Wonder Women Read Free

them perform duringFreshers’ Week and knew one was a harpist and the other a pianist. They both looked terrified, as if they had spent so much time in the practice room that a party was an alien landscape. One of them, the pianist, was clutching a fourpack and was gulping down the beers one by one with grim determination, as if they were medicine.
    â€˜I’m Harriet, and this is Amelia. We’re not usually big party animals,’ she said, rather unnecessarily, and then giggled. ‘We’re here because Amelia’s got the hots for Renaissance Man and we’ve been stalking him across town.’
    â€˜Ah, of course,’ said Jo knowingly, as if she knew who they meant. Renaissance Man? Who could that be? A lecturer in the arts department who specialised in da Vinci? A superhero she’d never heard of, who buzzed about in a cape dispensing a Golden Age of Enlightenment?
    â€˜Do you know him?’ said Amelia, the light of fanaticism in her eye.
    â€˜Well, I don’t
know
him exactly,’ said Jo, desperately playing for time, ‘but his work, well … it precedes him, doesn’t it?
    â€˜What exactly do you mean?’ said Amelia, standing too close and staring searchingly into Jo’s face through her thick glasses. ‘You’ve slept with him, haven’t you?’
    â€˜Oh no, I … er … I …’ Jo found herself wishing that she hadn’t ended up with the musical fruitcakes, or that at the very least she’d led with, ‘I loved your rendition of the “Trout” Quintet.’
    At that moment, music started to blare, and Amelia swung her speccy gaze desperately towards the door. ‘That’s him!’ she said excitedly. She pushed past them and rantowards the living room. Harriet and Jo followed rather more slowly, and by the time they got there the dance floor was so packed they couldn’t even get into the room. They edged around the door frame and stood pressed up against the wall. It took a while for Jo to spot Amelia, who was dancing wildly just in front of the table where the music was coming from. For a highly competent musician, she didn’t seem to have much rhythm or coordination.
    Jo leaned over to yell in Harriet’s ear. ‘So, this Renaissance Man …?’ she asked.
    â€˜DJ’ing.’ Harriet yelled back. ‘Everyone is desperate to get him to do the music for their parties.’
    The crowd parted for a second, and Jo caught a glimpse of a tall, gangly, mixed-race guy with a great cloud of hair, pressing his headphones to the side of his head as he deftly flipped a disc off one deck and replaced it with another, using just one hand. Renaissance Man? He looked more Lenny Kravitz than Shakespeare, but who was she to judge? He definitely knew how to keep a party going though. He played banging tune after banging tune, mixing dance tracks with eighties cheese and then raising the tempo with some great rock classics. Jo wasn’t much of a dancer, but she found herself on the floor jumping around with Harriet and Amelia, until they were all sweaty and red-faced. After about an hour, Renaissance Man took a break and someone took over whose taste ran to thrash metal played at full volume. The dance floor emptied like a stampede, and Jo and the others headed for the kitchen to grab a drink.
    She was standing by the open door, holding her hair off her neck and drinking a beer while Amelia chattered onabout Renaissance Man and his brilliance, when she saw him come into the kitchen and fight his way through the crowd, straight towards them. Amelia saw Jo staring and turned to see what she was looking at. She went red, then white, whipped off her glasses and tried in vain to fix her hair. Jo was sure Renaissance Man was just heading for the door to get some air, but he stopped and said to her, ‘Do you sing?’
    â€˜What?’ Jo said stupidly.
    â€˜Do you sing?’ he