The One

She sat at the glass topped table with no expression except that granted by the excessive oil paint which entombed her face. Fragility bound in beauty - which was which was unimportant. That she exhibited both, simultaneously, was imperative. The sparkling black flapper dress she was wearing had been selected by the artists backstage, but she was half aware of liking it herself. She bent her head ever so slightly to draw the straw between her lips. She sucked some of the cocktail into her mouth and wasn't surprised by its distinct flavourlessness.

It was hours before a visitor graced her table. For long minutes she had listened to young men sweet talking their choices, and doing the honourable thing. This made her feel dull, like a penny dropped down a drain and forgotten. When he finally approached her table, guided by the maître d', she hazily awoke. The old man smiled with unbridled acquiescence as he pulled the chair back for the young gentleman. Jowls wobbled noiselessly as he strode to the side of them. "This is Nathaniel, ma'am. He has an extensive knowledge of finance and is heir to an impressive estate." His voice was rich and soothing; his eyes moist and threatening. "Oh he has had some adventures also; don't let his youthful beauty beguile you on that point! He has travelled nearly all of Africa, and is said to be a most decent gentleman." He turned to gaze at Nathaniel with fatherly admiration. "And now, Sir, I leave you to your meal." With a deep bow in Nathaniel's direction, the old man departed to assign another gentleman to a different table.

Nathaniel did little at first. His smile was charming and bright, and his handsome face filled with earnestness. but he seemed to waiver on the issue of what to do next. Eventually he slowly leaned in, in a farce of coyness, and softly spoke: "You are a beauty. I have waited an awfully long time to meet you. I think I love you." Her eyes widened in astonishment, despite having heard thirty men say almost identical phrases. A trickle of watery mucus toppled out of her nostril and onto her lip. His smile broadened. "You feel it too. I knew you would. I could tell you were an absolute catch as soon as I was brought over. I say, how many children do you want? I would like four," more mucus bubbled from between her lips with a sharp explosive cough, "oh, well maybe five then. If - that's if - that's what you would want darling." He sat back in his gilded chair and exhaled. "It's going to be marvellous, I promise you. I have bought us a house, near the grounds of course, and we can raise the little blighters there." He leaned over once more and kissed her on her forehead. She studied the white grease paint on his lips and moustache as he withdrew. He licked it away instinctively before taking a sip of his brandy.

Contract drawn, Nathaniel's attention turned to the menu. To mirror her companion's action, she reached up to open her menu, but where her hands had been now only dangled empty black gloves. Costume rings slipped off each hollow finger and fell to the tiled floor with light metallic fanfare. She studied her elbows, which now were all that kept the gloves in place, and felt nauseous about how they looked without forearms attached. "Come, come dear," said Nathaniel without looking up from his menu, "there's no point crying over spilt milk now, is there?" She felt she should agree now, else Nathaniel may think of her as foolish, but she felt an alarming absence of some substantial part of her face. She turned to look in the mirrored wall behind her, and thought it peculiar that her top teeth now dangled over a tiny chin, slack and frameless without the usual bones and teeth in place. Her eyes seemed much larger to her now, as did her ears, whereas her face and forehead had shrunk considerably. She only worried that Nathaniel would still like her when they got to the house.

"Was it a successful meal for the two love birds, Sir?" As the maître d' placed the cape around Nathaniel's shoulders he brushed away some lint with an expression of disdain. "Quite wonderfully successful, thank you ever so much. Would you be so kind as to help my wife into our carriage?" The old man's face bloomed with joy at the request, and in a matter of moments he had picked up the small bundle of flesh and hair inside the limp black dress and bundled it into the carriage.