I wondered over to a corner of the room, where I noticed an astronaut that I recognised.

'Rick, how's it going?'

The astronaut turned around and grinned.

'Derek, it's been a long but happy while, huh?', Rick replied and shook my hand.

'Yeah, has been. What are you drinking there?', I asked as by this point I could have done with a refill.

'Ah, a good astronaut always comes prepared,' he said and pulled out a flask of something and poured it in amongst the remnants of my pink drink.

'How about coming to my car for a second, man. I have to make a call'

We walked outside and he opened the door to his car. Whilst he got out his cell phone and had a lengthy conversation with someone he referred to as 'mate', I stood and sipped my drink. Rick put the mobile away and moved toward me.

'So where have you been hanging these last few months?', he asked.

'Around, I guess. Here and there', this was, I believed, a satisfactory answer.

But Rick looked at me and frowned, 'Man, you're sly. I thought that we were set up for the Summer. Got everything together in the hope that we would shoot through at the beginning of December, and you disappeared on me. Called you for a week and got no answer'.

I had a vague recollection of a plan the two of us had made to go and help Rick's fiancee set up a hotel resort somewhere. I similarly had a vague recollection of attempting to dodge his phone calls for a week in December. And an appropriate response to this confrontation would be- the truth? The fact that I never followed through with plans, no matter how concrete their nature? I needed to think fast.

'Rick, wow. Sorry, I had to go out to another campus. Had to get some research material together....' I trailed off hoping that this response was satisfactory. I had been a student for years and it was a running joke that my dissertation would never eventuate. Meanwhile, I had been teaching first year students for about five years, and most of them had graduated and attained jobs or gone off to travel. Usually, I knew, that any sentence beginning with 'my thesis' would be accepted by whomever I was talking to as the only retort could possibly be laughter.

Rick looked at me, considered me for a moment, and held out his hand.

'Forgotten', he remarked and we shook hands on it.

He leaned closer into me. 'I broke up with Sarah', he remarked.

Suddenly his hand was stroking my face, and before I knew it he was kissing me. I obliged and kissed him back but then drew away.

He looked at me, 'Sorry� I didn't mean to..', he looked bashful and I felt sorry for him.

'Forgotten', I said looking at him.

We walked back inside the party and headed for separate sides of the room once we got inside.

Kathy ran over to me.

'Where did you get to my lad?', she asked. She must have been hot inside her ape suit as her face was beet red.

'I was talking to Rick and we went outside so that he could make a phone call', I replied knowing that she would pick up on the detached nature of my tone.

'Did you hear that Rick and Sarah broke up?', she asked, looking intently at me.

'Yeah, Kath, he told me about it', I hoped that the conversation would end there.

'I spoke to Sarah a few days ago. Seems she has got herself a new boyfriend', she remarked.

'I've got to go to the bathroom, I'll see you in a second', I walked into the corridor and lined to go to the toilet.

When I walked of the bathroom, I turned the corner and collided with another body.

'Sorry, I wasn't looking�' I began to say and then realised that I was looking down at the ballerina. She looked at me and smiled.

'Not a bother', she replied, 'You're Derek, right?'

'Yeah, does my reputation precede me�.sorry, that's a really lame line', I answered. I was standing there with my mouth wide open. Pathetic. I tried desperately to think of something really witty or amusing to say. I thought. I thought some more. Then I spoke.

'You're Bianca, right', was all I could come up with.

'Been asking about me, have you Derek?', she replied. She had a gorgeous smile and beautiful eyes. We walked into the party together and stood by the refreshment table.

'I love your costume, Derek', she said, looking at my tuxedo and cane. I nervously touched the moustache I had painted onto my face.

'Yours is very glittery', I replied. I was coming out with witty remarks. She laughed and regarded me for a second like one would regard a dog that was missing a leg or a small child that had their head stuck within a banister- with pity but with a tinge of awe. We stood there a while longer.

'So, what do you do, Derek?', she asked after a while. I panicked. I hated discussing 'what I did' with people. I also hated discussing 'how I had been' and 'how everyone was'. I think I had developed this hatred when I was about eight years old and began to understand that people were never overly concerned with the responses to such questions.

'I'm doing a masters in cinema studies. I tutor a few first year classes. It's fun and keeps me out of the real world adequately,' I hoped that the answer was sufficient. Bianca seemed satisfied.

'Cool, does sound like fun,' she replied, 'have you got hopes of becoming a film director?'.

I regarded her for a few seconds and could not decide which answer to give. Did she want me to have ambitions for directorship (if that indeed is the correct term). If so, was I to be a Hollywood aspirant or did I want to make alternative, niche market films? Did I believe that film, should, ultimately, be a pure art form? Did I despise the use of film as a commodity? Did I despise marketing ploys???

'Ah, no', I decided to answer.

She laughed at this response. It was a good natured laugh.

'What are you doing after this?', she asked me.

'Heading home, it's been a long week', I answered. I was no longer concerned about coming across as a dag, as I thought I had done an adequate job of it already.

'Do you mind giving me a lift home, Derek? I want to get out of here,' she looked at me and I could not make out whether she was goating me or whether she was trying to pick me up.

'Sure, where do you live?' I answered, hoping that it was the latter.

'Do you want Coke or orange juice, Derek?', she asked. I felt too sober and regretful of the fact that I had come up to her apartment.

'Whatever,' I yelled out.

I got up and looked around the room. No books. Always a bad omen. I wondered about what type of television shows she watched. Most probably chat shows and the regular comedy-type shows that everyone claimed to be their 'favourite'. The night was shaping up to be a disaster.

She walked back into the room and handed me a glass of orange juice. I had been hoping for the Coke. She sat down on the couch and turned on the television.

'Hey, Letterman is on. Absurd, but I love it when I get home in time to watch this. It's one of those shows that you do not hang out to watch but, if you stumble across it, it's always a bonus�.sorry, I'm rambling', she said.

'No way...I know exactly what you mean', I replied. Maybe my luck was looking up.

We sat and watched Letterman interview the latest release film star. The show was shmultzy as usual, but Letterman was one of my faves.

After the show finished I tried to figure out a way of escaping the situation without looking conspicuous. I sat and fidgeted for a while and then got up.

'I'll let you get to sleep now', I said. I looked at her to gauge her reaction. She just stood there smiling and guided me to the door.

Before I left she leaned over and kissed me on the cheek.

'It's been fun Derek. Thanks for the lift,' she said and closed the door. I drove home.

Back home or read on.....