The Dance

by Gary Smalley

  Audrey had laughed. “You look like you’re in some terrible pain,” she’d said. “But that’s okay for now. Your goal eventually will be to have these steps memorized, allowing you to stare adoringly into your wife’s eyes.”

  Jim smiled as he thought about it. He may have looked like he was in pain, but he was rather enjoying himself. And he hadn’t stepped on Audrey’s toes once.

  “Hey, Dad.”

  Jim looked up into the concerned face of his eldest son. “Hey, Tom. Let me get this tray out of the way so we have some elbow room. You want to get some coffee?”

  “I’m fine, just had a cup on the way over.”

  “I’ll just refresh mine then and be right back.” Jim walked his tray over to the trash can, then refilled his coffee cup. He glanced over at Tom, who was staring at him, that same concerned look on his face. It made Jim instantly forget his fond first-dancing experience. He didn’t know why, but he was dreading this moment.

  “So what’s up?” Tom asked as Jim sat down.

  “It’s kind of hard to explain. Let’s just say, I’ve been getting some marriage advice.”

  “Are you seeing a counselor?”

  “Of a sort,” he said. “Anyway, she suggested I do something, and when she did, I thought of you.”

  “Okay . . .”

  “I just need to ask you some questions, about me. About what I’m like. And I need you to be brutally honest with me, to just tell it like it is. Even if you think what you say will hurt my feelings.”

  “Okay, I guess I could try.” He winced a little. “I’ve gotta admit, this feels kind of awkward for me.”

  “I know, I’m sorry.”

  “It’s not like we have conversations like this every day.”

  “I know.”

  “Really, never.”

  “Okay, I guess that’s a clue then.”

  “A clue?” Tom asked.

  “That we never talk like this, on this level. I suppose that means you’ve got a huge backlog of things you need to unload on me. I’m not sure I’m emotionally ready to hear it all at once, so why don’t you just start with one thing. It can be a big thing. Maybe even the biggest thing.” Jim was so nervous. He was babbling like a fool. “Okay, two or three things. If you need to go over more, we can set up another time. I just want—”

  “Slow down, Dad. I’m not even sure I have one big thing.”

  “You’re not? I mean, you can’t even think of one thing?”

  “What’s the question again?”

  “I guess I’m wanting to know if there are things about me, about the way I treat you, or have treated you in the past, that really bug you. That make it difficult for you to relate to me. Not just as a father but even as a person. But you can include things about my fatherhood.”

  “Oh.”

  Oh, Jim thought. That didn’t sound good. The “oh” was followed by a long pause. Jim studied Tom’s face. He figured Tom must be trying to think of how to say whatever had just come to mind.

  “It’s kind of hard, Dad. You’ve always been . . . the way you are. I haven’t had a hard time with you, for the most part. You’re just you. You know? For the most part, I admire you. All the success you’ve had, the way you manage your time and your affairs. Your people skills. Well, with most people. I know Michele struggles more with you. And Doug too, I guess.”

  “And your mother, of course,” Jim added.

  “There is that,” Tom said. “Maybe you’d be better off talking with Michele and Doug.”

  Jim knew he’d have to eventually, but he wasn’t quite ready to face that. “But seriously, Tom. You’ve got to struggle with me on some level.”

  Tom looked away. After a few moments, he blinked his eyes several times. When he looked back, Jim saw tears welling up. He wiped them away. “I guess there’s one thing,” he said. “It’s this, doing this very thing. Talking about things like this. We never do it. We never have. I can understand why when I was a kid, but not as I grew older. Now I’m married with kids. You don’t know how many times during that first year with Jean that I would lie in bed at night alone, knowing I had just wounded Jean by saying something stupid. But I didn’t know how to fix it, and there was no one to call. I would have loved it if I could have heard your voice then. Even if you didn’t have the magic words to make it all go away. Just to be able to talk . . . like this.”

  Jim didn’t know what to say.

  “I’ve always envied the way Michele and Mom talk,” Tom said. “They open up about everything. You and I never do. You’re like a vault. Locked up tight. All the time. And I’ve never been able to figure out the combination.”

  Jim stared at Tom, trying to comprehend, as tears filled Tom’s eyes again.

  34

  Marilyn was so nervous. But then, she had a right to be.

  It was Tuesday evening. She was standing outside the Windsor Dance Studio waiting for Roberto. He must be running late. She certainly hoped he hadn’t forgotten. She was glad it was summertime, and she wasn’t standing there in the dark. This was supposed to be their first dance lesson together for this big contest he’d asked her about on Friday.

  She had called him on Saturday with all her reasons why she had to turn him down. By the end of the phone call, he had talked her into it. Now she felt a little sneaky, showing up here like this, and she didn’t like it. Like Charlotte had said, it was just dancing; she wasn’t doing anything wrong. She had told Charlotte about their meeting, even about Roberto’s invitation to be his partner in this dance contest. Of course, Marilyn had played everything down and didn’t share any of the details.

  Including that she’d be coming here tonight, alone, to practice with Roberto. As far as Charlotte knew, Marilyn was working till closing at Odds-n-Ends. Marilyn hadn’t actually said that. Charlotte had just assumed it, and Marilyn hadn’t corrected her.

  Then there was the matter of the red dress.

  It was just a dress, a dance costume, really. That’s what Roberto had called it on Saturday. He’d mentioned they weren’t going to be doing a waltz for the contest, but the rumba, a Latin dance. It required a flashier costume, and he wondered if she owned a bright red dress. He’d explain why later. She remembered this one, the one she was wearing right now. It was very expensive, something she’d bought a year ago for one of Jim’s high-end business parties.

  When she’d picked it out at the dress shop, the salesclerk seemed wowed by how she looked. The clerk said it reminded her of that romantic song “Lady in Red” by Chris De Burgh. Marilyn loved that song. It was sung by a man dancing with the love of his life who was wearing an amazing red dress. As they danced, everyone else in the room had suddenly disappeared, and the man only saw her . . . his lady in red.

  Back then, Marilyn hadn’t entertained any notions that Jim would actually dance with her, but she’d hoped the dress would at least turn his head, maybe stir some romantic ideas. All he’d said was, “Looks very nice, hon. Can you grab your purse? We’re running late.”

  Right now, this lady in red felt like an idiot, standing on the sidewalk all dressed up like this. But it was a better feeling than what she’d experienced two hours ago. She’d gotten off work at four-thirty, then hurried home to sneak into the house to fetch the dress in the back of her closet. All the while hoping Jim wouldn’t come home early.

  What would she say if he’d caught her? Thankfully, that didn’t happen.

  A light turned on inside the studio office. Marilyn got closer to the glass door to see. Good, there was Roberto, coming out of the office into the studio. But he wasn’t alone. Angelina, that beautiful jazz dancer who’d danced with Roberto during the first class, was right behind him. She wore a gorgeous red dress, and she looked gorgeous in it. Marilyn didn’t understand. What was she doing here? Roberto saw her peeking in the door and instantly rushed over to let her in.

  “I’m so sorry, my dear, to leave you standing there like that. Please forgive me.” Marilyn walked in, looked at Ang
elina, who nodded and smiled. “I had a burst of inspiration. I had planned to just watch a video of the song I’d selected for us to use for the contest. Then I remembered Angelina. She and I had danced to this very song a year ago, worked out all the choreography for it. Of course, you and I will do a simplified version, considering the time we have left to practice. But I thought it would be much better for you to see us dancing through the song together. So I called her, and she said she’d be happy to help us.”

  “Maybe you should do the dance with her,” Marilyn said. “If you’ve already done it and she knows all the steps. Really, I wouldn’t mind.”

  “Angelina is a professional instructor. The contest requires my partner to be a novice, remember? Don’t be intimidated by what you’re about to see. On the way here, I discussed with Angelina some of the things we’ll leave out of our routine, to make the dance something you’ll be able to easily pick up with the time we have left before the contest.”

  Marilyn sat on the chair to put on her shoes. “How much time will we have to practice?” She was beginning to think she had made a terrible mistake.

  “That’s part of the contest requirements. The judges know some contestants would have a lot more time than others to prepare, so to make things fair, they insisted we’re only allowed five practice sessions to perfect our routine.”

  “Five?”

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “You’ll have this down in three. I promise you. And to help you, there’s no stipulation about you practicing on your own in between our lessons together.” He was setting up a camcorder on a tripod. “This camera here will record Angelina and I. Later tonight, I’ll upload it to YouTube, and then you can use it to practice as much as you’d like at home. Can you meet me here, over the next four Tuesday nights?”

  “I think I can get my boss to make that work, if I give her enough notice. Will Angelina be joining us each week?”

  “Oh no,” Angelina said. “I can’t even stay for the rest of the night.”

  Roberto led Angelina by the hand out to the center of the dance floor. “She’ll be leaving right after we make the video. Then you and I will begin to practice. How late can you stay tonight?”

  “I . . . I don’t know.” She didn’t have to be at work tomorrow until noon. But she wasn’t sure how late she wanted to stay. Especially being alone with a man. “Maybe a couple of hours,” she said.

  “That should give us plenty of time. We can accomplish a lot when we have no one else in the studio to distract us. Would you be a dear and push the pause button on the camera. It’s all set to go. Then tap the play button on the iPod. I’ve already got the song ready. It will start playing in a few moments, and Angelina and I will begin our routine. Once we do, just sit back and enjoy. And imagine yourself dancing just like her a few weeks from now. I have every confidence in you.”

  Marilyn looked over at the big glass windows that bordered the sidewalk. The curtains were open. She stood up. “Before I turn the music and camera on, can I close these drapes?”

  “What? Why?” he said.

  She knew how much he enjoyed being watched while he danced, not to mention the free advertising it provided for passersby. But she hated being watched in equal measure. “I’m not comfortable dancing like this with everyone watching.”

  “But Marilyn, you know everyone will be watching the night of the contest. Hundreds of eyes will be on no one else but you and me. I think it would be good practice for you to get used to . . . being watched.”

  “That may be so for the contest,” she said. “But I’m not comfortable with people watching me here.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Very,” she said. “In fact, if you insist we keep the drapes open, I’ll have to pass on being your partner.”

  “If you feel that strongly, then, of course, by all means close them.”

  Marilyn walked over and closed them. Her real reason—or at least the deeper reason for wanting them closed—wasn’t the fact that everyone who walked by would see her dancing with Roberto. There was just one pair of eyes she really cared about.

  Jim’s.

  What would he think if he came back to spy on her? He’d already pitched a fit just watching Roberto innocently kiss her on the hand that first night. How would he react to watching her dance the rumba with this handsome Latin man? Just the two of them. Alone in the studio.

  That would never do.

  “Thank you, Roberto,” she said as she walked over to the camera.

  “Not a problem, my dear. We’re ready whenever you are.”

  Marilyn pushed the pause button then stepped carefully around the tripod to hit the play button on the CD player. She took a seat on one of the cushioned chairs.

  Oh no, she thought as the music began to play. She couldn’t believe it. The song Roberto had picked for their dance was “Lady in Red” by Chris De Burgh. She sat mesmerized as Roberto and Angelina danced gently and softly to the music. It was so elegant and lovely, and so romantic. But she also realized, in places, quite sensual.

  Could she really do this? Dance like this, the way Angelina was doing now?

  35

  Audrey Windsor stopped in at the dance studio just after lunch on Wednesday afternoon. She volunteered on most Wednesdays. She’d straighten things up on the desks, put things back in their place, and review the studio’s monthly schedule. Just to avoid any train wrecks. Besides the weekly classes, the different dance instructors were allowed to schedule private lessons at the studio, but they weren’t always careful to write them in the proper time slots, or to write them down at all.

  She was reviewing the calendar when she saw it. Roberto had written for the next four Tuesday nights: Private dance lessons—Roberto with Marilyn Anderson, 7–9:30 p.m.

  What in the world?

  Okay, she told herself, don’t react. It could be nothing. But she also knew Roberto, the additional charm he always turned on like a switch whenever he was around attractive women, and she was aware of the troubled relationship Marilyn and Jim were having now. The idea of Marilyn and Roberto meeting for private dance lessons seemed like a path headed for trouble.

  Should she say something? Roberto was sitting in the office right now doing some paperwork. It was a good time. Other than the two of them, the studio was empty. If she was going to say something, she’d better do it now. The calendar showed a girls’ ballet class starting in thirty minutes.

  She walked to the doorway and peeked inside. She may get into all sorts of trouble here, but she felt she had to at least say something, let him know in a discreet way that she had her eyes on him. “Excuse me, Roberto? Do you have a minute?”

  “What?” He looked up from the desk. “Oh, Audrey, it’s you.” The Latin accent was gone. He never used it anymore when they were alone. Another reason she didn’t fully trust him. “What can I do for you?”

  “Nothing really. I was just going over the monthly schedule. You know, like I always do.”

  “And I always appreciate it.”

  “I know. Well, I noticed something you wrote down, I guess it was last night or this morning.” His eyebrows drew close together. “I guess you’re starting private dance lessons with Marilyn Anderson?”

  “Yes . . . is there some problem?”

  “Well, no. I don’t know. Maybe. There could be.”

  “I don’t understand,” he said.

  “Do you mind if I ask . . . did she request to have private lessons?”

  “What? No, she didn’t.” His voice was becoming a little stern. “It was my idea. She’s a very gifted dancer. A novice, for sure, but did you see her after that first night? You weren’t here last week, but she’s become quite skillful already. I’ve chosen her to be my partner in the teacher/pupil dance contest in September.”

  “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Audrey said. “I mean, you and her meeting here for private lessons . . . at night?”

  “What do you mean?” His tone and expression
suggested he knew exactly what she meant.

  Audrey stepped farther inside the office. “Well, did you know she and her husband are separated? It just happened a few weeks ago. I’ve talked with him. He’s desperate to win her back.”

  Roberto set his pen down. “Well, good for him. She’s a wonderful lady. Attractive, vivacious, a genuinely kind personality. You don’t often see that combination these days.”

  That sounded good to Audrey, to hear him talk like this. Maybe she was worried for nothing.

  “I might add,” Roberto said, “that she never talks about him. I’ve only surmised she is separated by piecing little things together. I don’t know what the man’s done to her, but I wouldn’t, let’s say, encourage him too much about winning her back. At least not anytime soon. To me, she seems like a bird let out of a cage. Free for the first time in years, and loving it.”

  Now they were back to things not sounding too good. “But you’re not . . . pursuing her in any way, right?”

  “Mrs. Windsor, I’m surprised you’d ask me such a thing. No, I have not set my sights on Mrs. Anderson. I wouldn’t feel right doing such a thing—this early on, anyway. Not when she’s just left her husband. She’d be too vulnerable right now. It would be pure manipulation on my part, and that’s not who I am.”

  Audrey wasn’t so sure. And the way he’d said it wouldn’t be right to pursue her “this early on” certainly left the door open for him to pursue Marilyn when the time was right. Just when might such a time be? A week from now? A month? Roberto lived life on his own terms, did as he pleased.

  No, this conversation did nothing to assure Audrey. She’d have to keep her eye on the situation. And somehow, she’d have to think of a way to break this news to Jim. Better for him to hear it from her than to hear darker versions of the news through the grapevine.