26.
There was no escape. Shirley ushered them back into the main room, the girls in rear. Mitch heard Molly and Lettie sniggering behind him. He heard Molly whisper, “oh my god, Lettie, look at their cute little butts in those shorts! How in the world did Shirley persuade them? I mean, I’ve never seen anything so totally adorable in my whole life!” fuc-k! That word again. “Adorable.” They weren’t six-year-olds, for crap’s sake. He was nearly a teenager. But they were powerless. Shirley guided them down the middle of the long room, where Henrietta greeted them in a double embrace, and planted sticky lipstick kisses on their cheeks.
“Boys. You really made my day, you know. You made it a wedding to remember – not only for me either, I guess. Now, after the speeches, normally David and I would cut the cake. But as a special thank you, we’ve agreed that you two will get to do the honours. How about that? And I’ll let you cut off two jumbo slices just for yourselves. Yes?”
They nodded docilely, and positioned themselves unostentatiously by the wall. Mitch could see Molly out of the corner of his eye trying to snap pictures of them on her phone. Thinking how that was going to pan out made him feel sick. Please, please, don’t let her tell his mates at school. Please!
The speeches seemed to take ages, the guests laughing uproariously at unfunny jokes – or perhaps it was the nervousness of the groom and the best man. It was warm in the room, and Mitch was perspiring under the close-fitting latex. He shifted from one foot to the other, and registered that the leg bands now had a tendency to ride up even further, assisted by the slippery mixture of lube and sweat, which was now seeping out and making his upper thighs glisten. He had no tissue, so he tried mop it up with his hands, wiping his fingers on the front of his shorts, which only made matters worse. At last the main speeches were over, Henrietta said a few words, thanking her guests and the people who had helped organise the reception, and of course her wonderful bridesmaids and pageboys, (who received the loudest round of applause), and then it was time to cut the cake, and the boys found themselves once again at the centre of attention. Never mind. It would only be for a minute, while they cut a couple of slices, and then maybe they could discreetly slip away.
The cake was enormous. It must have been nearly three feet tall, in four tiers. And it was on a thick silver plinth. It did look nice though, Mitch noted. It had proper icing, glossy and soft-looking - not that weird ready-made stuff which you laid on. Henrietta produced the special silver cake knife.
“Mitch? Perhaps you would do the cutting, and Sam can take the slices from you and plate them up. Here, you’d better stand on a chair so you can reach.” She pushed a chair up to the table. Shit! That was the last thing he needed, to be made to stand up there for everyone to gawp at.
“I think I’ll be okay, Henrietta…”
“What? Don’t be silly. You can’t even reach the second tier! You have to start at the top, you know. Go on – up you get.”
Reluctantly, he climbed onto the chair. The buzz of conversation rapidly subsided. He guessed everyone was taking the opportunity to have a good stare at the big boy in the ridiculous shorts. He ignored the burning of his cheeks and leant forward with the knife.
“Darling, I told you – you need to start at the top. And first you’ll need to take the little bride and groom off. I’ve promised to give it to Natasha.”
Mitch tried, but he couldn’t reach.
“You’re going to have to stand on the table, my dear, I’m afraid. There’s no way you can get at the top otherwise. Sam? You stand on the chair. Mitch will hand you down slices, and you can put them on plates, and hand them out to the bridesmaids, who’ll take them round to everyone.”
“But Henrietta…”
“Up you go. The tables nice and solid. I’m sure a big boy like you isn’t afraid of heights!”
So there he was. It was like one of those awful embarrassing nightmares. Standing there in full view of everyone. Nowhere to hide. Pageboy number two, as sweet as a strawberry sundae. Shiny red shoes, snow-white socks and shirt, snappy little frilled rubber shorts, (slightly messy), matching gloves, scarlet bow-tie, cap, and lipstick. There was a flurry of clicks and flashes every time he changed position. He tried to keep his back to the room, but Shirley was having none of it. His costume was her creation and she wasn’t having it wasted.
“Mitch!” she called from the end of the table. “Mitch! Pageboy number two! Turn this way and let us see your costume, if you please!”
He hesitated, but instantly he felt the plug start gently to vibrate. A warning from Mandy. That made up his mind, and he spun round to face the room. Sure enough, Shirley and Mandy were standing side by side, Mandy smiling wickedly.
“Pose, Mitch, please. Nicely, like you've been taught.” Shirley was eager to show all the prospective P & S customers just how adept she was at taming and training naughty little boys.
Mandy had raised one finger above her phone. The meaning was clear. “Do what you’re told, or…”
He was already cooked. He might as well go for it. If she turned that vibrator up, he thought he would faint. So he did it. The whole bit. As if he was posing for the catalogue. Finger on lips, naughty girl style. Feet turned in. One leg straight, one bent, one thigh shyly across the other. With fear in the pit of his stomach he saw Molly happily videoing the whole performance. When this was all over he was going to grovel and beg her for mercy. What else could he do?
Henrietta made him cut up the entire cake. It was the ultimate irony that his audience not only got to enjoy his humiliation, but did so happily munching the slices of cake whose cutting had been the source of their entertainment. He was up there for a good twenty minutes, working away at the cake, pausing now and then to pull down the legs bands – which instantly slid up again. He was right about the icing. It was clearly home-made, soft and gooey. After the first few slices it was all over his gloves. To the amusement of most of his audience, (but to the despair of Shirley), he kept unconsciously wiping his fingers on his shorts, decorating the red rubber with sticky white smears! Shirley was livid.
“What does he think he’s doing? Mandy, is he an idiot? Doesn’t he understand everything he does reflects on P & S?” She snorted. “Wait till I get him back to the office…”
In truth, Mitch was comprehensively undermining the image she was trying so hard to create. She’d been telling every parent she could find how her system had reformed an unruly little boy into a well-behaved, obedient and cultured paragon of refinement – Huckleberry Finn into Little Lord Fauntleroy.
“Shall I give him a buzz, Shirley?” asked Mandy, taking out her phone.
“What? Are you mad?”
“Ah, no…no, I see. Of course.”
But all good things come to an end, and eventually he was allowed to climb down, leaving the wreckage of the cake on its plinth. Everyone seemed to have enjoyed the floor show – table show, that is. The room was in a general good humour. While Shirley was trying to mitigate the damage to her reputation, Mitch and Sam took their slabs of cake wrapped in napkins and made their way quietly past the jazz band, setting up on the little stage, and into the ante-room, which was almost empty. They found two big armchairs and threw themselves down.
“Thank goodness that’s over,” said Sam, taking a bite of icing.
“You were all right,” returned Mitch, indignantly. “You weren’t the one on show to the whole room!”
“Well, they seemed to like you. ‘Specially that friend of Lettie’s. She didn’t stop staring at you or filming you the whole time you were up there.”
“Oh my god, Sam. You don’t get it. She’s at my school. And she’s like, y’know, one of the coolest kids there. If she lets on…”
“She’s bound to, ain’t she? She won’t be able to resist showing that video around.”
“Don’t fuc-king say that! If she does, I’m dead! Why did Lettie have to bring her along, of all people?”
“Take it from me, Mitch…”
But he broke off in mid-sentence. The object of their conversation, accompanied by Lettie, had just walked in. The two girls were wearing similar sleek black dresses, Lettie’s a little shorter than her friend’s.
“Hello boys,” smiled Lettie, smugly. “Enjoying your cake? It is nice, isn’t it? Actually it’s home-made, by a friend of Henrietta’s. I thought the slices were a little on the large side, though, Mitch. Like you were rushing to get it all handed out…”
Mitch had a mouthful of cake. In any case he didn’t know what to say. He was staring at Molly, who was looking very pleased with herself. He made an inarticulate noise, and dissolved in a fit of coughing, having unintentionally inhaled a silver ball.
“Well I thought you were amazing, Mitch,” said Molly. “And you, Sam. But Mitch was the real show-off, weren’t you Mitch? You did your job with the cake, and kept everyone entertained at the same time. We were impressed.”
“Look, Molly…” Mitch had recovered from his coughing fit.
“Yes?”
“Look, I mean…like, it wasn’t my choice to get up there an’ everything. I was pretty much forced into it…”
“Well, I’m glad you were. I’ve got some great piccies for my album!”
Mitch looked at her aghast.
“Don’t look so worried,” laughed Lettie. “I’m sure you can arrive at some sort of accommodation.”
He looked nervously back to Molly. She smiled. “Come and dance with me, Mitch. We can talk about it.”
“D-Dance?”
“Yes. Dance. You know what that is, don’t you? I seem to remember seeing you at St. Luke's Christmas dance. You were quite uninhibited, if I remember right.”
“You noticed me?”
“You were the belle of the ball. Now come on. Let’s go..
Mitch put his half-eaten lump of cake on the arm of his chair and stood up. “Watch that, Sam. And don’t steal any of it.”
Molly went to take his hand, but presented with a close-up view of Mitch’s sticky appearance, recoiled. “Ah…and maybe go and wash yourself first? This is a new dress.”
“Oh…yes…and it’s a very nice one, Molly…” And he hurried away to the bathroom.
� 
Topic: Mitch (Read 68438 times)
