At seven, Vivienne stood at Vera's door in ruby, with punctuality and the colour of her dress announced together. She had nearly rung a minute early. That tiny hesitation was easier to confess than the disappearance of the elaborate greeting she had prepared. Vera had opened the door, and Vivienne could manage a compliment, a request to come inside, and a joke about inspecting sound quality. She remembered that Vera had a question for her. Even with her vocabulary deserting her, she had not forgotten that.
Vera invited her in, moving far enough to admire the dress from another angle. Ruby, she said, had been worth keeping secret. Then she spent the question she had saved: would Vivienne take her out next time, somewhere Vivienne chose? Vera could become competent when nervous. People mistook the resulting efficiency for a preference to conduct the whole evening. Tonight she wanted to lead their dance; another evening, she wanted the pleasure of arriving at someone else's door. The request was direct, and its distinction mattered. She wanted an invitation rather than another arrangement to administer.
Vivienne said yes and offered next Saturday. She would collect Vera here, however, claiming the pleasure of watching her decide whether to bring a coat. Once inside, she resisted turning the destination into an elaborate secret. There was a little dance hall above a bakery. She had not been there in years. Someone else would choose the music, and they could dance badly together. Having offered the place, she immediately wondered whether she had mistaken Vera's request for an invitation to a public examination. Her answer had acquired a small defence almost as quickly as it had acquired a date.
Saturday was free. Vera liked the hall, although being collected at home slightly frustrated the grand arrival she had proposed. She could recover from that. What she objected to was the advance verdict on their dancing. She did not mind being seen with Vivienne; she had thought Vivienne lovely on the pavement and wanted to say so without making a joke of the kerb. Then she asked the question that separated a pleasant suggestion from a personal choice. Was this somewhere Vivienne missed, or somewhere she merely supposed Vera would enjoy? Those were different invitations, even if they led up the same stairs.
Vivienne missed it. She described the floor yielding underfoot and the windows steaming until the street disappeared. On her last visit she had gone alone. A woman had asked her to dance, and Vivienne had refused because she disliked the song. She had spent the remaining evening wishing the woman would ask again. The second invitation never came. Vivienne left early and blamed the band. Telling Vera put her recent joke in a less flattering light: predicting bad dancing had been insurance. She accepted the compliment at last. She had liked being lovely with Vera.
Vera wanted to be taken there because Vivienne missed it. She required no triumphant return and made no promise to approve of every song. She might dislike the first one herself. If Vivienne refused a dance, Vera would probably fetch water; Vivienne would still have the formidable option of approaching her and asking. That possibility answered the old evening without pretending to repair it. Vera closed the door. She had worn the green silk as promised, tied round her wrist, and now asked Vivienne to untie it. The fringe might catch in their fingers when they danced.
The knot put up a brief resistance. Vivienne freed it and laid the silk on the table, specifying its location so neither woman could later attribute its disappearance to some dramatic incident. She told Vera she had worn it beautifully. Then she acted on the option Vera had just described, before any retreat for water became necessary. She asked Vera to dance with her. She wanted Borrowed Shoes put on, the actual song associated with this invitation. Had there been a particular passage that made Vera think of asking? Vivienne wanted to hear what had brought her here.
Vera accepted and took a moment with the needle. There had been no particular passage. She had kept playing the record after it ended because she wanted someone to be there when she turned round. Eventually that imagined person had Vivienne's face. After that, her plausible reasons for withholding the invitation ran out. With the music beginning, Vera placed Vivienne's right hand in her left. They would listen before counting. Next Saturday had its destination, the green silk rested on the table, and tonight's dance waited at its beginning. Vera had one more question before they moved: if Vivienne had heard this song first, would she have chosen it for them?