Grease Monkey Jive

by Paton, Ainslie

  “Freaked out cavemen,” she whispered, before he spun her away, laughing.

  The cavemen continued to look out of place and bemused as the class progressed. Watching as Scott ran through an outline of the term and what they’d do, Alex thought they’d likely be scared off by all the talk of rhythm and body posture, but when Scott paused for questions, Dan spoke up.

  “It’s not so different from the basics of surfing.”

  “Perhaps you can explain what you mean by that?” Scott replied, tempering his tone. Alex knew he was mentally eye rolling at the heathen notion of surfing and ballroom dancing having any relationship outside of being things you could do while awake.

  “Can’t surf a wave without knowing its rhythm, where it’s going, how it’s going to break, how fast it’s moving,” said Dan. It was a good answer and Alex saw Scott’s eyebrow flex in surprise.

  “Can’t surf a wave without having the right body position,” said Mitch, jumping into a surfer’s stance, one leg forward, one back, braced, arms wide. He laughed at himself and the class laughed with him.

  “Can’t learn to surf without falling over a lot,” said Fluke with a shrug and the laughter was warmer and the dynamic of the group subtly changed.

  Alex watched as the married men loosened up a little and the single girls melted a little. She couldn’t help but feel that maybe it hadn’t been such a terrible idea to let the boys enrol in the class after all. She looked at Scott and he gave a quick eyebrow push-up, right before he launched into a discussion of the basics.

  “If you can walk and climb stairs, then you can learn to dance. It’s ninety percent technique – which means timing and balance, so yes the surfing might help,” he said and was interrupted by noisy high-fiving from the cavemen. He cleared his throat and continued, “It’s ten percent choreography. There are four critical components you must manage and what are they, Alex?”

  “Cooperation, kindness, patience, and forgiveness,” she peeled off their mantra. “If you can work together with your partner, be kind to each other, be patient with each other, and forgive each other, then you can learn to dance.”

  “You will also qualify for sainthood, but that’s another story entirely,” Scott cut in and his droll tone got a laugh.

  “Lastly, this is about the music,” Alex continued. “The music tells you everything you need to know: pace, timing, rhythm, flow, and emotion.”

  “No one is the boss. The music is the boss,” said Scott. “Just because she’s going backwards, gentleman,” he hesitated, “and surfers,” and got another laugh and Alex knew he’d had to stop himself saying ‘cavemen’, “does not make you the boss.”

  “Ladies, just because you are a better dancer than he is does not make you the boss,” said Alex and one of the single women said, “Damn,” and one of the married ones said, “Are you sure about that?”

  Alex smiled, this class already had a good vibe and that would make the teaching much easier. “Remember, cooperation, kindness, patience, and forgiveness.”

  “And sainthood,” said Mitch.

  Scott took over. “You only need to know how to do three things to start with. Step backwards, step forwards, and step sideways.”

  “What about falling over?” said Fluke earnestly, from the back of the room. “Is there a special way to avoid that?”

  Scott looked at Fluke down his nose. “There will be no falling over in this class,” and Fluke dropped his head and laughed.

  “Moving on,” said Scott. “We’re going to learn the basic box step and the waltz.”

  Alex moved through the room arranging the couples. She kept the married couples and the L-platers together and matched the single girls to the cavemen, partnering Dan with Jenni, Mitch with Katrina, and Fluke with Melissa. That left tiny pigtailed Carlie for Scott and freed her up to go from couple to couple fixing their body positions and their hands.

  The next forty minutes were characterised by stumbling, bumping, backing into, treading on, and much laughter. Always the way with a first class, Alex enjoyed the mayhem as each of the couples attempted a simple three-step with the women having to rely on their partners to move them backwards without tipping them over or steering them into trouble.

  “The waltz was once considered obscene,” said Alex from the centre of the floor, as the couples stumbled around her. “It was thought the intertwining of male and female limbs in public was a corruption.”

  “Oh, so scandalous for the day,” Scott chimed in, surprising Carlie who promptly stepped forward rather than backwards and slammed into his chest, smacking the top of her head on his chin and making him bite his tongue.

  “And yet the twist, in the swinging sixties, was the very first social dance where the couples didn’t touch. Go figure!” said Alex, stepping in to untangle the L-platers from Mitch and Katrina.

  The only couple not to get into a tangle was Dan and Jenni. They were well matched. Dan was holding Jenni correctly and had worked out how to lead her easily without backing her into anyone else. They were enjoying themselves. Alex saw Jenni tossing her hair and laughing at whatever Dan was saying.

  The most spectacular spill for the night belonged to Fluke, who managed to back Melissa into the stereo unit, bringing their music to a sudden stop.

  Melissa went, “Ow!”, Fluke went, “Sorry!”, and the married couples crashed when the husbands lost their concentration. That was enough of a signal for Dan and Mitch to abandon any attempt to do anything else but laugh, and Scott to declare the lesson over for the night.

  When he joined Alex at the stereo, he said, “Ok, they can stay. But they’re still cavemen.” She thought Scott had kept his voice low enough that the movement of the students collecting their bags and talking among themselves was enough of a cover. It wasn’t.

  She heard the “Hey Scott,” and felt it like a shot of caffeine. She knew it was Dan before she looked up and saw the amused expression on his face. He stood towards the back of the hall, legs apart, arms folded, head tilted, and a ‘not letting you get away with that one’ expression in his eyes. Mitch and Fluke were slightly behind him but had turned to listen. The advanced Latin class were starting to assemble.

  “Not sure that cavemen surfed, but we sure know they danced,” Dan said. “They painted it on their cave walls.”

  “Very true,” said Scott contritely, his face pink, his lips pursed. “I do apologise.”

  Dan grinned and tossed off a “See ya next week”, giving a quick nod to Alex, who was frozen in the act of reassembling the stereo speakers, embarrassment for Scott flushing her face.

  As they moved towards the door, Mitch said, “Not sure about ol’ Scott. I guess we should feel insulted.”

  “The man can certainly dance,” said Fluke. “Not a bad teacher either.”

  “And Alex didn’t seem quite such a stuck-up bitch tonight,” said Mitch, watching the students for the next class arriving with interest.

  She had been more likable, Dan thought. He’d noted the pink that stained her cheeks after Scott’s slip up and he’d liked watching her dance and move around the room during the class. He was thinking about what a nice body she had and whether he might get to dance with her when Mitch said, “Oh shit!” and he saw Belinda coming towards them, a mean look on her face.

  Dan gave Fluke a push and the two of them went through the door to the street, leaving Mitch to face the wrath of the woman he was still sulking over.

  Mitch said, “Hi Bel,” and tried to sound bright.

  “Oh, so you’re going to condescend to talk to me now,” said Belinda, removing a chopstick from the bun in her hair and jamming it back in place with a savagery that made Mitch wonder whether she really wanted to stab him instead.

  “I am. And I’m going to ask Fluke what condescend means. But whatever it means, I am talking to you, or I’m trying to anyway.”

  “Why bother now? Two months, Mitch, and nothing from you.”

  Nine weeks, five hours, and forty minutes
but who was counting. “Because it was wrong to avoid you.”

  “Wrong!” She said it so sharply he leaned away, and when she said, “Are you stalking me?” he took a whole step back and put both hands up in surrender.

  “No!”

  “Why are you here then?”

  “To learn to dance.” And to take two Gs off Ant, and to see her, so yeah, maybe a tiny bit of stalking.

  “I’m not buying it.”

  “What’s to buy?”

  “There’s something else going on here.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “About what?”

  “That you think there’s something else going on.”

  “Oh. For a moment there I thought you were going to apologise for being such a jerk. Silly me,” she said and before Mitch could think of a single thing to say in response she left him standing there feeling like she’d just chopsticked him in the heart.

  He swung around to watch her go. Even her walk looked angry, no sideways, backwards, on-her-toes waltz moves, it was more like the precision march of a parade ground soldier. The last vision he had before he went to catch up with Dan and Fluke was of Belinda standing with Alex and looking at him as though he really was a prehistoric man who’d just tried to club her and drag her back to his cave.

  “Are you ok?” said Alex, putting her hand gently on Belinda’s arm.

  “Yeah, I’m fine. He just...God! I don’t know what he’s doing here, but it can’t be good.”

  “They did alright in their first class and they behaved themselves.” Even if their teacher didn’t, Alex thought, memory of the expression on Dan’s face making her blush again.

  “Yeah, well, wait for it. Fluke won’t give you any trouble, though he has two left feet, but Dan and Mitch, they’ll try to seduce every woman in the class and you watch – it’ll work too. They’re both major players; snap their fingers and the women come running. Total scumbags. Not to be trusted,” Belinda raged. Looking Alex directly in the eyes, she said, “Don’t say you haven’t been warned.”

  12. Spark

  Alex thought Trevor might cry. He certainly couldn’t stand still. He was bunny hopping and clapping his hands, making Scott roll his eyes and turn away in embarrassment.

  “A perfect score! Perfect. Perfect as pink, perfect as peaches, perfect as parasols on a sunny day,” said Trevor, then he kissed Alex on the forehead.

  “You’re perfect. Scott’s perfect. Gwen is completely perfect. Even I’m perfect tonight!” It was impossible not to be infected by his enthusiasm, unless of course you happened to be one of the other couples whose score wasn’t quite so perfect.

  They were in the Wentworth Arena where the championship was being staged and the judges had just handed down the scores for the night’s performances. All around them couples still in their costumes milled, congratulating or commiserating with each other.

  Alex was glad they stood a little apart from the other competitors, given how Trevor’s exhibition of joy might have been somewhat offensive. As it was they were still attracting dirty looks. The cost of being very good was the disdain of fellow competitors. The upshot of being very good was they were used to the disdain and didn’t let it bother them.

  “We out performed Fred and Ginger again,” said Scott, nodding in the direction of Ferdinand Delacort and Gina Kanturek. Ferdie caught his look and gave a polite nod back, put his arm around Gina, and drew her further into the crowd. Alex watched them go. They’d had a bad night, getting barrelled into by a less expert couple and losing points on default. It could happen to any of them, an unlucky break, and she knew they’d be trying even harder in the next heat to make up the difference.

  “Gina’s costume was gorgeous,” said Gwen. Alex knew she was worried about being able to keep up with the demand for new costumes, even if they could alter some of Alex’s existing ones. Gina’s costume had outshone Alex’s on the floor tonight and likely boosted her points score.

  “It’s not Fred and Ginger you have to watch, it’s those two,” said Trevor, looking over his designer glasses toward a couple surrounded by admirers – Bradley Saunders and Anna Myers, a universally liked couple the same age as Scott and Alex and the only couple here to have ever beaten them in competition.

  “Oh you’re as good as Brad, Scotty, but Anna, she danced like a dream. They were only five points behind you tonight,” said Trevor. “You got them on technique, but it’s no wonder they’re so popular. They look perfect together.”

  “What are you saying, Trev?” queried Scott.

  “They could take you out. Brad and Anna are the couple to beat.”

  Scott frowned. “What are they doing that we’re not?”

  “It’s not technique, though they’re very close in that. It’s something less definable, a kind of magic quality to them,” said Trevor.

  “I think they’re in love,” said Gwen, and the others all turned to look at her in surprise.

  “Gran, what makes you say that?”

  “It’s the way they look at each other. You can see it in their eyes and the way they smile – their whole bodies really.”

  “Shit, shit, shit,” said Scott.

  “What?” said Alex, less surprised by Gran’s suggestion than Scott’s reaction.

  “Pardon my language, Gwen, but you’re right,” said Scott. “Brad told me he was going to propose to Anna. They’re getting engaged.”

  The little group fell silent. Alex knew no additional technique, superior musical selection, refinement of choreography, or more beautiful costuming could make up for the spark of being in love.

  “Bugger,” said Trevor. “Big Macs are on me.”

  Son of a Beach Bar was jumping. The place was packed, the music was thumping, the bar was crowded five deep, and the dance floor was heaving.

  Dan and Ant held up a corner of the bar, their usual spot. Mitch and Fluke were somewhere out in that mess of flailing human body parts doing God knows what. Every so often one or the other of them would return, peeling shirts from wet chests and backs, to scull something fluid, catch their breath, and return to the fray.

  Mitch could dance. He had no shortage of partners, gyrating next to him or pressing against him. Fluke could jump, side step, and nod and clap in time with the beat, and he did all of that a lot better with a couple of drinks inside him. Dan knew there’d be no palming his keys off on Fluke tonight; he was mashed. He’d need to be driven home sprawled on the back seat of the Valiant, unless his dancing feet earned him some female attention and sobered him up.

  Catching sight of him doing a shimmy that looked like he was shaking sand from his boardies, Dan thought Fluke’s chances of attracting the type of sustained female attention that would see him not needing a ride home tonight weren’t high. It was poetic justice given Fluke was still so mad with him, so he had no regrets that his next drink was one befitting the designated driver, a Coke – straight up.

  He had occasion to be grateful for Fluke being moved by the alcohol and the music tonight. Coming into their regular dive meant falling into his usual pattern of behaviour. By this time of the night, he’d usually had a bunch of drinks and identified at least one or two prospects who’d welcome his less-than-honourable attention. Or they’d identified him and made the seduction a whole lot easier.

  Dan had been deliberately avoiding eye contact with anyone of the female persuasion since he’d arrived. It wasn’t easy to do. They were out there, they were available, they were advertising their wares, and he was still a confirmed buyer, but every time he thought about falling back into the old pattern he reminded himself of two things – the man in the shop window reflection and Katie. So he was happy to hang out with Ant and listen to him grizzle about work and know that he’d be Fluke’s taxi and keeping company with Jeff tonight.

  Ant was going on and on about this bird at work who had it in for him and Dan was wondering if the professed hatred was actually intense interest, when Mitch appeared out of the dance floor rumble, his sh
irt open to the waist, a huge grin on his face, and a raging thirst that made him grab Ant’s beer and chug it down.

  “Teach is here,” he gasped, signalling the barman for another round.

  “Who?” said Ant.

  “Our ballroom teacher. Out there.” Mitch gestured back to the heaving mass.

  “Where? What does she look like?” Ant stood on the rung of his barstool to get a look.

  “She’ll look like the coolest chick on the floor in a minute,” said Mitch, heading back out. He disappeared into the swirl of movement, but in a few seconds he materialised on the edge of the dance floor nearest the bar with Alex.

  “That’s your ballroom teacher! Shit, she’s hot. I should have made it part of the rules that some sixty-year-old grey hair with bad teeth had to teach you,” said Ant.

  Dan and Ant watched Mitch dance with Alex. They looked good together, moving to the music, leaning in to each other to talk. Mitch had Alex laughing and Dan thought again how attractive she was. Seeing her dance like this, without the formality of the ballroom routines, she looked younger, sexier, less forbidding, and way more fun to be with.

  Fluke must’ve thought so too because there he was cutting in on Mitch who good-naturedly gave way and came back to the bar.

  “Never guessed we’d see her here,” said Dan to Mitch and they both laughed when Fluke attempted a spin and smacked into the person behind him, making Alex grab his arm to steady him.

  Out on the dance floor, Fluke was laughing and holding Alex’s hand. He knew he’d had way too much to drink and was probably making a fool of himself, but right now he didn’t care. He was dancing with a shit hot girl who knew his name and she was smiling at him – didn’t get much better than that.

  He moved closer so he could talk to her. “We never see you here.”

  “No. Not my scene. Is this your regular?”

  “Yeah.” Fluke flapped a hand back towards Dan, Ant, and Mitch. “We’re here all the time.”