The Creation of Frankie Carrozza

Frankie Carrozza And The Underground Soirée.

‘An underground party.’ Bethany felt the words in her mouth and narrowed her eyes. ‘I’ve heard of secret parties before, but this doesn’t mean we have to climb down a grimy grate in the street to get to it, does it?’

‘Absolutely not. It isn’t one of those parties. It is underground in the sense that only collective ears have heard. It shall probably be in a disused ruin of a manor or a forgotten mansion of some sort.’

‘Isn’t it very illegal though? I imagine as such since it is so secretive.’

‘Bethany, of course it is illegal. That is why it is so secret and that is why it is so very gorgeous of an idea. It also halts the ability to allow entrance to any undesired admittance.’ Seraphina sighed theatrically. ‘Rules were made to be broken by boys with vivacious hearts and by girls with silvery wayward souls.’

‘And it shall be fancy dress, I suppose? I didn’t bring a costume with me. I brought luggage to be worn at educational conferences and lovely scary tours.’ Bethany said as she passed the rest of her salad to Frankie as not to have his stomach so full with only a breakfast and luncheon of rum. ‘Had I known I’d have-’

‘Protested urgently.’ Seraphina interjected. ‘Which is why we told you the universal lie of the flyer, delicate dove. I have a full wardrobe precisely for fancy dress. It’s like we’re children again, and you are my human doll fit for dressing up for tea parties on a Sunday. It shall be absolutely delightful.’

Bethany Holiday coyly eyed up Seraphina in her lacy black dress that fell to her pearly thighs high enough to give a cheeky glimpse of her garter above her black stockings, as scarlet as her lipstick mouth. A black headband displayed the large plume of a feather of magnificent violet and teal colours amongst the smothering blonde hair. An aroma of perfume surrounded her in her racy evening flapper dress; adorned as if she was making her way towards a casino or a jazz show a great handful of decades ago. This wasn’t her Halloween costume.

Seraphina moved her locks of pearls around her neck to conceal her cigarette holder in her brassiere. She had plucked a dress from the 1920s to wear in another decade much later, intent on enjoying herself by flouting conventional standards of behaviour within the very dress that was made to do such a thing.

‘You do make me worry from what I have witnessed within your treasure chest of garbs.’ Bethany sighed warily. ‘And put that bejewelled hand down. You’d better eat something before you have another cocktail or it’ll be Russia all over again.’

‘Who gives a rat’s arse how cold you’ll be, if you look bloody brilliant?’ Seraphina shot back as she took the olive out of her drink and put it into her vibrant red mouth. ‘Breakfast was divine.’

This had caused Bethany Holiday to laugh, and it was laugher they endured all the way up to the train stopping at the platform of Paddington Station taking a further train to Rye; a little rural village outside London.

They stood there for one moment carting their belongings about them; the four of them looking in several directions as the older attendants of their schools disappeared amongst the flock at Paddington.

‘And where are we off to now?’ Trevor muttered as he flicked a cigarette onto the train tracks of the very small boxed platform. ‘This place looks like a location build by a child on their toy playset with miniature toy collectables from cereal boxes overdosed with childish cocaine.’

‘I’m not entirely sure. I shall consult the flyer.’ Seraphina announced as she began to rummage amongst one of her three bags. ‘We haven’t to be at the event at Finglas House until six o’clock.’