Adrian checked the orchid at his buttonhole, inspected the spats at his feet, gave the lavender gloves a twitch, smoothed down his waistcoat, tucked the ebony Malacca-cane under his arm, swallowed twice and pushed wide the changing-room door.
"Ah, my dears," he cried. "Congratulations! Congratulations to you all! A triumph, an absolute triumph!"
"Well, what the fuck's he wearing now?" they snorted from the steamy end of the room.
"You're an arse and an idiot, Healey."
Burkiss threw a flannel onto the shiny top hat. Adrian reached up and took it between forefinger and thumb.
"If there is the slightest possibility, Burkiss, that this flannel has absorbed any of the juices that leak from within you, that it has mopped up a single droplet of your revolting pubescent greases, that it has tickled and frotted even one of the hideously mired corners of your disgusting body then I shall have a spasm. I'm sorry but I shall."
In spite of himself, Cartwright smiled. He moved further along the bench and turned his back, but he smiled.
"Now, girls," continued Healey, "you're very high-spirited and that's as it should be but I won't have you getting out of hand. I just looked in to applaud a simply marvellous show and to tell you that you are certainly the loveliest chorus in town and that I intend to stand you all dinner at the Embassy one by one over the course of
what I know will be a long and successful run."
"I mean, what kind of coat is that?"
"It is called an astrakhan and I am sure you agree that it is absolutely
the ratherest thing. You will observe it fits my sumptuous
frame as snugly as if it were made for me . . . just as you do, you
delicious Hopkinson."
"Oh shut up."
"Your whole body goes quite pink when you are flattered, like a small pig, it is utterly, utterly fetching."
Adrian saw Cartwright turn away and face his locker, a locker to which Adrian had the key. The boy seemed now to be concentrating on pulling on his socks. Adrian took half a second to take a mental snapshot of the scrummy toes and heavenly ankle being sheathed by those lucky, lucky socks, a snapshot he could develop and pore over later with all the others that he had pasted into the private album of his memory.
Cartwright wondered why Healey sometimes stared at him like that. He could sense it when he did, even when he couldn't see, he could feel those cool eyes surveying him with pity and contempt for a younger boy who didn't have so sharp a tongue, so acid a wit as almighty Healey. But there were others dumber than he was, why should Healey single him out for special treatment?
Setting a spatted foot on the bench that ran down the middle of the changing room with elegant disdain, Adrian began to flip through a pile of Y-fronts and rugger shorts with his cane.
"I was particularly taken," he said, "with that number in the first act when you and the girls from Marlborough stood in a line and jumped up at that funny leather ball. It was too utterly utter for words. Lord how I laughed when you let the Marlborough chorus
run off with it . . . dear me, this belongs to someone who doesn't appear to know how to wipe his bottom. Is there a name tape?
Madison, you really should pay more attention to your personal
hygiene, you know. Two sheets of lavatory paper is all it takes. One
to wipe and one to polish. Oh, how you skipped after that Marlborough
pack, you blissful creatures! But they wouldn't give you the
ball, would they? They kept banging it on the ground and kicking
it over your lovely goalpost."
"It was the referee,"...