|
THE YEAR OF LIVING
DANGEROUSLY
CHAPTER NINE:
CLASS FACTORY
Written by Rick
Archer
|
SATURDAY,
JULY
29, 1978
BEAUTIFUL WOMAN #2 OF TEN
Deborah
|
|
It was 2 pm,
Saturday afternoon, July 29.
I had just finished my 1-2 pm
private lesson in a back room at the studio. Since my
3-4 pm
lesson was not due for another hour, I intended to
use my free time to feel sorry for myself.
Jenny had broken up with me on Thursday and I was
pretty bummed out about losing her. I
suppose I could find someone else, but I would never
find another Jenny. She was not just my
girlfriend, she had been my best friend.
I
noticed that Lance Stevens was conducting a group
class out on the Main Floor. I despised the
man. A month had passed since the Ritz
Debacle, but I was still mad at him for making me
perform with so little time to prepare. It was
not his fault that the DJ had ruined things by
turning out the lights. However it was his
fault for giving me only two weeks to prepare to
perform in front of 300 people. I would never
forgive him for the stress he had caused. Suzy
had suffered the most. After the lights went
out, Suzy had frozen up and begun crying. Just
then the lights came back on and 300 people had
watched her bawl her head off. The shame was
so great that Suzy had left the studio. I
would never see her again. I put this on Lance
Stevens.
Things
were very tense between us. Back during my
Apprenticeship, not a day passed when he did not go
out of his way to insult me or bully me around.
However things changed after the Ritz. Now an
entire week could pass without a word from him.
These days Stevens was content to join his wife
Cliann and Alicia for Rick-bashing parties while I
taught on the Main Floor.
I had an hour to kill and I was in a
very bad mood. For lack of anything
better to do, I
went out
to the Main Ballroom to watch Lance Stevens
teach a
group of 16 students. Since Saturday
afternoon was an odd
time for a group lesson, I was curious what he was up to.
Stevens
paid no attention to me he conducted
some sort of folk dance class. Or at least
that's what I thought he was teaching.
Actually I was confused. It wasn't Ballroom,
it wasn't Whip,
and it wasn't Disco. So what was it? Whatever
Stevens was teaching, I had never seen it before.
|
 |
 |
In a far
corner of the room I noticed an attractive, well-dressed woman
standing alone. I had no idea who she was, but I could tell she was
watching Stevens' class with keen interest. When I
noticed the frown on her face, maybe she knew something about this
strange dance class. Curious to learn what she was upset about, I
went and stood about five feet away from her on the edge
of the floor.
There was a drama developing.
A man was having trouble figuring out how do
a
corny dance that Stevens called the Cotton Eyed Joe. His
wife was upset because her husband had not been paying very much attention.
She fussed at him. "Joe, if you would listen to the
teacher,
you would see that this
dance is not that hard."
Stevens
overheard her remark and came over to confront the guy. Stevens looked
at the man and quipped, "Hey, Joe, you should listen to your wife more often."
Stevens laughed and walked away. Vintage Stevens.
What was wrong with this man? Dance students are
supposed to make mistakes. If learning to dance
was effortless, I wouldn't have a job and neither would
Stevens. My attitude was to show some
appreciation, but Stevens was too cynical to be
bothered.
Sure enough, the man was offended.
I could tell he was about to say something
in retaliation, but his wife quickly put her hand on his arm to calm him
down. Fearful of losing his temper, the man
walked off the floor in disgust. He paused for a minute, then
decided to go outside to
smoke a cigarette. During the confrontation, the mysterious woman
had flinched at
Stevens' curt remark.
Fuming, she reflexively turned to me. "Do you work here?"
I nodded yes.
"Is Lance Stevens always this rude?"
Talk about putting
me on the spot! Ordinarily I would duck that question. That was the kind of
question that could get me into serious trouble if Stevens overheard.
However, due to my bad mood, I answered with candor.
"Mr. Stevens is
known for his biting sarcasm. He has a bad habit of
rubbing his students the wrong way."
|
I was shocked at what I had said. Four years ago my tendency
to speak before thinking had gotten me thrown out of
graduate school. If there was one lesson I learned, it
was to watch what I say. I lived by this rule,
especially around strangers. However, I was in one of
those awful "I don't give a shit" moods.
As a result, I think
this woman was very surprised to get a straight answer.
Realizing I might be risking my job to speak to her in
this manner, she smiled
at me. When I smiled back, we shared an instant "co-conspirator" rapport.
|
Just then
Stevens was obnoxious again to another student.
Exasperated, the woman turned to me again. "Pardon me,
we haven't
met. My name is Deborah Gordon."
"My name is Rick
Archer."
"Do you
know the name of
that dance Stevens is
teaching?"
"I've never seen it before, but I think I heard him call it
the Cotton Eyed Joe ."
"I have never
heard of that dance in my life."
"That makes two of
us. And it doesn't look like the students are having much
fun."
I was pleased when
Deborah nodded. Obviously I had made a friend.
As
she turned her attention back
to Stevens, I studied her. Deborah was very
pretty. She bore a close resemblance to Ali MacGraw, star of the
movie Love Story. Having just lost
Jenny, I had my hopes up, but then I noticed her wedding ring.
Oh well. Age 30,
Deborah was slender and petite. She had brown eyes and long dark brown
hair past her shoulders. Not particularly tall,
maybe 5' 4". I could tell
Deborah was really angry at Stevens. Who could
blame her? I never understood why Stevens felt he could insult people so
freely. Lance Stevens
enjoyed putting people down. I knew this for a fact
because he put me down all the time. That was his style. I often
wondered if he ever realized just how offensive he was.
Although some students
objected to Stevens' put-downs, most chose to
ignore them rather than protest. His long-time students would defend him. "That's Lance for you. He doesn't mean
anything by it."
|
 |
I disagreed.
I could not imagine treating my students this way.
My St. John's training had drilled the concept of
showing respect deep within my psyche. People wish
to be treated with dignity, so my first rule as a
teacher was to demonstrate my appreciation for their
presence. Given how highly I valued that rule, it
made me very uncomfortable to watch Stevens behave so
carelessly. Seeing how tense Deborah was, I was
certain she felt the same way.
|
 |
As for this
Cotton Eye Joe, whatever it was, it
looked pretty simple.
I hoped
these people were not paying to learn something this stupid, but
I kept that thought to myself for fear of upsetting my new
friend. I still had not figured out what she was doing
here, so why
take chances?
"Deborah, do you by chance know
what is going on out there?"
"Why, yes,
I do," she replied. "This is a
Country-Western Dance Class!"
Country-Western?
I turned ghost white. Oh my God, I had no idea there
was such a thing as Country-Western dancing. I knew that
Houston had a love affair with C&W music, but I was
unaware that people actually danced to it. My first reaction was intense revulsion. I hated country-western music
and I had no interest in Houston's annual rodeo. Feeling
anxious, I wanted to know what was going on. Who is this woman, what is she doing here, and
what the heck is going on out on that dance floor?
|
"Deborah,
you seem to have a connection to this dance class. Are
these people paying for this lesson?"
Deborah
frowned at my question, but nodded affirmative. I was
stunned. Filled with incredulity, I stared in horror.
Why
on earth would someone pay money to learn how to dance to Country-Western
music? That
raised an interesting question. Just exactly what country
was Country-Western dancing from? My
vote was Bolivia
or Ecuador. If so, Country dancing needed to go back to
whatever country it came from.
Anywhere but America. Furthermore, this stupid Cotton
Eyed Joe should be outlawed before
someone got hurt.
I noticed Deborah was becoming more upset
by the minute. Now it was her turn to ask a
question. "How long
has this man been in business?"
"Mr. Stevens has
never actually confided anything about his past.
However, there
is a picture on the wall of him dancing with his wife at the
Emerald Room in the Shamrock Hotel. Since the picture is dated 1965,
I suppose he has been here at
least since the mid-Sixties, possibly earlier.
I have heard that Stevens has won numerous contests and
awards. The man is definitely qualified to teach, but he
can be very grumpy."
Deborah muttered
to herself. "That is the understatement of the century."
"Deborah,
did you organize that class Mr.
Stevens is teaching out there?"
Deborah nodded.
Then she opened her purse
and handed me
a catalogue.
"I run a
business called Class Factory.
I hired Stevens to teach this class."
As
Deborah watched the class, I glanced through the magazine.
After locating the page where this
course was listed, I continued to browse. There were classes in a wide variety of topics. Acting,
Conversational Spanish, Bridge, Computers, and Witchcraft.
Witchcraft? I raised an eyebrow at that one, but remained silent.
|
 |
 |
I did not see a
listing for a Disco class. Hmm. I began to
smile. If Deborah did not have a Disco teacher, I was
staring at a potential gold mine. Class Factory
students would belong to me. Just to be sure, I
thumbed furiously through the catalogue a second time.
Aha!! There was definitely no Disco class listed!!
My poor little heart thumped wildly with excitement.
However, I did
see a listing for 'Country-Western Dance'.
Although my heart was about to jump out of my chest, I tried
to play it cool. I got Deborah's attention and pointed
to the listing with Lance Stevens' name on it.
"Deborah, is
this the class you organized for today?"
|
Deborah looked to
see what I was pointing at in her catalogue.
"Yes,
that's it. One of my
customers suggested I offer a Country-Western dance class
as part of my program. I must have called every dance
studio in Houston, but no one teaches this stuff. Then
one day I noticed in the Courses a la Carte
schedule that Stevens of Hollywood
teaches dance classes for them. They listed Stevens' phone
number, so on a whim I called him. He was
was the only person I could find who was willing to teach
this class. I thought I had lucked out, but I was
wrong. If I had known how negative Stevens was, I
would have never hired him."
I was surprised.
Lance Stevens didn't ordinarily accept off-the-wall
situations like this. That might explain why he was so grouchy
today. Knowing him, he probably thought this class was beneath him.
Now that I gave it some thought, this was the sort of thing he usually
made me do. I was the garbage collector, so why not
make me teach this C&W class? Probably because Stevens knew I didn't have a clue how to teach Country-Western dancing. Hmm. Since when had that stopped
him? I was surprised
Stevens
didn't make me teach it anyway. That had been his
style with Disco classes. Whatever his reason to skip me,
it didn't matter. I vowed as long as I lived, I would
NEVER teach Country-Western dancing. I would commit
suicide first. (Note to Reader: Never say Never.)
Just then Stevens
spoke to his class. "Hey, do y'all know what you're doing when you
go
hook-kick with your boots?"
Everyone gave him a
blank look.
"That makes
you shit-kickers.
That's how cowboys kick horse shit off their boots at the
Rodeo.
How else do you think cowboys ever learn how to dance?
Now you know. They jump up and down and kick the shit
away!"
|
The students stared
at each other in confusion. Was that supposed to be a joke
or what? I almost choked when Deborah turned pale white. She
looked ready to pass out. Grinning at her discomfort, for a
second there I thought I might have to catch her. Deborah
shook her head in utter disbelief. As for me, just thinking about the possibility of ever teaching
Country-Western dancing sent shivers down my spine.
Ugh!!
This style of dancing was boring beyond boring, but most of all I despised the music. The twang
made me absolutely nauseous.
Speaking of music, just about that
time, Stevens played the Cotton Eyed Joe song. "Grab your partner do-si-do!"...
oh, please, turn it off!! I had a really bad attitude about
this music. Watching these people dance, I realized the dancing was
just as bad as the music. I stared incredulously as a bunch of people
hopped around in cowboy boots yelling "Yee haw!!" and "Bull-Shit!!" I snorted with disgust.
But the nightmare was not over yet. Just when I thought it couldn't
get worse, it got worse.
Stevens began to
teach something called the Texas Twostep. He
altered his voice to make it sound country. "Okay,
y'all, Step-touch, step-touch, walk-walk!"
The people began to shuffle around to his cadence. The
Twostep had the saving grace of being pretty easy. No one
had any trouble. On the other hand, there wasn't much to
it. Oh my gosh,
they call
that 'Dancing'?? It was so easy a Second Grade
kid could pick it up in five minutes. I took a deep breath and swore
to myself again I would never teach this stuff. I would rather
get an honorable job like cleaning toilets or pulling chewing
gum off movie seats before I ever taught country-western.
|
 |
|
|
 |
I couldn't take it any
more, so I turned my attention back to Deborah's catalogue. I read the description
of the C&W course again in the catalogue and smiled. I got Deborah's
attention and pointed to a line in the catalogue.
"Then it's
time you learned the dances that are taking the country by
storm..."
"Can I assume you wrote
that, Deborah?"
Deborah blushed.
"How did you guess?"
|
| |
"Well, Deborah, for
starters, I have never
heard of Country-Western dancing in my life. So if it is sweeping
the nation, that's complete news to me. Also, Lance Stevens has never
struck me as someone with a knack for hyperbole, so I figured
it had to be you."
Deborah grinned.
"You have a point there. I guess I got a little carried away. Sometimes my Vassar
education gets the better of me."
Vassar, eh?
Interesting. A fellow Preppie. I decided to try teasing
her some more and see where it got me.
"Ah, yes, the curse of
higher education. My favorite line was "no horses please". That was far
too clever for Stevens to have written it."
Deborah rolled her eyes.
I could tell she liked hearing me make fun of Stevens. Then she commented a bit sheepishly,
"I worked hard on that description. It isn't as easy to
write
promotional hype as you think it is."
Realizing she thought I
was criticizing her, I was quick to let her know I was teasing. "Don't apologize,
Deborah. You made me laugh. Isn't that the point?"
Realizing I had given
her a backhanded compliment, this time Deborah smiled. Perfect. I was working hard to
get on Deborah's good side. The time had come to make my pitch.
"Now if you had said
'Disco is sweeping the nation', that would have made more sense."
Without thinking,
Deborah replied, "Yeah, but I don't have
a Disco teacher. I haven't been able to find a Disco teacher to save my soul."
Deborah hesitated for
a moment as something crossed her mind. She blinked once, then
stared at me with
instant understanding.
"You're a Disco
teacher, aren't you?"
My heart skipped a beat.
Pinch me now. Tell me I am not dreaming!
I smiled broadly. "How did you guess? Yes, I teach the
Disco classes here. Would you consider
letting me teach for you??"
Deborah smiled back.
"Of course! All you do have to do is give me the right answer
to two questions."
"I'm ready."
"First, are you a good instructor?"
"Yes. I am an
excellent instructor [or at least an improving one]."
|
Deborah smiled. "Good answer.
Second, are you as mean to your students as Lance
Stevens?"
"You will be
pleased to know I believe
in being nice to my students."
"Gee, what a novel
concept! Okay, you passed the interview. You're hired!"
Write me a course description for the upcoming September-October
catalogue, then call me at the office on Monday. We can go over
the details then. Go ahead and keep that catalogue.
I've got more in the car."
Deborah pointed to her
business phone
number on the back of the catalogue. I nodded and promised Deborah I
would write up a class description for her
Fall catalogue over the weekend, then dictate it
to her over the phone on Monday.
"How exactly does this
work, Deborah?"
"I act as the middle man.
I use this catalogue to advertise your class and
distribute it across town. You teach,
you supply the room, I supply the students. In
return for bringing students to your class, you and
I split the
proceeds 50-50."
I nodded. "That
sounds fair. Well, Deborah, I think this is the
start of a beautiful
friendship."
Deborah
smiled. She recognized the Casablanca reference.
We both knew something very special had taken place.
|
 |
 |
When my next private lesson showed up at 3 pm, I said
goodbye to Deborah and promised to stay in touch. I
trembled at the implications. Since my name would be
listed as the instructor, Deborah's check would come to me,
not Lance Stevens. This meant that every Class
Factory student would belong to me.
Deborah
Gordon had opened the door. All I had to do was
step through it. I instinctively knew I had just
been handed the business opportunity
of a lifetime. As lucky breaks go, today's
coincidental meeting was one for the ages.
However, there
was still one very important loose end to tie up. I
needed a place to teach my class.
|
SATURDAY,
JULY
29, 1978
the fateful
request
|
|
When my 3-4 pm lesson finished, I looked anxiously to see if
Stevens was still around. Yes, he was in his office
doing paperwork. I thought things over one more
time. An
important door had just opened.
Thanks to a coincidental meeting of the highest magnitude,
Deborah had handed me a source of dance
students I could call my own. I wondered what he would
say. If I could keep Stevens from interfering, these
students would be MY STUDENTS, not his.
I
vowed I would never give these students to Stevens, but how
could I avoid handing control over to him? This was His
Studio, not mine. I considered renting space elsewhere if necessary,
but I preferred to teach the new students here.
I decided not to tell Stevens
about my new Class Factory arrangement.
I had a better idea. Two months ago Stevens
let it slip that Alicia, his Latin instructor, rented one of the side rooms from him
on occasion. My idea was to
ask Stevens for permission to teach a small group class in
a side room and pay him the same rent he
charged Alicia.
I wanted to be sure not
to catch Stevens in
a bad mood, never an easy task. Now that it was late
in the afternoon, I figured this might be a good time. First I looked around to make sure
Cliann and Alicia were not lurking in the shadows.
They were never here on Saturday afternoons, but I wasn't taking
any chances. Seeing the coast was clear, I walked over to
Stevens.
He was standing by his desk looking at his appointment book
with a frown. I assumed that meant his 4-5 pm private lesson
had not shown up. Good. This was my chance. I began by
asking about Deborah's dance class earlier today.
Without looking up,
Stevens muttered, "That was Kicker Dancing!
Have you ever seen a worse bunch of dancers in your life?
Those hicks don't know their ass from a hole in the wall.
If I never teach Country again, it won't be too
soon."
|
I rolled my
eyes. So much for catching Stevens in a good mood.
However, since the chance of catching this guy in a good mood
was slim and none, I might as well pop the question anyway.
I screwed up my
courage and casually mentioned my idea
to him.
"Mr. Stevens,
you once mentioned Alicia rents a room
from you for her Monday group class. A couple days ago some people I met at a
Disco asked if I could teach a small group
class for them. Would you mind if I rented a side room
for a class of my own??"
I stopped breathing as I awaited
his answer.
Stevens stared at me for a
second, then shrugged his shoulders. "I don't care. You pay me $15 an hour,
the same amount as I pay you."
Stevens did
not bother to wait for an answer.
Seeing his
private lesson student show up, without another word Stevens walked away
to greet her.
Stevens had unwittingly made the worst mistake of his life without
giving it a
second thought. If I did not know better,
someone must have turned his brain off. How
else could he have
agreed to such a one-sided bargain?
I was
astonished at this turn of events.
First
Eric, now Class Factory. This
was the moment I realized my Magic Carpet Ride
was
headed for the stars.
|
 |
|
 |
Julius Caesar:
"Antonio!"
Marcus Antonius:
"Yes, Caesar?"
Julius Caesar:
"Let me have men
about me that are fat,
Sleek-headed men who sleep
well at
nights.
Yond Cassius
has a lean and hungry look,
He thinks too much; such men are dangerous.
Shakespeare's 'Julius Caesar'
Act 1, Scene 2
|
Without giving
it a second thought, Stevens had unknowingly given me
permission to grow my own business right under his nose.
Shocked at his carelessness, I could not help but think of
the worst business deal in American history.
In 1626,
the local Indians sold Manhattan Island to Dutchman Peter
Minuit in return for a barrel of cloth, some beads,
hatchets, and other trinkets worth 60 Dutch guilders.
Minuit had paid $24 in exchange for the future economic capital of
the world. This one-sided real estate deal has long been
considered one of the worst business decisions ever made.
But then no one ever met Lance Stevens. I instinctively knew Stevens had just made the worst business decision of his
life. And he never even knew it until it was too late.
|
 |
cosmic blindness
revisited
|
|
As of July 1978,
my Disco program hovered around 350, maybe 400 Disco students.
If Stevens had 100 in his own program, I would be surprised. Stevens claimed those
350-400 students were his, but he was
wrong. No business can 'own' its customers.
Since a client is free to use whichever service provider
they prefer, an employer's
worst nightmare is seeing a disloyal employee become more important
than the name on the front door. I had no loyalty to
Stevens and neither did my students.
Their loyalty was to me. I was
their leader, not Lance Stevens. Cliann's well-founded
fear was that I would use some sort of Pied Piper sweet talk
to lure those 350 students out of the door. For this
reason, she begged Stevens to kill the snake while he still
had the chance. Given the shaky nature of my
relationship with Stevens, it was always a mystery to me why
he did not take his wife seriously. Cliann
understood this, so why not Stevens?
Now Stevens
had gone and done something incredibly short-sighted. Ignoring his
wife's prophetic warning, he had unwittingly given me permission
to teach
my own
students
under his roof. Given his nonchalance,
it never
crossed his mind that he had just sanctioned a
potential conflict of interest. His decision was sort of
like Henry Ford giving one of his machinists permission to build
his own cars at the plant during his lunch hour.
Stevens
had said yes without asking me a single question.
Why would
Stevens do something so utterly stupid? I can answer that question
in two ways. One is a Realistic answer and the other
is a Mystic answer.
To be honest, I
was not surprised Stevens had said yes. Whether you
buy my theories on Fate or not, the Ritz Disaster turned out
to be an incredible stroke of good luck because it blinded Stevens to my potential. From the moment I took
his Whip class back in October 1977, Stevens
had considered me incompetent. During the first six months of 1978,
I had done little to change his original impression.
My breakdown at the Ritz had
removed any remaining doubt from his mind that I would ever
amount to anything in the Dance World.
The thought
that Rick Archer could ever be a rival NEVER CROSSED HIS
MIND. I suppose I had lulled the man to sleep. Danger
was
staring him right in the face and Stevens was unable to recognize
it. There are various psychological theories to explain the
development of a warped perception. However, does anyone truly
understand the workings of a closed mind? We
all recognize that turning a blind eye to
threats is a perplexing part of the human condition, but
seriously, do any of us understand Blindness? To me,
it is sheer folly for a rational man to comprehend how
madness comes to infect those once thought to possess a
sound mind.
|
|
 |
The Mystic possibility
for Stevens' Blindness was
Cosmic Stupidity.
One of history's
most startling examples of Cosmic Stupidity was the decision to
haul the Trojan Horse inside the walls of Troy. We all
know how that turned out.
'Beware Greeks bearing gifts!'
However, what few
people
know is the Trojans were warned. Cassandra was the headstrong daughter of Priam, King of Troy. Due to her
gift of prophecy, Princess
Cassandra had fervently begged her father not to allow his men to
haul the mysterious Trojan Horse inside the gates of Troy. Priam
completely ignored his daughter and her vision of doom. So did everyone else. In fact, they were
openly hostile towards her, calling Cassandra a fool and an idiot.
Cliann, Stevens'
wife, was a modern day Cassandra. She knew full well
I was a danger and warned Stevens practically every night of the
week to take precaution. Stevens listened to what Cliann
said, but never heard a thing. When I asked Stevens for
permission to rent a room, did he think to ask his wife what she thought?
Of course not! Why listen to a woman?
In the mind of Stevens, I was so inept I could never be a threat.
Here is what makes his decision so ridiculous. On the day
I asked permission, my program brought in 350-400 Disco
students per week compared to his paltry 100 Ballroom and Whip
students (if that many). How could anyone
see this disparity and fail to conclude I was a clear and
present danger?
The only way for me to
answer this is to say you would have to know Lance Stevens.
He had the biggest ego of any man I ever met. Where I was concerned, his mind was shut like a steel trap.
I would never amount to anything, so that was that. There was nothing to worry
about. And yet Stevens was an intelligent man. Not
only that, he had been backstabbed by previous dance
instructors, so he should have been wary. Instead he
fell asleep at the wheel. Stevens' ignorance
was so incomprehensible, I had no choice but to wonder if Stevens had been Supernaturally
blinded to the danger I presented. His decision
was just as stupid as the men who ignored Cassandra and hauled
the Trojan Horse into their domain.
|
In Hindsight, I can
report the
largest dance studio in America was built on the foundation
created by Stevens' unconscionable mistake.
The bottom line is
that no businessman in his right mind would have okayed
this deal, but who said Stevens was in his right mind?
Should I feel guilty? After all, there can be no denying
that I took advantage of a dimwit who made no attempt to analyze
the consequences. Looking back, my conscience was clear.
Given the way he had treated me, a certain ruthlessness was
called for.
There is a
very curious detail that I should add. Our deal was not
written down. In other words, it was not legally binding.
Not only that, the day would come when Stevens was finally able to grasp the damage caused by his
decision. Not once did Stevens cancel or ask to renegotiate
the agreement. The fact that Stevens never bothered to
renegotiate our one-sided arrangement
was so absurd that I am
positive there had to be a
Supernatural hand in the matter. How could Stevens
fail to see I was growing an empire on his dime? Or for
that matter, surely
Cliann saw what was happening and explained it to him. If
so,
how did he respond? Stevens never said a word.
The Cold War never
made a bit of sense to me. It was totally unnecessary.
You don't have to like someone to have them work for you.
In my case, I bent over backwards to stay out of the man's way. Not only was I making the Groucho family rich, I kept my mouth shut and never complained. What the heck was their problem?
Okay, so maybe I was an Imposter, but why couldn't they see that
I was improving and cut me some slack? I was completely
new to the game and trying to succeed against long odds.
Did anyone offer to help? No. There was not an ounce
of charity in their souls.
Cold War hostility began the moment
Saturday
Night Fever hit in January and never abated.
Following the June Ritz Debacle, things became much worse.
To me, the constant meanness felt like punishment for my
inability to
meet their expectations of a professional dance instructor. Consequently I developed a
terrible grudge towards Stevens. I seethed every time I
saw him because it was so tough to get
the Ritz Disaster out of my system. Well aware the man had
deliberately thrown me to wolves, I harbored a theory
that Stevens had set me up to teach me a lesson.
He knew damn well I wasn't ready for a task like that, so why
make me do
it? I suggest there was a real possibility Stevens thought I was getting
a little too big for my britches, so he deliberately threw me into an
impossible situation. If that was the case, Stevens succeeded royally. I could not recall a time when I had
felt more terrified and humiliated.
But here is what is
so crazy about my Ritz failure. My humiliation turned out
to be a very lucky thing. Wrap
your minds around that. Imagine how bitter I felt hearing
those spectators laugh at me as I groped in the darkness for my
woeful dance partner Suzy. Add Stevens and Cliann to the mix.
How could I ever forget their stone faces as they passed by me
that night? Their expressions were full of scorn. Was there a bit of sympathy for the bad
break that caused our downfall? No. And yet the worst
nightmare of my life carried a
Silver Lining. After I fell apart at the Ritz,
Lance Stevens developed a contempt for me that was off the charts. Disgusted by my inadequacy, the Ritz Humiliation set in motion
the Blindness that led to my big break. Convinced I would
never amount to anything, Stevens saw no danger whatsoever in
letting me rent a side room.
|
|
|
Everyone knows that dance teachers are
supposed to be able to dance. Given that I was little
better than a cripple in his mind, I could never be a threat to him
in a million years. Well, guess again.
Stevens would
one day regret underestimating me. Once he handed me the Keys to the Kingdom, I made plans to grow
my own little garden right under his nose.
Cassius
was a Roman senator who was the leading instigator in the
plot to kill Julius Caesar. Cassius made
his dislike for despots well known. 'Sic semper
tyrannis'... death to all tyrants.
Like Cassius, I
was always thinking. And I was
hungry. Oh, yes, very hungry. I was dangerous because my
Ambition was
limitless. Oh, and by the way, I didn't like
bullies any more than Cassius did. Stevens never
grasped any of this. I took advantage of this close-minded egotist and
did not feel a shred of guilt in the process. Not once
did I feel sorry for him.
|
 |
|
RICK ARCHER'S LIST OF
SUSPECTED SUPERNATURAL EVENTS
|
| |
|
THE MAGIC CARPET RIDE |
|
067 |
Serious |
Lucky Break
Cosmic Blindness |
1978 |
| |
Lance Stevens' thoughtless decision
to allow Rick to rent rooms for group lessons gives Rick the chance to start a
competing dance program under the same roof |
|
|
066 |
Serious |
Lucky Break
Coincidence
Act of Kindness |
1978 |
| |
Deborah Gordon of Class Factory
hands Rick the break of a lifetime with a promise to send him students that will
belong to him, not to Lance Stevens |
|
|
065 |
Suspicious |
Cosmic Blindness
Dance Curse 1 |
1978 |
| |
The Ritz Debacle is caused when the Ritz DJ loses his mind and
turns out the lights |
|
|
064 |
Serious |
Cosmic Blindness |
1978 |
| |
Eric loses his job after mysteriously challenging Lance Stevens.
Rick is so shaken he begins to wonder if he has been spared for a reason.
Concluding that teaching dance is his life's mission, Rick makes a sacred vow. |
|
|
063 |
Serious |
Coincidence
Synchronicity |
1978 |
| |
Partner Dance Crisis: Gary, Sue Ann, Stevens, Janie, and Suzy each
make a guest appearance to help Rick create the 'New Yorker' partner dance
system out of thin air in the space of seven days. |
|
| |
|
060 |
Serious |
Lucky Break
Coincidence
Synchronicity
Wish Come True |
1978 |
| |
Crossroad Synchronicity: Leap of Faith from 3 years earlier
becomes validated.
Rick is shocked to discover he is in the Right Place at the Right Time when SNF
arrives.
Courses a la Carte Spotlight Effect
makes Rick the best-known Disco teacher in Houston.
The Surprise Factor makes Rick the
One in a Million Dance Teacher. |
|
| |
THE YEAR OF LIVING
DANGEROUSLY
Chapter
TEN:
TEMPTATION
|
|
|
