Dancing Hours

by Jennifer Browning

  Without another word, X led me to his office by the hand. I followed with a strange unease I couldn’t place.

  “Do you own this club?” I asked.

  “Yes, this is one of my properties. Would you like a drink?” He offered, gesturing in the direction of a cabinet along the wall.

  “No, thanks, I’m not really a drinker.” I pulled the tiara off my head self-consciously.

  “Noted. You know, you never finished your story.” He had not let go of my other hand.

  “Which story?” I asked.

  “The one about your deepest desire.” He had an odd way of talking sometimes, like he was much older than he could possibly be – or British, but without the cool accent. It was like he was trying too hard to sound sophisticated.

  “I don’t remember having that conversation.” I gently pulled my hand away and X frowned.

  “We should have.” He said with the same direct eye contact.

  I blushed again, what a terrible habit. I wasn’t sure if he was hitting on me. Most guys my age just went in for a kiss while they were drunk to see what would happen. X seemed genuinely interested in me and he stared into my eyes, almost uncomfortably. He was nice, even if he was a drug dealer. Again, I was left with the feeling that he was misunderstood. An hour later we were still talking. X revealed his real name, Michael, and the trouble he had growing up poor on the streets – fighting for a place to sleep, food to eat. I felt sorry for him again and felt guilty for my own comfortable life. I tried to imagine what I might do if I had to in order to get by. X was grateful not to want for anything anymore.

  “At least, I didn’t think I wanted for anything until I met you.” he leaned toward me as he said.

  I laughed out loud. X’s face grew serious and dark. “Please don’t laugh at me.”

  “Oh no! I wasn’t laughing at you. It’s just… I mean… you seem like you’ve got a pretty interesting life here and I’m about the most boring person on the planet.” I explained, worried that I had offended him.

  “Quite the contrary, Andrea. I have never met anyone like you before.” He took both my hands in his now.

  A knock on the door saved me from responding. This guy was intense. It was hard not to be flattered by his attention when the building was probably crowded with women who would be happy to be in my place. He got up and had a quiet conversation with whomever was at the door. Turning back, he said “I have to go now, but I would imagine Mr. Bastion is done with his set. Let me have someone give you and your friends a ride home.”

  “That’s really not necessary. I’m fine to drive.” I said.

  “I know you are, but it would be a favor to me if I knew you got home safely.” He walked over, put an arm around me and began walking me to the door.

  “Oh, gosh.. That’s so nice, but…” I began

  “But nothing, it’s settled.” He announced. With that he picked up the phone, spoke with a guy named Bruce and I was escorted to my friends. The dancer was finishing up and my girls were sloshed. Some girls just can’t turn down a free drink.

  Bruce walked us around to a side door where a limo was waiting. I cringed to think which of my friends would be destroying the upholstery with her vomit. Before I left, I wanted to see Noah, but Bruce told me he had already left. It wasn’t true. Sunday giggled and asked me if I had a good time. I told her I had, but what I felt was really a mixture of disappointment at missing out on a night with my friends and uneasiness at this budding friendship with X.

  I found out much later that Noah had gone back to look for me when his set was finished and when he couldn’t find me, he got into a fight with one of the bouncers and several of his bouncer friends. Apparently Noah got a nasty set of bruises as thanks for trying to look out for me, but at the time I thought he simply didn’t care.

  The limo driver was polite and behaved as though we weren’t a rowdy group of girls, screaming and giggling and playing with the buttons in his car. I thanked him and tried to tip him, but was told that he couldn’t accept any money from me. Frustrated, I left it on the seat and ducked quickly into my apartment with my roommate. She passed out rather quickly and I flipped through channels on TV feeling mildly sorry for myself. Before going to bed, I checked email and felt a little thrill at getting messages from Kate and David and a couple of other old friends. Since I didn’t have anything else to do, I spent an hour emailing them all back. I debated texting David to see if he was still awake, but decided not to.

  The next morning – or more like early afternoon – I found a package on my doorstep. A rose was tied to it and inside the box were a note, the tip I’d left the driver and a cellphone. The note said Andrea, You’ll never have to pay for anything I offer you. Please don’t insult me. I would like to see you again, but I forgot to ask for your phone number. Here is a phone so we can keep in touch.

  I stared at it for a long time and then finally decided to find a glass to put the rose in some water. I picked up the phone and turned it over in my hand. It was much nicer than my regular cellphone. This phone was next generation. I had seen commercials for it. It could find you a restaurant, book a reservation, order your meal and play your favorite song as hold music all while calculating the square root of Pi to two hundred decimals. It was not a throw away phone. And it began to ring almost immediately. I stared at it for a moment wondering who it could be, but I answered anyway.

  “Do you like the phone?” I recognized X’s voice. For some reason it reminded me of a cartoon villain. I tried to push the thought out of my head.

  “Yes, it’s very nice, but you know I don’t need this. I can give you my number.” I said.

  “I know you don’t need it. I want you to have it. I have to go now, but enjoy the rest of your weekend.” He said.

  During the week, I cyber-stalked Noah and found the garage he was working at. The manager said he hadn’t come in for a week but that wasn’t unusual. Try back next week, he suggested.

  On Wednesday when I left the apartment for the morning, I found another note on my doorstep. All it said was Miss you. There was no name or signature. I thought it looked like the same handwriting as X, but I’d thrown away his other note so I couldn’t compare the two. When I got home that afternoon, my roommate told me irritably that the phone X had given me kept beeping. I picked it up and looked at the screen – 14 missed calls and 7 text messages of rapidly increasing urgency that he wanted to talk to me and asking me to call. The final text was Coming to find you. Hope U R OK. It was left just minutes before. I called him immediately and we spoke briefly. I reassured him that I was okay and that I had just been in class and didn’t have the phone. He asked me to please keep the phone with me, said that this was a dangerous town filled with dangerous people and he was worried about me. I promised that I would as long as he would not call me during the day because I had classes. He agreed and seemed to sigh with relief as we got off the phone.

  On Friday the new robot phone rang again. Of course it was X and he was inviting me to dinner. That nagging little voice in the back of my mind telling me to run was drowned out by the one that said ‘a girl’s gotta eat’ and ‘why the heck not have a little fun?’ So I agreed.

  “I’ve missed you.” he said a little too tenderly on the phone. It seemed too intimate for having known him such a short time. I mumbled a thank you of some kind, but felt the urge to hang up the phone and run screaming.

  “Do you have anything to wear?” he explored. It seemed like a strange question. Of course I had clothes, but I suddenly felt unsure and asked him what he meant. What he apparently meant was a nice dress and heels – we had reservations at Spellbinders. I didn’t know what Spellbinders was so I suggested someplace nearby. X laughed.

  “Don’t be silly. I have a better idea. Wait there.” He said.

  He hung up. Wait here? What was that supposed to mean? I texted some friends who filled me in that Spellbinders was an upscale restaurant where if you were inclined you could have a 7 course meal. I
went to my closet to examine my wardrobe again as if something was going to magically appear and be perfect for a fancy restaurant I’d never heard of. I was nervous and a queasiness grew in my stomach. This was a date. I hoped my credit card would be able to cover my meal if it had to. Then I got on the internet to see what I could find out.

  I twiddled with the phone some more, programmed in X’s number. By the time I figured that out, the doorbell rang. Standing before me was a buxom woman wearing what probably passes for a business suit in pornos. Her breasts were far too large for her petite frame and her makeup was a little too loud for daytime. She had hard muscular legs and a big bright smile. She introduced herself as Mitzy, a “shopping liason” sent for me. She also worked at the club where I’d just seen X. Mitzy explained that her job depended on getting me to say yes. There was that guilt again. Her job was on the line if I didn’t go with her. So I went. We chatted about her growing up in Oklahoma, always dreaming of being an actress and finding herself here with $24 and a beat up car.

  “Now look at me!” she said brightly and I wondered if this is what her mother imagined for her. We arrived after an hour at a giant mall called the Beverly Center.

  “Your reservations are at seven, so we don’t have much time.”

  I looked at my watch. It was only four o’clock. I hadn’t ever spent three hours in a mall I wasn’t working at in all my life, but the Beverly Center was definitely not just a mall. Mitzy made a beeline for a store that carried what appeared to be Miss America pageant gowns. She left me to browse while she grabbed a saleswoman. I nearly died of a heart attack when I saw the price tags on the dresses. It was more money than I made in a whole summer.

  I nearly ran over to Mitzy “I can’t! These dresses are too much. I can’t pay for this.” I said in an urgent whisper.

  “You’re not paying for it sweet cheeks, I am.” She pulled a credit card out of her bra and displayed it proudly.

  “No, no, no, no, no.” I pleaded.

  She put on her ‘I mean business’ voice: “Honey, the boss like pretty things to look at and he likes you. He just wants you to have a knockout night. Now, just think of it this way… it’s not a gift for you, it’s a gift for him. He won’t like it if you say no.” She tucked the card back in its original resting place.

  For some reason that sounded like a threat. My internal alarms were getting more insistent. What had I gotten myself into?

  “I am not this kind of person. He is not going to get lucky for buying me nice things.” It felt crass to say it that way. Mitzy narrowed her eyes.

  “You’re the one who’s getting lucky, sweet cheeks. There’s a whole world of women out there who’d be champing at the bit to get a dress like this, so let’s get off our high horse and spend the boss’ money. Okay?”

  I stared at her for a moment and wondered idly if my own southern accent was as twangy as Mitzy’s. On a different day and under different circumstances, I was sure we could be friends. “I don’t want to spend his money, can we just look in a different store please?” I finally said.

  “Excuse me for a moment” she said curtly and marched off.

  I could only hear parts of her phone conversation as she paced around the store… little snippets like “impossible” and “you can take me to Spellbinders; I’ll have a better time” then finally “whatever you say.”

  Mitzy walked purposefully over and handed me the phone. “He wants to talk to you.”

  “Hello?” I ventured.

  “Andrea. What am I going to do with you?”

  “Not this. I just don’t feel comfortable with this. You shouldn’t be buying me new clothes.” I fiddled with the zipper on my purse to hide my discomfort.

  “I completely understand.” He said. “No, I take that back. I don’t understand at all. You are a complete mystery to me, but listen, tomorrow is my birthday. I have to work so I wanted to have a special night out tonight and I couldn’t think of anyone I’d want to share it with more than you. So please, do me this favor as a birthday gift to me. Let Mitzy dress you up. Come celebrate with me and I won’t send you shopping again until you want to go.” He offered as a compromise.

  I stewed for a moment. He pulled the birthday card. I knew I would lose this one, how could I say no? Maybe this is what people who used to be poor, but aren’t anymore do for kicks. Besides, his birthday was so close to mine. If you were into all that astrology stuff, then we should definitely be able to get along.

  “Okay. But only because it’s your birthday.” I pouted unintentionally.

  Mitzy squealed happily and handed me three different dresses to try on which she must have gathered while I was on the phone. A new purse and shoes later and I was ready for Spellbinders. I declined the hair and makeup treatment because I could do those myself. Mitzy clearly had doubts about my abilities in that department, but she apparently thought she had done enough to leave me on my own.

  Getting ready was challenging for me. My roommate followed me around saying things like “Va va voom!” and chattering excitedly about my date which only made me more nervous. I’d had to decide between evening gowns that showed way too much cleavage, way too much back or way too much leg. I settled for too much leg, reassuring myself that most of my dance costumes had been much more revealing. When I finished getting ready, I hardly recognized myself in the mirror. Sunday took a picture with my regular phone and texted it off to my Nan. I struck a pose like Cyd Charisse in one of Nan’s favorite movies because I thought she’d be amused by it. I wondered if she would even be able to figure out how to open it up.

  12

  X arrived at my door at exactly 6:30 pm. My roommate introduced herself and then went back to her room. I heard the text alarm on my phone and checked it on the way out the door. I won’t wait up. She had written. I tucked it quickly away, but X eyed me curiously. I chose to pretend not to notice rather than explain.

  He opened the door to his car – a classic Corvette- and assisted me inside. It was so low, I thought I might rip my dress trying to get inside. After a few false starts, I turned to face X, sat down on the seat and then swiveled my legs inside. If I’d thought to do that first, it would have seemed pretty graceful, but the Jeep hadn’t given me much practice for getting into sporty cars.

  We were seated immediately and X walked slightly behind me with his hand on the small of my back, not pushing but guiding me through the restaurant. He sat close to me in the booth and leaned in to speak as though all of his attention was on me. It was hard to say how I felt about it – at least a little nervous- but also flattered.

  We talked about the weather, his business and my classes. The chef came out to visit with us toward the end of the meal. He seemed pleased to stretch his creativity on us. He said not many people ordered that 7 course excursion. I was truly impressed by the whole evening, but it was my turn to give a gift. I pulled a small box out of my new purse.

  “I didn’t know if you were the kind of guy who likes surprises or not so I decided not to ask the waiter to sing to you over ice cream with a candle in it.” I smiled.

  “Wise decision.” He said mockingly serious.

  “Good! I did get you something for your birthday. Well, I made it actually.” I said.

  I put the box on the table in front of him and urged him to open it. I hoped he would like it. It was a homemade duck tape wallet. I’d been practicing for ages and always a fan of the many uses for duck tape. I didn’t make the wallet specifically for X, but it seemed like it would work and I thought it turned out rather nicely. At least it was a conversation starter.

  When X received a call that he said he needed to take, I excused myself to the restroom. It was fancier than any restroom I’d ever been in. I had a little trouble trying to figure out how to turn on the faucets, but a woman sitting close by offered to help and gave me a towel. That’s when I realized that she must be working in there. I suddenly felt embarrassed. I hadn’t brought my purse in with me. Then I remembered the emerge
ncy $20 bill I had stuffed in my bra – Nan’s advice for any evening out - and I struggled with whether to stiff her, overtip her or ask for change. None of them seemed like a great idea. Ultimately, I threw myself on her mercy. I practically explained my life story and apologized for not having a tip, but Sharon – that was her name- was very nice and told me not to worry about it. She said I could tip her next time.

  “Oh, I don’t think there’s going to be a next time.” I explained. “I’m not so sure about this guy. He’s nice and all, but not really my type and places like this are way too fancy for my student sized budget.”

  “He’s nice and he’s rich and he wants to spend money on you and he’s not your type? What exactly is your type?”

  I thought first of David and felt strangely about that, but found myself describing him to her. After all, L.A. was anonymous. She’d never meet David and probably never see me again. It was a strange, honest moment.

  Sharon looked at me with a polite smile. “I’ll bet you that $20 bill in your bra that I’ll see you again real soon.”