Saved by the Salsa

by Barbara Barrett

  Jack scratched his head. “Damned if I know. I didn’t want to plan the chips and dip part, so I asked her, and voilà.” He gave his assistant one last indulgent glance, then returned his attention to his dance partner.

  “Talk about getting into this.” He’d been so busy making sure Lacey didn’t hurt Jean’s feelings, he hadn’t noticed his partner’s contribution, her, until now. The straight black dress from the other night had been replaced with a bright fuchsia number. It was shorter and more flowing, and, whoa! From their experience under the fallen tree, he already knew the woman was well endowed in the chest category, but this was the first time she’d actually revealed her ample wares. The piquancy of the goodies Jean brought faded next to this spicy dish.

  What had he been about to say? Didn’t matter. His mouth had gone dry.

  “Jack?” Lacey tilted her head, reminiscent of the wildly plumaged birds gracing the corners of the room.

  “Huh? Oh. You look great, Lacey. You women have really gotten into the spirit.” He took in his black shirt and slacks. At least his pants hugged his butt like a glove. He could show off too.

  “Thanks. Since I have no idea how to teach others to dance the Salsa, the least I can do is dress the part.”

  Jack continued to admire how, when she turned slightly, the skirt flounced across her legs, rippling like the rolling rush of a wave upon the shore. What had she said? Something about no idea how to teach others. “You’ll, uh, do fine. Just follow my lead.”

  “Fol…?” A gleam of understanding came into her eyes. “Now I get it.”

  “Get what?” Her brain could skip around more quickly than a propellant pinball.

  “You’ve found the perfect way to keep me in check. You lead, I follow. I take the fancy steps and look good to the crowd, but you control the moves.”

  How had complimenting her deteriorated so fast? God, she was suspicious of his motives. He stepped toward her, but she backed up. “I wish I could take credit for the deviousness you’re crediting me with. But so clever I’m not. The other night I saw an opportunity to gain some information without appearing to be amateur detectives and I took it.”

  She continued to glare at him.

  Had her nostrils actually flared? “Look, you don’t have to do this. I can manage the class on my own.”

  Her eyes flickered. Good. His suggestion hit its mark. “I-I—” She stopped and scrutinized him as if trying to read his thoughts. “Good one, Dalton. If you can’t dominate the act, eliminate the other person.”

  He opened his mouth in protest, but what was he going to say? Whatever he told her, she’d find a way to read the worst into it.

  Before he had a chance to find out what she’d do next, they were joined by Marianne Mackenzie, Cam’s wife. “Hi, you two. Hope you don’t mind if I invited myself to this shindig.”

  “Of course not, Marianne,” Jack said, assuming his most ingratiating air. Taking the back of her arm, he led her into the room. “How’s the place look? Remind you of the Caribbean?”

  “I had no idea it was going to be so festive,” she gushed. “My new dance dress should fit right in.” She pirouetted for him. “What do you think? Does this say Salsa?”

  She seemed to need his good opinion. As Cam’s second wife and several years the guy’s junior, the tall brunette was always trying to validate her worth. Probably why she’d gone overboard with Cam’s birthday party and why now it was so important to be a part of this gathering. He kicked himself mentally for not inviting her personally.

  “It says more than Salsa. It screams Latin Lady. You’ll be a natural.”

  She seemed to visibly relax as she touched his arm. “Thank you, Jack. Cam looked at it and laughed.”

  Years of practice as Debonair Dalton kept the chuckle begging release from his throat in check. Hopefully, she’d interpret the twinkle he knew must be in his eyes as admiration. But Cam did have a point, even though he’d been rude enough to let his wife know. The woman had selected a tight-fitting green satin dress trimmed in black lace. Somewhere along the line, she’d confused Salsa for Flamenco. No way, though, would he be the one to set her straight.

  “How about some hors d’oeuvres before we get started? My secretary outdid herself.”

  ****

  Lacey watched Jack escort Cam’s wife across the room and put her in Jean’s charge. The guy had a way of making women feel special. He’d taken in Mrs. Mackenzie’s emerald green get-up and never missed a beat welcoming her to the class. She herself had stood there stupefied.

  Or was she still reacting to his reaction to her own get-up? When he’d spotted her in this hot pink number, he couldn’t stop salivating. Those brown eyes seemed to penetrate the fabric, as if he could see her naked underneath, which left her gasping for air. She’d panicked at his libidinous scrutiny and done the only thing she could think of, started an argument. Dumb.

  “Excuse me, are you here for the Salsa lessons too?”

  Lacey turned to find a middle-aged woman not three feet from her. Tall, she wore her salt and pepper hair back in a long braid down her back. Unlike the other early arrivals, she was dressed in a baggy, white gauze blouse and black slacks set off by an oversized necklace of red, black and gray stones. She must have come in during the exchange with Jack. “Actually, I’m one of the instructors,” Lacey replied.

  “Then you’re just the person I need to see.” She offered Lacey a hand ringed in three clunky bracelets. “I’m Janice Collier. A friend of mine saw you dance last week. She intended to be here tonight but last-minute houseguests changed her plans. She suggested I take her place. Do you mind?” She offered an anxious but pleasant smile.

  “Sure, Janice. No problem. But you understand this is probably for one night only? The other instructor and I don’t have any experience at this. The people who saw us dance last week coaxed us to show them a few steps.”

  The woman continued to hold her hand, but her expression mellowed. “Don’t worry. I’m not really here to learn the Salsa, although it sounds like fun. Apparently my friend thinks I’ve been spending too much time rejuvenating my business and I need to get out more.”

  “Oh?” Now they’d become someone’s excuse to get away from home?

  Janice Collier blinked, as if she read Lacey’s thoughts. “I’m a widow. Two years now. I think I’m doing fine adjusting to being on my own, but my friend believes otherwise.” She smiled shyly.

  The woman’s revelation of such personal information took Lacey aback. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

  “You didn’t. I don’t usually mention being a widow. It felt right to tell you. By way of explanation.”

  “You don’t need to explain anything. We’ll do whatever we can to make it fun for you. As you can see, they’ve gone to a lot of work to get us all into the spirit.”

  Janice Collier took in the room’s decorations. “Wow! I had no idea this was going to be another party.”

  “None of us did, until Jack asked his secretary for help with refreshments. She tends to get a little carried away at times.”

  “I say let her do her thing more often,” Janice replied. “I’ll check out her efforts before everyone else arrives.”

  Others were now streaming into the conference room, oohing and ahhing as they took in the atmosphere. Almost all of them were dressed as if they were attending a fiesta. Even the men. This was getting exciting.

  “Lacey? You ready to get started?” Jack pulled away from his entourage of gushing females long enough to check on her.

  “No time like the present.” Her stomach wasn’t exactly unsettled, but until this shindig got underway, she had no idea what to expect. Maybe Jean would stand in for her?

  “Okay, folks. Gather round.” Jack signaled for everyone to join him near the dance floor. “Pull up a chair for now, if you will. Lacey and I want to get to know you first.”

  Introductions filled the next fifteen minutes. Jack told them a little about him
self, then turned the spotlight over to Lacey, who, though not prepared to say much, surprised herself with her little speech. Then everyone else got into the act.

  One by one, the rest of the group spoke up.

  “I’m a gastroenterologist at a local clinic. I’m pretty good doing the jive and the swing, but Latin dances have always intimidated me.”

  “My wife and I became empty-nesters this year. With so much more time on our hands than we’re used to, we’re trying our hands, and tonight, feet, at several new outlets.”

  “I write a blog on wine tasting, although my day job is teaching American History at Roosevelt High School.”

  And so it went. Their comments didn’t shed any light on their retirement aspirations, but it was clear they were all individuals with unique interests. They certainly didn’t fit the over-the-hill stereotype society liked to pin on those over fifty. Strangely enough, those who indicated they were retired from active careers appeared to have even more interesting lives than those still working. They described encore career jobs like lobbying for better child care facilities, teaching fly casting, selling sex toys for bachelorette parties and serving as marshals at a local golf course.

  Some had grown children; some were even enjoying the wonders of grandparenting. Others had started families later in life and now spent the better part of their time at their children’s soccer games, dance recitals and martial arts classes. One thing for sure—they didn’t consider themselves old. Mature maybe. But they were still hard at living and enjoying their lives.

  “Great getting to know you all,” Jack announced, when the last person concluded. “But now, I know your feet are itching to get dancing.” He gave them a smile only he could deliver. It was more than warm. It was the patented Jack Dalton look which said, trust us, you’re amongst friends. This is going to be fun.

  Heaven help her when he turned it her direction. Thank God she’d taken steps to avoid the Jack Dalton charm machine by setting him up as Celia’s fake boyfriend. After the project ended? Maybe, since neither of them seemed interested in long-term hook-ups, but probably not, since she didn’t want to get involved with someone within the firm.

  Jack held out his hand in invitation to Lacey, focusing his same trust me smile directly on her. She couldn’t swallow. Her heart seemed to have broken loose from its moorings and lodged in her throat, where it continued to beat erratically. Move it, kid. The curtain had risen on their one and only performance.

  He placed his hand over hers and drew her to him, smiling down at her like the dentist saying this shouldn’t hurt…much. Then a strange thing happened. The moment they came in contact with each other, she relaxed. Not in the go-limp sort of way, but like the practiced musician forgetting stage fright to launch into the familiar and practiced concerto.

  They started with the fundamentals. Box steps. A dip. After a bit, a twirl. When the song transitioned into a faster tempo, Jack increased the difficulty of the steps. For not having practiced, they were in perfect synch with each other.

  It was as if Jack sensed her best moves and concentrated on those, although a few times he took her through new combinations, challenging her to keep up. The sense of exhilaration coursing through her body was almost as great as completing a design to the delight of her clients.

  Her heart raced, which only added to the thrill. As her comfort level increased, she dared a peek at Jack. Was he enjoying this as much as she was?

  He noticed her checking him out and returned her gaze with a deep, penetrating look of his own. His eyes had grown cloudy and dark.

  When she thought her senses could be aroused no further, the song ended with a dramatic climax. With a flourish, Jack swung her into a one-handed death grip. She hung on for dear life, determined not to spoil the effect with an amateurish release.

  Then it was over. Jack pulled her to him and gave her a collegial hug, holding her long enough to whisper in her ear, “You did great.”

  She struggled to catch her breath. Though winded from the dance, she was more discombobulated from the thrill of contact.

  The class members jumped to their feet in applause and admiration, crowding around them to shake hands and pat them on their backs.

  “Even better than last Friday,” one of the more familiar-looking men told them. “But I don’t think I’m up to the fancy stuff you did.”

  “Oh, but I want to try!” the woman with him cried. “It looked like such fun.”

  “Good attitude,” Jack said. “I hope the rest of you feel the same way. We’ll start slow. What you just saw was,” sheepish grin, “Lacey and I showing off.”

  Lacey and I showing off. Right, Jack, I couldn’t wait to break my neck on that last move. At least she hadn’t fouled up and embarrassed herself. Yet.

  “Let’s get to it, everyone.” Jack moved farther out on the dance floor. “Line up in rows of four so you can all view our feet. Jean, how ’bout turning up the lights so we can see better?”

  Jean did as ordered and then raced back to find a place in the first row.

  For the next fifteen minutes, Jack led them through a few basic steps, adding music after a bit. Then partners.

  At first, this part was awkward, except for one couple who’d obviously been dancing the Salsa for some time. When Jack noticed them, he conned the guy into dancing with the extra woman. Though the guy’s partner didn’t look too pleased, Lacey moved over to her to go through some more advanced steps.

  When they took a ten-minute break, people clustered around the room in small groups, chatting and drinking. Jack motioned for Lacey to start mingling.

  No rest for the wicked. But then, this class was about information gathering. Jack approached the Salsa-trained couple and congratulated them, so she moved off in the other direction, passing Janice Collier, who seemed quite engaged talking to Jean, and sought out Marianne Mackenzie. “Mind if I join you? My feet could use a rest.”

  “By all means, Lacey.” The woman rewarded her with a broad, welcoming smile. “This is a hoot, although I’m having to concentrate more than I thought I would.”

  “I had the same problem at first too,” Lacey said. “But it got easier. Just a matter of relaxing and letting the music guide you.”

  “If you say so.”

  A few minutes later, Jack called them back together and he and Lacey walked the group through a new routine, one where they turned and Lacey was twirled away from Jack. The difficulty level was considerably ratcheted up from the first routine, but the group seemed up to it, even the infamous Death Grip.

  Jean wound up with the guy who knew as much as Jack about the dance. Lacey couldn’t believe her eyes when Jean flung herself back with a dramatic flounce of her arm and closed eyes. Not bad, if she held on. Which she did. Where was the real Jean tonight? Never mind. Lacey liked this one better.

  Although most of the students appeared beat and a bit out of steam when the lesson ended, they enthusiastically praised their two teachers and thanked them for the class.

  “So,” Marianne inquired. “When’s our next session?”

  “Next?” Jack’s voice rose in surprise. “This was just a one-time deal.” He looked helplessly at Lacey, his eyebrows lifting, as if to say, “Get me out of this!” Though her body still buzzed from prolonged contact with Jack, a niggling whisper of disappointment wormed its way into her brain. She’d expected to gain more information from the evening than she’d accomplished.

  “Would you consider at least one more time?” one of the women asked. “I learned a lot tonight, but I need more practice.”

  “Me too,” another woman added.

  “I’m sure Cam wouldn’t mind our using this room again,” his wife reassured them.

  “I think I can get these decorations one more time,” Jean volunteered.

  “I’ll bring the food next time,” Janice Collier offered.

  “Uh, well, I don’t think Lacey and I have any more to add to your repertoire, folks.” Jack was actually stammering
. “What you saw tonight was as good as we get.”

  “Then just repeat this stuff,” suggested one of the men. One who’d looked so put-out to be there at first.

  ****

  “Next Monday night?” Jack asked. How would he ever get Celia to agree to another night off from their so-called courtship?

  He never should’ve agreed to the arrangement at a time when he needed every waking hour for research. But since he hadn’t been very successful gleaning information from the group tonight, maybe a second run at it would help. Their time for drafting the design concept was fast disappearing. Even his breakdancing approach to work might not be enough to salvage this project if their boomer research didn’t net a viable concept soon.

  Lacey stood across the room from him sending him a bewildered and scathing scowl. He was getting pretty good at sizing up the degree of her displeasure, and this decision was right up there with his being born.

  He’d set her straight later. For now, this was too good an opportunity to pass up.

  The group agreed to meet the following Monday, then partook in Jean’s heartier refreshments. They seemed to enjoy the social time and were slow to break up and leave. Several stayed to help Jean take down the decorations and load them in her car.

  Jack was tired. No, exhausted. Not even thirty and he was ready to crash. Exuding charm and being on all evening he could handle. It had been taxing to invent the lesson as he went, but all his efforts seemed to go well. He was used to thinking on his feet.

  But being in constant physical contact with Lacey? Grueling. He’d never had such a responsive dance partner. But those evocative blue eyes and bouncy blonde hair, not to mention her luscious, tiny body, had his own body on alert all evening. Executing all those moves while attempting to avoid an imminent hard on had not been fun. No fun at all. The breaks he’d called had been just as much for his sake, to cool down, as they were for the sake of the class. Now, he was ready to drop.

  They still needed to compare notes about the evening, what she’d learned about boomers. He hoped it was more than he’d been able to unearth. These were interesting people, but other than throwing in a Salsa club on the property, they’d contributed very little to his ideas for the retirement community.