Heather Graham - Dead On The Dance Floor

Sam led her in the basic steps while she looked at Quinn. She was not at all convinced he was trying very hard.

To her surprise, Sam spoke up. “It looks like a boring dance,” he said to Quinn. “But it can be a lot of fun.”

The next thing Shannon knew, Sam had taken the initiative. They moved into a grapevine, an underarm spin and a series of pivots. Steps far advanced from anything their new student could begin to accomplish.

“Okay, Sam,” she said softly. “We don’t want to scare him off.”

“Well…he should see what he can learn,” Sam replied.

She couldn’t argue. They did lots of demonstrations to show their students what they could learn. She just wondered about this particular student.

But Quinn was nodding and looking as if he had suddenly figured something out. He stepped in to take his position with her again. The guy had a great dance hold; he also wore some kind of really great aftershave. He should be a pleasure to teach.

Except that he was always watching.

But weren’t students supposed to watch?

Not the way he did, with those piercing blue eyes.

She looked back up into them, reminding herself that she was a teacher, and a good one.

“Listen, feel it, and move your feet. Remember that you’re just making a square.”

To her amazement, he had it. He finally had it. A box. A simple box. It felt like a miracle.

“Head up,” she said softly, almost afraid to push her luck. “Don’t look at your feet. It will only mess you up.”

His eyes met hers, and he maintained the step and the rhythm. His dimple showed as he smiled, pleased. His hold was just right. There was distance between them, but she was still aware of hot little jolts sweeping through her, despite the lack of real body contact. Not good.

Dance teachers needed to be friendly. Accustomed to contact. The more advanced a student, the closer that contact. She was accustomed to that.

But it had never been like this.

She suddenly wanted the lesson to be over for reasons other than her sore feet.

When they were done, he seemed actually enthused.

“When do I come again?” he asked.

“Whenever you schedule.”

“Tomorrow?” he asked.

“You’ll have to see Ella, our receptionist.”

They were standing near the little elevated office. Ella had already heard. “He can have a two-o’clock.”

“I thought I had an appointment with the hotel about blocking out rooms for the Gator Gala?” Shannon said frowning. “And I know I have Dr. Long coming in for his regular class.”

“The hotel pushed the meeting to Wednesday,” Ella said cheerfully. “And they want you to call them back. Dr. Long isn’t in until five-fifteen.”

“Two o’clock, then,” Shannon said.

“Thanks. I’ll see you then.”

Their new student departed, and Shannon stared after him.

Jane, returning from the dentist, passed him at the door. “Who the hell was that?” she demanded when she reached Shannon.

“Doug’s brother.”

“Doug’s brother…wow. Look what a few more years are going to do for that guy. Of course, the eyes…shit! Who taught him?”

“I did,” Shannon said.

“Oh. And you’re keeping him?” She tried to sound light.

Shannon hesitated. “Yes.”

Sam went dancing by, practicing a Viennese waltz on his own. “Hey,” he teased Jane. “You’ve already got the one brother.”

Jane gave him a serious glare. “Yeah, and I also have nasty old Mr. Clinton, ninety-eight, and decaying with each move we make.” She looked at Shannon. “I thought you weren’t going to take on any new students.”

“I wasn’t. But you know how it goes.”

“You’re the manager,” Jane reminded her. “You don’t have to keep him.”

“I know, but that forty-five-minute investment of time felt like ten hours. The guy is a challenge I don’t think I can refuse. Hey,” she added quickly, teasingly, “careful—your old-timer just walked in.”

Jane glanced at her white-haired, smiling student.

Ben had already walked forward to shake his hand. That was studio policy—all employees greeted all students when not otherwise occupied. Courtesy and charm to all students, regardless of sex, age, color, creed or ability.

They were a regular United Nations.

And more. Being in South Florida, gateway to Latin America, they were also a very huggy bunch. People hugged hello and hugged goodbye. Cheek kissing went on continually. It was nice; it was warm, and it was normal behavior for most people who had grown up here.

Mr. Clinton was actually a dear. They all kissed and hugged him hello all the time. He wasn’t really decaying, and he wasn’t nasty. He was just a little hard-of-hearing, so it sounded as if he was yelling sometimes.

Jane sighed. “Yep, here’s my old-timer.”

“Jane, he brings you gourmet coffee,” Shannon reminded her.

“He’s a sweetie, all right.”

Jane stared at her. She didn’t say anything more. They both knew what she was thinking.

Sure, the old guy was a sweetie. He just wasn’t Quinn O’Casey.

Jane forced a smile.

“You are the boss,” she murmured lightly, and moved away. “Mr. Clinton, how good to see you. What did you say you wanted to do today. A samba? You’re sure you’re up to it?”

“You bet, Janie,” he assured her with a broad grin. “I got the best pacemaker ever made helping this old ticker. Let’s get some action going.”

Watching them, Shannon smiled. No, Mr. Clinton wasn’t a Quinn O’Casey, but then again…

Just what did Quinn expect to get from the studio?

Suddenly, for no reason that she could explain, she felt a shiver trickle down her spine.

In the afternoon, the beach wasn’t so bad, Quinn thought. It was slower. Weekends, it was crazy. If he suddenly heard there had been a run of cab drivers committing suicide on a Friday or Saturday night at the beach, it wouldn’t be shocking in the least. Traffic sometimes snarled so badly that a lifetime could pass before a vehicle made it down a block.

But in the afternoon…

Though they were moving into fall, temperatures were still high, but there was a nice breeze coming off the ocean, making the air almost cool. Walking from the studio, which sat between Alton Road and Washington, he passed some of the old Deco buildings and houses that had undergone little or no restoration, appreciating their charm. There were also a number of small businesses, including a coffeehouse that wasn’t part of a big chain, a pretty little flower shop, some duplexes, small apartment houses and a few single dwellings. The beach itself was barely three blocks away, and he was tempted to take a quick stroll on the boardwalk and get a real feel for the area.

The stretch of sand facing the bay was dotted with sun worshipers. A volleyball game was going on, and down a bit, a mother was helping two toddlers build a sand castle. The little girl wore a white eyelet cap, protecting her delicate skin, while just a few feet away, a young couple, both bronzed and beautiful, applied great gobs of something from a tube labeled Mega-Tan to each other’s skin. During the week, the beach could be great. He had to admit, the Keys didn’t offer huge expanses of beach. Just more privacy.

On the stretch in front of a chic Deco hotel, the bronzed and beautiful were joined by the more mundane. A huge woman wearing a skimpy suit that was totally unsuitable for her ample physique was strolling along with a scrawny man in a Speedo. They were smiling happily, and nodded as they passed him. Quinn offered them a hello and decided that the mind’s perception of the self was really what created happiness. The couple looked completely content. More power to them. Who the hell was he to judge? He was walking the beach in dress shoes, chinos and a tailored shirt.