The autumn sunshine poured in through the open bedroom window as the gentle breeze tossed and tumbled the net curtains in irregular patterns. On the dressing table a Bakelite radio resonated with American 50’s dance music and reflected in the mirror was Catherine Stewart aged 17. She was getting ready to go to her first Town Hall dance and she adjusted the silk pleats in her red, Dirndl skirt with great care.

"Do you want anything to eat before you go out?" declared a voice from downstairs.

"No thanks mum, I’ll grab something on the way," Catherine replied as she finished applying her bright red lipstick with a small brush. Catherine didn’t hear her mother’s last comment, "Youngsters nowadays! It wasn’t like this in my day!"

As Catherine pulled her hair through a pink, tight hair band into a long ponytail, the six o’clock chimes were proclaimed from the radio. ‘And now for the news…’ Catherine always got annoyed when the news came on as it stopped her favourite dance music. She checked her eye makeup and admired her attractive, youthful face: the age of her innocence.

‘News is coming in from California of the tragic death of Hollywood star James Dean. Reports say that his Porsche racing car was involved with a high speed collision at 5.30pm this afternoon…’

Catherine’s blood ran cold and she felt her heart beat rapidly increase adding to her discomfort. She turned around to view the numerous posters of her film idol on her bedroom walls and tried to process the information rationally. She caressed her favourite picture and held it close to her teenage breast and tears of sadness mingled with eye makeup ran down her cheek. She rolled onto her bed assuming the foetal position and cried openly.

An hour later with a heavy heart she found herself as a wallflower at the Town Hall dance. The vast majority of her peers were dancing and flirting openly with the local lads on the dance floor to Bill Haley and the Comets. She watched numbly as they made, in her eyes, fools of themselves and sipped her Babycham idly. Even the boys she fancied now looked like kids. The only man she fancied was now dead and as far as she was concerned her life had ended also.

"Aren’t you gonna dance? Ben said that he would like to dance with you!" shouted Beryl over the loud music cascading from the state of the art Tannoy System.

"No way. I’m not dancing with that creep, he’s got acne and stinks of Brylcream."

"Suit yourself then. You know where I’ll be if you want me. Jack’s gonna show me a good time outside!"

Catherine didn’t even bother to reply, as she didn’t care what her best friend was planning to do. She started to check out the possible talent, quite a difficult task for a small, Yorkshire town. The boys didn’t interest her but her eyes fell upon an older man, probably 23 if a day. He was wearing tight Levi jeans, a white t-shirt and a black leather biker’s jacket. His blonde hair was swept back with a light coating of hair cream just the way James Dean displayed for the world to see in ‘Rebel Without a Cause.’ His facial features were rugged, yet feminine. He had a strong jaw line, electric blue eyes and a strong chest that pressed against his t-shirt. To Catherine’s eyes he bore a strong resemblance to her idol and this offered her some comfort. Catherine was unaware that she was staring at him but this did not go unnoticed. The beautiful apparition turned and offered her a smile revealing a set of perfect white teeth. Catherine panicked and looked away feeling her face flush heavily in embarrassment.

Catherine was innocent and naive and didn’t know how to approach him. Her very heart yearned to do so but her inexperience did not offer her the means to achieve her ultimate desire. She saw an opportunity when her ‘God’ went to the bar to fill his pint glass. She followed and placed herself discretely between a courting couple offering an innocuous human barrier. She practised in her mind what she was going to say and he seemed oblivious to her presence. Just as she had plucked up enough courage to speak to him a friend came up and spoke to her.

"Catherine do you want to come for some chips?"

"No, not now, I’ve got something to do!" she retorted impolitely. Her chubby female friend (know as the bicycle) left proudly displaying her latest catalogue dress to the uninterested audience. Catherine turned to speak but he was gone. In a mild panic she visually checked the dance floor, the chairs and tables, but he was nowhere to be seen.

"Bugger," she muttered under her breath. "He must have popped into the loo. I’ll wait for him there."

Catherine got some very strange looks from the lads as they emerged from the toilet. Some offered to show her a good time but she declined with some considerable force in some cases. She decided to go outside for some air, as it was stuffy in the dance hall. As she emerged from the entrance she saw a beautiful red American sports car start to pull away. It was him! She memorised his number plate ‘JD 8’ and contented herself with the knowledge that she had seen him once again. How could it be that she had lost two significant men in one evening! She must be cursed.

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