Read Online Finding Monsieur Right (2010) by Muriel Zagha - Free Book Online Page A

shy away from delirious fancy dress: a hooded jet-fringed velvet cape thrown over a red rubber corset dress, for example, or a kimono-sleeved purple gown accessorised with a coffin-shaped handbag. And then there was the hair. Some people liked to crimp theirs so that it stood on end. Others preferred to tease their locks through tentacle-like rubber tubes, having first shaved off their eyebrows for good measure.
    Within twenty minutes of the first arrivals, the atmosphere in the Dungeon had been completely transformed. The management had put on some suitably mournful-sounding rock music, and there were goths chatting away in every nook and cranny. Isabelle noticed that they all appeared to be drinking the same thing and, surprisingly, it wasn't beer.
    'Absinthe, darling.'
    The pub had become rather noisy.
    'What did you say? Who's absent?'
    'No, that's the goth drink du jour . They all love it.'
    'Absinthe?' said Isabelle, reacting as though a unicorn had suddenly entered the room. 'But no, that's impossible. That doesn't exist any more. It's banned. It's very dangerous! In the nineteenth century in France many poets and artists destroyed themselves with absinthe. They went blind or mad, or died.'
    'Is that so, darling? How sad .' Chrissie paused to nibble on a crisp. 'But then I should imagine that only adds to the attraction for our little friends.' He lowered his voice sepulchrally. 'The seductive embrace of death ! How terribly thrilling! Though, actually,' he added, amused by Isabelle's horrified expression, 'I think you're right. The old kind is totally illegal. This is just some boring aniseed drink.'
    A group of Coven fans had already secured their places at the foot of the stage in the next room. Gradually, everybody else went in, Isabelle and Chrissie along with the rest. The lights went down and cheers rose from the crowd.
    From behind a black curtain, four silhouettes emerged. The first one, upper body motionless, slowly clumped to the far left of the stage: it was Jules.
    'Oh, Isabelle, doesn't she look fab ? I feel like a proud father.'
    Actually, Jules did look rather spectacular, tall and slim in her floor-length leather coat and laced-up ankle boots of Victorian inspiration. She had exceptionally left off her spectacles, the better to show off the elaborate stage makeup Chrissie had done for her - an extravaganza of eyeliner and false eyelashes that, combined with her dark bob, made her look like a 1920s movie star. Then the drummer, a redhead in drainpipe PVC trousers and a sleeveless T-shirt with tattooed 'bracelets' on her arms, came to sit behind her kit.
    'That's Ivy,' said Chrissie helpfully, 'and here's Belladonna.'
    A plump girl with poker-straight jet-black hair took her place behind the synthesiser.
    'And that's Legend.'
    The lead guitarist came on last, wearing such enormously high platform boots that she could have been on stilts, and with her hair in a very high ponytail. The crowd began to chant rhythmically, calling out something that Isabelle couldn't make out.
    'It's the singer's name: Karloff,'
    'His name is Carlos?'
    'No, even better than that,' Chrissie spoke close to her ear. 'Karloff, as in Boris. He's a bit of a character .'
    The drummer raised her drumsticks and then brought them down with a deafening thud. Isabelle felt like she had been punched in the stomach. Belladonna produced some eerie chords on her keyboards. Jules and Legend began to 'play'. It was the same discordant metallic din Isabelle remembered from the Brighton trip. Was it 'Eviscerate Me'? Possibly. She couldn't be absolutely sure. She covered her ears, hoping the surrounding fans were too busy to notice and resent her lack of appreciation. The crowd began to roar and stamp their feet. Then Isabelle noticed a motion behind the backdrop, like a trapped insect trying to get out.
    ' Brace yourself, darling. Karloff will be with us any minute now.'
    Right on cue, Karloff emerged on stage in the manner of a cannonball.