callipygos | holiday party post

holiday party post

Aphrodite's New York loft is done up to the nines.

The first good look as one enters is of twinkling Manhattan through the big windows, lights bright against a dark winter sky. The windows take up most of two walls; the rest of the space is largely empty, the star of the show a glowingly polished hardwood floor perfect for dancing.

There's a cluster of low-slung couches and chairs at one end of the room, velvet and leather and very inviting. They're situated by the fireplace, which lends them a cozy glow-- though it isn't cold anywhere in here, despite the windows.

Aphrodite is very proud of a few things about tonight:

1) The music, which spans a decent range of time periods and tempos, and will be playing for most of the evening.
2) The decorations, understated but quite lovely: softly glowing lights, silver and gold ribbons wound around columns and draped from the ceiling ... the occasional strategically placed bit of mistletoe.
3) Her dress.

And yes, darlings, there is a very well stocked bar and counter full of snacks.

That's what happens when you enlist the Three Graces to help you plan your shindigs.

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"Neither am I. And I can't say I care for it much. Too discordant. Surely the future isn't going to forget jazz." Which would be very depressing to hear.

The gentleman looks rather polished; like a true gentleman, no untucked hems or stains on his clothes. She wonders what era he hails from.

Before she can ask, she winces sympathetically.

"Jazz?"

"You aren't from the 40s?" He's just a bit disappointed. But you can't just a book by her cover. "It's a popular form of music."

She realizes he means the dress, and shyly turns her chin down, smoothing her hands down the hems.

"Oh! Oh, no, I'm terribly sorry, this was for a friend's weddin' around that time. Carlotta Brown? If y'know her."

She offers a small smile, followed by her hand. She polished herself up for this shindig, but her petite hands are still calloused from hard work and gunmetal.

"I'm from a li'l earlier than that. Kate Barlow, Texas, eighteen-eighty-eight."

"Two years before my dad was born. No wonder you don't know jazz. What sort of music was around back then?" Beethoven and Mozart, but what did you dance to?

"And I'm afraid I don't Carlotta, but I am a native of that time as well. 1943."

She chuckles dryly.

"Yes, I'm somethin' of an antique," she teases. "My father was quite fond of Beethoven, an' also Stephen Foster an' Daniel Decatur Emmett. Mostly what I hear are trail songs, though."

Her drawl comes out a little thick on 'trail'. Though, to be fair, she's not completely unfamiliar with jazz, though the music she would often listen to during her time in New Orleans won't adopt that name for several decades yet.

"An' does the nineteen-forty-three native have a name?"

"Howard Stark, at your service. And if you happen to know an Elias Stark, from Athens, Ohio by way of Cooper Union College, I will be shocked." She is clearly from further south.

She dips in a shallow curtsy.

"Pleasure t'make your acquaintance, Mr. Stark. I'm afraid I haven't come across him myself, but if I'm ever out Ohio way I'll try t'remember the name."

She smiles brightly.

"Would it be too bold t'request your services in a dance? Perhaps the next song will be somethin' more familiar, unless you're feelin' adventurous."

"I think I will wait for something a bit less odd. But I would be delighted to dance, miss...?" She is bold, but he doesn't mind bold women at all.

"Barlow," she supplies, and after a brief pause, "but you can call me Kate."

There's another pause, as she considers an entirely new thought.

"Now, we've discussed music, but perhaps it'd be wise t'ask what manner of dancing you enjoy?"

"Kate it is.

"I like any kind of dancing that gets into the flow of the music. But I doubt you know any of the dances I do. We invent a lot in my day." More than he can name, in fact. "Since you asked me, maybe you should choose the step.

"But I get to lead." As befits any man of his era.

"But of course. I wouldn't suggest otherwise. Though, I am a fast learner, if you got the patience t'show me a step or two."

She smiles with an unreservedness you can blame on the alcohol.

"D'you know the two-step?"

"I think I've encountered it." Though not for a long while. It's the sort of dance they don't do at the Rainbow Room. "Now all we need is the right song."

She smiles wryly as the pop music plays on. There have been a few songs not entirely foreign to her, but how long will they have to wait?

"Or we could make our own music."

It's not as licentious as it may sound; she's listening to the beat of each song, trying to find one familiar enough for a comfortable dance. If Howard's eye is sharp, he might pick up on the tapping of her foot as she counts beats.

His eye is ever sharp.

"It would be a challenge.

"I like challenges."

"So do I."

She's as friendly as she is mischievous.

Soon, a decent song starts playing, and Kate nods.

"I think this'll do."

She'll wait for him to lead her to the floor, though, if he is agreeable. And he might find it's suitable enough for a slow swing, if the two-step doesn't suit.

"Yes. That is much better." Not of his era, but recognizable as music. And he gets the references.

Howard takes Kate by the hand and finds a nice spot on the floor, and then begins the dance.

He'll find she's not only light on her feet, but that she also has sharp eyes. She's quick to learn and follow his lead.

"D'you dance often, Mr. Stark?"

"Not as often as I like these days." Pause. "There's a war on. And it keeps me busy.

"Also, Miss Carter doesn't go dancing as often now." He knows where her interests lie. Which is fine. But he misses their dates.

"I'm sorry t'hear that. War is such a villain."

She always wonders, too, which are destined for her future.

"An' wicked enough without addin' the loss of a sweetheart to it."

Howard finds something resembling a rhythm.

"Miss Carter was never quite a sweetheart. We...it might be a bit hard to explain." He can't really explain it to himself, come to think of it.

"There's no need to."

She laughs slightly as settling into the rhythm causes a slight fumble, but she recovers promptly.

"I'm your dance partner, not your Mother Superior. I won't wheedle information from you."

Unless he likes wheedling.

"I am not the least bit Catholic, Kate, so that is a relief." People in his day tend to pry. He's glad they didn't in her day. "I assume you haven't met Miss Carter, since you would probably remember her if you did."

"I'm afraid I haven't. I know so few from your time, an' if you're not acquainted with Mrs. Carlotta, then it's likely we don't have friends in common."

Not from the 40s, anyhow.

"We could compare notes. Later."

For now, he gets into what later generations might call a groove.

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