of jail."

Her words, spoken with so much nonchalance, made you want to break out into the hives. The mind boggled at the depth of her scheming. It was a wonder how you carried on waltzing her around the floor as if you were discussing nothing more perilous than the new art exhibition in the gallery downtown.

That however, was far from true. The fact of the matter was that this was by far the most unpleasant business you had had the misfortune to deal with. When you had entered this joint it had been with the aim of catching Amanda on the wrong foot. Trouble was that you still didn’t know what she was doing there in the first place and she had very successfully diverted your mind from her activities to your own plight. You put the question to her.

"How do you manage to pack so much trouble into this five-foot six frame of yours?"

"Thank God you finally got your tongue back," she said with feigned relief, "I had begun to think the cat got it."

This caused you to gnash a tooth or two and wonder if there was anyway you could throttle her neck and get away with it.

"What was the question again? How do I pack.....simple it takes a brain."

You thanked the powers that be for the dim lighting otherwise she would no doubt have gained immense satisfaction just from watching you turn red.

"By the way," she asked solicitously, "how are your injuries?" At this point her eyes focused pointely on your nose.

"Fine."

"Seems pretty bad, doesn’t seem fine at all, " she insisted.

"It’s just a scratch."

"Really. How brave you are Carrie must be sooo impressed." She must have mimicked her teachers at school because she gave a version of Carrie when she was excited.

"Get off my back, will you?"

"Oh dear I am soooo sorry, "she said pretending to misunderstand you, "did I tread on your toes?" That of course, she knew perfectly well, was not the case, because she danced like a dreams.

"Amanda you had better come clean," you said changing tack, "exactly what are you doing here?"

"That," she said sweetly, "is my own business."

"You are upto something and I want to know what it is?"

"That is for me to know and you to find out."

"Okay, so that’s the way you want it!"

"No, that’s precisely the way you’re going to get it!"

"So it’s a fight you want."

"You said it first remember."

"You may not like what results out of this, then don’t back down."

"We’ll see."

"Right."

"Right, "she smiled as if you’d just paid her a compliment, " and by the way isn’t that an officer of the law who just walked into the front door. I really shouldn’t be doing this but I’ll give you a hand this time around. Why don’t you slip away, while I inform him of your whereabouts. No doubt he’ll be very interested."

With that she left but not before you caught the light of challenge in those grey eyes. Not that you had much time to spend contemplating grey eyes, you were too busy racing out of the boite.