Anecdote

II: I'M WILD AGAIN, BEGUILED AGAIN

"Duck!" A bridesmaid is screeching above the music, and Brett turns, smile painted wide across her face as she dances.

"Still with the stupid nickname," Bea mutters to herself, half fond. Call me Duck had been some of the first few words Brett ever said in Bea's direction, and she can still recall them with a somewhat sinfully perfect clarity, the lilt of call me halted, abruptly, by the name itself; Duck -- which, to Bea, sounds ungainly no matter what accent you say it in, dumpy and ungraceful, the complete opposite of what Brett is, in reality.

There's a few moments during which all she can do is watch her dance, a jokey jive with the bridesmaid who'd shouted her name in perfect synchronisation to the quick, heady tap of the final chorus of the song, then Bea pulls her eyes away with some difficulty and clears her throat, reaching with some reluctance for the microphone and flicking it on. If there's one thing her ex-girlfriend is, it's sociable, and she's reasonably sure that the minute she notcies Bea's there there will be a resulting conversation that is entirely awkward and not in the least bit interesting for either of them. Still, she tells herself, a job is a job. At least she's getting paid for her trouble.

"And a very good evening to all the guests of Jenna and Oliver tonight," she says, trying for a smile at the resulting whoop from the crowd. Weddings. She hates them. "Jenna, I've been informed by very reliable sources," -- well, she's hoping that whoever wrote the requests on her information sheet is a reliable source -- "that this song holds a special place in your heart. So, may I extend my congratulations," she pauses, trying to recalibrate her tone so that it doesn't sound quite so sharp, then continues; "and best wishes for a wonderful night."

Bea hits play on Frank Sinatra's Fly Me to the Moon and hums along to the first few bars with some appreciation -- she forgot just how well her and Jenna used to get on purely through similar taste in music, on the odd occasions that they did meet -- then, despite herself, eyes the room for Brett. A few seconds later, she hasn't immediately spotted her, and Bea's just telling herself with no little amount of relief that Brett is likely to have headed off to the bathroom and she therefore has some time to prepare herself for the inevitable when a voice behind her and a little to her left, almost uncomfortably familiar and definitely uncomfortably close, says:

"Well, fancy seeing you here."

Bea pitches forward in surprise before she can help it, and just manages to catch herself, feeling a steadying hand coming up to grip her elbow nonetheless.

"Duck," she manages to push out, blinking. "Hi."

"Not surprised to see me, I see?" Duck -- Brett, Brett, she tells herself, Duck is a silly name -- notes, one impeccably shaped eyebrow arching upwards.

"I mean," Bea hesitates, wondering how best to phrase her own multiple realisations that have come to fruition -- that this is Jenna's wedding, that she knows Jenna, that she knows Jenna because she used to date Brett, that Brett is probably here, that Brett is Jenna's maid of honour, etc. etc. -- since she first arrived. "Once I saw whose wedding I was playing, it was pretty easy to anticipate..."

"And you didn't come to say hi?" Brett questions, eyes roaming her face. Bea looks at her, glass of wine perched precariously between two fingers, long legs crossed over one another as she leans slightly against the wall behind them, and swallows.

"Well, you know," she says, trying to keep her tone as even as possible. "We both have things to be doing tonight."

Brett hums as though she's thinking about doing something entirely different tonight, and Bea can already feel herself slowly losing the battle to keep her eyes fixed just on her face.