Summer Flings and Dancing Dreams

by Sue Watson

  10

  THE FINE TART OF SEXTING

  ‘Do you still go dancing?’ Carole asked over lunch. She was drinking a strawberry meal replacement drink and I was having a chicken salad.

  I nodded. ‘I go nearly every night now, I can’t get enough.’

  ‘Is that gorgeous Tony still gay?’

  ‘Yep... it’s not a moveable feast, Carole. It’s like me asking you if you’re still hetero.’

  ‘I know, but it seems such a waste. You’d make a gorgeous-looking couple, both dark haired, dark eyed, and you’ve gone all... “glossy”. Makes me wish I’d stuck with the Zumba if I could get a figure like yours, but the human body can’t do that every week and live.’

  ‘No,’ I said, doubtfully. She’d only managed a couple of weeks at zumba class, she said it wasn’t possible for the human body to survive the sheer physical punishment of Martha’s sessions.

  ‘Have you heard from Cameron?’ she asked.

  I’d told Carole about mine and Cameron’s online liaisons and she said she remembered him vaguely from school and his sister was a member at her slimming club. Carole left school before the sixth form so wasn’t around to witness our passion at the time but was fascinated to know every detail now. I enjoyed chatting to Cameron, it was just flirting, but it made me feel good about myself. We talked more about the past than the present and he seemed reluctant to talk about his ex wife or the divorce, he was more interested in flirting and making suggestive comments. I understood that he might not want to share the pain of a broken marriage with me and I was just glad I finally had someone I could talk to and tell my troubles at the end of the day. I also enjoyed the frisson of our flirty chats, recently his messages had become a little raunchier. Sometimes in the middle of the night I’d get a text asking if I was lonely and needed company in my big bed. But it was all very light-hearted and I didn’t mind, I quite enjoyed feeling wanted, desired again after such a long time – even if it was just online and just for fun.

  Carole loved to hear about my online flirting. ‘As Jason and I gave up sex for Lent about fourteen years ago and never bothered to reinstate it I shall live vicariously through you,’ she’d said. So, having known about it for a few weeks, Carole wanted her usual update over strawberry slimming milk.

  ‘Do you think you’ll meet up?’ she asked, opening up a large block of Cadburys chocolate.

  ‘I don’t know, I’m not sure I want to, it might spoil things. We don’t really talk about anything serious. It’s just memories about school, about the teachers and it just takes me back, makes me feel good. I didn’t have a very happy time when I was younger, but Cameron was a little bit of light in the darkness,’ I sighed. Neither of us had ever mentioned meeting up and that was fine with me, I enjoyed what we had for now, and like my dancing I wanted to take each step one at a time.

  ‘Well, I suppose if it stays online it can’t do any harm,’ she smiled.

  ‘It can’t do any harm even if we meet up... can it?’ I had considered the possibility that one day he might suggest we get together. I’d even wondered if I should suggest it myself – it seemed the next logical step, but I was too nervous. And I didn’t want to spoil what we had.

  That night when Tony and I stopped for a ten minute break, I had a sext from Cameron that was particularly explicit. He asked me if I’d give him a private dance... naked. I was flattered, but a little taken aback - I could feel the blood rushing to my face as I read it, but when I showed Tony he said it was ‘positively tame, dear’. So I decided to be a little daring and sext Cameron back. I wasn’t comfortable with sexting and quite frankly at my age I felt a bit silly texting sexual stuff. Tony was the expert – but I didn’t want to ask him what to say because he would snatch the phone off me and send something so X-rated Cameron would be horrified and probably take out an injunction against me. So I wrote it without help and went for something playful, but suggestive.

  ‘Hey, I’m doing the Argentine Tango. It’s like making love on the dance floor and it made me think about you and how I would love to be your private dancer. I’m not wearing any underwear – and I’m very, very hot!’ I typed, feeling that was just the right balance between playful and raunchy, and I pressed send feeling outrageous, but pleased with myself.

  When Tony wandered over with two bottles of water, I showed it to him. ‘You see, I can let go... I may not be from the underbelly of Brazil, but I’m a total tart when it comes to the art of sexting,’ I smiled, proudly.

  ‘Yeah... ooh that’s good, babe.’

  ‘Is it raunchy enough?’

  ‘Yeah... but who’s Carl?’

  ‘Carl? He’s Sophie’s boyfriend why?’

  ‘Oh, love. That’s... that’s not okay,’ he was deadly serious.

  ‘What do you... mean?’ I looked down at the message which, in my urgency, I’d mistakenly sent to Carl instead of Cameron. I’d asked Sophie to give me his mobile number so I could call if I couldn’t get hold of her. Both Cameron and Carl were in my phonebook under C – an easy mistake to make. So, I’d just sexted my daughter’s boyfriend, informing him that I was hot, would love to be his private dancer... and I had no pants on!

  ‘Shit. Oh shit. Oh my god, Tony... Tony what can I do?’ I said, throwing the phone at him like it might scald me. ‘Make it stop. I don’t want to be Carl’s private dancer... what can I do? It’s a long way to Phuket, can I stop it getting there?’

  ‘No, love. It’s gone,’ Tony was shaking his head and looking at the screen, then he started smiling, ‘but if he sexts you back you’re a cougar – if he doesn’t you’re a gonner,’ he roared with laughter.

  ‘It’s not funny, Tony.’

  ‘Not funny? It’s bloody hilarious,’ he laughed.

  ‘Oh God, imagine if Carl leaves Sophie because of her inappropriate mother? Oh Christ, Christ, shit... she’s sent me a message.’

  I opened it and we both peered at my phone.

  ‘Mum. Really?’

  There were no words I suppose.

  ‘Oh how entertaining,’ Tony laughed when he read it, ‘she’ll be upping her game with old Carl now, thinking mummy wants in on the action.’

  ‘Stop that...’ I said, desperately texting Sophie to say it was a mistake. ‘I’ll have to FaceTime her later and explain everything. Oh God and Carl will be there... looking at me on screen...wondering how I could do such a thing.’ I felt sick.

  ‘What will you say?’

  ‘I’ll tell her it was you.’

  ‘Oh that’s a great idea - her mother’s gay friend, who doesn’t know Carl or Sophie, just took it upon himself to text and offer pantless private dancing. They’ll believe that... much.’

  ‘Oh I’ve told Sophie what you’re like – nothing would surprise her. Let’s get on with the session, it will take my mind off what I’ve just done.’

  ‘Okay, but only if you put your knickers back on.’

  So Tony had another good laugh and we got back on the floor, forgetting about men and my major faux pas doing the thing we loved most – dancing. Despite my lack of bedroom action, we gave the Argentine Tango another go. Our dance began with a flirtatious leg hook followed by a dramatic battle of wills, a pull towards and a push away. A lift high in the air, my legs wide, toes pointed, then a landing, and Tony throwing me across the room, me coming back for more and miming a slap across his face. But when we got together it was electric, and I felt such a depth of intimacy, a closeness I’d never felt with anyone. The dance climaxed with us both in absolute sync, our legs a perfect mirror, our brains and bodies working as one. And so we danced and danced until we couldn’t dance any more. Tony hurling me around the dance floor, making like a big butch cowboy, while I strutted the steamy streets of Brazil – in a dance centre in the West Midlands.

  ‘That was so much better – Lola you’re nearly there,’ he said, as the dance ended. He was breathless and sweating, wiping his forehead with a towel.

  ‘Yes, I really felt it then, I just let it
carry me away – almost. Ooh it’s so exciting Tony!’

  ‘I told you Lola you just needed a little bedroom action... and all that sexting is opening those floodgates... now you just need a hot night of passion and you will be living it girl!’

  I walked home that evening, the January night was freezing cold but I was warm inside was and feeling every muscle, every sinew in my body, thanks to dancing – something I was good at, something that made me truly happy after all these years. What a brilliant day, I thought, despite a sexting scandal involving my daughter’s boyfriend that I needed to unravel as soon as I got in.

  Tony was right, all I needed now was a night with a man to finally make me come, throw off the shackles and become the dancer I knew I could be. alive. But like the Argentine Tango, the thought of getting physically close to someone and letting go was scary.

  Dance had become my respite from a humdrum life watching Weetabix on a checkout belt, my escape. Before now I’d spent my days imagining other lives from the contents of someone else’s basket – and wondering when my daughter would call. But now I thought about the dancing and couldn’t wait to get on the floor, become Lola and leave Laura the checkout girl behind. Dancing The Argentine Tango with Tony, I was hot and vibrant, a wild young thing on the streets of Buenos Aires, flirtatious and effervescent in Cuba dancing the Cha Cha, I was breathless with enthusiasm, passion and a lust for life. I could also be serene and ladylike, a rich, titled woman, royalty even, gliding through a European Palace at the turn of the century during a Viennese Waltz. I could be anything and anyone when I was dancing.

  Sometimes, when we were quiet I would abandon my checkout and grab Carole or Rocky from security and make them dance with me. Rocky was great, because he was sturdy he could take my weight and I could try out all sorts of moves on him, like a kid on a climbing frame. We almost caused a furore in toiletries when I was trying out some leg hooks which involved wrapping a leg around your partner’s knee and vice versa. It was complicated and you had to go with it but the minute you thought about the process everything collapsed – including the dancers! Tony and I had a few close shaves where we got caught up in each other’s legs, but we recovered and I turned round to see a small audience forming around the shampoo and conditioners. Rocky loved it and played to the audience, and when we finished they clapped and cheered and I felt utterly embarrassed because I’d been so engrossed in the dance I hadn’t even noticed. After that I would get requests at my till – ‘Go on love, show us your tango,’ the old ladies would say and others would ask if I would teach them. Of course I had to decline, but it wasn’t unheard of for me to hold an impromptu tango masterclass at the back of the freezer aisle on late nights when the bosses had gone home. I was also happy to dance alone wherever I might be – in private of course, and during those times, I was sure Dad was there, guiding me through those tricky steps.

  ‘You’re late,’ my mum said as I opened the door to her apartment.

  She was sitting by the window looking through Heat. ‘Kate Middleton’s looking thin...’ she sighed. ‘I hope it’s not going to be Diana all over again... at least you’ve never had that problem. The opposite in fact...’

  ‘Do you like my dress?’ I asked, refusing to let her negativity affect me and stopping her elaborating further on my ‘curviness’.

  ‘Yes it’s very nice, you look lovely,’ she said, looking up from Kate Middleton and suddenly smiling.

  I was taken aback, even when pushed, it wasn’t like Mum to compliment me – I must have looked quite good.

  As I’d lost a little weight, I’d bought a new dress. I hadn’t even admitted it to myself, but I’d bought it with Cameron in mind. I’d seen new photos of him on Facebook at yet another party and he looked good. So I bought the pink and blue floral dress which showed off my emerging waistline but wasn’t too low cut or too short. I liked it so much and I planned to ask Tony to take a picture of me wearing it so I could casually post it on Facebook in the hope Cameron might see it.

  So given that Mum was smiling when she saw me in my dress, I reckoned she was in a good mood and I decided it might be a good time to mention Dad’s letter. There would never be a good time to confront my mum about secrets in her marriage, so I had decided just to go for it. After a cup of tea and some polite small talk, I broached it, easing in gently: ‘Mum... when I emptied your attic I found some lovely dresses.’

  ‘Oh good – I’m glad you found them. They were beautiful, very expensive at the time.’

  I was relieved, this was a good start, in the past Mum would have shut me down at the mere mention of dancing dresses.

  ‘Yes – I found other stuff too Mum... memories, one or two things of Dad’s... a letter.’

  ‘What did you say love? You’re feeling better?’

  ‘No Mum – a letter, I found a letter in the attic, from Dad.’ I shouted, knowing she sometimes used her deafness to avoid having difficult conversations. And this seemed to be one of those occasions.

  ‘Do you remember Dad sending you a letter?’ I asked loudly.

  She looked up at me and for a second I thought she might give me an answer; . ‘Oh... oh you’re wearing your glasses,’ she put her hand to her mouth like I was wearing a Halloween mask.

  ‘Yes – I always wear glasses, I have done for years.’

  ‘Oh but not with that lovely dress... you’re spoiling it. You should get some of those nice blue eyes like Janice.’

  I gave up on the letter. There was no point, whenever I tried to talk to her about the past she just shut me down with a veiled insult or pretended she was deaf. Janice was my slim and pretty cousin who also happened to be a bank manager, married to a surgeon. Just hearing the name ‘Janice’ made me feel fat, ugly, poor and unsuccessfully single.

  ‘Okay, I’ll get nice blue eyes, a good job and a husband just like Janice’s if you wear a hearing aid.’

  ‘Lemonade?’

  ‘Yes, Mother – lemonade,’ I sighed, defeatedly adjusting my glasses.

  I only ever took them off for dancing and Tony said I looked so much better without them, he said I was Lola without my glasses. Perhaps Mum had a point and I should think about wearing contact lenses - ‘nice blue eyes’ like Janice?

  We were so very different, Mum and I. She’d always been a free spirit in her own way, living a life on the road with Dad, never imposing rules on herself or others. And now I wondered what else she’d been doing, what other rules might she have broken in her marriage? And would she ever reveal the truth? I remember when she was younger catching the admiring glances from men other than my father. Thinking about Dad’s letter made me realise it would have been easy for a woman like Mum to have an affair. Perhaps she craved the attention? Perhaps Dad was busy at work and didn’t have the time or energy for her? She’d always been pretty high maintenance.

  I on the other hand wasn’t high maintenance because I was the overweight, uptight daughter. It occurred to me that despite my caring and being there for her, ultimately I had just been another disappointment in Mum’s life.

  ‘Cheryl Cole takes her mother to all her awards ceremonies,’ she was saying. ‘Took her on holiday to a five star hotel in the Maldives, she did.’

  ‘Well, when I next win an international award for singing and stay in a five star hotel in the Maldives I’ll be sure to take you with me,’ I said. Christ it was hard enough competing with cousin Janice, now I had bloody Cheryl Cole or Hernandez Versini to live up to. Perhaps I should just get a massive rose tattooed on my arse and be done with it.

  11

  DANCING LIKE NOBODY’S WATCHING

  One evening when we were in the dance centre, training, another class came in and started watching us. Tony seemed to feed off the audience and the more they clapped, the more experimental he became. He was a showman, but I hated an audience and I could feel myself stiffen as more people gathered around. When (at my insistence) we stopped for a bottle of water, I could see my usually patient mentor was irri
tated. ‘What’s wrong with you Laura, you’re all over the place.’ Addressing me as Laura was a sign of how annoyed he was.

  ‘Tony I can’t... not with everyone looking at me.’

  ‘You CAN. You’ve stood at the side of the dance floor all your life like a bloody wallflower, just watching everyone else dance past you – now it’s your turn girl, so get off your arse and out there. Pretend we’re alone, just you and me and the stars... dance like nobody’s watching.’

  I’d heard the phrase before, and hadn’t really thought about it – but now it spoke to me.

  We went back and danced some more, and with everyone gathered round, Tony ‘threw’ me to the floor. Then he ‘dragged’ me along, which was as much of a surprise to me as the ‘audience’, but within seconds I was with him, we were organic, and I just knew what he was trying to achieve and went with it. Then as he lifted me, I held out my arms like a bird, sure of myself, confident my body and my mind could take me anywhere I wanted to go. And in my head we were alone in a huge, empty ballroom, just me, Tony and the glitterball. A sea of shiny floor, an ocean of music – and nobody watching.

  ‘That was more like it,’ he said later as we got changed. ‘You’ve cracked the technical aspect, that’s the easy bit – now you have to perform, Lola!’

  I wasn’t quite sure what he meant – I thought I’d been ‘performing’ on the dance floor for months. But pretending no one was watching had helped me through the fear of facing an audience, worrying what they thought of me.

  I’d finally realised it didn’t matter what people thought about my dancing, it didn’t matter if I won a competition or lost it – what mattered was it made me happy. And what made me happy was my daughter, my dancing and my dreams.