Marcia Talley: Dead Man Dancing

I squeezed Paul’s arm. ‘I want to learn that. Doesn’t it look like fun?’

‘Looks suspiciously aerobic to me,’ Paul complained cheerfully.

‘Aerobic, yes, but without the boring bits.’

‘Wouldn’t it be easier to run a couple of 800-meter dashes?’

I was about to clobber him with my handbag, when Ruth and Hutch arrived and joined us at the window.

‘I can’t believe how much this area has changed, Hannah. Guess I’ve been spending too much time in my shop.’ Ruth pointed to the Rapture Church across the street. ‘The last time I went into that building, I was wearing red and white shoes a half size too big, and I bowled a 120.’

With chain-store encroachment, rising rents, and the recession (whatever the economist Alan Greenspan might have had to say to the contrary), Ruth had been through a couple of tough years with Mother Earth, the New Age shop she owned on Main Street in downtown Annapolis. But with a renewed emphasis on stocking natural, eco-friendly products, she was turning a tidy profit these days, enough to hire a full-time assistant so she didn’t have to shanghai relatives like me to store-sit on a regular basis.

I did my part, though. My elderly LeBaron boasted one of her ‘Compost Happens’ bumper stickers, and my kitchen shelves were stocked with spice jars made out of re-blown beer bottles, and bags of fair trade coffee and tea. I’d bought a hemp notebook, and a picture frame made of recycled newspapers from her shop, but I drew the line at alternative menstrual products like washable GladRags (Glad? Get real.)

As the four of us rounded the corner of the building, Daddy was waiting for us, holding open one of the glass double doors. Neelie waited inside, and we tumbled in after her, appreciating the welcoming blast of warm air. We huddled to the right of the doors waiting politely for the dancers to finish, enjoying both the warmth of the ballroom, and the impromptu exhibition. Now we were inside, I could hear the music: Cole Porter’s ‘It’s Delovely’.

Unaccountably, my heart did a flip-flop. I grabbed Paul’s hand and squeezed. ‘Thanks for coming.’

Paul turned his head and grinned down at me. ‘I hope neither of us will regret it, sweetie.’

The music ended and one couple made a swooping spin while the other did a death drop finish. I realized that we had been watching a private coaching session between a pair of instructors – red leotard and green shirt – and a couple of advanced pupils – the black and white twins. After giving her pupils a brief critique, the woman in red dismissed her partner and came over to us, breathless. ‘You must be Ruth,’ she said to me, extending her hand. ‘Jay told me your group was coming. I’m Alicia Sweeney.’ She nodded toward the guy in the striped shirt. ‘Chance Baldwin and I will be your instructors tonight.’

I squeezed her hand. ‘Hi, Alicia. I’m Hannah Ives. That spiky-haired individual over there is the bride, my sister, Ruth.’

Alicia giggled charmingly, then beamed her 1000-watt smile on Ruth. ‘So you’re the bride?’

Ruth’s cheeks, already red from the cold, got redder. ‘And this is my fiancé, Hutch,’ the blushing bride said.

After introductions all round, Alicia pointed out the closet, and the dressing rooms. ‘One for the boys and one for the girls. Bathrooms are in there, too.’

Alicia waited until we’d hung up our coats, then clapped her hands to get our attention. Chance had relocated to an alcove containing what appeared to be a state-of-the-art console, where he was fiddling with dials and punching buttons. Black, industrial-size EV speakers were supported on tripods on either side of the alcove.

Alicia herded us into two lines, facing one another, boys on one side and girls on the other, just like sixth grade. ‘First,’ she said, draping her right arm over Ruth’s shoulders, ‘we’re going to learn the waltz. Picture yourself, Ruth, your wedding gown frothing around you, dancing in the arms of your prince.’ With her left arm, she made a sweeping motion, indicating Hutch. ‘Waltzing, waltzing, one-two-three, one-two-three, just like Cinderella at the ball.’ She went on in relentless fairy tale mode for a minute more while across the room, Paul tried to act cute by pantomiming dabbing at his eyes with a tissue and mouthing, ‘I think I’m going to cry.’

I gave him the evil eye.

Somewhere in the middle of an anecdote about Sleeping Beauty, just as I was about to cry, Alicia finally wound down. ‘Chance. Over to you.’

‘First, the man’s part,’ said Chance, smoothly taking over from Alicia. ‘Gentlemen. Watch me.’

He raised both arms, as if holding an invisible woman. ‘Think of the waltz as drawing a box on the floor. We start with our feet together, like this. Then – watch me now – left foot forward, right foot to the side, left foot closes to the right foot, right foot back, left foot side, right foot closes to the left foot. One -two-three, one -two-three, one -two-three, one -two-three. Now, you try.’

I watched with some pride as Daddy and Paul executed the steps flawlessly. Hutch, bless his heart, performed the maneuver right along with them, as if he hadn’t been doing box steps all his life.

Alicia coached us ladies through our steps, which were mirror images of the guys’ – right-left-right, left-right-left – until we got it perfectly, too.

‘The waltz,’ Alicia said, planting herself midway between our ragged boy-meets-girl lines, ‘was first introduced in the early 1800s, but denounced by the church for its immorality. It was the first time polite society had seen a man holding a woman so close to his body, and in public, too! But that, of course, was what made the dance so appealing, and why the waltz is here to stay.’

‘For the waltz, and for most ballroom,’ she continued, ‘we use the basic, closed position.’ Alicia clapped her hands again. ‘OK, find your partner.’

I waltzed across the room to Paul, muttering, ‘One-two-three, one-two-three,’ as I went. Paul gathered me into his arms, his left hand in my right, my hand and forearm resting lightly on his upper arm, and we waited for our position to be inspected and approved.

Alicia made some minor adjustments to Daddy and Neelie’s posture, then turned her attention to us, moving Paul’s hand from the small of my back up to my shoulder blade. ‘Slightly cup your hand, Paul, don’t spread your fingers out.’

Meanwhile, Chance had retreated to the control panel where he appeared to be waiting for a signal from Alicia.

‘Ready?’ asked Alicia. ‘Go.’

Almost immediately, the music began, an electronic version of ‘You Light Up My Life’. Paul waited, nodding his head in time to the music, whispering, ‘One-two-three, one-two-three,’ until the vocalist began crooning, ‘ So many nights… ’ before we stepped out. We made it all the way down the length of the ballroom before Paul stomped hard on my toe – ‘Shit!’ – and I lost my concentration.

‘Gosh, sorry, Hannah.’

‘No problem.’

His breath was warm on my neck. ‘One-two-three, left-right-left.’ Paul tapped a foot for two bars, getting his bearings before setting off again, this time narrowly missing a collision with Hutch and Ruth who were quite literally floating counter-clockwise around the dance floor, eyes locked, seemingly oblivious to anyone but themselves.

As I said, I’d watched dance shows on TV, and except for the sexy, steamy numbers like the cha-cha and the paso doble, I thought it must be against the rules for couples to look at one another. In my experience, the guy’d be staring deadpan left, and the girl would be gazing at some fixed spot over his right shoulder with a crimson-lipped, full-toothed perma-grin on her face. But there was something so up close and personal going on between Hutch and Ruth on the dance floor just then, that Paul and I stopped dancing and stood transfixed.