Patrick got his colleague and his attorney on the project immediately. First was the discussion with Dmitri of what to call the business, and the choice of Shall We Dance. Then forming a corporation, submitting a bid for the space that was slightly less than the asking price, and preparing requests for various permits. The lease was signed a week after the anniversary of their ceremony.
It took the better part of six months to complete the renovations, secure their permits, build a website, and draft a marketing plan. Patrick would have liked to open over Labor Day weekend, but Dmitri shook his head. He and Irina were competing in Irvine then. Patrick said, “Fine,” and arranged with the event’s photography vendor to get some pictures of their Smooth championship event. Dmitri didn’t expect to win. Patrick said that didn’t matter. “We’ll pick the best of the photos and get a big print to frame up. Who’s your best student in Latin or Rhythm? We need a picture of that too.” So Dmitri spoke to his best Rhythm student. She was delighted at the prospect of being up on the wall at his new studio, especially when she found out she wouldn’t have to pay for the photos. Nearly all of his students said they would go with him. The management of the Culver City studio was not thrilled, but they gritted their teeth and wished him well. Dmitri privately suspected some of those students would change their minds; it was a significant dislocation. But in West Hollywood, in his own space, he could try new things. Some of those things might attract different students. People who hadn’t considered ballroom dancing before, or any partner dancing. People who might not have thought they would be welcome in such a studio. All along, as they developed the marketing plan, he was inescapably aware that none of this would have been remotely possible without Patrick. And also that nothing would make Patrick happier than for this to be a success for Dmitri. It was both a priceless gift and a heavy burden.
Opening day was a Sunday. Dmitri had three open-to-all, pay-what-you-can classes on the morning schedule. A friend of his was coming in to teach yoga, followed by a thing she called Tone and Tune: calisthenics set to music. After that Dmitri would teach Cardio Latin. He’d built short pieces of cha-cha, samba, and jive that he thought would be accessible and fun, with no partner required. On weeknights there would be group classes. The rest of the time the floor would be busy with his students and those of other instructors who’d requested teaching access. In that, the lengthy lead time was beneficial. Dmitri had seen nearly all of his local contacts since April. Between that word-of-mouth promotion and the carefully-targeted advertising, they hoped to break even with the carrying costs. It would take time to earn back the start-up costs. He tried not to worry.
He was there early, with the door already open, waiting for Angela and about to put up a notice on the front door, when two women poked their heads in. “Hi, are you open?” said the blonde one. “We were passing by.”
“Yes, we open today,” he said, crossing the room and offering a hand. The blonde shook it, and he then repeated the greeting with the black-haired woman. They gave their names as Dana and Rory. “I am Dmitri Vasko. We will be teaching ballroom and Latin to begin, and see what the neighborhood will like. Sundays, community classes; I am putting up the schedule.” He indicated the folding chair set just inside the door; on the seat were a roll of double-stick Velcro, a pair of scissors, and a sheet of paper in a plastic sleeve. He proceeded to apply Velcro to the inside of the glass door, then stuck the sleeve in place. The women leaned in to read it.
“What’s this?” Dana asked, pointing to Cardio Latin. “Do you have to already know ballroom?”
“No, not at all,” Dmitri said. “Class will include cha-cha, samba, and jive, but all combinations taught from beginning every week. You should try.”
“You’re teaching all these yourself?” Rory said. Her glance around the room took in the long row of trophies on a shelf across the back wall, and the two large-format photographs of Dmitri with his dance partners.
He was glad those were current, and not from the archive. “I teach Cardio Latin. A friend will teach the others. You are welcome to stay and watch.”
Dana glanced again at the schedule; the Sunday classes were marked ‘pay what you can.’ She looked at Rory. “Want to?”
“Sure. Has to be more fun than the treadmill.” Rory caught Dmitri’s eye; he was nodding. “Can we do it in our sneakers?”
“If you like,” he said.
“Jazz shoes might be better, huh,” she said. His face might have shown surprise and interest. “Let’s go back by the house,” Rory said to Dana. “Get our shoes so we can do this right.”
“Okay. We’ll be back in a little while,” Dana told Dmitri. “Welcome to the neighborhood.”
He inclined his head. “Thank you.” He watched them go. Then he heard Angela come in, and went to greet her. He didn’t really expect the women to come back. But at least they’d stopped in.
And they did return, arriving toward the end of the second class. Even better, they brought a third person. A dozen people had dropped in for yoga – probably thanks to the flyer pinned up at the nearest coffee shop – and about the same for the second class. There was some overlap. The more people who came through the door, the better.
Dana and Rory’s friend was a tall, willowy, dark-haired man who seemed not to have had enough sleep. Dmitri saw them on the closed-circuit monitor as he was in the office changing from his thermal shirt to a tee shirt. Jeans, jazz shoes, and BALLROOM DANCERS DO IT (on the front) WITH RHYTHM (on the back), spelled out in rhinestones. When he’d shown it to Patrick the reaction was “Really? You’re going to tip them off.” He could have meant several things.
Dmitri has almost laughed. He said, “I am who I am. This is our space. We can be ourselves.” It was a breathtaking thought. He was still nervous about it. But if not now, when? And if not here, where?
He left the office to cue his playlist. The maneuver included a turn so everyone could see the tee shirt, front and back. If anyone there was afraid this would be a stuffy, formal, all-about-the-rules type of class, they should be reassured. He went to the center of the room and clapped lightly. All the people on the floor stretching stood up.
“Good morning,” he said. “Welcome to opening day. You are ready to dance?” Without waiting for a response, he started teaching. In five minutes he delivered a basic cha-cha combination, and then he turned on the music and they got to it. They danced to three songs, and then he stopped the music and started teaching samba. After three more songs, he taught the final lesson, a short jive combination. “Is all about foot speed,” he warned. “Remember, smaller is faster.” The entire class flailed, with the notable exception of the tall dark-haired man, and laughed their way through the three swing songs that followed. Dmitri led a round of applause for the class at the end, then went to shut down the music.
He was encouraged. Everyone seemed to have had a good time. He circulated a little, shaking hands, thanking people for coming in, answering questions. He met Dana and Rory again, and their attractive friend. “Andy,” he said, making eye contact as he shook hands. “Welcome.” There was lingering enjoyment, warmth, and assessment in that gaze. He was positive the man was gay. Allowed his appreciation to show, with a hint of interest. He will know that we are the same. He would know that ‘welcome’ meant everyone like them. With any luck, he would tell his friends.
Apparently all three of them did, along with others in the class. Over the next few weeks, the class sizes steadily grew. A number of those Sunday drop-ins signed up for evening group classes. He had other students for those, including several from UCLA and a group who all worked at Cedars-Sinai Medical Center. It was too soon to call anyone a ‘regular,’ but he and Patrick agreed they were off to a good start.
Chapter 4
On the last Sunday of October, Dmitri put up some Halloween decorations and taped a new flyer to the door, offering a free class and practice party on Halloween night. Dana was there again, with Rory and Andy. When they got done with Cardio La
tin, Dana sidled up and asked, “So how’s it going? We’ve been talking you up around the neighborhood.”
“I appreciate,” he said. “Is good. First six months is building. Then we will see.”
“Do you have a partner, or are you doing this all yourself? It’s none of my business,” she added, “but I’m curious.”
He allowed himself a hint of a smile. “I have partner. He will be here Wednesday if you would like to meet. We will have some performances, as well.”
“Oh, are you going to perform?” she said, smiling. “I’d love to see that. We’ll definitely be here.” She went back over to Rory. He heard her say, “We have to come on Wednesday, Dmitri’s going to do a performance.”
At the Halloween party, Dmitri danced with Irina, an American-style Viennese waltz set to the theme from ‘The Godfather.’ He danced with Sheila, his top Rhythm student, who again was thrilled to be showcased, especially because she didn’t have to pay for it. They did a rumba set to ‘Red Right Hand.’ An outside professional couple danced a medley of swing styles, promoting an upcoming workshop, set to ‘Monster Mash.’ The last performance was from a small semi-pro cabaret group. They’d called him up, saying they heard about the place from Rory. Their number was set to ‘Cell Block Tango.’
He stood near the music station with Patrick, enjoying the performance, enormously pleased with the attendance. Outside, a short distance away on the boulevard, the famous WeHo Halloween parade was going on. All these people had chosen to come to Shall We Dance instead, or as part of their evening out. The cabaret group took their bows; he cued a new song for general dancing. “Is good?”
“Is good,” Patrick said, hand on his back. “Did you all get together and talk about music or did everybody independently come up with theme-appropriate stuff?”
“Coincidence.” He felt Patrick laughing. This was the first social dance. He would offer them regularly after the new year; the holiday season was not the time to begin. People had too many other events and obligations. It seemed a long time till he might have a chance to dance with Patrick. “Would you dance with me?”
“Right now?” Patrick’s voice squeaked a little. He felt like he knew nothing. There had only been those brief half-serious lessons at home, that always felt like foreplay (and generally were). But Dmitri’s arm was around his waist, and he was not going to say no to that. This was their place, the safest of all safe places, and they wouldn’t be the only same-sex couple by a long shot. “Mm-hmm.” He didn’t even hear the music for a minute. Then he thought it was a waltz, it was definitely a waltz, and it felt like they were the only two people in the room.
Patrick was still recovering from that about an hour later when those women came over, the ones Dmitri told him about, the ones who’d come through the door on opening day and kept coming back. They all introduced themselves. Dana and Rory said nice things about the studio, about Dmitri. Patrick was delighted to hear all those things. They said they were delighted to meet him. He might have looked surprised. “Why’s that?”
“Well, this kind of business has to be tough to get rolling, and we liked Dmitri right off the bat so it was nice to think he had someone backing him up,” Dana said. “Life is so much better when you have someone.” She looked at Rory fondly. Rory bumped her hip against Dana’s.
“Yes it is,” Patrick said. “I’ll tell you how we met sometime. It’s a ridiculous story.”
Rory grinned. “Ours is ridiculous too. Andy was an instigator. Where is he?” She looked around, spotted her friend, and waved. He was talking to someone, but he waved back. “Have you met?”
“Not exactly. I’ve heard about him.” He made a face that said ‘obviously.’ Both women laughed. “He’s kind of a show-stopper, isn’t he?”
“What I keep telling him,” Rory said. “Anyway, we have to get going, but tell Dmitri we had a great time and we’ll see him on Sunday. Nice meeting you.”
“You too.” Patrick stayed till the end and beyond, helping Dmitri clear up the studio. They walked slowly home through the still-not-quiet city. This time they walked hand in hand.
A few days later, Andy Martin got in touch to ask about hanging a show of fine-art photographs at Shall We Dance in December. Andy told Dmitri about the theme, described the work in general, and the deal was struck. Dmitri almost immediately got to work on something, because experience told him inspiration should not be ignored. And when he heard the show title, ‘City of Angels,’ he was inspired.
Around mid-November, there was some discussion of the best way to present the artwork. Dmitri approved of Andy’s idea, but asked if he could come by. “I have something to show,” he said.
Andy got there in late afternoon, well before the evening class was scheduled. Dmitri happened to be free; when Andy knocked on the office door, he looked up and almost smiled. “Ah,” he said. “Thank you. Close the door?”
“Sure.” Andy closed it, and started to sit down, but Dmitri indicated he should come around the desk.
“I have video,” he said. “When you said the title of your show, I had idea.” He cued up a video on his computer and swiveled the flatscreen monitor around so Andy could watch. Without saying anything more, he started the recording. It showed him dancing with Irina, to ‘Calling All Angels’ by Jane Siberry. At the end, he looked over at Andy, who appeared to be speechless. “Would you allow that we dance at your show?”
“Would I allow?” Andy said. “I would love. That’s gorgeous. We were going to play Leonard Cohen.”
Dmitri knew who that was. “Is good, will work together. When do you expect most people?”
“I have no idea. This is my first show, remember. Probably around eight.”
“Then we dance at eight fifteen.”
“You’re incredible. Have you always been this awesome?”
“Patrick will say yes,” Dmitri said, straight-faced, “but he has bias.” Andy laughed.
So did Patrick, when Dmitri told him about it later. “Of course I have bias. I have confirmation bias. I think you are awesome, and you keep doing things that are awesome. Even when you do things I don’t understand I decide they’re awesome because you’re doing them.” Dmitri was laughing under his breath, mouth against Patrick’s neck, hands under his shirt. “Mmm. God, Dmitri. Keep doing that.”
December 2007
Patrick was prepared to carry a negative cash flow for quite some time; Dmitri warned him. Without a top title, he was respected by his colleagues but not a sought-after coach. He was the only full-time staffer at Shall We Dance, and would be so for quite some time. They were still in the red, though not worryingly so.
But Dmitri was happy, and that meant Patrick was happy. On this particular night, he was at the studio to record a dance. Dmitri and Irina – who was imminently moving across the country to marry – were performing for the last time.
Dana and Andy both made sure that all of their industry connections knew about the show. Rory used her own extensive list to get the word out. The neighborhood was plastered with flyers. They arranged for a valet company because the neighborhood was so short of street parking, and because potential buyers would expect it. Four of the cabaret dancers were going to be serving California sparkling wine, with finger food catered by a local restaurant. Patrick couldn’t have been more pleased.
Dana and Rory were standing together across the room as the floor cleared for the performance. That process was slow because the studio was packed. There hadn’t been so many people inside at once since Halloween.
Once the space was cleared, Andy joined Dana and Rory. He’d looked hellishly nervous himself early in the evening. Now he was starting to enjoy it. Patrick was enjoying watching him. But he couldn’t wait to see Dmitri dance tonight. The number was choreographed specifically for this event. He said, ‘Irina is confused,’ which made Patrick laugh. It wasn’t the average ballroom show dance. Irina was in a ballgown, but a simple one; the type they called a practice dress, in unadorned black.
Dmitri was wearing gray dance pants and a silvery shirt. Patrick had seen a rehearsal tape. If this performance went as well as he expected, they’d be posting the video. Dmitri hoped it would help drive more business, for performances and private lessons, the kind of thing that would help pay the bills. Patrick told him not to worry about it, they’d manage. He’d had a lot of years doing not much with his money; it had accumulated while he wasn’t paying attention.
Then it was time to start the camera, cue the music, and watch the dance. Oh you beauty, Patrick thought, watching Dmitri. He was the angel, of course; all the angels. Dmitri said he’d never before created a dance with a narrative. Patrick thought he should never do anything else. It was stunning. The mob of spectators – hardly any of them dancers – watched in rapt silence. At the end, they applauded for a minute or two while Dmitri and Irina took their bows. Then it was another few minutes before people stopped talking to each other about the dance, and started looking at the photographs again.
Patrick packed away the camera. He found Dmitri, in the office changing clothes. “That was gorgeous,” he said, closing the door so they could share a kiss. “If you don’t have a ton of inquiries by the end of the night I’ll be amazed. I heard a dozen people saying they didn’t know ballroom dancing could look like that in real life. They were all, that should be on Dancing with the Stars.” Dmitri looked pleased. Patrick set the camera on the desk. “I’m going home now, unless you want me to hang out to help clean up.”
“No, mon cheri. Dana and Rory stay. I’ll see you at home.” Dmitri kissed him again, then pulled him close for a hug. “My dear love.” There was a heavy subtext, one that said ‘I could not do this without you.’ They both knew it was true.
Patrick put his hands on Dmitri’s beloved face. “I would give my last dollar and my last breath to give you moments like that.” They both knew that was true too. “Je t’aime.”
Change Partners (The L.A. Stories) Page 6