Bernard's Incredible Wardrobe

She made him laugh, she made him cry.  At different times, and sometimes all at once.

Her name was rhythm and flow.  But 'Bernard' was only a bear.  A big, cowardly, bulky, beast of a bear.

The first time that Bernard had found Cadence in his bedroom, he had asked 'Where did you come from?'

It was such a surprise to see her there, in the pinstriped pencil skirt that he had bought three weeks previously.  The lime coloured blouse.  The heavy gold earrings that grazed it's citrus collar.

     'Well darling,' she said with a secret, peach painted smile, dark spears of spikey moustache hair visible around the bow.  'I came out of the closet.  As should you!'

How he laughed.

And now, gazing into the hand held mirror that had once belonged to his dear, frumpy Amy (straight laced clothes, always, but the occasional pair of jazzy socks, a casual nod to her crazy side) ~ he saw Cadence once more.  Now she brought tears to his old, bloodshot eyes.  The tears were for Cadence, and for himself, for Bernard.  Cadence had carefully applied scarlet lipstick, but the inlet wrinkles around her full lips ushered the face paint to flow in minuscule capillary rivers so that Cadence's lips bled out, in every possible direction. 

The tears were beneficial, though.

The bloated lenses distorted the imperfection of Cadence's make-up, and of her underlying face, allowing Bernard to view her in a kinder, more flattering light.

Wrinkles come and keep on coming.  Perhaps true beauty lies within the secrecy of those forbidden folds.

She emerged from the looking glass and placed a warm, heavy hand on Bernard's shoulder.  He could feel it through the silken fabric of his robe.  He looked up at her, red eyes sad and knowing.

     'Cadence.'

They danced together in the bedroom.  There was no music by which to measure the steps of their waltz, and it should have been awkward.  But there was, and had always been, at moments like these, a perfect symmetry between Bernard and Cadence.

      'Hold me.'

      'Hold on!'

      'I'm bloody holding!'

Their dance led them to the garden.  It was twilight and the evening birdsong fell upon them like light, refreshing rain.

      'Do you love me?'

      'I love Amy.  We need to be back inside.'

      'Amy is dead, Bernard.  Amy hated me, without ever getting off her high horse and getting to know me.  You kept me from her.  Like some creature developing in the dark, I became a monster.  Am I monstrous to you, Bernard?  Amy could never have worn this dress!'

Perhaps, perhaps, thought Bernard. 

The dress was truly wonderful.  A-line skirt with princess square neckline.  Sold with mother-of-bride in mind and bought online by Bernard for an entirely reasonable 121€.  Available in 42 colours, but the lilac swept him away. 

Cadence had beautifully accessorised with smokey grey pearls and an imitation silver tiara. 

Damn his eyes, they saw too much!

They saw the dress, the pearls, the tiara.  They saw the beautiful elegance of Cadence's movements, but they also saw the sagging, dough-like motion of her second chin.  The cadaverous stringiness on the backs of her hands.  The thick, dark hairs, like spiders legs in the twin caverns of her nostrils.