“Nope,” Ed said cheerfully, leading them into the box again. “I was recently told by someone with authority that I don't. Sorry.”
Ed turned Laurie again, and Laurie had no flashback, but when he came back into Ed's arms, he blushed furiously. “Is this some sort of game?”
Ed just grinned. “It's awfully fun to get a rise out of you. Easy too.”
Ed didn't miss a single beat. He was a little clompy, but he wasn't bad. Just rough around the edges. Laurie lifted his chin and tried to recover his dignity as they continued to dance.
“So,” Laurie asked, “do you know more than just the rumba?”
“Yep. We did a lot of rumba, and they showed us some others, but I forget the names. And probably the steps.” He turned Laurie again and led them into another box. “Somebody suggested dance classes might be good rehab after my neck, so I took my mom ballroom dancing. I mean, I know I'm only okay. But I remember most of the basics.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Still want me to go hold up the wall?”
Laurie caught a glimpse of the wide eyes of his students in his peripheral vision, and for the first time in a long, long time, Laurie stumbled in a step beyond what he could recover. He drew back from the dance entirely, trying to collect himself. Dear God. He hadn't just forgotten Paul. He'd forgotten he even had a class.
Laurie cleared his throat and put his hands on his hips. “So. That was the rumba. A football player just did it. I think the rest of you can probably manage it too.”
Mr. Gerisher turned his wide eyes to Ed. “You play football?” he asked eagerly.
“Used to play,” Ed corrected him, but he smiled while he did it. “Minnesota Lumberjacks. You play, Mr.—?”
“Bob Gerisher,” Mr. Gerisher said, his grin widening. “Yeah. I was wide receiver back in college. For Concordia.”
“Well, all right, then!” Ed reached over and patted Mr. Gerisher on the back. “A Golden Bear shouldn't have any trouble with a box step.”
Ed nodded to the other men, who were now all beaming and looking at him as if he were some sort of god. Then Ed turned back around to Laurie, who was just barely managing to keep the glare from his face. Inside, though, he was still reeling by how easy it had been to dance with Ed.
“What?” Ed asked, holding out his arms and looking around, as if what had displeased Laurie might be lying on the floor.
“Nothing.” Laurie turned back to his class, ignoring the fact that they were all looking at Ed now. “Try it again: one, two, three, four. Slow, quick, quick. Slow, quick, slow. Turn.”
The students never did get it. But they were a lot happier about their failure, and a few of them had come pretty close to managing at least part of the dance. And when Laurie gave them a little break at seven thirty before they switched over to the fox-trot, they were high fiving each other and doing “quick, quick, slow” all the way to the drinking fountain in the hall.
Ed stayed behind with Laurie.
“You're pissed at me,” Ed said when they were alone. “I know the look well. But damn, boss, what'd I do?”
Laurie gritted his teeth at the “boss” comment and gave in and just rubbed his temple with his fingers. “Nothing. I'm just tired.” He pursed his lips, then shook his head and reached for his water bottle. “I'm irritated that you and your bumbling football gig got to them when my teaching couldn't.”
Ed rolled his eyes. “Oh, that. God, it's just because they're a bunch of stuck-up jerks. You're right; they're all worried you have the gay germs.” His eyes danced wickedly. “God, I'd love to go out there and chat them up, casually mentioning ‘my boyfriend’ just to see them have a coronary. Gay football player would really mess with their worldview.”
Laurie choked on his water. Hard.
Ed took the bottle from him and pounded on his back. “Sorry, boss. Didn't mean to kill you.”
When Ed started massaging his back, Laurie stepped away. He coughed a few more times before turning to Ed, his heart still hammering in his ears from his exertions. “Is that"—he coughed one more time—"some kind of joke?”
“What?” Ed glowered. “No, damn it, I wouldn't really want to kill you.”
“No,” Laurie snapped, and wiped the back of his hand over his mouth. “The gay football player line.”
Ed's expression turned mischievous again. “Not a line. No boyfriend, so that is a line, but gay? Yeah. I am.” When Laurie just stared at him, he snorted. “Oh, are you going to have a coronary too?”
“What? No! I—” Laurie sputtered, then crossed his arms over his chest, then glared at Ed. “No. Absolutely not, of course.”
He tried hard to leave it at that, but his heart was still hammering. He didn't know what to do with gay Ed. Gay, I-like-dancing Ed. Gay, charming Ed.
You didn't think about Toronto or Paul at all, not after that first turn.
Laurie felt jumbled and confused, and it was the only reason he could think of that he said, “I am too.” Then, of course, he blushed again.
Ed's eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Really! Well. I would never have guessed that you played football.”
Laurie pursed his lips and locked his arms tighter over his chest.
Ed laughed. “Sorry. You just make it too damn easy, boss.”
“Laurie,” Laurie corrected.
Ed made a mock bow of apology. “You make it too damn easy, Laurie. But yeah. I kinda figured. Actually, to be honest, Vic told me.”
And why the hell had she done that? Laurie wondered.
The couples came back into the room then, and Laurie took the escape they gave him. He called the class back to order and reviewed the steps again, and when they stumbled, he called Ed forward and demonstrated with him once more. This time he called the steps out as he danced, thinking this would center him somehow. He waited for the memories to hit him, but they didn't. He was, though, completely distracted by the revelation that Ed was gay, and it felt different now when he danced with him. Everything felt different now. He'd assumed Ed had agreed to this to jerk Laurie around some more, and somehow Laurie had been willing to accept that from a straight man. But Ed wasn't straight.
Unless he was lying after all.
“You're pissed at me again,” Ed said after the students had waved cheerily at him as they grabbed their coats and headed for the door. “What'd I do now?”
“Nothing.” Laurie grabbed his towel and dabbed it at his hairline. “You don't have to come again, though.”
“Hey!”
Laurie stiffened as Ed grabbed his shoulder and turned him around, but Ed didn't back down. He was seriously pissed off.
“Hey,” Ed said again and poked Laurie in the center of his chest. “What is your problem?”
Panic attacks and PTSD over a catastrophic, career-ending performance. “My problem,” Laurie snapped, “is you. You've done nothing but make me insane for a month solid, and now suddenly you're my big buddy? And you're gay too. Am I supposed to fall for you and go to bed with you? Is that it?”
“What?” Ed said, rage falling away as he blinked in confusion.
Laurie could feel his cheeks burn crimson. Oh God, why the hell did I say that? He lifted his chin and steeled his countenance as he flailed for recovery. “I was tired on Thursday when you asked me what I wanted, and I was worried about this class. But it was a dumb idea. You're off the hook. Just go home and leave me alone.”
Ed blinked at him a few more times, still lost. He opened his mouth, very abruptly closed it, and glowered.
“Fine,” he said, all his teasing gone. He sounded pissed again. Reaching for his coat, he tossed Laurie a salute. “See you around.”
Laurie tried to let him go; he really did.
But as the former semipro football player headed for the door, Laurie saw his hips move, remembered the way he'd felt in his arms, remembered what it felt like to dance with a partner without panicking, and he called out, “Wait.”
Ed stopped and turned around, still angry. “What now?”
Laurie kept his arms folded over his chest, but he gentled his tone as he asked, “Did they teach you about Cuban motion in your dance class?”
Ed frowned. “Cuban what?”
Just one more. Just one more, because there's no way two dances with him cured me, and if I don't dance again with him now, I may never dance again.
Laurie unfolded his arms and motioned to Ed as he cleared his throat. “Get back here. There's something I need to fix.”
[Back to Table of Contents]
* * *
Chapter Three
salida: exit, or start. In Argentine tango, the word for the basic step to start a dance is also the same word as the step which leads the dancer out of a figure.
It was kind of nice to see Ed uncertain for a change, to see him thrown off his game. See how it isn't fun? Laurie thought this but didn't say it out loud. He had some teaching to do.
“You're a little clumsy when you rumba,” he told Ed, “because you're keeping your center body too high.”
Ed pointed to his shoes. “I thought you said—”
Laurie held up a hand to cut him off and shook his head. “It's not your shoes. It's your body. Your motion.” He motioned to Ed to come closer, then held up his arms in the follower's position. “Dance with me again, and I'll show you what I mean.”
Still wary, Ed took Laurie into his arms and led them back into the box—quick-quick, slow, quick-quick, slow—and Laurie held his gaze as he spoke.
“Watch my shoulders, Ed. Watch how I don't rise. And watch my hips. See how I'm swaying, moving them in a figure-eight? I don't let my body get any taller when I take a step. The rumba is a sensual dance. Let your body roll with it. Feel round and sexy. No—no, don't overdo it, or you'll stumble like you just did. Easy does it. Like you're sliding up against a pretty girl.” He remembered Ed's confession, and he missed a step.
“Pretty boy. I got it, boss.” When Laurie glared at him, Ed laughed. “God, that's what's got you in a knot? That I'm gay?”
“You aren't gay,” Laurie snapped.
“Okay. I'm a straight, dumb-ass football player who can't dance. Gotcha. You want to tell me my underwear size too?”
Laurie glared at him. “You don't act gay. You're just saying this to mess me up. You'll come in to the gym on Thursday with your goddamn football team and a herd of cheerleaders, and you'll laugh your head off at me.”
Ed winced. “Shit. Vic's right, I really did ride you too hard.”
Laurie forced his gaze to the center of Ed's chest. “Forget that. I just need to teach you the motion.”
He braced when Ed took his chin lightly in his fingers, but Ed didn't let him go, just looked him dead in the eye.
“Laurie,” he said gently, “I swear, I am as gay as a parade. I tried to keep my focus on women in high school, but in college I blew a guy in the locker room and never looked back.” He shrugged. “I don't advertise, no. But I don't hide it either. The guys on the team know. They're cool with it, overall. Why the hell, Laurie, does it make a difference to you?”
Laurie didn't know. “I need to teach you Cuban motion,” he said, sticking to the safer subject.
Ed sighed and let go of Laurie's chin. “Fine. But can we have some music? I can't believe I just went through a whole dance class and never heard a single note of tunes.”
Ah, that. Laurie fussed with the stereo to hide his embarrassment. He'd gotten into the habit of leaving music off with that class because there seemed to be no point. Never mind that it probably would have helped. Ed didn't know that, however. “That's because they aren't good enough for that yet,” he lied, and bumped the player to a song that would work. “But you're right. The music will help you feel the motion better.”
A soft Latin beat began to pulse as Laurie went back into Ed's arms, and the music did help Ed get into the move a little. This was wonderful for Laurie, because he was beginning to believe he would be fine in any dance with Ed. But Ed still didn't have the motion right, and with the panic pressed down, the dancer in Laurie emerged.
“Feel it. Watch me move and try to mirror what I'm doing. Don't fight your hips, Ed. Use them.”
Ed frowned, but he nodded, staring at Laurie's hips as he tried to focus.
“Relax,” Laurie whispered, dodging Ed's foot as he missed a step by trying too hard. “It's a natural movement. Your hips want to do it, Ed. Let them.”
And all of a sudden, he was. It took him a minute to realize he'd gotten it, and when he did, he laughed and ruined it again, but he had it back soon enough, and it wasn't long before Ed was grinning and spinning Laurie out into a turn.
“Show me something fancy to knock Mom's socks off,” he said.
Laurie hesitated. Should he keep at this or let it go? He felt like he shouldn't encourage himself, but he didn't want to stop either. “I could teach you the Cucaracha step,” he offered, and Ed beamed.
He left the music going, because Ed was good enough that it wouldn't matter. “It's the same step, quick-quick, slow, but you take my hands by the palms and we move from side to side.” Laurie positioned their hands together and nudged them to the left. “We're not really stepping. We're almost moving in place.” He nodded to the right, and Ed picked it right up, leading them in the other direction. “You can modify the dance between the three moves: box, turn, and Cucaracha, and your mother's socks should be in a great deal of jeopardy. But stop rising, Ed. Use your hips.”
“Shit! Sorry,” Ed said and put his focus back on his hips again. It wasn't long before he had all three steps down perfectly, executing perfect Cuban motion all the while.
“You're a very quick study,” Laurie allowed him, even smiling a little as he came back from a turn.
Ed wasn't smiling. He looked earnest and strange. The music ended, but Ed didn't let Laurie go. And Laurie didn't pull away. Catching a glimpse of the clock on the wall behind him, Laurie realized he'd just spent more than an hour and a half between the class and the extra lesson dancing with Ed. Ballroom dancing. No flashbacks, no ridiculous overblown reactions. No aching memories of Paul. Just dancing. And Ed.
“I want to come back,” Ed said. “I'll pay to take the class and bring my mom as partner.”
Laurie said nothing and looked away. Say no. Say no. Say no. But he couldn't think of a reason to give as to why, and he knew Ed would want one.
“Please.” Ed took a step closer, his expression pleading. “I swear I won't tease you anymore, ever.”
Laurie lifted an eyebrow.
Ed grinned. “Okay. I won't tease you much. But seriously, what do you say, boss? Can I come back?” He sobered a little. “Laurie. Can I come back, Laurie?”
Laurie gave up.
“You can come back,” he said, “but you're not paying for anything. And in exchange for helping me with the class, I'll give you any other lessons you want gratis. Your mother can stay at home.”
He regretted the last because it felt wrong after he said it, like he was coming on to Ed, and then he worried because he realized part of him was, if not to the man, then to the idea of dancing with someone again, which he knew was dangerous and very, very stupid. But Ed, privy to none of this, beamed.
“For real? You'll teach me more stuff"—he did a quick rumba box in place, hips moving in rather decent Cuban motion—"like this?”
“Yes.” Despite his own internal turmoil, Laurie couldn't help a smile. “But not tonight. I have to get home.”
“Sure, sure. You got things to do.” Ed backed away, still beaming as he tucked his hands into his pockets.
Laurie needed to get away from Ed and his silly grin. “So. I'll see you next week.”
“Sounds great.” Ed winked.
He's very handsome, Laurie thought, and then he swallowed. Hard. He needed to go home and soak his head. “Have a good evening, Ed.”
“You too, boss,” Ed called, and saluted as he headed back for the door.
“Laurie,” Laurie corrected him softly, and Ed didn't hear him,
just sashayed out the door, Laurie watching until it closed behind him and he was gone.
Later that night, Ed lay awake in his bed, pressing an ice pack to the side of his neck as he stared up at the ceiling.
He'd gone to bed two hours ago, and he'd slept for a little while, but he'd lain on his neck funny, and now he couldn't sleep because it hurt. Once again, a full dose of ibuprofen had at best taken the edge off, so he was trying ice. Except there wasn't anything quite like ice to wake you way the fuck up. And since to ice his neck he had to lie flat on his back, he had nothing to do but think. Which meant he was thinking about the dance class, and he was thinking about Laurie.
Ed did enjoy dancing. He always had, and he had taken ballroom as therapy, and he did like it. But Laurie's class had been different, and he didn't know why. Maybe because Laurie was so bristly? But that didn't explain why it was different. That just explained that Laurie was a head case. And he really was a head case. Goddamn, but twice Ed had thought Laurie was going to pass out. What the hell was he so worked up about?
And why had he seemed so much better when he was dancing with Ed?
The cold was starting to hurt, so Ed shifted the pack and laid his head back down again, but after a few minutes of not sleeping, he gave up. Sitting up, he turned on the light beside his bed, fumbled into some boxers, and padded out into the living room to watch some TV.
He tripped over a laundry basket full of clothes, swore, and stubbed his toe on a hand weight that had fallen off the pile of junk on top of an overflowing dresser. Limping, he navigated his way more carefully the rest of the way through the darkness to his living-room area, where he fumbled with the lamp, remembered he hadn't changed the bulb, then limped to the other lamp on top of the stereo cabinet. When that bulb also proved to be burned out, he swore again and headed over to the front door, where the light switch was easily findable on the wall, and he knew the light worked.
Now that he could see, he rooted through the pile of junk on the couch, marveling briefly to see that this was where that new toilet paper had ended up, found the remote, and settled in on top of probably clean laundry he hadn't gotten around to folding. He surfed aimlessly, landing on an infomercial for a memory-foam pillow-and-mattress set because the blond male model kind of gave him an erection.
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