The Shadow in the Dark (Part Twenty Two)

Several years ago – Mount Holyoke, Christmas Eve:

 

Just hear those sleigh bells jingling, ring tingle tingling too (ring-a-ling-a ding-dong-ding!)

Come on, it's lovely weather for a sleigh ride together with you (ring-a-ling-a ding-dong-ding!)

Outside the snow is falling and friends are calling "yoo hoo!" (ring-a-ling-a ding-dong-ding!)

Come on, it's lovely weather for a sleigh ride together with you (ring-a-ling-a ding-dong-ding!)

 

Our cheeks are nice and rosy and comfy and cozy are we (ring-a-ling-a ding-dong-ding!)

We're snuggled up together like two birds of a feather would be (ring-a-ling-a ding-dong-ding!)

Let's take the road before us and sing a chorus or two (ring-a-ling-a ding-dong-ding!)

Come on, it's lovely weather for a sleigh ride together with you (ring-a-ling-a ding-dong-ding!)

 

It was Christmas Eve – the last Christmas Eve we would share together before we graduated from Mount Holyoke – and Bryony and I were determined to make this one special. Obviously, we would remain in touch once we graduated and went our separate ways – me pursuing a professional legal career and Bryony doing… well, whatever rich trust fund girls like Bryony did when their dalliance with higher education was over. But it would never be quite the same again. 

 

I supposed Bryony would go on to marry Elijah Bannon and pop out some mewling Bannon children, and as for me, well, Bryony said there as every chance Michael would propose to me, but I wasn’t sure I wanted him to. I didn’t want to get married, not just yet, and possibly not ever to him. I wanted my freedom! The freedom to be who I wanted to be, not hemmed in by a ring on my left hand and the restrictions that came with it.

 

Bryony kept reminding me that Michael was rich, or rather his family was. “It would be a step up for you, Ashlee. You wouldn’t NEED to work. We could both be housewives and we could meet for lunch!”

 

But I wanted more than that. I didn’t want to be a man’s ‘kept thing’. I wanted to experience all the things that men took for granted, but women were now being told they shouldn’t aspire to because it wasn’t their place.

 

The truth was, I didn’t really know what I wanted from a man. Michael was polite, often very formal, well mannered, but with the implicit understanding that he was a man, and I was a woman, and therefore he called the shots. He was always nudging me in the direction of the traditional values for women, championed progressively by the New Feminism movement. Do this, don’t do that, always consider your precious reputation. A reputation that is squandered can never be reclaimed, he would say. 

 

Sometimes I thought it was strange that he had never really tried to have sex with me. Not once. 

 

New Feminism was creeping in everywhere. Its growth was insidious, having reached a sort of critical mass last year that seemed to tip the movement into what counted as normalcy. Only two months ago I had been refused entry to a bar simply because I wasn’t accompanied by a man. I had been furious. Furious! I had stood outside the bar for ten minutes, arguing with the doorman, but his attitude didn’t budge. 

 

“I just want a glass of wine,” I said.

 

“Ladies shouldn’t be seen drinking in bars on their own,” the doorman had said. I had walked back to my dorm room, still furious. Surely this sort of discrimination was illegal? 

 

I remember how the cold bit so hard that Christmas Eve - the kind of sharp Massachusetts cold that seeps through gloves if you’re careless. We were both got dressed in Bryony’s dorm room, the radiator clanking like it always did, and the difference between us showed before we even stepped outside.

 

Bryony looked as if she’d stepped out of one of the magazines her mother subscribed to. Her hair was styled perfectly, softly waved and shining, not a strand out of place. She wore a cream-colored wool coat, clearly expensive, with a subtle sheen to it, and a narrow waist that fitted her like it had been personally tailored, which it probably had been. The buttons were real horn, not plastic, and the lining flashed silk when she moved. Underneath, there was a glimpse of a simple but elegant cocktail dress in a muted gold, the kind that didn’t need fussing with because the fabric itself did all the talking. Her leather gloves were supple, her heels slim and immaculate, and she fastened a delicate strand of pearls at her neck as if it were nothing at all. Everything about her said she’d never had to worry whether something would last more than one season.

 

I, on the other hand, did my best with what I had - and I was proud of it. My red hair, bright as ever, was professionally cut, curled at the ends, and brushed until it gleamed, flipping neatly at my shoulders. I wore my navy-blue wool coat, bought on sale two winters ago, a little boxier than hers but still smart, with big buttons that had been sewn back on more than once. Under it I wore a dark red dress, festive enough for Christmas Eve, the skirt just full enough to move when I walked. I’d mended the hem myself the week before. My black pumps were sensible and polished, my stockings were black with fashionable seams, and my only jewellery was a small pair of gold-tone earrings—a gift from my Michael Emery last year.

 

Standing next to Bryony, I knew anyone could tell which of us came from money and which didn’t. But I also knew this: my clothes were clean, warm, and chosen with care. I looked like myself—ready for drinks, laughter, and a long winter night out - while she looked like the world had always been prepared to receive her.

 

We walked down the main road into the centre of town, linking arms and chatting as we passed a small brass band playing Christmas carols, and shaking collection tins for charity donations.

 

“We should,” I said, and I fished in my purse for a few dollars that I added to the collection.

 

“I’m astonished you still carry money,” said Bryony, offering an apologetic smile to the elderly woman with the charity tin. “I’ve gone completely contactless with my Nutri Girl payment ring. It stores all my card details. Just wave your hand in front of the scanner and away you go! You can set limits to your spending, too. And Nutri Girl will phone you if you go over them.”

 

“Well, I like to carry a purse,” I said. “It was a gift from Michael, and it’s such supple Italian leather.”

 

“Oh, I couldn’t do without my clutch bag, Ashlee, but it’s only for lipstick and a compact mirror. Well, and a few other things.” She laughed. “We’re going to have so much fun tonight. Can you believe this is our last Christmas together at Mount Holyoke? It only seems like yesterday when I met you.” She squeezed my arm. “My bestest bestie.” 

 

Bryony showed the doorman of the bar a pass which had been signed by Elijah. It confirmed that we would be meeting our boyfriends inside the bar, and so long as we were both together, accompanying one another, we could enter the lounge bar. 

 

“We shouldn’t have to have a pass from our boyfriends to walk into a bar!” I said to Bryony as the doorman checked our ID and ensured it matched our names on the pass.

 

“Hush,” said Bryony, eager to claim her first glass of Pinot Grigio. “Don’t make a fuss. It’s Christmas Eve!”

 

“Wait! What is he doing now!” The doorman took hold of my left wrist and secured a white plastic band around it. It was the sort of band that you get at a festival that can’t be removed once it’s clipped in place, unless you cut it apart, rendering it invalid. There was a small gold colour ring on the band to which the doorman clipped a small square of laminated plastic with Michael’s name on it. Bryony extended her own left wrist and received an identical white band and laminated tag, but hers had Elijah’s name on it.

 

“I don’t belong to my boyfriend!” I snarled as the plastic tag swung from my identity bracelet. 

 

“New rules,” said the doorman. “we introduced them last week for women who lack an engagement or wedding ring.

 

“This is ridiculous and an abuse of my rights!”

 

“It’s perfectly in accordance with your established rights, Miss.”

 

The doorman then took out his phone, swiped through a couple of screens and scanned the laminated tag barcode on both our wrists. Each time he did so the laminated tag chimed.

 

“You’re both registered in the system now,” he said.

 

“What does that mean?”

 

“Once your boyfriends arrive to take you into the main bar, you will have a standard proximity range of twenty feet,” he explained. “Should you venture further than twenty feet from your boyfriends, your laminated tags will begin to beep. Please then return to the proscribed distance and enjoy your evening.”

 

“What?!” I couldn’t believe I was hearing this.

 

“Many bars are now including these safety features,” explained the doorman. “It is for your own safety, Miss, so you don’t get lost.”

 

“Lost?!”

 

“Should you need to use the ladies’ facilities, please inform your boyfriends and they can extend the range for five, ten, or fifteen minutes. Merry Christmas, ladies. Enjoy your evening but be sure to drink with moderation, as befitting your sex.”

 

I must have looked furious, for Bryony swiftly took my elbow and steered me into the waiting area of the lounge, where we were each given a complementary small glass of Pinot Grigio.

 

“Lots of bars are doing this now,” said Bryony. “Relax, Ashlee. It’s for our own safety. They’re just looking out for us.”

 

“I can’t believe you think that.”

 

“Men simply want what’s best for us, Ashlee. They want us to be happy. And were we really happy before New Feminism came around? Were you happy?”

 

“Sometimes I’m not sure if I know what being happy is,” I said.

 

“Precisely! But you’re happy now, aren’t you? What a day we’ve had! Facials! Nails done. And look at our hair!”

 

I smiled. Our hair was really good, as it should be, having spent a few hours in a beauty salon getting the most expensive package treatment courtesy of Elijah and Michael – an early Christmas present.

 

“Look at the bounce I have in my hair,” said an excited Bryony. “And how sleek your hair is, Ashlee. It’s like soft, red silk.”

 

“Best not say that out loud,” I said as I couldn’t help but laugh at Bryony’s innocent remark. “Red silk has certain connotations these days. Though heaven help me for wearing a red dress tonight!” But I was feeling happier now we were past the infernal door security. I could relax and enjoy Christmas Eve. 

 

“Oh, look, there are the boys,” cried Bryony as she gave them a wave. “Elijah! Over here!”

 

I sipped my glass of white wine and quickly put it down on a nearby table as an excited Michael Emery came over. There was a look in his eyes that I’d never seen before. I think he might have been flush with alcohol.

 

He’d really made an effort tonight. He looked very smart. Michael was dressed with the easy confidence of someone who has always owned good things and been taught how to wear them. He wore a dark charcoal wool overcoat, heavy and impeccably cut, the kind that fell cleanly from the shoulders and never seemed rumpled. The lining was satin-smooth, and where it was buttoned, the coat framed him neatly, hinting at the tailored suit beneath. A cashmere scarf in a muted plaid - deep reds and greys - rested loosely at his neck, chosen more for refinement than warmth. Under the coat, and clearly visible, he wore a well-fitted navy suit, conservative but unmistakably high quality, with narrow lapels and trousers pressed razor-sharp. His white dress shirt was crisp and freshly laundered, the collar sitting perfectly, and his silk tie - a subtle pattern, nothing flashy - suggested taste rather than trend-chasing. 

 

His shoes were black leather oxfords, polished to a soft shine, sturdy enough for icy sidewalks but elegant all the same. Dark wool socks, a thin leather belt, and fine leather gloves completed the outfit. 

 

“Ash, you look incredible,” he said as he gazed down at me. Despite myself, his genuine enthusiasm melted my reserve as I thrust my hands into the pockets of my coat and smiled up at him. 

 

“Wow, you really mean that, don’t you?” He was more excited being with me than I’d ever seen before. Maybe it was the Christmas spirit melting my frosty reserve, but as I gazed up at Michael I began to imagine a future where we did stay together, where he eventually proposed and I accepted. Would that be so bad? If I didn’t know what I wanted from a man, then perhaps I was fooling myself into thinking there was something more fulfilling that I should chase. Could I imagine myself having sex with Michael Emery? Perhaps. But would it be the sort of sex I would find fulfilling? What kind of sex would that be exactly? I had fantasies, yes. What red-blooded woman didn’t. But women don’t talk about their fantasies with their boyfriends. We just wouldn’t dare. We simply want our boyfriends to look into our eyes and instinctively know what it is we need. I know that sounds unfair, but that is the way we are. We want you to somehow know and do the things that will delight us in bed. 

 

“That dress is perfect. Your makeup is flawless, and your hair is so glossy.”

 

“Well, you paid for the beauty treatment,” I said with a laugh. I stood there for a moment before adding, “so, um, are you going to kiss me?”

 

He leaned forward and kissed me full on the lips as I leaned up on my tippy-toes. His lips lingered for longer than usual and when he pulled back I was smiling. “You ARE in a good mood, Michael.” I savoured the kiss for a moment. “Has daddy just given your trust fund an annual raise?”

 

Michael laughed as he reached out and rubbed the tip of my nose with his finger. “Curiosity is not becoming in a kajira. You could be whipped for it.”

 

My cheeks flushed hot red from embarrassment. How to ruin the romantic mood! “You’re never going to let me forget that are you?” I said, not able to look at him now.

 

“I think it’s adorable that you had a copy of Captive of Gor in your dorm room. Something to read in bed, perhaps?”

 

“Stop teasing me!” I slapped at his arm, but not in a violent way. I was more embarrassed than anything else. “It was… it was doing the rounds at campus! I didn’t know what it was! I was given it! How could I know what it was! Don’t go on about it. I could be in serious trouble with the Sorority Sisters if they heard.”

 

“You had it hidden under your pillow.”

 

“Well, I didn’t want you to see it when you surprised me at the door! Obviously! I was going to get rid of it. It was a stupid book. Anyway, why were you looking under my pillow when you came round to pick me up?”

 

“Just nosey. Your bed is always so neat and tidy. The pillow seemed out of place. Besides which, I saw you scoop the book up and hide it there when you thought I was gazing out of the window. You’d make a terrible stage magician, Ashlee. No talent for misdirection.”

 

“I’m never going to live this down.” I folded my arms.

 

“Enough of the cheap white wine,” Michael said, as he took my glass. “It’s Christmas Eve and you’re dating Michael Emery, so it’s going to be the most expensive champagne this place has from now on. Because you’re worth it, Ash. Merry Christmas.” I think he was about to kiss me again, but the kiss was never delivered.

 

“Now then lovebirds,” said Elijah Bannon as he appeared beside us, placing an arm around each of our shoulders. I felt him squeeze my shoulder without Michael noticing.  “It’s Christmas Eve  and that means party time in the party capital of, um, well, nowhereseville, but I’ve made sure we have quite the itinerary planned for tonight.” He handed both of us white envelopes. He had already given one to Bryony. 

 

“What’s this?’

 

“We’re doing karaoke.” Elijah grinned. “To get things warmed up. I’ve booked us four slots and I’ve selected some secret random songs. Open them up and see what you’ve got.”

 

Michael opened his. “Don’t Stop Believing by Journey. Hey, I love that song. Looks like I’m the second one singing.”

 

Elijah grinned and made a big show of opening his own. “And I’ve got ‘Hold the Line’ by Toto. I’m singing last. Ashlee?”

 

I rolled my eyes and cut the envelope open with one of my nails. “Uh, I’ve got that Frozen song…”

 

“Wonderful!” grinned Elijah. “That’s really Christmassy.”

 

“Is it? I mean, it’s just snow, not Christmas…” I glanced at the song number. I was up first.

 

“No time like the present, Ash,” said Elijah as he took me by my elbow and steered me to the small round podium stage. 

 

“What, now?” I must have looked alarmed. 

 

“Ooh, look which one I’ve got,” cried Bryony as she waved her karaoke card in the air. “Flashdance! What a Feeling!” She danced on the spot, from heel to heel. “I’m on after you, Ashlee.”

 

“Everyone’s going to be looking at me,” I said as Elijah walked me further towards the stage.

 

“I’m sure it won’t be your last time on a platform, being assessed,” said Elijah with a wink, as if it meant something. “Ladies and Gentlemen!” he suddenly announced to the people in the bar, as if he was some circus side show barker. “We have karaoke tonight, and up first is the lovely, and I do mean lovely…” he took hold of my hand, lifted it, pressed it to his lips, and held it there for a moment longer than was strictly necessary. “Straight out of Mount Holyoke College – normally wearing a white silk ribbon, but, well, this is Christmas Eve and the ribbon gets a night in at home alone – the one and only – there could never be more than one – God’s perfect creation - the delightful, the delectable, the stunningly beautiful – don’t we all agree? - Miss Ashlee Ellis with that Disney classic, Let it Go!”

 

There was applause from around the room as I blushed red again and stumbled onto the stage. Fear gripped hold of me in my gut, as it does with most people who are suddenly thrust into the spotlight to do some public speaking or, in this case, singing. Elijah handed me the old-fashioned microphone and leaned in to whisper, “if you’re nervous, just imagine them all naked. Especially me. You can imagine me naked any time you like, Ashlee. And if you play your cards right, maybe I’ll be imagining you naked, too.” He winked again. 

 

“Elijah!” I said sharply, feeling that was very inappropriate.

 

But before I could protest any further, the introductory music to ‘Let it Go’ started to play. The words started to scroll on the auto reader and as everyone turned to look at me, I had to sing. 

 

The snow glows white on the mountain tonight

Not a footprint to be seen

A kingdom of isolation

And it looks like I'm the queen

 

I glanced round as I sang. Bryony was bouncing up and down in her heels waving her arms in the air as if I was Led Zeppelin playing Stairway to Heaven as a much requested encore. Elijah was watching me and as I gazed down at him he seemed to mouth the word ‘naked’.  And then I glanced at Michael. He was sitting down now and seemed to be delighted as a pretty cocktail waitress approached his table with some flutes of champagne. I blinked. Unless I was very mistaken they seemed to know one another.

 

I saw the waitress smile knowingly at him. I saw Michael say something, and then she turned to glance back at me, and then they both seemed to laugh together when she turned her gaze back to Michael.

 

The wind is howling like this swirling storm inside

Couldn't keep it in, heaven knows I tried

Don't let them in, don't let them see

Be the good girl you always have to be

 

The lyrics continued to scroll past on the autocue. I saw Michael reach out, ostensibly for a glass of champagne, and then he touched the wrist of the waitress and held his hand there for a moment. I saw her smile again and say something to him. 

 

Conceal, don't feel, don't let them know

Well, now they know

 

I felt a sense of anxiety growing. Why were they being so familiar? Michael wasn’t even watching me while I was up here singing!

 

Let it go, let it go

Can't hold it back anymore

Let it go, let it go

Turn away and slam the door

 

I struck what I thought looked like a pop star pose, hoping Michael might take notice, but no, he was just talking to that waitress! Now they were leaning in and confiding to one another!

 

I don't care what they're going to say

Let the storm rage on

The cold never bothered me anyway

 

The words continued to scroll past. How long was this fucking song, anyway? They were both standing close and gazing at each other in a serious fashion as the waitress talked to him. Michael touched her arm. He pulled her close. He whispered into her ear and she tilted her head and laughed softly, nodding her own head.

 

It's funny how some distance makes everything seem small

And the fears that once controlled me can't get to me at all

It's time to see what I can do

To test the limits and break through

 

This was agonising! I wanted to jump down from the stage and confront them both, but the song carried on playing. 

 

No right, no wrong, no rules for me

I'm free

 

She was just a fucking waitress! What was she doing with my boyfriend?

 

Let it go, let it go

I am one with the wind and sky

Let it go, let it go

You'll never see me cry

Here I stand and here I stay

Let the storm rage on

 

Bryony was no help, She hadn’t even noticed. She just kept waving her arms in the air from side to side like some demented teenage girl. 

 

Finally, after another agonising few minutes the song came to an end, and, as everyone in the bar applauded my performance, I jumped down from the podium and crossed the room to confront Michael. 

 

“Michael." My voice must have sounded as frosty as the theme of the song I’d just sung. 

 

“Ashlee.” Michael’s smile was less than genuine. “I’ve just got us some champagne.”

 

I glanced at the cocktail waitress who regarded me with a degree of polite disdain. “So I see,” I said. “You seem to be enjoying yourself.” I folded my arms,.

 

“Um, Ashlee, this is Emily Whitstable. Emily this is Ashlee…”

 

“His girlfriend,” I added.

 

“You didn’t tell me you had a girlfriend,” said an amused Emily.  I shot a blazing look at Michael. “You’re going out with… her?” she seemed amused by the thought.

 

“Ashlee is very nice,” said Michael, and the words made the waitress laugh. 

 

“I’m sure she is… very nice. Thank heavens for… nice girls. They must be so exciting.” She tossed me a patronising smile, spun on her heels and left.

 

“Who the fuck was that?” I said.

 

“Language, Ashlee. You’re not that sort of girl.”

 

“What?! Is that all you’ve got to say? Telling me off for using a swear word?”

 

“It’s Christmas Eve, Ashlee. We’re with Elijah and Bryony. Let’s not do this again.”

 

The words confused me for a moment. “What do you mean, let’s not do this again?”

 

Michael sighed. “You’re being paranoid jealous, Ashlee. You do that sometimes.”

 

“No I don’t. Anyway, you couldn’t take your eyes off her.”

 

Michael looked sad. “Please, not again, Ash. Not tonight. She just brought some drinks over.”

 

“Oh, she did a lot more than that, Michael. How do you know her so well?”

 

“I don’t. Ashlee, I was just thanking her for bringing us the champagne. It was quick service in a crowded bar.”

 

“Well you seem to know she’s called Emily Whitstable!”

 

“That’s so I can leave a tip for her. That’s how this bar works. You can leave a tip for any specific waitress who gives good service.”

 

“Doesn’t she have a silly little wrist tag with a barcode you can scan?” I snarled, holding up my own wrist with the plastic secured on it. “I’m practically your property while I’m wearing this!”

 

“People are looking at you, Ash. Please don’t raise your voice.”

 

“Oh, fuck you, Michael, Fuck you.” I tried to get the wrist band off, but it was securely held in place. I’d need scissors to cut it free. 

 

“I don’t know who you are, sometimes, Ashlee.”

 

“I’m going home!” I tried again to slip the wrist band and became even more furious when I was stuck with it. I stormed away, hearing the fucking thing start beeping to warn me that I was daring to move more than twenty feet from Michael Emery.

 

Outside it had begun raining. I turned up the collar of my coat and sniffed as tears filled my eyes. The fucking wrist band wouldn’t stop beeping! I didn’t even want to marry him! I didn’t care if he was my boyfriend or not! I glanced back at the front door to the bar. Through the glass I could see men and women laughing, drinking, starting all the fun associated with Christmas Eve. I wiped my eyes with the sleeve of my navy blue coat. I felt miserable.

 

No one had come out after me. 

 

What did Michael meant, I ‘do that sometimes’?”

 

Well fuck him. Fuck Christmas Eve, too.

 

My heels clicked and clacked on the pavement as I began the walk back to the campus dormitories. Somewhere nearby a brass band was playing ‘Fairytale of New York by the Pogues’. 

 

My fucking wrist band wouldn’t stop beeping.