Matilda Jasodhra moved about the room, Cha cha chatting a minute here, another there, all the while catching the eyes of servers and her yardman, who seemed to only need a nod from her to know what it was she wanted. Her father was with a group of men, and Isabella Tatiana That Tatiana Woman was with them. Meera Meera Johna, peeping through one of the holes in a leaf of the Monstera deliciosa, wondered how her dress stayed up without any straps, and was surprised to find that thoughts on the matter made her, very strangely, dizzy, but a dizziness that she, strange to her, enjoyed. These wordless thoughts caused tickles in her mouth, tickles that felt as if they were caused by the wings of butterflies brushing against the interior contents of her chest, and around the inner exterior of her knees, and in between her toes.
A man had his arm around the white woman Isabella Tatiana That Tatiana Woman’s waist — Was it her father’s arm, or another man’s arm? — and she, Isabella Tatiana That Tatiana Woman, had her hand on someone’s back, the back of a man who closely resembled her father. And then Meera Meera Johna had to close her eyes and shake her head. How could two women show up at the same party wearing similar necklaces and pendants? She was sure Isabella Tatiana had worn no jewelry to the party, yet now she wore the same silver chain around her neck as Her Excellency. Perhaps Her Excellency gave her own necklace to Isabella Tatiana, thought Meera Meera Johna. Or then again, perhaps Isabella Tatiana had stolen it from Her Excellency. There was just too much confusion around these adults and Meera Meera Johna became tense — even more tense, that is — and felt a little bit nauseous. Flashes of iridescent blue darted from the pendant that pulled the chain in an insistent and perfect V but stopped just short of tucking itself into her cleavage. Turquoise one flash, then full-moon blue, and full-moon blue again, then black, and back to turquoise, full-moon blue, full-moon blue, as if in time with the Cha cha cha, Cha cha cha. She wanted to jump out from behind her leaf and tell someone about the possibility of a theft. Anyone. But in truth, the necklace looked a hundred times better on the smooth pale skin of Isabella Tatiana. Good for her, Meera Meera Johna thought suddenly, even if she stole it. Then Meera Meera Johna saw that the man who resembled her father was indeed her father and that it was her father who was hugging Isabella Tatiana. Or so it seemed. It is not easy to see clearly through the hole in a philodendron’s leaf.
The man-who-resembled-her-father-who-was-her-father’s fingertips rested on the beautiful Tatiana woman’s hip bone. Meera Meera Johna imagined her father perched on this woman whom he (or perhaps not he) was hugging, and with the thought came that dizziness, delightful one second, nauseating the next, and there were, too, those butterfly-wing kinds of tickles as seconds before.
She looked away to her mother who was outside on the patio. Her mother’s gaze shot repeatedly to those of the guests with whom she chatted, all the way across the almost empty living room (straight past the philodendron plant) to the room in which her father, and most of the men, and That Tatiana Woman had gathered. Her mother glanced back and forth, her mouth paralyzed in the shape of a smile.
Meera Meera Johna concentrated again on her father. His fingers tapped, just barely tapped that hip bone in time, and rubbed the hip bone out of time, and then tapped it in time again to the music. He extracted himself and went to speak to the deejay. Isabella Tatiana’s eyes followed him. The deejay spun in his swivel chair to reach a pile of albums. He showed them to her father and her father nodded. The music changed from a slinky-sounding Cha cha cha piece to the most popular calypso of the day. In an instant, all the guests began to move their bodies to the beat. In sudden haste, the men and women from both sides came together into the center of the room. The room had filled up fast and with so many people it darkened.
Lady Oswald walked over to Meera Meera Johna’s father. They walked together, several steps away from all the guests. Sir Oswald watched them from a distance, and his face grew darker than the room. Lady Oswald seemed to be scolding Meera Meera Johna’s father. Her father pulled Lady Oswald to him, gave her a small kiss on her cheek, danced away to the light switch on the wall, and, although the room was already dark, dimmed the chandelier so much more that Meera Meera Johna could have stood up and waved her hands and not have been spotted. Lady Oswald stayed still, her back to the rest of the party. She fixed her hair, but she stayed for a good while where she was. The men were beginning, one by one, to loosen their ties and undo the top buttons of their shirts.
Meera Meera Johna watched her father. He was bringing, onto what had been turned into a dance floor, Isabella Tatiana That Tatiana Woman with the black dress the dress that had no straps the dress that had no straps that somehow how on earth it stayed up, and her long wavy hair so wavy. He kept his tie fastened, and did not dance like the other men in what was called a “break-away,” but in his hand he held one of the woman’s, and the other hovered on her waist. He seemed to push and pull her with that hand. They grinned at one another. Lady Oswald walked through the dancing crowd to her husband and he gripped her hand and seemed to pull her hard, to march her straight toward the stairs that exited the house.
Meera Meera Johna’s mother suddenly appeared, walking hurriedly through the mass of dancing people, bumping hard against her father as he danced with this woman. “Oh, I’m sorry, excuse me,” she said, her eyes aflame and watery, her mouth still pinned in a smile, but a ragged one now. John Lucknow Mansing let go of That Tatiana Woman as if he had been stung by her hip and her hand, and in an action as smooth as a dance move he wrestled with the reluctant wrist of his wife as he pulled her to dance with them. She continued to try to wrangle her wrist from John’s grip while biting the lower lip of her still smile-shaped mouth. The water in her eyes tried in vain to extinguish their fire. She pointed beseechingly to something on the patio. Meera Meera Johna looked in that direction, but there were no guests there as they were now all on the dance floor, leaving the yardman to pick up their empties. Meera Meera Johna was sure she caught his jumbie-bead eyes watching her parents, and there was that sickening feeling in her tummy again. John Lucknow Mansing did not even look in the direction of the patio in which his wife was pointing, but shook his head and seemed to insist that she stay and dance. The floor was so crowded that Meera Meera Johna couldn’t now see what was happening without imposing herself, but in a second her mother had yanked her hand from her husband’s and left the room. Meera Meera Johna hoped her mother would not return and interrupt everything again.
Her father reached his arm around the Tatiana woman’s waist, pulled her to him, this time closer, tighter, firmer. One of his men friends shimmied up to Meera Meera Johna’s father and the woman; he thrust his arms in the air and his pelvis was aimed at the woman’s. Meera Meera Johna’s father had a glazed grin sealed on his face. He stepped back to indicate permission, then spun around on one heel to arrive again next to the woman. The man had by this time finished his gyration, and spoke to Meera Meera Johna’s father. Meera Meera Johna’s father lifted his face to the chandelier, closed his eyes, and had a full laugh. He looked the man in his eyes and shook his head, as if to say, “You know!” The man backed away in time to the music. Meera Meera Johna’s father and the woman put their arms around each other, and they danced side by side. The woman put her lips to Meera Meera Johna’s father’s ear and they moved about there. Meera Meera Johna’s father did not look at her but nodded. He let go of her, slipped away from her, and spun around again.