Come to the Ball
You are in San Francisco with Adam during his tour. Today he has been stuck at the theater rehearsing and you have been doing early holiday shopping while you have access. You come home to find a note on the door of your hotel room. "Come to the ball, dress appropriately, Love you, Adam" An address follows. You smile as you unlock the door. You sit your packages inside the door, close and lock it once more and head back out to shop for an appropriate dress.
Later that afternoon finds you in your hotel room twirling in front of the mirror, admiring your dress. You managed to find something very classy without breaking the bank. It is light colored and all lace with a sheer underskirting keeping your modesty. It’s ankle length with a high Victorian collar, and long sleeves that end in frills. Your hair is piled atop your head with only a few ringlets hanging down. You smile one last time in the mirror and leave for the address on the card.
You arrive and the area is milling with activity. You start to feel distinctly overdressed. ‘He did say ball didn’t he?’ There are people walking around wearing short leather outfits, wearing sheer clinging items, wearing next to nothing. You are now looking at the ground, trying desperately not to blush. You run right into someone’s chest. You look up to see Adam, wearing tight leather pants and a blue silk shirt. Rather than pleased at your outfit as you had hoped he would be, he looks disappointed.
You finally notice the sign behind his head "Welcome to the Annual Exotic Erotic Ball? For God’s sake Adam, why didn’t you tell me?"
"I did."
"You said "ball" How was I supposed to know?"
"It’s been all over the local news."
"Well apparently we don’t read the same papers."
"It seems not." His tone is snippy.
"Yeah, I guess not. I like articles and not just shiny pictures."
"That was a bit uncalled for."
"Was it? You’re acting like you’re embarrassed to be seen with me. Like you wish I would just leave."
At least he has the courtesy to look ashamed at himself. "I’m sorry."
"Do you want me to go?" You know if he says yes you’re going to have to run. You are near tears already. You so much wanted him to say you looked as pretty as you felt in this dress. Well, had felt.
"Look, you’re here, you might as well stay."
"Gee, thanks. Would you like me to cover up with a horse blanket, or do you just want to go in a few steps ahead and pretend you don’t know me?"
"Sorry," it is a terse and insincere apology. He crooks his arm. You reluctantly take it. You both make your way stiffly and uncomfortably inside. Once inside, you realize that what you saw on the outside was the conservative face of this little shindig. Some people are walking around totally naked. Every fetish you have ever heard of, even some you thought were just made up, is on open display.
You both sit at an empty table. You feel so out of place. You would have anyway but your dress is like a beacon screaming out, "I don’t belong here!" Your body language is telling the tale. You are curled up against yourself as if to become smaller. Your fingers are interlaced, shaking in your lap. You know you must have a permanent blush.
"Would you like something to drink?"
You barely look at Adam, nod your head, and return your eyes to the floor. He sighs and moves away. ‘Great,’ you think, ‘now I’m all alone.’
"Wow, that is a pretty dress!" You turn your head and two tall , handsome, shirtless men dressed only in blue jeans sit down to either side of you.
Adam moves to the bar and orders two screwdrivers. A bevy of barely clad blonde women passes by. He smiles his best leer. They giggle and roll their eyes, barely giving him a second glance as they move on. Adam lets his eyes wander over the crowd. Almost a third of the men in the place are dressed in leather pants and silk shirts. And most of them are younger and more muscular than he is. He is starting to feel very self-conscious of the fact that he blends almost into nothingness at this particular party. As the bartender hands him the drinks, he also realizes something else. You dolled up in your conservative outfit is probably the most unique thing here. Guaranteed to attract a lot of attention. Possibly from the younger, fitter men. And he’d behaved like an ass. Adam quickly collects your drinks and makes his way back to you.
When Adam returns, he has to push his way through a gathering of young, half naked men in a semi-circle around you. "Love, I brought your drink." He sets the glass down in front of you and slides a proprietorial arm around your shoulders.
"Who’s that?" a voice calls from the crowd.
"Who him?" You eye Adam carefully. He is smiling apologetically, his hand bringing yours to his lips so that he may kiss it. "This is my boyfriend." A collective groan of disappointment goes up in the circle.
Adam leans close to your ear. "Can we go back to the hotel room? I suddenly have an overwhelming urge to show you how sorry I am for being such a jerk." His hands massage your forearm as he places small kisses on your jawline.
"Sorry boys, I have to go home now." More groaning follows as Adam walks you out the door and out to your car.
When you return to your hotel room, you sit your purse on the table. About two dozen business cards with phone numbers scrawled in pen slip out. Adam arches an eyebrow as you smile and sit on the bed. "Well," you say, "just in case it’s not a very good apology."
He kicks shut the door, walks to you, and drops to his knees at your feet. "Oh it will be my Love, it will be." He slips off your shoes, takes your foot in his hand, and places a kiss on your ankle, starting to work his way up from there…
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| The character of Adam Klaus and the show Jonathan Creek were created by David Renwick and are © the BBC. No infringement is intended and no profits are being made. |