Free The Intimates by Guy Mankowski Page B

decorated herself as a woman.”
    Carina rises to fetch a drink. The remark seems to have stung her, perhaps given her earlier admittance that she felt she had not gained whatever is required to become a woman. For a moment I am compelled to seize her, to tell her to ignore Elise. To tell her that by confessing her own uncertainty Carina has simply made herself all the more difficult to define, and thereby all the more feminine. That Elise's need to define herself serves only to strip away some of her charm.
    I watch Carina as she moves away. She skirts everyone carefully, keen to not draw attention to herself, or make anyone move on her account. Elise on the other hand, moves so that she is sat directly between Franz and I, her eyes flickering between the two of us to ensure that she still has our attention.
    I wonder then if female beauty perhaps manifests itself in two ways. Women either decide to be beautiful, and with constant assertion of that decision become it, in many people's eyes. Or they decide they're beautiful but then live naturally in the shadow of that belief, with infinitely more charm. If this is the case, it seems Elise is the former type, and Carina the latter.
    “I occasionally did some burlesque dancing when I was at university,” Elise says. “My performances were far more risqué than any of this belly dancing. Performing at a private party to an appreciative audience is nothing – I'd sometimes have to win over a roomful of men using nothing but a couple of tassels and a horsewhip.”
    Franz cocks his head appreciatively. “A horsewhip? Elise, are you suggesting there is a darker side to the innocent primary school veneer that we have all taken for granted?”
    “Oh, I definitely have a darker side. One that even Vincent knows nothing about.”
    Elise flashes a look at me, perhaps trying to gauge my reaction. I smile, and try to look quietly intrigued. Being careful not to let on how this does not make her sound dark or decadent to me at all – merely desperate and a little unhinged.
    “Are you going to show us some of your moves then?” Franz asks. She laughs coquettishly.
    “She is a very good dancer,” I say. “But I suspect you have not known these people long enough to dance for them Elise.”
    “Let the girl decide herself,” Franz insists. “If she says she wants to dance, then dance she must. I think I'd rather like to see it.”
    “Are you worried that other men will see how desirable I am?” Elise asks, laughing and then kissing me on the cheek.
    The dancer finishes to a chorus of cheers, before bowing with a final flourish. As I go to refill my glass Carina rushes over to speak with her. The dancer seems flattered by her praise, and she slowly takes Carina through a couple of her steps. Carina, with some trepidation, follows each of them with curious and grateful eyes. In minutes she has mastered a couple of her movements, and the dancer laughs encouragingly as Carina insists she repeats them for her. But as she moves away I see Carina clasp her hip and steady herself against a table, a look of disappointment quickly flashing in her eyes.
    I feel tempted to rush over to her and console her. I want to compliment her for her determination to dance again, to assure her that in time she will be able to. But something stops me. That gradual paralysis which always inevitably affects me when I am around her.
    “Quite the fare you have put on for your guests,” Graham says, as Francoise joins us.
    “I met the dancer when I was travelling through Egypt,” she replies. “I promised to pay for her fare and accommodate her if she performed at our little soiree.”
    “I'm glad you invited me this evening,” Elise says. “The Fountains really is a wonderful place to spend an evening.”
    “You are fortunate to be here on a night when all of The Intimates are together,” Carina says. “It doesn't happen very often. Vincent must have told you a lot about our little