Dead Man Dancing

Five

Back in the studio, life had gone on.

When Ruth and I emerged from the ladies’ room, we discovered Daddy and Neelie sharing a bench on the sidelines taking a break, Paul (will wonders never cease?) waltzing with Laurie, and Hutch leading Alicia expertly (how else?) around the dance floor. Alicia was beaming, clearly enjoying the novelty of partnering a new student who didn’t stumble and lurch around like a drunk.

Under Chance’s supervision, ‘Answer Me, Oh My Love’ was drifting lazily out of the speakers when Hutch caught sight of Ruth and me. He paused in mid-waltz, bowed politely to Alicia, and hurried over. ‘Ruth.’

She folded her arms across her bosom and pouted.

‘Come here. We need to talk.’

Ruth showed no signs of budging, so I gave her a gentle shove in Hutch’s direction.

Hutch took Ruth’s hand, tucked it gently under his arm, and led her to a corner of the studio near the Deer Park water cooler. From where I stood, I couldn’t hear what was being said, but I could tell from Ruth’s body language that his words were having some effect. Ruth’s arms dropped to her sides, her knees relaxed, and after a few minutes, she reached up to touch Hutch’s face. When he kissed her, quickly but sweetly, I figured all had been forgiven.

Dodged that bullet.

I was still staring at Hutch and Ruth, just a teensy bit worried about some residual rigidity I detected in Ruth’s spine, when Paul joined me. ‘There you are. I was about to send out a search party.’

‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘I spent longer in the restroom with Ruth than I thought.’

‘Is everything OK?’

I bobbed my head in the direction of the water cooler. ‘It is now.’

Alicia flitted over to remind us that our first lesson was over, and it was almost time for the practice party. For some reason, she looked at me. ‘You will stay, won’t you?’

I did a sideways-through-the-eyelashes silent consultation with Paul, who winked, so I said, ‘Sure.’

‘Good!’ And she was off to greet three newcomers who stamped through the entrance knocking snow off their boots, followed by a blast of cold air.

‘Tell Ruth not to take it so seriously. Kay can be a bit pushy sometimes.’ Tom came off the floor where he had been practicing some dangerous-looking hip hop moves on the sidelines. Laurie, his partner, followed.

‘A bit?’ Laurie’s delicately drawn eyebrows arched dramatically. ‘She’s a selfish B-I-T-C-H, if you want to know the truth. Doesn’t give a sweet goddam whose toes she steps on, if you’ll pardon the pun.’

‘Then why on earth do you train with her, Laurie?’ I asked.

Laurie shrugged a well-defined shoulder. ‘Because we’ve been with them, like, forever… why else would you say, Tommy?’

Tom didn’t even have to think about it. ‘Because Kay and Jay are, quite simply, the best.’

‘I’m certainly no judge,’ Paul said, ‘but you two are fantastic. Thanks for taking pity on me, Laurie. That last dance was very helpful. I think I’m finally getting the hang of it.’

‘My pleasure,’ she smiled. ‘You’re really a lot better than you think. You just need to relax. Don’t think about it so much. And stop looking at your feet!’

‘That’s Paul,’ I told the pair. ‘Always analyzing things to death.’

‘Which can lead to paralysis, especially in hip hop,’ Tom added, wiping his face and neck with a towel. I wasn’t into hip hop, and rap music tended to liquefy my brain, turning it into gray goo that threatened to trickle out my ears. I wondered aloud about the place of hip hop in competitive ballroom.

‘Not in competition, per se,’ Tom explained, ‘but Jay is thinking about starting a beginner hip hop class, and has approached me about teaching it. Up in Boston, I worked with Jose Eric Cruz who choreographed for Paula Abdul and Janet Jackson.’

I was supposed to be impressed, I suppose, but wasn’t it Paula who nodded off while judging on American Idol, and Janet whose famous boob, I mean, wardrobe malfunction, gave Super Bowl viewers an eyeful? Wouldn’t include those gals on my résumé, but, as I said, I wasn’t exactly hip on hip hop.

Laurie nipped off to retrieve a fleece jacket from a hook on the wall, then wandered back, easing her arms into the sleeves. ‘Did you see the movie Take the Lead with Antonio Banderas?’ she asked as she zipped.

‘Oh, yeah. Banderas is hot.’ I flapped a hand in front of my face, fanning furiously.

She gave me a high five. ‘You go, girl! Remember the dance competition at the end? That was a fusion of ballroom and hip hop.’

Paul, who had seen the movie, too, laughed and said, ‘As much as I’d like to set your pulses racing, ladies, those kind of moves would kill me. Years ago, I screwed up my back in a farm accident.’

Tom tucked a corner of the towel under his belt. ‘You might be pleasantly surprised, Paul. Hip hop is kind of an all-purpose exercise, involving high and low impact footwork and motions that can really free up your head, neck, and shoulders. Your arms, too, come to think of it, and even your wrists.’

Paul held up a hand. ‘Whoa! Let me get the hang of the pivot, promenade and slide, first,’

With an affectionate glance at Tom, Laurie said, ‘What, no botting, snaking, popping, waving, tutting or dime stopping?’

‘Tutting?’

‘King Tut.’ Laurie strutted in front of us, walking-like-an-Egyptian, gold hoop earrings bouncing against her neck.

‘Too much!’ Paul turned to me. ‘Can you see me doing a Steve Martin imitation at Ruth’s wedding? She’d kill me.’

I pinched his cheek. ‘You’re just a wild and crazy guy.’

Eventually, Tom and Laurie drifted off to work on their routine, while Paul and I migrated to the snacks table where chips and popcorn had been laid out for the practice party.

‘We’re eating their food, so I think we’re obliged to practice, don’t you?’ Snagging a potato chip, I used it to scoop up a generous helping of veggie dip.

‘Smurgle splessh schlew,’ my husband commented around a mouthful of popcorn. I puckered up and gave him a big air kiss. ‘I love it when you talk dirty.’