The problem was, of course, the shoes: red suede pumps with three-inch heels. Pointed at the toes.
They were Belle's shoes, but -
Belle:
"I only wore them once. My Year 12 formal. I liked long dresses but mine was so long I kept tripping on it. It was red - like the shoes - with spaghetti straps that were just a tad too long. They kept slipping off my shoulders and I'd have to keep hoisting them up. Maybe I should have just tucked them in and gone strapless. I didn't think I could, you know, hold it up. So, what with my dress and those shoes, well ..."
Paired with Ash's silk and brocade cheong sam, an heirloom from her mother, they appeared to be just the thing, lending elegance to her ankles and class to her poise.
Belle:
"Oh my goodness! That dress!"
Elise:
"That dress!"
Allie:
"Where did you get that dress?"
Clasps and frog knots made a curved diagonal line from throat to side, meeting the zipper extending up from her waist just under her arm. The sleeves were short and the skirt, long, with a slit on each side from knee to ankles. Flowers and plumes in shimmering gold brocade extended across red silk like the mountain garden of some forgotten deity of the Imperial Court.
Ash:
"I feel like a sofa. Upholstered."
The dress fit perfectly everywhere - at the waist, hips and bust - but -
Ash:
"Guys ... I don't think I can sit down."
Elise:
"Of course you can! Don't be silly - try it."
Ash:
"Ooooh! No, I'm going to rip it - don't!"
Allie:
"Maybe if you perched on the edge of your seat with your legs stretched out in front of you ..."
Ash:
"It's a buffet dinner ... I'll go mingle."
It fitted so tightly it encased Ash's petite figure in a second skin of red and gold thread.
Belle:
"Don't eat. Well, not too much."
Allie:
"Don't drink too much either. You may not be able to get it off again."
With her hair parted in front and pulled back into a twisted chignon, fake oriental lilies tucked firmly in its valley, Ash appeared -
Belle:
"Exotic."
Elise:
"Unusual."
Ash:
"Like an air hostess."
All that remained was to add rouge to her lips, blush to her cheeks, a ring to her finger and a chain round her neck.
Ash:
"Grandmother's jade beads."
Belle:
"There's three of them - is that significant?"
Ash:
"No."
And a watch -
Ash:
"No watch. The one I've got doesn't match."
Well, not the watch.
After borrowing Elise's Toyota, getting into it and driving with great difficulty (sliding the driver's seat as far back as it would go), she parked at the local multi-storey which charged ridiculous rates until midnight, and hurried to the fourth floor of the Sheraton Hotel. The Children's Charity Costume Ball was already in full swing, and Ash found that most of her table had pre-arranged a fancy dress theme: Tim had come as a king; Chris, as a prince; Ted, as Vizzini; Adrian, as Fezzik the ogre; and Pete, dressed liked a swashbuckling Spaniard, spent the whole night wandering around the room, brandishing his sword and yelling, "My name is Inigo Montoya! You killed my father! Prepare to die!" The rest of the girls embodied a Celtic peasant theme with silver rings, satin cloaks, corset blouses and long green skirts.
"You can be the Princess Bride, Ash!" shouted Chris, and Adrian the Ogre swung her up over his shoulder while she screamed, lost a shoe, and screamed some more about losing it.
It was a long night. Chris somehow roped Ash into agreeing to participate in an enactment of the marriage scene with a priest from another table who was also an avid fan ("Mawage. Mawage is what bwings us togever today ..."). "You don't have to do anything," he urged. "Just stand there and look grumpy." She did, and they won a prize for their efforts, but while she stood there onstage pretending to bow and smile and bow again before a cheering crowd of slightly inebriated revellers, she had to admit to herself that she had expected something a bit more glamorous ... something a bit more ... romantic.
Ash:
"Not in the sense of secluded corners and muted violins ... something exciting yet mysterious. I'm not here to get swept off my feet by an ogre or play ornament to a domineering prince. I want my own adventure."
As she stepped down from the stage, she was reminded how long she'd been on her feet. She hadn't dared to sit down, not even during the sumptuous three-course meal with its crowning glory: dessert (crème brûlée and fresh punnets of strawberries). Her pickings had been spare and well-measured; the rest had been left for the trash. She was getting tired and she was still hungry. There was too much noise and the smoke was beginning to annoy her. And then there were the ever-present rather pesky but well-meaning questions: "I LOVE your dress! Where did you get it?" "Are those flowers real?" "Why are there three jade beads? Does it mean anything symbolic?"
To hell with the dress, Ash thought. I'm sitting down. But she was stopped by a man in black. A man with a mask.
"The Great Pirate Robbins?" she squeaked and then - berating herself - cleared her throat and tried again. "The Phantom of the Opera?"
The man in black smiled. "Zorro, actually. And you ...?"
"Oh," Ash shrugged, backing away, "the Son of Heaven's concubine."
He caught her hand. "No. Definitely not. I think ... Mulan. Returned from the wars with the medallion of the emperor and the sword of the Huns."
Ash allowed herself a smile. She freed her hand from his fingers. "That certainly sounds a lot more ... preferable." She edged away again. "Excuse me."
"I'm sorry, have I offended?" He stopped her again.
"Oh no - not at all. It's just that I'm rather tired and this party's getting a bit much for me, that's all." She tried to dodge around him.
"Can I help in any way?" He sounded so nice ... so sincere.
"Yes, can you tell me the time, please? I don't have my watch."
"It's almost twelve o'clock."
"Twelve o'clock? Uh-oh ..."
And she was out the door, down the stairs and away on the street towards The Rocks, cursing those hideous red shoes that hurt her ankles, cursing her mother's cheong sam which pulled too much on her throat, and cursing William Goldman for ever writing The Princess Bride.
And then, of course, the inevitable happened; on a flight of sandstone stairs, a heel gave way, then a foot, then an ankle, and she felt herself tilting sideways, her arm reaching out to break her fall -
"Oof!"
A male voice. Male arms struggled to hold her upright. She turned her head and looked up into the face of her rescuer. He removed the Zorro mask and smiled at her. She pulled away and straightened. He extended his hand and said, "David Carmen, at your service."
She returned the handshake. "Ashley Chan. Thanks for catching me."
"How's your ankle? Can you walk on it?"
She tried. And winced. "No."
"I'll carry you back then."
"No! I'll be right - I'll just hobble. And anyway, I'm not going back there. I have to get to the car - it belongs to a friend - and if I don't do it before midnight, it will be locked in and -"
"You'll turn into a pumpkin?" David looked at his watch which flashed briefly in the shadows as he pressed its illumination button. "Too late. It's 12:05. You'll have to go back and get it in the morning. Allow me to drive you home."
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