Happily, the responsibility of caring for Duon and the intensity of parenting lessons he was learning on the fly and in the field kept Spenser adequately distracted from both Harvey’s crusade and the impending amendment itself. As the date of Duon’s court hearing came closer—the hearing where they would learn whether or not Duon’s grandmother was dropping custody and if Duon could stay with Spenser permanently—Duon became less and less of a perfect child. When the court date was moved at the last minute to November sixth, Duon became more agitated, obsessed with not going to school. He invented a million reasons to stay home, none of which Spenser accepted.
“Why don’t you want to go to school? Is someone harassing you?”
Duon rolled his eyes. “Come on, man. I just don’t want to go. Why do you care?”
“I’m an educator. Of course I care.”
This reply, of course, never won him any cool points. More than once Spenser had prodded his charge into complying by stating, calmly but clearly, that a condition of his staying with Spenser was school attendance. While Duon accepted this dictate, he didn’t care for it. Spenser suspected he was the first person to ever require Duon go to school.
Tomás became Spenser’s ally in the struggle, his cheerleading counterpoint to Spenser’s hardline stance. “Come on, D. You know you can do it. You’re smarter than all of them.”
This never failed to puff up Duon. “Damn right I’m smarter than them. But I don’t need to go to prove it.”
“Yeah, but why waste it? Get your degree. Light the world on fire.”
“I don’t want to go to school. I want to focus on dancing. That’s what I want to light on fire.”
It was at this point Spenser appeared with the hammer. “Well, the only way you get to go to dance is to go to school first.”
This tag-team approach worked for a long time. Every day through the rest of October, Spenser drove Duon to school, getting him there almost an hour early. Duon hated this, especially because Spenser arranged for Duon to wait in the office and do any missing work during that time. After school Duon always went to the studio, sometimes driven by Spenser, sometimes by Tomás, sometimes by Ed or Laurie, and the promise of going there at the end of the day was usually enough to get Duon through even the greatest morning resistance.
But on Election Day, the day of the rescheduled hearing, Duon woke up surly and obstinate, insisting he wasn’t going to go. Spenser was nervous too—this would be the day when he either became a parent or watched the boy he’d come to feel strongly for be removed from his hands. But avoiding it wouldn’t solve any problems.
“Duon, I need you to go to the hearing. I’m open to bribes to get you there. I’ll take you anywhere you want to eat tonight, if you go.”
No response.
“We’ll go shopping.”
Not even a glance up.
As Spenser racked his brain, he saw Duon’s dance clothes stacked neatly in a pile on top of the laundry basket. “If you go to the hearing, I’ll come with you to your dance class. I’ll join your dance class.”
It had been a Hail Mary, this bribe, but it was the one that got Duon to not only look up but smile. “For real? You’ll be in my dance class?”
Spenser seized the lure with both hands. “Yes. Absolutely. I’m not going to have time to buy a leotard, but I will attend and I will dance.” His nerves bubbled out of their box. “Even if everyone laughs at me.”
“Nobody’s gonna laugh. And it’s modern dance. You just gotta wear loose clothes.”
Spenser marched to his room, grabbed workout clothes and shoes, and deposited them in a bag. “Done. Get your backpack. If we leave in the next thirty seconds, we have time for Egg McMuffins on the way.”
They had their Egg McMuffins, but Duon barely got to eat his because he talked a mile a minute about all the things he was going to teach Spenser in dance class. None of it made any sense to him, but Spenser didn’t care. He was only glad to have gotten his charge out the door. He had time to wiggle out of actually dancing later.
The hearing was quick and far more banal than Spenser could have imagined. Spenser had anticipated the grandmother would attend, but the guardian ad litem said she’d surrendered custody voluntarily. It wasn’t quite as big of a deal, Spenser supposed, than if it had been Duon’s mother. He didn’t understand how the law worked, but he couldn’t help thinking this was rather a perfunctory, unfeeling way to give a child away.
In other words, the system hadn’t changed.
The judge asked a few questions of the social workers and the guardian ad litem about Spenser and Duon, confirmed this was what Duon wanted, and basically that was it. She said she was pleased to see someone had stepped up to take on Duon, and with the gentle tap of her gavel, she made Spenser a parent.
Duon didn’t have much reaction in the courtroom, and Spenser didn’t prod him for one. As Spenser drove him across town to deposit him at school, however, Duon bounced higher on the seat as he explained how amazing dance class was going to be together. Spenser nodded absently, mostly dizzy with the realization of what he had so casually been handed, hoping he was up to the task.
But once he was at school, it dawned on him he had some news to share. So he pulled out his phone. Also, it dawned on him he should let them know they should expect another person for dance class. So he texted.
Hi, Tomás. This is Spenser. I wanted to let you know I was officially named a suitable other placement for Duon today. Also, it’s a long story, but I only got Duon to the hearing by promising I’d join his dance class tonight. I hope that’s okay. I’ll obviously pay whatever fees I need to, but I thought I should let someone at the studio know. Let me know if you need anything else from me before we get there. Thanks.
He sent similar texts to Vicky, Laurie, and Ed, minus the information about dance class. Soon his students began arriving, and Spenser was able to think no more on being a new parent and whether or not he had bitten off more than he could chew with his rash promise of attending dance class. Not until his lunch break when he checked his phone and saw he had a missed call, voicemail, and text from Tomás. Spenser read the text while he spread his lunch across his desk. There were several texts, in fact.
So glad to hear about the hearing! As for class, that’s not a problem at all. We’ll be glad to have you. Do you have loose clothes and soft shoes? The shoes will be the most important part.
What size are you? You might be able to borrow a pair of mine.
I’m a nine.
Oh, but you’ll need thinner socks.
Hey, I called but couldn’t get you. I’ll bring some stuff with me in case.
Oh, and you don’t have to pay anything. This one’s on me.
Amused, Spenser listened to the voicemail too, which was basically the same information delivered with more enthusiasm. There was a sparkle to Tomás’s voice he’d never heard before. Like Duon, dance was where Tomás’s passion lay.
It wasn’t Spenser’s. In fact, he frankly hated to dance. He’d been keenly aware every time he went clubbing that some people had natural rhythm and some people did not. He was one of the latter.
Sometimes he wondered if his failure at dance was the reason he never dated. Hookups only wanted a bed, but dates always seemed to involve a dance floor, which meant whatever charm Spenser had managed up until that part of the evening evaporated in five minutes of awkward gesticulations. So now he only hooked up, never dated, and never danced, full stop. Not even at weddings.
But he had made a bargain with Duon, and though initially he’d planned to weasel out, he decided as a parent now his job was to stick to his word. He could hide under his covers and work through his mortification once he was alone at home.
The bell rang to announce the end of noon recess, and Spenser stopped thinking about dance lessons and how much he didn’t want them. Not until the bell rang again, signaling the end of the day, letting him know it was time to pay the piper.
He half-hoped Duon had forgot
ten, but he had no such luck. Grinning wide enough to split his face, eyes dancing with anticipation, Duon leaped into the car when Spenser approached the high school. “You ready for your lesson, teach?”
Spenser gave a defeatist salute, and Duon laughed. He then peppered Spenser with questions—did he know this move or that one, and he was incredulous when every question received a “no, I don’t” as the answer. Thankfully, it wasn’t far from Duon’s school to the studio, so Spenser didn’t have to endure this for long. Unfortunately, this also meant it was that much less time until Spenser walked into the boy’s locker room, clutching his duffel and wondering what in the hell he’d gotten himself into.
Tomás was in there already, wearing a tight T-shirt and a pair of shorts barely covering his ass and showcasing his…everything. He was a little taller than Spenser and significantly more muscular, though not like Laurie’s husband. His muscles were lean but well-defined.
They were also highly distracting.
Tomás hugged Duon and wished him congratulations on his new official home, and then he smiled at Spenser, an eager grin making the sparkle in his eyes that much brighter. “You ready for your dancing lesson?”
“Hell yes, he is,” Duon answered for him, tossing his arm around Spenser’s shoulders.
Spenser disentangled himself gently from his charge. “I’m fairly sure I’m about to make a fool of myself, but I made Duon a promise, and I intend to keep it.”
“Don’t worry. We’ll go easy on you.” Tomás winked, and Spenser blushed.
He tried to hide in the back, but both Duon and Tomás insisted he be up front. Duon wanted this because he was in the front, Tomás because he pointed out he could see his instruction from there. There were twelve other students, all of them teenagers, most of them male, exactly one of them white—Spenser. Until Laurie came out of his office to lean on the doorway and watch, Spenser was the only one melanin-challenged in the whole studio.
And yes, he understood dancing ability wasn’t correlated to race—the owner of the studio being exhibit A—but he couldn’t help feeling like everyone else present had come with not only a crib sheet but the teacher’s edition to the lesson Tomás was giving. They didn’t laugh at him when he screwed up every single step, but that was almost worse. And the more badly he performed, the more nervous he became, until he left the floor, red-faced, making a great show of drinking from the fountain on the side of the room until he could get his mortification under control.
This was worse than his failed dates in college. This was a goddamned nightmare.
He wanted to call it quits, but when he saw Duon watching him, smiling and motioning impatiently for him to come back to the dance, he knew he couldn’t. Spenser was almost wooden now as he endured the lesson, no longer trying to keep up, only doing his best to get to the end of this class so he could never, ever offer to do something so awful again.
But when it was over, Tomás and Duon ganged up on him, telling him what a good job he’d done. Spenser couldn’t handle it any longer. “Are you insane? I was awful.”
Tomás held up his hands. “Whoa, whoa. You weren’t awful. And you had a pretty big disadvantage, because we’ve been working on this routine for months now.”
Spenser wasn’t having any of this. His face was red, with exertion, with embarrassment, and with decades-old shame. “I’ve never been able to dance. And it turns out when you don’t try for ten years, you get worse.”
Duon and Tomás exchanged a look. Then Duon scuttled toward the locker room. When Spenser attempted to follow, Tomás caught him gently by the elbow and led him to the floor. “Oh no. You, Mr. Harris, are getting another dancing lesson.”
Spenser broke free of the grip and backed away. “No, thank you.”
Tomás did a fancy step and blocked him. When Spenser went the other direction, Tomás blocked him again. And again. When Spenser sighed in frustration, Tomás winked at him. “See? You’re a natural. You’re dancing right now.”
It had been a long day, the next day would be longer if the amendment passed, and Spenser didn’t need this. “I don’t care if I can dance or not. I want to go home.”
“I can’t let you go, not when you’re this frustrated. I’d be a terrible teacher if I allowed you to leave.”
Oh, this was a low blow, because of course he was right. Spenser went for blunt. “I’m tired.”
But Tomás wasn’t having it. “Fifteen minutes. Give me fifteen minutes.”
“Take an hour.” This came from Laurie, who stood at the door to the studio with Duon, who now wore loose sweats and a winter jacket. “I owe a young man some ice cream, and the next class got cancelled because Susan’s sick.” He waved at Spenser. “Knock ’em dead, tiger.”
And just like that, Spenser had landed himself in the middle of an hour-long private lesson.
With Tomás.
CHAPTER FIVE
It was clear to Spenser there was no way out of this situation but through it.
He threw up his hands and faced Tomás. “Fine. Go ahead and teach me. But when you find out it’s hopeless, I want you to remember I told you so.”
“You’re not hopeless. Nobody’s hopeless.” Tomás went to the stereo and flipped through to some pop music. “That’s the first rule of dancing. Believe you can.” When Spenser rolled his eyes, Tomás wagged a finger at him. “Say it, Spenser. Say, ‘I can dance.’ Out loud, right now.”
To think it was Duon getting the ice cream. “Fine. I can dance.” When Tomás gave him a stern look, Spenser schooled himself and repeated the phrase with the best fake enthusiasm he could muster. “I can dance.”
It came out dripping with sarcasm too, and Tomás laughed. “Nice start. All right. Let’s give you some moves to back up your statement.”
Tomás was a good teacher. He walked Spenser through a few basic steps, some of them things he’d covered in class, taking the time now to go through them more slowly. He corrected Spenser’s form, explained how if he moved his foot this way and held his arm that way it would be easier, and it was. Soon Spenser had only mild loathing for dancing.
But sometimes he’d catch sight of their audience, the students who had lingered to watch the show, and he’d falter. Or he’d see himself in the mirror and remember he was a terrible dancer, and then he would be. After several rounds of this, Tomás paused the music, turned to their audience, and made shooing motions. “Okay, time to go home. We’ll see you guys next week.”
They complained, but they left, and once they did, Tomás locked the door and shut the blinds. Now it was only the two of them in the studio. When Tomás turned the music on again, he also switched to something with a little more pulse. “You’ve loosened up some, but you’re still in your own way. Your greatest obstacle to dancing is that you don’t think you can dance. And you’ll never get anywhere if you don’t get rid of those negative thoughts.”
“But I don’t care if I get anywhere,” Spenser pointed out. “I only did this for Duon. He’s not even here anymore.”
“You should dance for you. And you should dance, Spenser. You’re bursting to. Five times now you’ve nearly let go, then remembered yourself and buttoned down. It’s killing me. It’s killing you.”
Spenser gave him a long glare. “That is the most overly dramatic thing I’ve heard anyone say this month. And I teach kindergarten.”
“I don’t care whether you believe me or not. But I’ll tell you one thing. You’re going to let go and enjoy yourself before you leave this dance floor.”
This was a nightmare. “You don’t get it. I don’t enjoy this. I never have. I never will.”
“You will tonight.”
Spenser meant to say no. He intended to insist, to turn on his heel and march—no, flounce off the dance floor. Yet he did none of this. He simply stood there, awkward and miserable, waiting for Tomás to do the impossible, to teach Spenser to dance.
“Put your hands on my shoulders.” Tomás’s hips were already undulating, his
body moving with some kind of compulsion to the sound of the music, as if it were wired under his skin. When Spenser obeyed him, Tomás smiled and put his hands on Spenser’s hips. “There you go. All right. I want you to relax. Don’t try to dance. Simply stand there and allow me to move your body. Surrender your muscles so I can show you what they can do.”
Spenser surrendered for three seconds, then went rigid as ridiculousness set in. “I can’t.”
“You can. You just did. But then you got afraid. Why are you afraid, sweetheart? Who said you couldn’t dance?”
Spenser’s laugh was short and bitter. “Everyone.”
“Someone is telling you right now that you can. Shut your eyes. There you go. Shut them, and stop thinking. Listen to the music. Listen to the sound of my voice. Let it seep into your skin.”
It helped, shutting his eyes. But each time he began to relax, panic set in, and Spenser’s eyes would fly open. After the third time, he apologized before Tomás could scold him. “I’m not trying to react this way. I can’t help it.”
Tomás winked at him. “Don’t worry, I can help you.”
He released Spenser, and for a moment Spenser thought he was free. But Tomás only reached into a basket on a shelf near the stereo and came out with a bandana, which he rolled into a flat strip and applied to Spenser’s eyes.
“It’s clean,” he said when Spenser balked.
It wasn’t the potential dirtiness of the blindfold freaking him out. “I can’t see.” Obviously that was the point, but Spenser was nothing but constant panic now. He didn’t know why. “Tomás, I don’t want to do this.”
Enjoy the Dance Page 7