Balmy was the night my dear friend, Betty, and I attended the Fall
Fashion Show. I had never been to a fashion show and was eager to give
it a try. A full moon hung low over Vernon Mountain as we drove into
town in our best summer frocks. Betty was a fun girl and our
conversation was lively as she manoeuvered her Sunbeam Convertible
along the twisty roadway.
‘Where is the Fashion Show being held, Betty?’ I asked as we neared the town.
‘In the Auditorium,’ she replied. ‘You know, next to the Bowling Alley.’
‘Oh
, the Bowling Alley,’ I said with a rueful laugh, ‘not one of my
favourite places. For some frustrating reason I can never get the King
Pin down.’
‘Poor you,’ said Betty, momentarily serious. ‘That’s no way to get a good score.’
When we arrived at the Auditorium, brilliantly lit and smelling
eloquently
of the scent of ladies, we found a goodly crowd of fashion hunters
already gathered there, all of them seeming to be talking at once. At a
desk inside the front door a young woman gave us a programme, and asked
that we sign our names in the register for the door prizes. Glancing at
the programme I was delighted to find we knew one of the girls who was
modelling.
‘This really will be fun,’ Betty promised. ‘Usually they have five or six prizes.’
‘Maybe you’ll get one, Betty. I know I won’t,’ I said with a shrug, ‘I’m not lucky like that.’
Inside,
the auditorium was filling up. However with our bright eyes and Betty’s
ingenuity we managed to capture two seats in the centre, more than
three quarters of the way back from the stage. At a location such as
this we found establishing a view point between the sea of heads before
us to be challenging. Even so we enjoyed the fashion show. Diane, one
of the models we knew, was stunning in the soft grey suit and perky hat
she modelled. Like an enchanting pixie she smiled as she twisted and
turned. I was quite in awe of her unselfconsciousness.
Too soon the Fashion Show was over and I prepared to leave.
‘We’re not going yet,’ Betty whispered, ‘Now is the time for the door prizes.’
‘Oh, yes, I forgot,’ I replied, settling down again. Five prizes were to be given out.
Every time the lady-in-charge called
out the winner’s name she waited smilingly and expectantly for the
winner to come up onto the stage to claim her prize. And all the while
the audience clapped with vigour, and some even having the temerity to
give out a loud ‘Whoo Hoo!’
‘And now,’ announced the lady-in-charge as she scanned the paper she held, ‘the last winner tonight is....Tory Williams!’
Silence came over the audience. No person walked up to the stage.
‘Tory Williams,’ she announced again, raising her voice a little and thrusting her head forward to squint into the depths of the audience.
Still no one came forward.
Betty gave me a thump as she whispered. ‘She means you, Kory. Speak up! You’ve won a prize.’
‘My name is not Tory Williams,’ I whispered back, ‘and I am not
going to speak up.’
‘Surely
Tory Williams is in the audience,’ said the lady-in-charge in yet a
louder tone, whereupon Betty jumped to her feet ‘Yes, she’s here! She’s
coming!’
‘Oh good!’ cried the lady-in-charge, much relieved.
Knowing
I was beaten I stood up, gave Betty a strangled glance, struggled
through the sea of legs to the aisle, and made my way down to the stage.
‘My
name is not Tory Williams,’ I announced upon arrival, ‘It is Kory
Shillam,’ which was greeted, much to my chagrin, with hearty laughter
from the audience.
The lady-in-charge took up the register squinting
closely at the name I had written upon arrival. ‘Yes, of course,’ she
finally agreed, ‘it does say Kory Shillam. Here, let me give you your
prize.’
The small envelope produced two tickets to the Bowling Alley.