One Decadent Life: Part Two



[[ Edit complete January 4, 2015 ]]


“Mademoiselle Angelique? Forgive me for calling…”

“It’s quite alright, M’sieur. I was preparing to call you…”

“I awaited your call, and grew impatient I must admit. I did keep it in the mind, the ‘Causewells,’ They are bien-estime on our island. So I have taken liberty —“

“Quite alright. I’ve heard tell of your party, from a local person… quite the event I understand, and so tonight —?”

“Yes, this night of Christmas Eve, through midnight, into the early hours. You will come? You will be a guest of honour… and your friend?”

Angelique glanced over at David who was pretending not to eavesdrop. Their second twenty-four hours together had been somewhat worse than the first, having lost the charm of novelty. She was weary of the bad moods, the narcissistic drama, the unabating tension. Rainy inclement weather had kept them all day indoors, and while the Causewell library was substantial, Angelique hadn’t come to Ste. Barthelemy to read.

If only he would speak to her, as he used to, on the telephone… but no. There was no confiding. He wasn’t even particularly friendly. She dared do nothing to rile up the patient… never encroaching on any painful topic… hoping the delicate nerves remained in abeyance. Angelique was feeling a little bored of her role as psychiatric nurse.

She turned her back entirely on David, and lowered her voice —

“I’m not certain. I can explain when I see you —“

“You will come then? I admit I have thought of you, more than once. Several times…”

“I am very flattered.”

“If we fetch you at nine o’clock, you will be just in time for the supper. The boat, she is called La Marquise Marie.

Angelique sighed with pleasure. How she loved synchronicity, as in a confluence of names: her Marie Alexandra was again a saving grace. Perhaps this man was serving as an antidote, against the evil spell of the priest Salvatore… she pointedly failed to look at David after she hung up.

In the kitchen she asked Eunice to make her some tea. The maid was preparing to leave; she would not be back until the day after Christmas. Piles of food, a turkey, a ham, vegetable casseroles and plentiful baked goods had been prepared and packaged; she and David would have everything they might want or need over the holiday.

Angelique confided, “I’ll be at the party tonight!”

“Aw, hope it do stop rainin!“ Eunice lowered her voice, “He goin’ wif’ ye?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t care.”

“Um un UHN!” growled Eunice, and placed the honey-jar by the lady.

Whatever she had imagined about David had fairly dissipated, in light of this new, cold and superficial personality. Despite the time now spent together, the less she understood him. What she may have ever known seemed to have been subtracted from a very harsh truth.

He’d had a long conversation with Marilyn Causewell last evening; he’d asked her to leave the room, while they spoke! Nor had he apprised her of its subject. That had been vaguely insulting. She figured they may have been discussing her; whatever her role was to be, in their scheme of things, however they imagined her…

She rather did not care. She had trained herself not put up with denigration for more than a couple of beats. Without David, what would she have done? Gone out, and had fun… this man Luc was a welcome diversion, and now I’m going to have fun with a capital F, U and N whether he likes it or not!

Eunice asked her, “You want me to take you down ‘dere?” meaning the Port Gustavia where the yachts were docked… where restaurants , shops and nightclubs lined the quay. It lay about two miles from their house.

“No, thank you Eunice, but Monsieur Luc is sending a car for me.”

“M’sieur Luc… um un uhn,” she expostulated discreetly.

“What… tell me what. He seems quite charming.”

“Chahmin’. O ye. He be dat.”

“What?” Angelique insisted.

Eunice blew a deep sigh, and laughed, “Le’z juz’ say… he’s a rish man.”

“Oh I’m not afraid of rich men. They can fall just as hard as any other.”

“Who falls hard?”

David was standing in the kitchen doorway. He didn’t like the way Angelique chatted up Eunice; he felt it showed a lack of breeding.

“Why don’t you have your tea in the salon?”

When Angelique was settled in, and David sitting across from her, she suddenly felt they might be about to engage…in what she’d characterized to herself as The Confession. But no… he lit a cigarette, and watched her sip. Then both of them spoke at once:

“I came down here because…”

“If you think I’m going to let you…”

They laughed nervously, and David more rapidly took up his thought, “I can’t let you go out to this party alone. I’ll have to accompany you.”

“Oh and may I ask, why is that?” She felt suddenly petulant; having decided she would seduce the Count or Duke or whatever he was — now she’d have to duck a disapproving big brother?

“Angelique, this is NOT New York. This is FRANCE… and worse, it’s the Caribbean! You can’t just go out and act the decadent libertine here! You could end up drugged, kidnapped, shipped on some South American freighter, sold into a brothel…”

“David do not be absurd!”

“Whatever you think, Mademoiselle. But that’s that. You’re not going without an escort.”

So she acquiesced, pleased after all to be worthy of his attention, however conventional it was. So passed the moment for her to confront him… it was time to start getting dolled for the evening.

She chose her white evening gown, spangled with sequins, with a high neck that served as a backdrop for her sapphires. As she worked the catch, ready to call Eunice for assistance, then remembering the woman had already left… it slipped from her grasp and slid across the tiles underneath the vanity-table. She exclaimed, angry at having to crawl, fearful for her sheer white stocking which would show a run… she bumped her head, and gasped, and clutched at something… it was her necklace, and something else.

It was a ring, cold from the floor, heavy, with a large stone… She stood up and held it under the lamp.

Tere’s Alexandrite!

A harsh, pointed fear came over her — as she realized she was going to keep it.


The car was late. It was past nine, and Luc had told her the supper started at nine. Were they coming at all? Angelique considered it was as if her ‘suitor’ knew she wasn’t coming alone.

The shoes she’d brought that matched the gown were a half-size too small. What had she been thinking…? Her feet hurt. There were at least ten white or crystalline pairs of Marilyn’s she might have borrowed, but Marilyn wore a size five and a half. Irritably she’d thought What IS the woman, a midget?

I ought to change my shoes or I’ll be miserable all night… She stopped herself from getting up and looking out the window again. David was dressed entirely in black, which displeased her for once. It’s Christmas for Christ’s sake… couldn’t he have mustered one of Bram’s tuxedos?

David was fairly drunk and pleased to see his friend in a bad mood. He knew what her agitation signified. She had designs on the rich man… and didn’t want him, David, to get in her way.

He, in his turn, had begun to observe her in a less idealized fashion. He thought her too heavily made-up; he didn’t understand the black eyebrows, and a purple lipstick made her face look hard. In her white shimmering dress, with her hair up, dusted with opalescent glitter, and the little pointy shoes, David thought she resembled an icicle — a spike of ice, brittle and frigid.

He finished his fourth cocktail and poured himself another as Angelique glared at him. “You look like an icicle,” he informed her.

“I though I looked like a snowflake.” He had never heard anything like a whine from her before.

“Oh, a unique snowflake. How original,” he muttered into his glass.

“The car is here,” and she was out the door.

The liveried driver she had met before, the man Beauregarde, who greeted her courteously and held open the door. She hesitated for a second, seeing other people within, but got onto the banquette in the roomy interior.

Two women — we hesitate to call them ladies — were ensconced in the most comfortable back area of the limosine. Both were deeply tanned, proving their provenance was the island — both exhibited decolletage to the navel, as was the fashion… strips of heavily sequined material just barely covered their artificially-enhanced bosoms. The skirts on each dress were mostly imaginary…
long, slim legs stretched out in the plushily carpeted interior, and ended in elegant, diamante-encrusted platform spike-heels.

“Hewwo, I’m Altima,” said one who wore her long, dyed-blonde locks ironed-straight to her waist. She held out a small silver tray piled with white powder, and a straw (or rather) a rolled-up currency, “Blow?”

At that moment David entered the compartment, saw the cocaine, and fell back next to Angelique, granting her a furious look.

Well what are we supposed to do now… run for it? Go back in the house?

“No thank you!” smiled Angelique, through her teeth, “I’m Angelique, and this is David.”

“Pleeze to meetya,” said the other female, whose hair spiralled in crazy dark-red corkscrews. She was obnoxiously sniffling, and licking her fingers, “I’m Ultima.”

“Altima, and Ultima… how very original,” remarked Angelique.

“Yes, Luc gave us the names… because I’m always high, the highest!” laughed the blonde Altima.

“And I’m always the last…” snickered Ultima.

“The last?” repeated Angelique, not understanding.

“That’s not what it means,” Altima chided her friend, “It means ‘the farthest point possible…’ ”

“I guessing, you’re the Alpha and the Omega… of something,” David sarcastically rejoined. He had already guessed of what; and Ultima confirmed it when she laughed,

“At least I’m not a fluffer!” *

“You can call us ‘Awl’ and ‘Ool.’ ”

The rest of the short ride to the Porte was dominated by the noise of snuffling and sighing. Angeique and David didn’t touch the champagne offered. Angelique was dreading what was in store; David felt more superior than ever to the alleged fun to come; and Altima and Ultima thought the pair were a couple of squares.

They drove along the quay to the docked ‘Marquise Marie;’ neither female waited on Beauregarde to open the door, shrieking with joy, yelling at friends, tripping on their heels, banging into one another, they staggered up the gang-way between the lines of beige-coated attendants.

Angelique and David exited more gently… all along the quay on either side of the yacht were tables, loaded with bottles and trays of food, fruit, cakes… strung with colored lights, small bands playing steel drums and cornets, as the people of the islands were feasted and feted. Angelique looked longingly at the joyous crowd, but gave in to the slavishly nodding heads, the white-gloved waving hands, drawing them onto the massive yacht.

It appeared to be three stories high, like a small battleship… they landed at the top of the gang-way onto a wide deck, decorated lavishly for Christmas. At least a dozen firs, imported from the forests of Germany, were strung with hundreds of twinkling lights and garlands of pointsettia, pink, white and red. They were set upon by waiters carrying trays of champagne and savory canapes… Angelique and David circled the deck, then climbed a stairway to the second level.

This was a huge, enclosed space, rollicking with music and dancing… Surrounding the dance-floor were round tables, clustered with men in tuxes, women as scantily, fashionably dressed as the Awl and Ool figments. Dinner was being served, but David and Angelique did not see two empty seats together.

At a large, round table Angelique noticed Luc, deep in conversation with a couple of Italian men in tuxedos… also at the table were four Saudi Arabian men in native costume, attended by women who apparently could not keep their hands off the gentlemen. Patens of silver, piled high with the crystalline cocaine, dotted the tablecloths. Angelique had noted that on every table — the supply constantly replenished by waiters dressed in snow-white costumes.

David felt nauseous: the high level of debauchery, the pounding disco-beast of the music, everyone stoned, people dancing though dead on drugs. Images from his recent dreams, that descent into hell, spiraling levels of damnation… intruded on the jollity, sickening him. What also made his anxious: he was aware of the enormity of “an organization” blatantly here in action.

Angelique did not try to get Luc’s attention; in fact, she asked David if they might not go outside.

“Seen enough?” he asked her, as she leaned against the railing, “It’s all about coke, and probably dope too. Your friend — ”

“You don’t know that. It’s probably just for the party…”’

“Angelique you have no concept… have you any idea how much coke that is, what it’s worth? They’re shovelling it in. Your friend’s in the drug trade.”

“Well… anyhow. I still have to say Hello.”

“But why? Let’s just go.”

“No, David. And you’re being a hypocrite.”

“I beg your pardon?

The frustration and anger burst from Angelique. “There’s something I’ve been waiting for… from you!”


“You know exactly what! You called me in New York saying you were going to kill yourself so as a good friend I came down here. So far you’ve had nothing to say about it. You’re so fucking blase.”

“Well wasn’t ‘the reason why’ obvious? I have — I had — a heroin problem. That’s why I need to get out of this place!”

“Well three days ago I would have felt some sympathy for you. But right now… I don’t really give a damn,” and with that Angelique whirled away from him, back into the ballroom.

She threw herself into the melee of dancers as “Let the Music Play” ** hit full force… lovely tinkling bells, counterpointing the violent beat of the disco hit took her… her white gown shimmered and she kicked off her tight shoes.

We started dancing
and love put us into a groove
As soon as we started to move

She sparkled… she floated, people stood back to watch this gorgeous apparition, both ethereal and deeply rooted in the beat.

Suddenly she was joined by Luc. Like her, he wore white, with a silver shirt. For a couple of beats he faced her, meeting her rhythms, then grasped her around the waist and spun her… she flew to

The music played
while our bodies displayed
through the dance
Then love picked us out for romance

He caught her again, bent her backwards, leaned over her and kissed her throat… the crowd applauded…

What does love want me to do?

His kiss smelled of cocaine, her eyes shone into his… he read her thoughts, unscrewed the top of a glass vial around his neck. In its cap was a small spoon embedded:

Love said:
Let the music play
he won’t get away,
Just keep the groove and
then he’ll come back to you one day

Luc gave her a dose… Within seconds the pernicious drug swept her blood, flooded her brain with its thrill, as her body shook in the throbbing music… she danced with new power, danced danced like her life depended on it, felt like a being unmoored, an angel, a white angel, a snowflake! except this gorgeous man, he drew her back, made her want him

Let it play!
Let the music play
he won’t get away

Altima joined them on the dance-floor, shimmying up against Luc, glittering her smile at Angelique, daring her to come between them… inhaling more coke as Luc french-kissed her, spilled the drug down their faces, laughing, licking it off… he then turned to kiss Angelique in turn

This groove he can’t ignore
he won’t leave you anymore,
no, no, no!

Angelique refused the kiss. Luc pouted, faced her, rejecting Altima, began to caress her statuesque shape thoroughly. Angelique tossed her head and accepted the homage

He tried pretending
a dance is just a dance
but I see
He’s dancing his way back to me
he’s dancing his way back to me

David had watched the man kiss Angelique, saw her accept the snort of coke… watched the man whispering in her ear, her laughter, saw her led from the dance floor. From the furthest corner of the ballroom, as they mounted a silver steel spiral stair the man, unseen by Angelique, Luc gestured to someone in the crowded ballroom. David glanced in that direction, and saw two young women get up, and make their way towards the stair.

A four-way… well maybe she was getting what she wanted… and as for me

One of the more good-looking of the waiters was suddenly at his elbow… “Sir may I be of service?”

“What is this place a fucking bordello?” growled David, “Well okay then… how much?”

“Sir there are no charges this evening only gratuities.”

David felt slightly shocked that his sarcasm had hit the mark. What is Angelique in for? Is that fellow a gigolo… or a pimp?

David and his whore went down to the main deck, from which vantage point he could see what looked like a thousand people on the quay dancing and rioting. Like Angelique, he felt drawn to that party, and regretted his elite status. The man opened a door onto a broad staircase descending into the body of the ship. David balked, “What’s down there?”

“The swimming pool sir.”

As they went down he smelled the chlorine stench, humid warmth, heard the relentless beat of the music…

They came out upon an enormous glass-tiled aquamarine pool, surrounded by chaise lounges, palm-trees, circulating waiters, and dozens of partyers, many of them naked or nearly so. At the furthest end on a stage a famous singer was topless, and performing her latest hit, writhing in a group of male dancers:

I feel the night explode when we’re together
Emotion overload in the heat of pleasure
Take me I’m yours
into your arms
Never let me go
Tonight I really need to know
Tell it to my heart
Tell me I’m the only one

David’s paramour found him a chaise lounge, and knelt beside him. David gave in to the reigning bacchanal. He hadn’t had sex in months Why not find out if this damned detox has helped me any?

Stretched out on the lounge next to him was a very old man, exquisitely dressed in a pale pink silk suit, holding against himself a half-naked brown boy who looked to be twelve. David looked away, embarrassed. He felt the wet, ardent mouth of the whore upon him, but he couldn’t feel anything else. What was being pleasured seemed to have lost all its nerve endings.

He felt both the young boy and the old man watching him. David heard them speaking French, laughing. Both old age and youth together humiliating him. The head of his paramour seemed ridiculous, uselessly bobbing up and down. David told him to stop and get him a drink. “Sorry, sir,” he moved away, again a waiter.

The elderly man caressed his boy, whispered in his ear, and the child broke into giggles. David looked into their depraved faces, the slit eyes, the leering mouths. He felt disgusted… the poor child seemed to be high

The passion’s so complete. It’s never ending
As long as I receive, the message you’re sending
Body to body, soul to soul
Always feel you near
So say the words
I long to hear

The maudlin lyrics of the song dinned in his ears, romantic tripe, glossing over the vile reality he found himself in.

In the upper reaches of the yacht, Angelique was standing before a tall pier-glass mirror. Outside the windows a full moon was rising, and she felt herself tall, imperious, commanding over the boat, the night, the sea itself. On a sort of throne her friend sat, watching her; on either side of her were two exquisite women, not of the ilk of Altima and Ultima, but younger and more delicate — maybe Norwegian blondes. Angelique was not about to engage them in conversation. The two girls were undressing her; she kept her eyes locked onto Luc’s, in the mirror.

So is this his thing — voyeurism? She hoped there might be more. In the meantime she promised herself to give him a “show” that he might never forget.

The idea had not fully impressed itself on her — not since her original suspicion of a ‘con,’ in the airport — that Luc could be something more than a mere wealthy aristocrat. David’s sarcastic remarks she rejected completely, as she was so much into her fantasy… he was for her a refined, beautiful being, a Count of a Duke, someone she was falling in love with… So she was missing every cue, as she fell under the caresses of the two young prostitutes.

Is this really love or just a game?
Tell it to my heart
I can feel my body rock
every time you call my name

David almost felt like doing coke, with the ravening hordes. But when the waiter came back with his drink, he failed to ask him for that drug… or for heroin, though he felt certain where there is so much coke there has to be dope.

As if reading his mind Alt and Ult stood before him, twin nightmares he considered them: The Alt thing is coke, and Ult is dope. “Where’s your friend? As if we didn’t know,” they giggled and shoved their asses up against him to sit on his lounge.

“She’s with that fellow, the Mayor’s son.”

“Mayor’s son!” Ultima snorted, “Huh… that’s just something he tells to squares.”

“Well then who or what is he?” The girls started laughing their heads off, and Ultima screeched:

“He’s the fucking Mayor, man!” David felt this wasn’t true either.

Altima focussed on him after a moment: “So — you don’t like to party?”

“I’ve done enough of it, in my time. I’m over it.”

He watched the girls indulge again, vicariously imagining what they were feeling. Ultima helpfully proffered the silver tray, and though David hesitated before saying no… still, he said no.

“Hey Grandpa!” she greeted the oldster, who was accepting pecking kisses from the boy. They spoke in French, with the old man gesturing at David.

“What’s he saying?”

“Mmm he say you can’t get it up so I should give it a try.”

David was annoyed, frowning at them all, “Who the fuck does he think he is?”

“The Mayor,” and the two women screeched again.

“You don’t know who that is?” Altima asked, “He owns,” and she named one of the Europe’s most profitable car companies, “Too bad he likes boys. What about you?”

“Well I like boys, though a little bit older.”

“Aw! All you guys’er so ver’ ver’ boring. Couldn’t you at least be BI?”

“I guess not. Sorry.”

Altima shot Ultima a glance: “Why don’ we show David some’fin new… eggziting?”

Her friend caught the drift, “Yesh… we turn you on to some’fin … ALL new.”

“New? Such as?”

“You come wif us… come on, we show you.”

David obligingly stood up, and took a few steps behind Altima… he suddenly felt the other one behind him gripping his belt, and in a flash Altima turned and together they threw David into the pool.

An hour later, divested of his wet clothes, in a luxurious white terrycloth bathrobe, David was lying down in a small bedroom off the swimming pool area. He was sleeping better than he had for weeks.

The moon up above, it shines down upon our skin
Whispering words that scream of outrageous sin
We all want the stuff that’s found in our wildest dreams
It gets kinda rough in the back of our limousine
That’s what we are, we all want a love bizarre

Angelique was screaming, one girl on her breast, the other between her legs. The two were preternaturally skilled… usually she rarely orgasmed by cunnilingus.

The man Luc sat still, impassively about twenty feet from her, smoking a cigarillo. Angelique felt weirdly ashamed in the wash of her pleasure. She wanted to get through to him, she wanted HIM to be the one screaming, red-faced, out of control. She felt humiliated, being stared at. Then she looked at him again. It was odd… he was very detached, almost as if he was watching a television program. Or — was he looking at HIMSELF? In the mirror? He wasn’t looking at her or the girls.

No, he sat regarding his own beautiful, elegant, rareified male self, reduplicated several times in the several mirrors. Their knot of pleasure had been just a sort of art-work on his wall.

The girls felt her growing cold and fell away, wandering to the bathroom, to clean up and be ready for whatever might happen next.

Angelique watched Luc take another hit of coke. He then seemed to notice her, rose and came to her —

Angelique dully accepted the drug, hoping to rise from her sense of shame. She reached out and caressed his arm, tried to draw him close to her. He laughed, took her hand in his, and kissed it… she touched his lean, handsome face, tried to bring it closer to her. He unhooked her hand from the back of his head, and stood up.

“Is this your bedroom?”

“Yes… one of them.”

She took a chance, “I’d like to spend the night with you.”

“Mademoiselle. I am so flattered… but tonight, you see I am the host. So we must go down now… I am so pleased to have…”

“To have seen me naked? Watched me have pleasure?”

“Why… yes. Why are you angry?”

“Never mind…” she stood up and put on her brassiere… “You wouldn’t happen to have a pair of shoes to match this dress would you? Size seven and a half?”

Fully dressed, newly shod, brushed, makeup touched up, she found her way out of the room, barely acknowledging Luc, with the monotonous pop tune snickering its lyrics behind her:

It gets kinda rough in the back of our limousine
That’s what we are, we all want a love bizarre
That’s what we are, we all want a love bizarre

Angelique was striding through the levels of the dishevelled boat. She observed the detritus of the party, people in various stages of undress lying about a swimming pool… drunken, doped couples shuffling on the dance floor. She caught sight of the man-servant Beauregarde, inquired if he had seen her friend David,

“I believe the gentleman left on foot. Can we see you home?”

“No… no thank you Beauregarde. I think I’ll see if I can’t find… some of my other friends…”

Angelique came out on the vantage point of the deck, breathing the fresh air of the night. Now she looked over the still-ongoing revelry on the quay and tripped down the gangplank, and was swept up into the wilder, shall we say cleaner rhythms of the people’s Christmas Eve.

She danced with several men, and women, ate roast pig from a stick… she spilled grease down the front of her Balenciaga gown. She drank rum punch, danced some more… when she finally caught sight of Eunice, walking grandly along in a bright flowered red dress. She was in the company of a beautiful old man dressed in spotless white. Angelique suddenly knew him for Eunice’s father, and a babaloa of Oye. She could not have said how she knew but

… she gladly approached them, when out of the corner of her eye she thought she saw someone she knew… a man in a red shirt, giving her a wave? She looked sharply to the left of Eunice’s Daddy, where the apparition had vanished…

“Was that Orestes?” by now drunk, and knowing she might not be thinking clearly.

“Orestes?” she said again. For a moment he had looked exactly like Orestes!

The Daddy stood before her, and gazed into her eyes: “Daughter of Oshun,” and rested his hand upon her head.

Both the father, and Eunice — Santeros! But of course. Angelique began to cry. Only by that magick could be cured an addiction: by means of exorcism, release the demonic possession.

The three people shone at each other… Through her tears Angelique understood who Eunice was, and embraced her.

“Them debbils try and git her…” Eunice told her Daddy, and put her big arm around Angelique’s waist, “But you lady, you git away, don’che. You al’lays git away.”

The three turned away from the revelry and walked uphill, a ways into the village of Gustavia.

The old Daddy held her hand… “Ma’am, they’s Work to be done… you part of it. Stay away from that otha’ mess, though. And it’ll come looking for ye. Watch ye’se’f. Since you are Santera. But stay away fum dat LUC.”

They reached a little adobe sort of hut; before it a green donkey cart. Eunice gave a whistle and a little boy, no more than eight, came out of the house, rubbing his eyes.

“You take this lady up to Mis May-lin’s house… she give you a dollah.” He went into a nearby shed, brought out a little brown donkey and attached him to the cart with a few leather straps.

Angelique weakly held onto Eunice, looking over her shoulder at the kind Daddy’s eyes. She felt herself drawing a kind of sustenance from those eyes, so unlike the gaze of the ‘debbil’ Luc: “Lucifer!” she suddenly exclaimed, and the three of them began to laugh.

“O ye!” exclaimed Eunice.

The little boy ran out of the house wearing a broad-brimmed hat, with a little donkey whip in his hand. On his shoulder sat a tiny green monkey, on a chain, twirling to and fro in excitement…

At the sight of the monkey Angelique felt all her angst fall away. She squealed with joy. The monkey made a leap onto her shoulder and promptly shat down the back of the Balenciaga.



* “Fluffer” — in pornographic parlance, and by extension that group sex, the fluffer prepares the male organ, either by fellatio or manual manipulation, for whatever main event is in store. A fluffer is therefore the first participant, and thus not enjoying any ‘ultimate’ pleasure.

Lyrics by Chris Barbosa & Chisolm
Performed by Shannon, 1983
#1 Billboard Hot 100, 1983

We started dancing and love put us into a groove
As soon as we started to move.
The music played while our bodies displayed through the dance,
Then love picked us out for romance.
I thought it was clear the plan was we would share,
This feeling just between ourselves.
But when the music changed, the plan was re-arranged
He went to dance with someone else.
We started dancing and love put us into a groove
But now he’s with somebody new – what does love want me to do?
Love said:
Let the music play he won’t get away,
Just keep the groove and then he’ll come back to you again, let it play.
Let the music play he won’t get away,
This groove he can’t ignore, he won’t leave you anymore, no, no, no.
He tried pretending a dance is just a dance, but I see
He’s dancing his way back to me
he’s dancing his way back to me

*** TELL IT TO MY HEART: This reference is an anachronism, as the song came out in late 1987.
At the time of this story, she was known as “Les Lee” and hadn’t had any hits.

Lyrics by Seth Swirsky and Ernie Gold
Performwed by Taylor Dayne, 1987
#7 on Billboard Hot 100 in 1988

I feel the night explode when we’re together
Emotion overload in the heat of pleasure

Take me I’m yours into your arms
Never let me go tonight I really need to know

Tell it to my heart
Tell me I’m the only one
Is this really love or just a game?
Tell it to my heart
I can feel my body rock every time you call my name

The passion’s so complete. It’s never ending
As long as I receive, the message you’re sending
Body to body, soul to soul
Always feel you near
So say the words I long to hear

Tell it to my heart
Tell me I’m the only one
Is this really love or just a game?
Tell it to my heart
I can feel my body rock every time you call my name

Love, love on the run, breaking us down
Though we keep holding on
I don’t want to lose, no I can’t let you go

Lyrics by Prince and Sheila E.
Performed by Prince and Sheila E.
#11 on Billboard Hot 100, 1985

The moon up above, it shines down upon our skin
Whispering words that scream of outrageous sin
We all want the stuff that’s found in our wildest dreams
It gets kinda rough in the back of our limousine

That’s what we are, we all want a love bizarre
That’s what we are, we all want a love bizarre

A strawberry mind, a body that’s built for two
A kiss on the spine, we do things we never do
Swallow the pride and joy of the ivory tower
We’ll dance on the roof, make love on a bed of flower

That’s what we are, we all want a love bizarre

The moon up above, it shines on upon our skin
Whispering words that scream of outrageous sin
We all want the stuff that’s found in our wildest dreams
It gets kinda rough in the back of our limousine



for the Novel “ONE DECADENT LIFE”




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