"Now, I say we move the conversation along," Captain Peacock said. "Has everyone found their partners for the dance at the social club on Friday evening?"
"I haven't," Mrs Slocombe grumbled. "Not one bloke in the store has even bothered to ask me."
"Well, as Mrs Peacock will be away at her sister's this weekend," Captain Peacock said, "perhaps you would be kind enough to join me?"
"How kind," Mrs Slocombe said, giving him a warm smile. "Thank you, Stephen."
"That reminds me," Mr Grainger said. "I must bring Mrs Grainger in to have her hair done. She said she wants to get a terminate waif done for the dance, whatever that is."
"Don't you mean a permanent wave, Mr Grainger?" Mrs Slocombe asked.
"Oh, yes, thank you," Mr Grainger said. "My, that would have been embarrassing."
"Indeed," Mrs Slocombe said. "I'm glad I don't make vocational blunders like that."
Mr Lucas blinked at her a few times. "You mean vocabulary, right?"
Mrs Slocombe frowned for a moment, then closed her eyes in frustration. "That, too, Mr Lucas."
"What about you, Miss Brahms?" Captain Peacock asked. "Do you have a date lined up for the dance."
"Actually, I don't," Miss Brahms replied. She looked at Mr Lucas and said, "Whaddya say?"
Mr Lucas looked very taken aback. "What? Me?"
"Well, after I've been so terrible to you lot, I figure I owe you one," she said. "Now come on. Take me to the dance."
Mr Lucas' face split into a wide grin. "All right, I'll take you," he said. "I'll meet you at eight."
Mr Humphries returned to the table just then, his face still splotchy from his weeping fit. He looked rather chipper now and tucked into his bangers and mash with more gusto than usual. Mr Lucas leaned across the table and watched him wolf down his food with amazement.
"Did you ask Miss Adams out?" he inquired.
"I did," Mr Humphries said, shovelling potatoes into his mouth as quickly as possible. "She said yes."
Mr Lucas nodded in what looked like an almost sympathetic manner. "So, what's with the face-stuffing?"
Mr Humphries swallowed his current mouthful with some difficulty before replying, "In order to get her to accompany me, I had to promise to help her prepare for her kung fu meet next Saturday. She gave me a light, playful punch on the arm and knocked me backward into Mr Davison. So I've decided to bulk up a little."
"About time, too," Mr Lucas said. "As long as I've known you, you've been nothing but skin and bone."
"Skin, anyway," Mr Humphries said, pulling Mrs Slocombe's trifle over. "Not for long. I plan on putting on at least a stone before week's end, especially as I asked her to come with me to the dance at the social club."
"You'd be better off putting a stone around your neck," Mr Lucas said, "and throwing yourself into the Thames."
"You wanna say that again, Clever Chops?" said a soft, masculine voice.
Mr Lucas looked up and saw a young woman with short, dark hair glowering at him from behind Miss Brahms. She was wearing a waistcoat, tie, and trousers with her shirt sleeves rolled up, showing off her powerful forearms. She cracked her knuckles menacingly and gave him a loathing stare. Mr Lucas shook his head and as she walked away he began shovelling down his own sausage and potatoes, then followed Mr Humphries back to the queue for a second helping.
On Friday evening James Lucas was wearing his best suit and tie as he waited at the bar for Shirley to arrive. She was already fifteen minutes late and he was getting worried. Was she in trouble? Had her car broken down? Was her mother unwell? He thought about calling her, but then again the last time he had asked for her number she had given him the one to the abstinence hotline for virginal teenagers. He had not bothered to ask again.
Captain Stephen Peacock and Betty Slocombe were already on the dance floor, with Betty was already on her fifth gin and tonic. She kept treading on the poor captain's toes as they twirled around, trying their best to waltz. Finally Captain Peacock gave up and led her to their table, where Mr and Mrs Ernest Grainger were sharing a basket of sausage rolls.
"I say, they do have some lovely sausage rolls," Ernest said, biting into one of the savoury pastries. "It's surprising, really, considering everything else they serve at the Canteen is disgusting. I remember taking home a pork pie from lunch once and left it on the counter while I went to hang up my hat and coat. When I returned the cat had found it and was trying to bury it in his litter box."
At that moment Claybourne Humphries arrived with what appeared to be a short, young man by his side. Upon further inspection the staff realised it was actually Miss Adams, who had added a jacket to her usual work clothes. Claybourne still looked very pleased with his date and was dead chuffed when she held his chair out for him.
"Thank you, Ro," he said, giving her a friendly smile.
"You're welcome, Clay," she said, and flopped into her own chair.
"Your name's Rose?" James said, joining the others at the table with a fresh drink.
"It's Rowan, actually," she replied in her quiet, butch tone. "Mum wanted me to have a really unique name when I was born. Thought I should stand out in a crowd."
"I think she got her wish," James muttered into his drink.
Rowan rolled her eyes at James and went to get drinks for herself and Claybourne. As she walked away her attention was diverted momentarily by the arrival of Shirley Brahms, who was wearing a very low-cut green dress, revealing not only her ample bosom but also her firm thighs, as the skirt was slit on both sides to expose them. She was not alone, either; a young man with dark hair was on her arm, looking very pleased with himself.
"Oi, isn't that your co-worker, the model?" Rowan whispered to Claybourne.
Claybourne whipped around and his jaw dropped. "It is! What's she doing with Whelan from Sports?"
James twisted in his seat and his eyes boggled. His drink fell from his hands and the glass shattered on the floor, along with his heart. The entire club heard it smash and looked up, along with Shirley.
"Oh dear," she said under her breath.
"What's wrong?" Mr Whelan asked, still smiling fondly at her.
Shirley released Mr Whelan's arm and went over to James, who had stood up and was shaking with rage. She wrung her hands guiltily as she said, "I'm sorry, James, I really am. I…well, I forgot and…"
"Don't bother," James growled through clenched teeth. He sat down and turned his back to her.
Shirley looked to the others, who also turned away from her in disgust. She hung her head in shame and went back to Mr Whelan, who had already procured beverages for them. Rowan walked by as they went to their own table and shook her head sadly.
"Poor, dumb girl," she muttered. "I do feel for her."
"How can you say that?" James burst out angrily. "She's been acting like a toffee-nosed bitch ever since she became a model for the sales paper!"
"She's been right in-supper-able," Betty grumbled into her gin and tonic.
Claybourne gave her a withering look. "Don't you mean 'insufferable'?"
"That too," Betty slurred.
"Look, she simply has her head in the clouds, that's all," Claybourne said. "Give her time, she'll come around."
"She's actually just about to come back to Earth," Rowan said, tapping a cigarette against the tabletop. "She's been replaced."
The others turned to stare at her in utter shock.
"What?" James said.
"How do you know?" Captain Peacock asked.
"I'm a payroll accountant," Rowan replied, taking out a small box of matches. "I'm the one who figures up how much commission each of you lot get in your packets. Just this morning I was told to take away Shirley Brahms' extra five percent and give it to Eleanor Jacobson."
"Really?" Ernest said, leaning over the table now. "Are you sure?"
Rowan lit her cigarette and took a puff before passing it over to Claybourne. "Yeah, I even asked Mr Patel about it. He said Miss Jacobson's been promoted to Mr Grace's secretary and he thinks since she's younger and cuter that she should replace Miss Brahms in the sales papers."
"Oh dear," Captain Peacock said quietly. "Does she know yet?"
"I rather doubt it," Rowan replied. "And I'm not supposed to know, either, so keep your mouth shut."
Just then Miss Jacobson entered the club with young Mr Grace on her arm. The elderly CEO trundled over to the table where Shirley sat with Mr Whelan and addressed her politely.
"G-good evening Miss B-Brahms," he stammered feebly. "I trust you and y-your gentleman friend are having a g-good time?"
"Oh yes, Mr Grace," Shirley said, batting her eyelashes at him.
"That's good," Mr Grace said, and leaned on one of the chairs for support as he added, "Well, I only popped 'round to say hello to everyone and to thank you for your h-hard work. You've all done very well!"
"Thank you, Mr Grace," the occupants of the club chorused at once, giving a slight bow.
"I shall see you Monday morning," he said, giving Shirley a somewhat grandfatherly pat on her arm.
"Monday?" Shirley said. "But the photography session is tomorrow mornin'. Aren't you coming to watch like you usually do?"
"Oh yes, I will," Mr Grace chirped, or as well as a man of eighty can chirp without doing himself a mischief. "But I'm afraid th-that you've been replaced by Miss J-Jacobson here. I'm surprised you haven't heard. G-gossip does tend to spread l-like wildfire in this store. Anyway, do carry on."
And with that, he hobbled off to chat with Mr Mash before stumbling out the door.
Shirley looked crestfallen and started to reach for her drink when Mr Whelan snatched it up. She cried out in protest, but was too late. He had already crossed the room and sat down with Miss Oleander from Haberdashery, who was one of the other models. Now thoroughly dejected, she frowned and began weeping silently to herself.
"I've been such a fool," she sobbed. "Fame and glory went right to my 'ead an' I shunned my friends. I'm a 'orrible, 'orrible person."
Nearby the staff of the first floor kept their heads turned away from her. Shirley chanced a glimpse in their direction and her face screwed up as a fresh wave of tears overtook her. Only Rowan, who was not familiar with the coldness that the first floor staff could exhibit in times of trouble, looked sympathetic toward the junior sales assistant.
"Poor, simple thing," Rowan muttered to herself more than anyone else. "Lookit her. She's really in pain over there."
Betty glanced over her shoulder and snorted. "Perhaps."
"She does look utterly miserable," Captain Peacock said.
"Not to mention thoroughly depressed," Ernest remarked, a note of pity in his voice.
All of a sudden Claybourne broke down and wailed, "Oh, I can't take it any more!" He jumped up from his chair and ran to Shirley's side. The two embraced warmly and she began crying into his shoulder. Rowan joined them, sniffling audibly, and one by one the rest of the staff became a part of the group hug that was enveloping Shirley. Her tears stopped flowing and they gathered her up to lead her to their table, where Captain Peacock held a chair for her and Betty passed her a strong drink.
"Th-thank you," Shirley hiccoughed. "I'm so sorry. I've acted like a right bitch, I 'ave. I do hope you'll all forgive me."
"Of course we have, dear," Claybourne said, patting her arm fondly. "We're your friends! We love you no matter what!"
Shirley sniffed and sipped her drink. The alcohol calmed her down and she found herself watching James, who gave her a slight smile. She returned it with a flirty grin and tweaked his nose playfully.
"Give a girl another chance?" she asked.
"Oh, I suppose so," James said, and stood up. "Care to dance, Shirley?"
"I'd love to!" Shirley said, and linked her arm with his.
The staff watched them frolic merrily on the dance floor. The Graingers exchanged a quick peck on the lips while Captain Peacock fought to keep Betty upright after her seventh gin and tonic. Claybourne looked at Rowan and raised his eyebrows in a suggestive manner as he nodded toward the dance floor. She grinned and they got up to join Shirley and James for the Beatles tune that was playing.
Just as the song ended Mrs Edna Comlosi went up to Claybourne and tapped him on the shoulder. He spun around and gave her a very surprised look. Before he could ask why she had approached him, she began speaking in her usual haughty tone.
"I've been watching you all night," she said. "You have a very attractive body, you know." She winked at him subtly and smiled. "How would you and this young man like to model Y-fronts together in this coming week's sales paper?"
Claybourne's eyes widened in shock while Rowan blinked confusedly at the older woman. Then she frantically reached forward to catch Claybourne under his arms as he collapsed into hers. The thought of them both posing for photographs in nothing more than a pair of briefs had been too much for him.
James began laughing and nudged her, saying, "You'll get used to it in time," and passed over his bottle of ammonia.

Fin.

Disclaimer: Are You Being Served? belongs to the BBC, David Croft, and Jeremy Lloyd. This is just a fan-fiction written for fun. No animals were harmed in the making of this fan-fiction, but Aidan the American Bobtail was irritating. No money was or will be made from the creation of this fan-fiction. A bunch of names were ripped off, but in all honesty, does anyone care?