As the foils were removed from her hair Charisse looked in the mirror and thought 'it's the same shade as Henri's,Beckham Blonde' Why did everything in her life seemingly revolve around football? What had happened to her, her ambitions, her dreams? She had the sex life of a eunuch, and had begun to feel that Henri really wasn't what she wanted anymore. Henri moved in social circles populated with people she found mildly irritating at the best of times, and where one players wife got £50,000 a month for her column in a glossy gossy magazine. Not bad work if you can get it but getting the gig on the strength of being his wife? How can that get you respect?

 On the way home she resolved to see what the woman in the hairdressers was talking about. Rugby, now what was the name of the team again? Ah that was it, Sale Sharks. Before she got in the car she called into the newsagents and picked up a copy of the Manchester Evening News - maybe there would be something about them in there?

 As she entered the house Henri called out her name and she walked into the lounge. He was reclining on the huge claret red sofa, a towel wrapped around his waist, his long, tanned legs on show for al the world, and her, to see. Her eyes wandered to his chest and stomach muscles and instantly she was back at 'Curl Up and Dye', her hair being set in heated rollers as she flicked through that calendar with the rugby players in it. Hmm, May. The guy with the flag, his abdominal muscles tight and firm and the edge of his thigh just visible, his eyes tempting, enough to get your mind racing thinking about what you couldn't see.

 "Darling," said Henri as he got up from the sofa. She was startled and then back in the lounge. He pulled her towards him, his skin still moist from the shower. With one hand he gently moved the long blonde curves away from her lightly tanned skin, and he began to softly kiss her neck. Her eyes closed and she could feel his warm breath on her skin and a tingle travelled up her spine. As her body pressed against his Henri leaned back and said "You look beautiful Charisse, simply stunning. Your hair and the radiance of your complexion... that reminds me, can I borrow your moisturiser?" Her heart sank. She'd thought that the bedroom or somewhere in between was going to be the next stop but instead it was her make-up bag. How did she end up with a guy who spent more on beauty products that she did, who couldn't pass a mirror without checking his hair or clothes. That was it. Tomorrow, while Henri was at training she resolved to go and buy a ticket to watch Sale Sharks and see what it was all about. She would also buy a hat or something so she could go without fear of being seen by anyone who knew her, not that anyone she knew would be there. She wasn't ashamed, far from it, but felt that if she went without her WAG's warpaint and designer clothes on she could really be herself, rather than an extension of Henri Bouleronde, Manport Athletic. She walked to the bedroom alone and began to get ready for the Ball.

 The car arrived to take Charisse and Henri to the New Year's Eve Gala Ball. Charisse's dress was a beautiful floor length gown of cream silk and it drapped sensually over her curves. Her diamond and pearl earrings and matching bracelet had been a present from Henri and her bag was a little treat she had given herself after one of Henri's red bull-fuelled nights out with his mates. His suit was by a top designer and has cost about the same as some people pay for a small car. He moved his blonde hair away from his face and looked towards her. He looked distant, sort of distracted, and then she realised he was looking at his reflection in the tinted glass. She rolled her eyes, sighed and soon they arrived at Chomsky's mansion. The car door opened and the paparazzi's flash guns started going off. The entered smiling, arm in arm, but Charisse's mind wasn't there. She could see their friends' faces, the waiters with their trays of champagne, the ice sculptures glistening but, what? Something had gone, it felt like a tiny part of her life had changed but she couldn't figure it out. Like the rose-tinted spectacles had been ever so slightly lifted and things were being seen in a different light. Her evening passed happily enough, she chatted and drank a few glasses of Cristal champagne but there was now something lacking in her conversations. She wanted to ask someone, anyone what they knew about this 'new to her' sport, rugby union, but realised the women only knew about designer bags, winey lunches and hairstyles and the men the same along with football. She knew what she had to do and tomorrow would be the day to do it.

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