by Sue Watson
‘Sounds like you have had quite a time, girl,’ he was saying.
‘Yeah... the best, the very best, but I’m ready to come home now.’
Hanging up, I took the beautiful flamenco skirt from the bag and tried it on. I strutted around the place, sweeping out onto the balcony and gazing out onto the city lit with a million twinkling lights. The stars were out and the moon had reached its fullness and that night the city was all mine.
‘I’ll be back Granada,’ I sighed, knowing in my heart this was the first of a million visits.
The next morning I woke early and hearing the beep of the taxi I’d ordered to take me to the airport I picked up my suitcase and put the rucksack on my back. I felt good, my body was firmer, my legs and feet stronger, and I was wearing shorts, something I hadn’t done for years. I had one last look in the mirror – my hair was down, my arms were bare but here in Granada I’d learned that Laura could do anything she wanted to. She could sleep with a man she hardly knew – and she could dance flamenco with strangers until dawn. ‘I am one shameless, forty-four-year-old hussy,’ I said into the mirror, and blowing myself a kiss, said goodbye to the place where I’d found duende and come across some ‘actitude’.
Arriving back in the UK, I couldn’t believe how cold it was, and Tony, who was waiting for me, confirmed it in his own inimitable way.
‘My testicles have been shrivelled up for a week with this chill,’ he announced. ‘My love, I want to hear EVERYTHING.’ Mandy, eyebrow specialist to the stars, was with him, nodding vigorously at this. She had apparently passed her driving test only the week before and had brought him to the airport to meet me because he was still unable to drive. There were as usual lots of colourful adjectives directed at Tony from Mandy as he made us all detour to the nearest newsagent to pick up for the latest ‘Dreamboys’ magazine.
‘So what about your holiday?’ Mandy was saying as we headed out to the car. Bloody hell Laura, Tone’s been telling me all about you rubbing olive oil into a Spanish guy’s willy on a pavement. Outside a restaurant!’
‘Well it wasn’t quite like...’
‘Babe - even I wouldn’t do that... like ... get a room girl!’ She said this like I was the most sexually outrageous woman she’d ever met, which was saying something for Mandy. I didn’t disillusion or disappoint her with the truth, she wouldn’t believe me anyway, she liked her own version better. So I just squeezed myself and my bags into the back of Mandy’s little car and prayed her driving was less aggressive than her eyebrow styling.
‘I need a blindfold, I can’t look,’ Tony screamed, covering his eyes as she pulled away, just missing a whole family walking through the car park.
‘Jesus, Mandy, did you actually see them?’ he squealed. She hit him and told him to shut his ‘gob’.
‘She nearly killed me on the way here, as if I haven’t been through enough. I need something to take my mind off her bloody driving...’ Tony said, covering his face with his magazine. ‘If I’m gonna die a horrible death in a twisted car wreck, I want to die with guys like this.’ He opened ’Dreamboys’ and gasped with sheer joy at the naked spectacle before him. ‘What about that spread-eagled on your king-sized, love?’ he shouted to me in the back waving a glossy centrefold of muscular male. Mandy roared and grappled the magazine off him... still driving... well I use the term loosely. I almost lost my lunch.
The following morning I woke, remembered I wasn’t in Spain and my heart did a little dip. My only consolation was that on the last day at the school we’d been allowed to film the teacher dancing. This meant I would be able to show Tony everything I’d learned, so I took my flamenco shoes and practice skirt and headed off to meet him at the dance centre as we’d arranged the night before. When I arrived he was doing some stretching exercises and I was impressed at how his leg had improved. Apparently once the swellings and bruising had gone down his injuries hadn’t been quite as bad as we’d thought.
I put my shoes on and in between torrid tales of sex with Juan and the flamenco caves, we watched my short film and Tony said he would modify some of the footwork so it would be more suitable for a man, but essentially copied my moves.
‘The idea is to keep the footwork tight, stay on the smallest space,’ I explained, feeling like the teacher for once as I watched him move, shouting, ‘golpe, golpe,’ a word I’d heard a million times at the school, meaning stamp. After we’d been dancing for a couple of hours (which we took steadily to accommodate Tony’s recovery) we sat down on the floor to rest a while and I popped into the cake shop down the road and brought us both coffee, sandwiches and cupcakes.
‘Ooh I missed this chocolate velvet,’ I said, biting into my cupcake.
‘Yeah... love em.... oooh. Oh.My.God, I’m having an orgasm,’ he announced.
I nodded. It was good to be back home, dancing with Tony and eating my favourite cupcakes, I just dreaded going back to work on Monday.
‘I feel I’ve changed so much,’ I sighed. ‘It will be like walking back into my old life.’
‘Don’t... just leave.’
‘If only – I have the matter of a small thing called a mortgage.’
‘I thought your mum’s house had sold?’ he said, licking cream from his fingers.
‘It has – and I might buy a new pair of dancing shoes, even a dress when it’s all signed and the cheque arrives – but until then we need the money to pay for Mum’s care.’
‘Mmmm... about the dress?’
‘I don’t need one – not until we do a competition next year...’
He was nodding frantically and looking guilty at the same time. ‘You do need one... you need a flamenco dress for November.’
‘Why? What’s happening then?’
He looked down, I always knew when he had done something he shouldn’t.
‘It’s erm... well, there’s a Dance Festival... in Blackpool.’
‘Next November?’
‘This November.’
‘But that’s only three months away. We can’t do it this year, I’m not ready and...’
‘Oh love, you’ll never be ready, if we wait for you we’ll both be dragging our arses onto that Blackpool dance floor in zimmer frames. It’s not a competition, just a display, but it will be your first public performance and the beginning of our glittering career together. So while you were off enjoying tapas and tangos I booked our places.’
‘But apart from anything else, are you sure you’re ready after all you’ve been through?’
He stood up and started walking around and in his Joan Crawford voice said, ‘Darling... they beat me. But they didn’t knock me down... the show must go on. You see, my love, that night was meant to happen... it’s made me realise I need to grasp at everything before it’s too late. No one knows how many tomorrows we have, and no, I didn’t get that from a self-help book, I made that up myself.’
‘Oh Tony, I feel the same. After being in Spain and dancing every day and... well, being with Juan... I feel so… different. I feel like Lola came out in Spain and she won’t be pushed back inside... Lola’s going to Blackpool!’
‘She is, darling. And I bet flamenco lessons, warm weather and a few “goes” on Juan has made the world of difference to Lola’s dancing,’ he winked.
‘Yes... I can really feel it now.’
‘I bet you can, love,’ he smirked.
‘You know what I mean. But, Tony, are you feeling strong enough mentally to cope with the pressure – after everything?’
‘After all the publicity about “Local Dance Teacher Being Beaten”, I thought I will turn this into a silver lining and get the local press on board too. It will be good for us, good for my dance lessons... and it’s good for the charity I’m working for.’
‘Charity?’
‘Yes, it’s against homophobia, and I’ve been invited to give talks in local schools. I’m a cause célèbre, darling. It’s an issue we need to make everyone aware of – homophobia gets them young, let’s try and nip it i
n the bud.’
‘Brilliant.’ I was impressed. Then he did what Tony always does and overegged the pudding.
‘Because, my love...’ he started singing, ‘I believe the children are the future... teach them well and let them lead the way...’
‘Yes, I get it – and I think what you’re doing is wonderful. But please don’t sing.’
‘Darling, just because some haters say I can’t sing... doesn’t mean I can’t. I sing perfectly when I’m alone at home in front of the mirror with a Coke-bottle mic.’
‘Yes, well, it’s the world’s loss that any singing talent you may have when you’re alone seems to disappear when anyone’s present.’
‘Oh you’ve gone all feisty since you learned flamenco,’ he laughed.
‘Oh yes, honey,’ I laughed, ‘I’m one shady bitch, as Mandy would say.’
He was right. My time in Spain had given me more confidence in myself, it wasn’t just about the dancing, it was also about meeting Juan. We’d both enjoyed spending time together no-strings, just a wonderful, wonderful time – and that had released something inside me.
‘So go on, let’s get going, I want you to share everything you learned with me,’ Tony said, rubbing his hands together excitedly.
‘Yes... we will. But first can we try the Argentine Tango one more time?’ I said. ‘I think I might just be ready to let go.’
‘Oh girl, yess... let’s see what Juan did that I couldn’t.’
He was smiling to himself as he put the music on, and we listened for a while. After a few minutes, I had to move. ‘Let’s go for it,’ I said. Tony stood behind me and pushed his leg into mine, lifting my leg up, and then we moved together slowly, winding around each other to the music. Then he lifted me and as the music reached a crescendo, I was suddenly there, in the streets of Buenos Aires, the rhythm running through me. We were moving, hip to hip, our upper bodies leading the dance, our legs working through the intricate, complex movements. Our foreheads were touching as we moved as one across the floor. The tango and the music had taken me over. I was the lady of the night, strutting around the man, teasing him, moving into a tight hold, then pulling away, flirting, flouncing, and together making a figure of eight on the floor. Tony lifted me and I was euphoric landing perfectly, leading naturally into a final scene entwined together on the floor.
We stayed in our prone position for a few seconds, recovering, just coming up gently, it was like being woken from an amazing sleep.
‘Wow! Lola that was amazing – Oh my God you are a total prostitute!’ he screamed.
‘Thank you,’ I curtseyed, never thinking I would be so pleased to be called that.
‘Lola, you are on fire. You really let go, you were rampant, I almost fancied you myself, but of course that would never happen... no offence.’
‘None taken,’ I smiled, glowing in his praise. He’d just told me I was a prostitute and he could never really fancy me. And I was delighted.
‘I told you all you needed was a hot night of passion with a gorgeous man and it would come flooding...’
‘Yeah, he can take some of the credit,’ I smiled, ‘but that girl on the floor was all me, baby,’ I said in my ‘Tony’ voice, shaking my finger from side to side. ‘And ain’t no man taking no credit!’
Later I talked Tony through the basic flamenco steps, blocking them through as I talked about the culture, the history, the whole fabulous stuff around the dance. Then I put on some music on and danced for him. I stomped until my legs reverberated and the room shook, I whipped around and flounced my skirts and raised my arms high. My whole body pulsed with the dance, the emotions of the past few months all simmering inside me, and bubbling through my veins, and when I finished I threw myself onto the floor, holding the pose, my whole body trembling. After what felt like several minutes, I got my breath and looked up from my final position waiting for Tony’s reaction. But he just stared ahead.
‘Is that what you learned in Spain?’ he asked, eventually.
I nodded. ‘Do you like it? Have I improved?’
‘Improved? Oh. My. God. I am in a catsuit of emotions right now... you have bloody transformed yourself, Lola. I have never seen you dance like that, what the fuck have you been doing until now? You’ve been hiding all that talent, all that passion and emotion, and that, my love, was a performance. Lola the gypsy girl just landed in the UK and she isn’t leaving any time soon.’
24
WEETABIX, WEATHER AND THE WRONG JUAN
Going back to work was awful. It wasn’t just the ‘post-holiday blues’, it was more than that. I was already growing out of the job before I’d gone away, but this change in me had made it even more difficult to get through a day behind the checkout.
‘I hate Bilton’s so much I think it would be preferable to have stayed in Granada with cheating Juan,’ I said to Tony one night, after another long day at work.
‘Oh no love, I’m glad you came back. I was missing you... I don’t know what I’d do without you. Besides he was a bad un.’
‘Was he? Perhaps I overreacted? I’ve had time this week, sitting on my checkout to wonder if Juan really was “with” that woman.’
‘What? Like the woman he was holding hands with and reading love poetry to was... his sister?’ Tony huffed, sarcastically.
‘Not exactly. But when a man writes a poem for you... that’s special.’
‘Mmmm I suppose so... but I wasn’t going to tell you this. But he didn’t.’
‘He did... I told you “my life, my faith, my...”’
‘Juan Ramón Jiménez.’
‘No his name’s Juan...’
‘No, Juan Ramón Jiménez wrote the poem... I was so bloody furious with him I googled “Amor” the poem, and there it was.’
‘Oh...’ I blushed, feeling a little foolish. I thought the poem was just for me, but it wasn’t even written by my Juan, it was another one...I don’t know who I thought ‘my Juan’ even was. ‘You’d think I’d learn wouldn’t you?’ I sighed.
‘No, you and I will never learn, because we are dreamers, and we always expect the best of a man and we’re usually disappointed. But another Joel or Juan will be along soon and you and I will fall in love all over again – cos that’s what life’s about, falling in love, learning lessons, then boiling a few bunnies. And one day, who knows, we might even fall for someone who doesn’t take us for a ride and live happily ever after with the man of our dreams. We’ve got to hope, if we didn’t, we’d shrivel up.’
I nodded, he was right – whatever happens you have to have hope.
‘Meanwhile we can keep dancing and make do with each other. Just don’t get any ideas about us having sex… eww,’ he joked. ‘The best relationships are left unconsummated.’
I laughed, knowing I could move on without looking backwards and just remember Juan as a lovely summer fling.
Over the next few weeks Tony and I trained every night and every weekend. By day he was a discreet shop assistant dressing footballers’ wives and local businesswomen in cocktail and cruise wear. But by night he was Tony Hernandez, fiery Latin dancer, squiring Lola the gypsy girl around the floor. Meanwhile Lola spent her days as Laura, at the checkout, pushing through the Weetabix, talking about the bloody weather and dreaming of another life.
Most people live quite ordinary lives in ordinary homes doing boring jobs. Like them I’d always accepted my lot – but now I’d changed, I felt special, and l had a dream that might just lift me out of this life into another one day. Meanwhile, I had a reason to get up in the morning, a reason to go to work – to earn the money to dance. For the next couple of years I would put some money away and in the meantime I could dance and dream... like my parents had.
Dad’s letter was filled with sadness, but also with hope, it floated under the text, flew off the page, filling my head with sunshine and Cha Cha. Sadly my dad’s hopes and dreams were meaningless because he’d never pursued them. But dreams won‘t come to you, they have to be chased and nur
tured. And it might be next week or next year – but I wasn’t going to let mine die.
I knew it was hard to step out of your comfort zone and all too easy to lose sight of your dreams in the debris of everyday life. Here I was, dressed in green nylon doing just that – wasting every day behind my checkout. I couldn’t tell anyone at Bilton’s I wanted to dance for a living, they’d laugh and think I was foolish. I could hear them now; ‘Who does she think she is?’ So as I rung the till and filled shelves with tampons and tea I made a promise to myself, that I wouldn’t do this forever. And all the time I kept my dreams to myself, like a secret little bud growing inside me, giving me hope and keeping me sane.
By October, Tony and I had decided we would be ready to dance the flamenco in Blackpool the following month.
‘It’s the first time they’ve ever allowed flamenco on the floor there,’ he said, with a catch of excitement in his voice. It was contagious, I felt a shimmer of anticipation as he said it and grabbed his arm. ‘Lola, I can’t wait to get there and show them what we’re made of... your flamenco will floor them.’
‘Oh I am so excited, but I’m nervous and I... oh I’m all over the place. But – bring it on,’ I said.
‘That’s it, girl... what’s that saying, do something every day that scares you?’
‘Ooh yes, I like that.’
‘Yes, but take my advice and don’t apply it to one-night stands... I met up with a scary bald guy in the Red Lion last Wednesday. Cute face, but... let’s put it this way, he will kill again.’
I laughed. ‘I’ve told you, stop looking for love in all the wrong places, Tony... and polite request – would you not turn our Blackpool trip into a Grindr special? And DON’T arrange to meet unsuitable men under the pier.’