This particular piece of fiction was written for the sixteenth birthday of my friend Claire, who is a positive black hole and squalls for fic whenever hungry. I mean squalls. It was written in a solid five hours of mad keyboard smashing, terminating at 2.00am on the 8th of August and at 34 pages on Microsoft Word – and therefore should pretty much count as juvenilia for me now, but I believe there are people who need to see it. Like my diabolical costume manager.
It was written because there isn’t quite anybody like Claire: who loves musicals, both Broadway and the old MGM productions; who tap dances, sings excerpts from Singin’ In The Rain and The Band Wagon; who admires most deeply the women who “did everything Fred Astaire did, except backwards and in high heels.” So this is for Claire.
This story is also dedicated to the memory of Cyd Charisse, the last of those women. She passed away on the 17th of June this year, aged 86. As Fred Astaire wrote in his autobiography: “That Cyd! When you’ve danced with her you stay danced with.”
Scripts: the chaptered edition
1. In which Flynn is interrupted
2. In which there is celebrity gossip, a case of mistaken identity, and a strip show
3. In which Flynn carries chairs
4. In which the real professionals reveal themselves
5. In which Cassandra and Flynn establish common interests
6. In which there is sexual harassment, and rattlesnakes
8. In which the party ceases to be amusing
No comments yet
Comments feed for this article