by Gary Smalley
“Really, Michele, it’s beautiful. Now . . . why don’t you go back in the dressing room and change? I’ll get the girl who was helping us and send her back to meet you, so she can put it in the hanger bag. If you want, we can stop off at Starbucks before you have to head back.”
“I’d love that.”
“Great,” Marilyn said. “It’ll give me a chance to update you on my dancing classes.”
“Oh, that’s right,” Michele said as she disappeared down the hall. “I want to hear all about it.”
All about it? Marilyn thought. Did she want to tell her all about it?
Twenty minutes later, they were sitting at a table under an outdoor umbrella, sipping their drinks. Marilyn got an iced coffee. They had driven here in Michele’s car, so she could drive back to school right after.
“So how are you and Allan doing with the wedding just one month away?” Marilyn asked. “Getting more excited or more nervous?”
“It depends what time of day you ask me,” Michele said. “Well, that’s me. Allan seems like he’s only ever excited. I don’t see him being nervous at all.”
“So what kind of things make you nervous?”
“Oh, you know . . . the wedding night for one. It’s been hard, but we’ve kept ourselves for that night. So, I’m worried what Allan will think. You know, when the time comes.”
Marilyn was so proud of Michele for keeping that conviction intact all this time. “Michele, you are a beautiful girl. And Allan loves you so much. He’s going to love being with you on your wedding night. Just remember all the things we talked about. Try not to put so much emphasis on that night. You’re getting married for life. It’s not like the movies. You have your whole lives to . . . well, improve things.” She smiled. “What else are you nervous about?”
“Oh no you don’t,” Michele said. She set her cappuccino down. “You’re going to use up all our time drawing me out. I want to hear about you. Tell me about your dance lessons.”
Marilyn took a deep breath. “I told you about the dance contest, right?”
“Dance contest? You certainly did not. You signed up for a dance contest? I guess you’re feeling pretty confident. Haven’t you only had a few lessons so far?”
“Yes, two lessons. Well, three really, counting the one with just me and the dance instructor.”
“What? You’re taking private lessons too?”
“Let me explain. It’s pretty amazing, actually. Apparently, all that dancing in the living room with you when you were little paid off. He says I’m a natural. And I didn’t sign up for the contest. Roberto selected me from the class to be his partner.”
“You’re dancing with the dance instructor? In the contest?”
Marilyn thought Michele sounded excited about this news, not concerned. That made her feel better. “I was shocked,” she said. “It’s a special contest for dance instructors throughout central Florida. They have to pick a beginner and can only teach them the dance over five lessons.”
“That’s so exciting, Mom. I’m so proud of you. When’s the contest?”
“It’s the Saturday before your wedding in September.”
“Oh, I hope I can come see it. Allan and I have so many things on our to-do list for that weekend, though.”
Marilyn was actually glad to hear this; she didn’t want anyone she knew there.
“So what song are you dancing to, do you know?”
“Yep. We already had our first practice Tuesday night. It’s an older song, not sure if you’ve heard of it. ‘Lady in Red’?”
“Oh Mom, I love that song. Heard it on an oldies station a while back. It’s so romantic. But it’s not a waltz, right? What kind of dance are you learning for it?”
How should Marilyn describe it? Over the next few minutes, she did her best to explain but left out all of Roberto’s instructions about them acting like a couple in love. Still, Michele’s reaction was a little alarming.
“Oh my, Mom. That sounds . . . interesting. How do you feel dancing that way with, you know. . . .”
“Another man?” Marilyn said.
Michele nodded. “I’ve seen pictures of Roberto on the studio website. He’s quite a—”
“He is handsome, but he’s been a total professional about this. He said couples who dance romantic songs like this in contests should see themselves as actors playing out a role.” She wanted to add that she just pretended Roberto was actually Jim, but that wasn’t true. Jim’s total hatred of dancing made that an impossible fantasy.
“Well,” Michele said, “I can see that. But still . . . seems like you better be careful on this. You know, since you and Dad are . . .”
Right, Marilyn thought. Since she and Jim were . . .
38
It was Monday evening, just after the dinner hour. Of course, for Jim that didn’t mean much these days. He was sitting in his car outside Audrey Windsor’s house, waiting a few more minutes for their class to start. On his way home from work, he had picked up a chicken strips salad for himself from Chick-fil-A, some nuggets and waffle fries for Doug. Doug had thanked him and headed up to his room. They hadn’t talked much since Doug let him have it last Wednesday.
The next morning, Jim had made an effort to apologize, but really, what could he say? Sorry for how I’ve been your whole life? He didn’t remember exactly what he did say. Doug had replied, “That’s all right, Dad. Thanks for listening.”
Listening.
That’s really all Jim had done. But he realized it was something he hadn’t done with Doug for years. Or Tom. Or Michele. Or Marilyn, for that matter. Especially Marilyn.
He missed her so much right now.
He missed her cooking; she was an amazing cook, night after night, for all those years. He missed the way she took care of the house: immaculate, spotless, everything in good supply. He missed her being with him at church and social events. He’d never told her this, but she’d always made him feel proud because she took such great care of herself.
Why had he never said things like this to her? Why had he never told her how grateful he was for all the things she did? The answer was a terrible cliché, but it was still true. He had taken her for granted. She was there. She would always be there.
He also realized—and this realization was painful— he didn’t miss Marilyn’s friendship. For the simple reason that . . . they weren’t friends.
He’d never let their relationship develop that way. He had treated her more like an attractive domestic servant who also functioned as a nanny to his children, a decorator for his house, and a hostess for his parties. To have a friendship with someone, you needed to do fun things together. Have lots of conversations. Ones where you asked questions, took an interest in what your friend had to say. Shared hopes and dreams. Were each other’s shoulder to cry on.
Jim just wasn’t that kind of guy. Or that’s what he’d always believed. He just wasn’t “wired that way.”
And because of it, he was alone.
Then another terrible feeling overwhelmed him. What kind of emotional pain did Marilyn feel in their sexual relationship? Always having to please someone she didn’t feel loved by, or even enjoy being with . . . for years? What kind of man have I been to her? I haven’t been a real husband, let alone a good friend.
He wished there was some way to tell her how he felt now.
These depressing thoughts came as he pondered his conversations with Tom and Doug. Natural conclusions flowed out of equally dark thoughts about what a lousy father he had been. Sure, he’d provided for them. Sent them to the best schools. He’d never missed a single birthday. Bought them what they wanted for Christmas. If you opened the drawer in Jim’s brain called “Fatherhood,” these were the things you’d find on file.
But he had never related to them on a friendship level, never did fun things with them or waste time with them, even when they’d become adults.
He wasn’t wired that way.
He dreaded what he might hear if he worked up the courag
e to listen to what Michele had to say. If Tom and Doug struggled with him this much, what would he learn from a heart-to-heart with her?
Audrey peeked out her front window again. Jim’s car was still there. It was almost ten minutes past the time when their lesson was supposed to begin. She bent down a little. She could see him sitting in the driver’s seat. He didn’t appear to be on his cell phone. Of course, nowadays, people used those hands-free devices.
Should she wait a few minutes more? No, before it got much later she should find out what was going on. She opened the front door and stepped onto the porch. Just then his car door opened.
“I’m sorry, Audrey.” He walked around the car. “Guess I was daydreaming. I actually got here on time.”
She held the front door for him, and they both went inside. Instantly, she could tell something had changed in his demeanor. “Is everything okay?”
He sighed as he walked over to the couch and began putting on his shoes. “Yes and no,” he said. “Physically, I’m fine. I’m just . . . well . . . it’s been a rough week.”
He spent the next ten minutes summarizing two conversations he’d had with his boys, Tom and Doug. She had expected those conversations would be difficult, especially for someone like Jim, who’d never put much of a premium on listening to others. But he seemed almost devastated emotionally. He then explained why he might need a little more time to connect with his daughter, Michele, whom he described as “pretty much in Marilyn’s camp.”
Audrey assured him that was fine. “I’m proud of you for reaching out to your boys like that,” she said. “That took courage on your part.” She sat beside him on the couch.
“I just hope it’s not too late. I don’t know what it’s going to take to get my relationship with them to a better place.”
“Well,” she said, “what you’ve done is a good start. It’s going to take some time.” Maybe a lot of time, she thought. “But if you’re serious about taking responsibility for the wrong things you’re starting to see, I think they’ll eventually come around.”
Jim spent the next few minutes sharing things he’d been thinking about Marilyn over the last few days too. Good things. Big things. It was clear to Audrey that God was doing some major work in Jim’s heart. At one point, he got all choked up. She got up to get him a tissue. “Here,” she said. “Take this.”
“I’m sorry. I can’t believe I’m telling you all this.”
“Don’t apologize. That’s what friends are for.”
She wasn’t looking forward to sharing the news about Roberto and Marilyn dancing together in that contest. She would wait until after the lesson. Jim had a right to know, but right now he needed a positive distraction. “Why don’t you take a moment to pull yourself together while I go get us a couple bottles of water? Then we’ll head into the studio. Tonight we’re going to build on the steps you’ve learned and do something I think you’ll enjoy.”
“Like what?” he said. He took a deep breath and stood.
“Well, by the end of this lesson, you’re going to feel like you might actually be a dancer. I’m going to show you the proper way to hold a lady while dancing the waltz, then how to do these same steps we’ve learned as we circle the room together, spinning and swirling to the music.”
“You think I can do that? Tonight?”
“Yes, I think you can.”
When the dance lesson was over, Jim seemed to be in an entirely different place. He really was getting it. And he was smiling. Audrey was happy to see it. Dancing had that effect on most people. Like laughter, it was good medicine.
She hated to ruin it by breaking the news to Jim about Marilyn and Roberto. But it had to be done. She’d thought of a way, though, to tie in part of the story with the dance lesson.
Jim was sitting back on the couch, changing out of his dance shoes. “That was really fun, Audrey. I mean it. By the end there, I felt like . . . well, like you said, almost like a dancer.”
“You were doing great, Jim. Say, before you leave, there’s something I need to tell you.” She walked over and sat beside him.
“Uh-oh. This doesn’t sound good.”
She said a quick silent prayer. “There’s no easy way to say this. And before I do, you need to know, I don’t think anything bad has happened, and nothing may come of it. But I still feel you have a right to know.”
His face showed immediate concern. “What is it? Just tell me.”
“I’ve learned Roberto has asked your wife to be his partner in a dance contest.”
“What? A dance contest?”
“They’re meeting once a week for extra lessons to prepare. I think the contest is about a month away.”
His face fell. “But I don’t understand. She’s only been taking lessons a few weeks. One week more than me. How could he ask her to dance with him in a contest?”
It was obvious that Jim wasn’t buying this as the real reason they were spending more time together. “I’ve looked into it, and the contest is real. The reason he picked her is because it’s a special contest for dance instructors, to showcase their ability to teach. The idea is, they all pick someone from their beginners’ class, and they have five weeks to get ready.”
Jim sighed. “I knew something like this would happen.”
“Something like what?”
“I knew that Roberto would find a way to start drawing Marilyn into a relationship. I could see the way he looked at her.”
“Jim, I don’t think that’s what’s going on here. Marilyn really is a gifted dancer. I could see that the first night. And she was the only one in class without a dance partner.”
Jim’s expression didn’t change. He wasn’t buying it. His head dropped, and he stared at the carpet.
“Listen, Jim.” She waited a moment until he looked up. “It’s very important that you don’t go rushing over there to confront Marilyn right now. That’s the worst thing you could possibly do.”
“But I’m going to lose her!”
“You might if you do that,” Audrey said. “Right now, she’s very vulnerable. But I don’t believe anything bad has happened. Not yet. You do that, you might just push her right into his arms.”
“Then what do I do? I can’t do nothing.”
“Well, for starters, you could use the pain you’re feeling right now to get in touch with the kind of pain Marilyn’s probably been feeling for years.”
“What? I’ve never left her for someone else.”
Audrey softened her tone and expression. “Remember at the beginning of this lesson, I talked about keeping a safe distance between you and your partner throughout the dance. That’s part of the elegance of the waltz, and a good way to make sure you don’t step on each other’s toes. Well, that’s a life lesson you need to grab hold of right now with Marilyn.”
“Keeping a safe distance?”
“Not so much the distance but the idea of making her feel safe. Let me say it this way: how would Marilyn expect you to react to this news?”
Jim thought a moment. “Probably me blowing up and getting in her face.”
“Right. And every time you’ve done that in the past, you’ve shut her down. She doesn’t feel safe talking to you, opening up and sharing her struggles with you. That’s why you didn’t even know she was unhappy enough to walk out on you a few weeks ago.”
“But she needs to know how I feel about this thing.”
“No, not really. I’m sure she already knows you’d disapprove. What you need to learn is how she feels about things. And the best way to start is by not reacting to things she says or does that cause you pain. To create a safe environment in your relationship for her to open up to you. I don’t think that’s ever been a part of your relationship with her before.”
“It hasn’t. But what do I do? How do I . . . make her feel safe? She won’t even talk to me.”
“Use the pain you feel right now to help you understand her better. I think, in a way, Marilyn has been feeling this same kin
d of pain since the two of you were married. You’re experiencing the same feelings Marilyn has about your ‘other lover.’ She’s felt this deep hurt over your affair with your company and your financial reputation. My guess is she’s never felt as important to you as your business and network associations. Right now, Jim, you’re getting a glimpse into the kind of pain she’s been dealing with all of these years.”
“I don’t want to lose her,” Jim said as his eyes filled with tears.
“Then my best advice to you, Jim, is . . . don’t react. Don’t confront her. Don’t say anything at all about this. Pray and look for ways to show her that you’ve changed. Concrete, tangible ways to demonstrate that you really do love her. Then trust God for a breakthrough, that he will speak to her heart and help you find a way to win her back.”
39
Two days later, Jim was still not over the news about Marilyn.
It was near the end of the work day. He was sitting in his office, waiting for Lynn, his secretary, to finish a few things so he could lock up for the night. Try as he might, he couldn’t get the image of Marilyn dancing with this Roberto guy out of his head. Before he’d left Audrey’s on Monday evening, he’d asked her if she would at least tell him what kind of song they were dancing to, hoping it was something harmless and mild like the waltz.
Audrey was hesitant to say, which made him feel even worse. Sensing that, she reluctantly agreed. She said she’d found out they were dancing a modified version of the rumba to a song called “Lady in Red.”
Jim had never heard of the song, at least not by its title. And all he knew about the rumba was it sounded like some kind of Latin dance. He couldn’t sleep when he’d gotten home that night, so he looked up both on the internet.
Then he really couldn’t sleep.
The lyrics of the song weren’t dirty or immoral, but it was a majorly romantic ballad about a guy head over heels in love with a woman he was dancing with . . . cheek to cheek. The rumba was indeed a Latin dance, but the examples he saw on YouTube were anything but harmless and mild. A woman announcer in one of the videos called the rumba “definitely the hottest and sexiest of all the Latin dances.”