Blonde Venus by Paula Byrne

Author:Paula Byrne
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Published: 2019-11-26T12:03:46+00:00

Mrs Maxwell was giving a party. I loved her because she understood what it was like to be unattractive in the midst of the beautiful. I hated being on display, and she always made sure to sit me next to the people who were kind to me and who knew never to mention my mother.

The American family were invited to the party, and I decided to take a deep breath and ask my mother for an evening dress. I was tired of being an eternal child. Mother and Boni were friends again. He had a new car, which he loved. He called it his grey puma. He told Mother that she mustn’t be jealous of his grey puma as he equally adored his golden puma. Mother was amused. She loved the thought of having a car as a rival.

‘Mutti, may I have a real evening dress for Mrs Maxwell’s party? In black silk. And evening shoes like your gold slippers, and a little embroidered purse?’

Mother, still glowing with her renewed love for Boni, was all graciousness, all smiles: ‘What does a child want with an evening dress?’

Boni looked at her with a tender glance and then smiled gently at me.

‘Well, if that’s what she wants, that’s what she will have. I will choose the dress pattern and we will have a dress made up for you. But not black. A child does not wear black.’

There was no point in pleading any more. At least I would escape those hideous pink puff-sleeved Alice in Wonderland efforts that seemed only to draw attention to my ample proportions.

On the night of the party Mother looked mesmerising. She was wearing a silver lamé sheath dress with diamond clips and Mo’s sapphires. My mother seemed to be the only person on the Côte d’Azur who could achieve an even suntan. The sun would not dare to burn that nose or those noble shoulders.

My dress was hideous. It was made from white net and had a wide cummerbund encrusted with multi-coloured glass beads. I looked like a fake Christmas tree. Mother slapped calamine lotion onto my pink nose and pinned a large net bow to my head.

Mrs Maxwell’s party was like an Aladdin’s cave. Hundreds of miniature lanterns lit the ballroom, and the air was filled with the scent of tuberoses. Mrs Maxwell assigned me a table as far away from Mother as possible. I hid behind the potted ferns, content to watch the beautiful people dancing. The band struck up ‘The Lambeth Walk’.

And there he was. The most handsome man I had ever seen, striding across the ballroom towards me. I looked behind me. He must be looking for someone else. I could hear the sniggers, as he approached. Then he made a low bow, grinned with those gorgeous teeth, and asked me to dance. I saw Mother staring across the room in disbelief. Scarlet to my toenails, I rose and followed him onto the dancefloor. Honi soit qui mal y pense. Jack Kennedy dancing with a net tent.

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