He also noticed several people in his age range, both male and female, standing around or sitting at the tables. There were those of an older generation as well, and a few kids running about. His boss spotted him as he lingered in the doorway and strode over, his already bulky form looking larger than life in a white shirt and a kilt of greyish blue and green plaid, which he’d been told by several people now to call tartan. He also had something that looked like a round 9
New Culture, New Year, New Love S. Blaise
furry purse slung across the front that Trent didn’t want to ask about.
“So you made it, excellent,” the man told him, shaking his hand. His blue eyes were sparkling merrily, his receding silver hair combed back away from his already florid face.
“Come on, I’ll introduce you around.”
“Thanks. I wasn’t sure whether to bring something or not, but brought this just in case.” He offered the bag he held, letting the other man take out the bottle of fine whisky that was inside.
“Oh, that was very good of you, thanks very much.
We’ll put it with the others.”
It was then that Trent noticed the other table, which seemed to be groaning under the weight of enough alcohol to open a liquor store. There were bottles of various spirits and wines, and whole boxes of “alcopops,” beers and lagers, as well as juices and soft drinks. Rapidly depleting spires of plastic cups bravely defended one corner. He was told to help himself as his host poured a whisky. Trent had figured the bottle he’d brought would be a safe bet and was glad to see he’d been right.
TRENT collapsed into a seat, trying to get his breath back.
These dances were definitely energetic. He’d just finished one called the “Dashing White Sergeants” with relief, with its spins, and circles, and a weird little foot movement, a kind of 10
New Culture, New Year, New Love S. Blaise
skipping kick, called a “pas de bas” that he just couldn’t get the hang of. At least he hadn’t been the only one. It was time for another drink. He approached the drinks table, hoping to get another vodka mixer. They didn’t have any beer left, and the lager he’d tried, in a tall yellow can, had been strong. It seemed there was a late arrival, a man also in his late twenties or early thirties, barrelling in his direction.
He wore a black shirt with sleeves rolled up, helping his vibrant kilt of red and green stand out even more. He also had the pouch at the front, though his was leather, and the cream knee high socks with the little red tabs but for shoes he had on sturdy work boots instead of the flatter
“Ghillie Brogues” or dress shoes other men were wearing. He had dark blond hair with lighter highlights that was starting to grow past his ears, bushy and wild, like a lion’s mane. He was an inch or so shorter than Trent and stockier, filling out the shirt and kilt nicely. As he got closer Trent could see he had green eyes and a dusting of freckles across his nose and cheeks. He hovered by the table, not wanting to move away just yet. As the other man got closer an older woman intercepted him. He was able to hear the man’s rougher voice, the accent sending a thrill down his spine.
“Yeah, I know I’m late; with things starting to kick off in town getting here was a hassle. Yes, I cleaned my flat mum, even the skirting boards. I did so! Can I get a drink now? I’m gasping. I’ll go say hi to everyone in a minute.”
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They were both beside him now, with the man taking one of the yellow cans from the box under the table. Trent pretended to be intensely fascinated by his drink, not sure how to introduce himself. Luckily it was soon taken out of his hands.
“Oh, Andrew, this is the American lad working with your uncle,” the woman was saying. Trent remembered her as one of Mrs. Vere’s sisters, though he couldn’t remember which one. There had seemed to be so many. “This is my son, Andrew.”
“Trent Rose, nice to meet you,” Trent said, smiling and extending a hand.
“You too. Just call me Andy. So you’re working with Uncle Norry then?” His handshake was firm, his hand fitting snugly against Trent’s.
Andy. Norry. He’d also met an Ally, a Ronnie and a Roddie, as well as three Ians. With a name like Trent he was beginning to feel conspicuous. “Yeah, he invited me here when he learned I’d be spending New Year’s alone. He’s a great guy.”
Andy nodded, taking a gulp of his drink. “Aye, that he is. You been enjoying the dancing?” he asked with a mischievous smirk.
Trent grinned. “It’s a hell of a workout, that’s for sure.”
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Andy laughed, when the band made the
announcement for another dance. “‘Strip the Willow,’ that’s a great one! Come on!” He set his can down along with Trent’s glass and grabbed his hand, quickly finding them both a couple of partners as they took their places next to each other for the dance, the men in one line and the women in another, facing each other. “Now remember,” he said once the dance had been gone over slowly and was about to be done properly to the music, “when you’re up at the ends, lean back a bit when you’re spinning your partner and keep your arms stretched out, it makes you go faster. Oh – but make sure you’ve got a firm grip on their hands, trust me on that.”
Trent enjoyed the dance but was feeling dizzy by the end of it, with all the spins and turning involved. He made it back to a chair, Andy laughing and clapping him on the back as he also sat down after retrieving their drinks. The blond had seemed almost too enthusiastic, practically throwing the females ’round with abandon until Trent had been sure they would crash into the others. He was now sitting with his legs slightly apart, and Trent had to keep resisting the urge to look down.
“Are you supposed to swing the girls around like that?”
he asked.
“Oh, aye!” Andy grinned. “Flinging them round’s half the fun. “You should’ve seen us at school; we had to learn these dances, and one time the guy’s grip wasn’t right, his hands were too sweaty or something, I don’t know. But 13
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anyway, my mate went flying, made it all the way to the wall, crashed into it, and fell over.”
“Ouch.”
“Yep. He was fine though, we were all laughing our heads off. I went to an all boys’ school, so we’d go a bit mental.”
“And you actually had to learn these dances?”
“Oh, sure. During P.E., it was a good laugh. We’d have ceilidhs sometimes with a lassie’s school, and there was our Sixth Year Ball. I think that’s about the same as, what do Americans call it? Prom?”
Trent nodded. “Prom, yeah. It was nothing like this though; if this is a typical ... ceilidh,” he said hesitantly, still not very confident at pronouncing the word. “It’s pretty cool, having all this tradition.” He saw Andy grin. “What?”
“Nothing, sorry. Just, your accent’s magic.”
“Uh, thanks, I think,” Trent replied with an embarrassed grin. “Yours is great too, though I don’t understand what you’re saying sometimes.”
“Oh? So I can make fun of you, and you won’t know what I’m saying then?”
“Probably, but do you want to make fun of me?” Trent asked, adding a hint of a smile to the question.
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Andy shook his head, smiling in return. “Nah, I’m only kidding you on, don’t worry. And my accent’s not too bad, just be thankful I’m not speaking in Scots.”
“I thought it was called Gaelic?”
Andy shook his head again. “Gaelic’s the language, Scots is the dialect. Gaelic’s another thing, though. You look at the spelling of the words compared to how you say them, and it’s like two committees decided to make the language up out of a bowl of alphabet soup without reading the manual and barely talking to each other.”
Trent couldn’t help laughing. “So, you know I have to ask now, can you say something in Scots?”
“Well, I shouldn’t really talk in Scots, being from Edinburgh. Scots is more the province of ‘them Weegie basturds,’ which is a whole other story,” he said, grinning.
“Uh, okay, I think I’ve got a lot to learn about this country,” Trent replied uncertainly.
“I can say something in Gaelic, one of the few phrases I actually know,” Andy said after giving him a considering look. “An toir thu dhomh pòg?” He said very quickly, almost as though it was all one word, pronouncing it “Un TUH-r oo ghawnh pawk”.
“And what does that mean?” Trent asked, confused.
Andy gave him another grin, his eyes twinkling mischievously.
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“I’ll tell you later. Possibly.”
Trent smiled, glancing down at the material spread between Andy’s thighs that only reached to his knees, unable to help it any longer. He realised Andy had noticed him looking and quickly pointed to the pouch. “I’ve been wondering, but I wasn’t sure whether to ask or not, what is that?”
“You mean my sporran?” Andy asked, holding it up.
“Kilts don’t have pockets, in case you hadn’t noticed. We need somewhere to keep our keys and spare change and what have you. They’re pretty handy; they can hold quite a bit.”
“Sporran, cool name for it. So what have you got in yours?”
“Wouldn’t
you
like to know?” Andy asked with a teasing grin. He laughed. “Only joking, nothing too exciting unfortunately, just a few necessities. Well it depends on your view of exciting, I suppose. You want another?” he asked, pointing to Trent’s drink.
Trent wondered just what that meant, that last “view of exciting” bit. “No, thanks, I’m fine. I’m trying to pace myself.”
“Ach, you’ll never last the night if this is you getting pished already. But all right, be right back.”
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He went for another can, and Trent was unable to help following his progress, eyes trained on the swaying kilt. It was a garment he was certainly learning to appreciate, especially when it showed off such a fine pair of muscular legs. He was itching now to learn what Andy had said to him and hoped he’d be able to find out. He didn’t think it was anything too bad. At least he hoped not. Andy soon returned with another drink and some food, and both of them watched the dancers for a while.
Trent nearly spat the remains of his drink back out as he heard the name of the next dance that would be done.
“Did I hear that name right?” Andy nodded, grinning. “You actually have a dance called the ‘
Gay Gordons
?’”
Andy laughed at his reaction. “Yep! I know. You can imagine the fun we had with that at school. They had no idea the word would take on its modern meaning, of course, but it’s still funny.” He leaned forward. “What do you think, want to dance the ‘Gay Gordons’ with me?” He was smirking mischievously again, and Trent could see the unspoken dare in his eyes.
Trent chuckled, trying to hide his nervousness. The band was already going through the steps, and the music would start soon. He stood, downing the dregs of his drink.
“Sure, why not? There’s a few female couples out there, right, so why not guys?” He really liked how pleased Andy looked.
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“Great, come on then!” They quickly made it to the dance floor. “You can be the man, since you’re taller,” Andy told him, smiling.
“Gee, thanks, appreciate it.”
They’d managed to make it to the second walk through, Andy pushing Trent’s right arm up so he could slide underneath it, with it lying across his shoulders, and grabbing Trent’s hands in his, right with right and left with left. They went through the steps, Trent trying not to notice how close their bodies were or how good it felt, especially at the end when they had to “polka” for eight steps before starting again. The music started and they danced in earnest.
Trent didn’t think he’d done too badly, only turning the wrong way once and stepping on Andy’s toes a few times, and his boots protected him anyway. Mostly he was trying not to get distracted by the way Andy’s kilt flared out during the dance. The music ended with Andy’s cheeks looking flushed, and his eyes were bright as they smiled at each other.
“You dance the girl’s part really well,” Trent couldn’t help remarking.
“Well, all boys’ school, like I said,” Andy replied, shrugging. “Now, I’m not saying it’s to
blame
, but it didn’t hurt either when it comes to dancing with men,” he added with a wink. Trent laughed lightly, hoping that meant what 18
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he thought it meant. Andy checked his watch. “Ah, shite,”
he muttered.
“Do you have to go?” Trent asked, hoping that he didn’t. Andy looked at him a moment.
“Well.... What would you think about cutting out of here a bit early?”
“Uh – to do what?”
“I’ve got a spare pass to the Street Party in town. I was supposed to go with a friend, but he couldn’t make it, and anyone else I’ve asked has had plans. You fancy going?”
Standing out in the absolute freezing cold with Andy or staying in the nice, warm hall without him? No contest.
“Sure, sounds great!”
“Brilliant! I’ll see if we can get a lift off of someone.”
He grabbed Trent’s hand, dragging him over to the cluster of older relatives at a table. “Uncle Norry, I’m gonna steal Trent for the rest of the night.”
“That’s fine, depending on what you want with him,”
the older man said good-naturedly.
While Trent tried not to look as awkward as he felt Andy explained about the event in Princes Street and his friend. He also managed to arrange a lift there from a relative who was leaving soon and heading in that direction.
They had time for a last drink before bundling into coats and being driven in the car.
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They were dropped off not too far from the street and told to be careful and have fun. Andy gave a cheerful reply about seeing everyone next year as his relatives drove away, and pulled a couple of bunched up things from his coat pockets, shoving one down over Trent’s head.