Moulin Beige

The ladies’ can-can is the big attraction at the social club’s fundraiser. But one person may just spoil the show

- KATH KILBURN 

ESME stood in the wings and trembled with excitement as she heard the opening bars of the Infernal Gallop. Only another few seconds and the dancing – the swirling, the pointy-toed leg flicks and the swishing of skirts – would start to the famous can-can music. She and her friends had practised so hard for this moment!

Between high-kicks, Esme remembered their reactions the first time Gertrude had mooted the idea. “I know what we can do for the anniversary show,” she said – and after a short pause for effect – continued, “. . . The can-can!”

Beattie had spluttered up a considerable amount of coffee. Marie recovered more quickly. “The can-can with support hose and sensible bras? Are you sure?”

“Well, that’s not exactly what I had in mind but yes, I suppose so. That sort of thing. Silky bloomers – red, of course – flouncy frocks, exotic headdresses. Maybe not so many high-kicks, and even if it’s not exactly elegant, at least it’ll raise a laugh.”

“So long as no one has a coronary in the audience.”

“Or on stage,” Beattie added, grim-faced.

Esme, the youngster of the group – just edging into middle-age – offered her own suggestion: “My Dan’s got lovely, strong thighs.” Esme had recently married the youngest brother of the other women’s husbands – the ladies were both firm friends and longtime sisters-in-law – and was routinely forgiven for going offon a romantic tangent.