MONDAY,
OCTOBER 23, 1978
JOANNE DOES NOT LIKE VICTORIA
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Starting in September, Joanne and I established a standing private
lesson every Monday from 6-7 pm. During that time,
Joanne had been free to indulge her fantasies that she might
have a shot at me someday. Smiling and laughing,
Joanne was a different person. I had a hunch being alone with me on
Monday from 6-7 was
the highlight of her week.
Due to my problems with Nancy
towards the end September, I was very shaky emotionally.
On the final Monday of September, I gave Joanne more hope
than I should have. I held her in my arms too long
after each acrobatic move as we practiced. I am not
going to lie about it, I enjoyed touching Joanne. Joanne was a
serious babe. She was curved in ways that any
red-blooded boy would admire. That included me. I
liked having Joanne in my arms. Although I behaved
myself, the places where my hands were located were close enough to
pay dirt to put impure thoughts in both our minds. I did not act, but I
wanted to. No doubt Joanne could tell. Women
always know.
Ordinarily I would have
maintained my 'professional
distance'. But with that damn Nancy driving me crazy with jealousy,
my guard was down. Feeling insecure, I let my affection
for Joanne show more than I should have.
We were 'Friends', but
the door was left ajar in our minds to take this further.
Well aware that Joanne was always hoping, I wondered if my
conscience could be persuaded to look the other way. Joanne
was not Fair Game, but that small detail was badly obscured
whenever I touched her.
Then came
the first Monday in October. That was the night Victoria barged in
at 6:45 without knocking. Having interrupted our
acrobatics in the middle of our practice session,
Victoria was not happy to see me alone with an unknown woman
in my arms. Victoria had
snarled at me. "Rick, what are you doing?"
As I set Joanne
back on the floor, I said we
were practicing for my class later on. Now Victoria whirled on a
white-faced Joanne. Seeing the confusion written on Joanne's face,
Victoria decided to treat her like a lowly
menial.
Victoria barked, "You need to leave the room so I
can talk to Rick in private."
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Victoria's tone
and attitude were so discourteous, Joanne was stunned.
Wordlessly she left the room. I assumed Joanne
would return, but she went home
instead. Joanne had every
reason to get her feelings hurt. Victoria had been
unnecessarily rude. Moreover, out of deference
to Victoria's increasing importance in my dance program, I
had chosen not to stick up for Joanne. Consequently,
Joanne's nose got seriously bent out of shape. The
knowledge that a high-dominance woman like Victoria had
bossed her around was painful enough. However
the realization that Victoria had a much greater hold on my
attention is what hurt the most. Like me, Joanne had a
giant chip on her shoulder based on a lifetime of being the
underdog. Consequently Joanne despised Victoria
from the moment she met her. As for Victoria,
she forgot about Joanne the moment the door closed. Joanne
was not remotely on her radar.
I was upset when
I realized Joanne had left the studio.
I probably should have called her at work
the next day, but feared any sympathy might send the wrong
message. Instead I waited till the following Monday,
October 9, to call her at work.
Indeed, Joanne did return that night, but she was in a foul mood.
This was the night Joanne put her foot down and said she
would not dance with the students any longer in class.
Just me. No one else. Nor were there any smiles
and laughter during our lesson. Joanne was all
business. I got the message and regained my professional
mask.
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That brings us
to
Monday, October 23. I smiled when Joanne walked in
promptly at 6 pm.
"Hi,
Joanne, how are you? Are you coming to the Pistachio
Halloween Party this coming Friday?"
When Joanne shook her
head no, I was disappointed.
"Why not?"
Joanne picked up
the Halloween flyer Victoria had created to promote the
event, then stared at it with contempt. Holding it high
for me to see, Joanne said, "There is
something about Victoria I do not like.
I have not forgotten how she ordered me out of the room
back at the start of the month. I cannot stand
snobs like her."
Joanne's comment was
no surprise. Ever since Victoria issued her 'Get
Out' order, Joanne's hurt feelings had continued to simmer
throughout October.
"The last
thing I want to do is watch that stupid Diva show off all
night long and prance around with her snooty friends. I have better things to do. I
would rather go to Ciao."
I wanted to
persuade Joanne to change her mind, but thought better of
it. Due to her intense dislike for
Victoria, she remained too touchy to attempt any persuasion. Hopefully once she cooled off, I would have a better chance.
Then I had another thought. I was headed to a
Halloween Party at élan on Wednesday.
Recalling how dancing with Nancy at élan back in August had turned us into
stars of the night, it would be fun to repeat that
experience with
Joanne. On the spur of the moment, I opened my mouth
to invite Joanne to come with me, then froze.
After a great
night of dancing with Joanne, I did not trust myself to behave when I dropped her off at her apartment
later on. No doubt I would receive an invitation to
come in. Hmm. Joanne was too tempting as it is
without adding fuel to the fire.
Now that Patricia had entered my life, I could not take the
chance of letting things get out of hand with Joanne.
So I decided not to say anything. I am sure if I had given voice to my desire for Joanne, my life would have turned out much
differently. As they say, the Road Not Taken.
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THURSDAY,
OCTOBER 24, 1978,
Age 29
HAPPY BIRTHDAY
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Tuesday,
October 24, was my 29th birthday. Patricia
had offered to cook dinner at her apartment. Over
copious amounts of wine, I watched with pleasure as
Patricia laughed for a change. Maybe she had a
light-hearted side after all. As we ate, I
reminded her of the upcoming Friday Halloween Party.
With a smile, Patricia said she looked forward to it.
Afterwards, Patricia
took my hand and led me to her
bedroom.
When Patricia let her one-piece dress fall to the floor,
there was nothing underneath. Seeing me
transfixed, Patricia quipped, "I'm sorry, Rick, but I
didn't have time to get you a present. This will
have to do."
This
important moment struck me as somewhat premature, but I wasn't going to object. As she
slept, I gazed at
Patricia in awe. Patricia was a serious
knock-out. At first I thought she would make an excellent 'Trophy Wife'.
But then I changed my mind. The term is often used
in a disparaging way. It implies that the wife has
looks but not much else. Given her education and
demanding job, Patricia merited far more respect.
On the other hand, I had an unconfirmed hunch that Patricia expected to marry a
wealthy man. So what was she
doing with me??
I had
never met a woman quite like Patricia before.
She was very
intense, perhaps even cold at times. Patricia could smile on occasion, but
I would not describe her as outgoing. 'Formidable'
would be a better word, approach at your own risk. Patricia was the most
ambitious woman I knew. She was career-oriented
with high standards for herself. I would soon discover she
had similar standards for me.
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WEDNESDAY,
OCTOBER 25, 1978
HALLOWEEN PARTY
AT
elan
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Scorpios are said to be superstitious by nature. Known
for their curiosity about the
Hidden Side of life, they dwell endlessly
on subjects such as death, mysticism, sex, transformation and the afterlife.
Scorpios are intense, loyal, jealous, unforgiving,
and obsessed with
Halloween. That description fits me very well,
especially the part about Halloween.
One of favorite books as a kid was
Dracula by Bram Stoker.
On Wednesday, October 25, I decided to indulge some
fantasies at a Halloween Party held at élan.
This ritzy private Disco was the spot where Nancy and I had dominated
the dance floor all night long two months ago. I
looked forward to receiving the same sort of attention
again. However, there would be one major difference.
This time I would attend as a solo act.
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élan
was a private membership club that catered to Houston's rich and
famous. Every year I paid a king's ransom for the right to rub
elbows
with Houston's elite. The money was well spent. I had taken Nancy
here for the most exciting
night of dancing in my life. The memory of people staring at
us all night long never failed to make me
smile.
elan is the French word for taste, panache and
sophistication. I must say the club lived up to its billing.
Although the people who worked there weren't very nice, the club itself
was a palace.
elan was so beautiful that I felt special just walking
through the place. There was
no plastic or metal at elan. Polished wood
enhanced by soft lighting made this club romantic and tasteful.
elan
had split levels. The design was unique. I could look up a
staircase and check out the action above or look
down and observe the action below.
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It took an architect with quite an imagination to create this
multi-layered effect. Separate areas were designed for dining, drinking, and backgammon.
There was even a
place for
quiet conversation which was impressive considering elan
had three dance floors.
elan was my one and only guilty pleasure. Working
two jobs for an entire year had allowed me to pocket
serious rainy day cash. I decided to invest some
of those hard-won earnings into a private membership at
elan. It was
expensive, but worth it. Sometimes I would take students to
elan to impress them. Other times I would go alone
simply for
the chance to admire the countless beautiful women.
Besides
the elegance, another
reason I enjoyed
elan was the ego boost. I was always the best dancer in the club.
The overall dancing was so lame I decided rich people didn't need to
bother becoming good dancers. I made
a joke about it.
When
it comes to meeting beautiful women, some men have looks, some men have
money, some men have a personality. The rest
learn to dance.
Actually, that was not a joke,
that was the truth. Without my dance ability, women like Jenny, Karen, Nancy, and
Patricia would have never given me a second look.
As Halloween
approached, I noticed elan had a Wednesday Halloween
Costume Party. Recently
I had visited a dance apparel store and noticed a skin-tight
leotard with a leopard design. They had an outfit suitable for a
tall man my size.
There was an
optional hood that I could pull over my head. If so, the
leopard mask would
completely disguise my
face. There were
discrete openings for eyes and mouth only. I tried it on and
looked in the mirror. It was like wearing a Superhero costume.
No one could possibly recognize me.
That gave me an idea...
why not wear that mask and go incognito? Indeed, this event
afforded me an unusual opportunity. I was modest by nature. I never wore fancy clothes.
Nor did I leave
my shirt open to expose my chest. Why
not be daring and wear that skin-tight outfit?
Although I had just met
Patricia, I decided to go alone. This night was about me, not
her. The whole point of wearing Halloween costumes was to explore
and take chances. I wanted to wear that leopard costume
because it
looked good on me. I was tall with big shoulders and
thin waist. I did not play as much basketball as I used to,
but I stayed in shape by tossing pretty girls around through acrobatics. Tough job, but someone had to do it.
I was proud of my body, but
there was no way I could find the nerve to wear that skin-tight leotard in
public without the mask.
I would have died of embarrassment if someone knew it was me in that
outfit. The mask was the key. If all they could see were my
eyes, then my identity would stay hidden. I thought about it
for a long time.
I finally decided
that if no one knew Leopard Man was me, then why not have some
fun?? I went back to the store and purchased the
leotard.
I
would not dare walk into elan wearing that outfit. Why give some
snooty door person a reason to say no to such a provocative costume?
Furthermore, they would surely demand to see my face. How
could I get around this problem?
A better
idea would be to walk in the party wearing normal clothes.
Then I would don the leopard costume inside the club. So
that's what I did. I entered elan in street clothes
with the leotard on underneath. I
promptly went to the bar and knocked down two Bloody Marys.
I rarely had anything to drink in those days, but tonight I had to have
some way to calm my nerves.
Wearing that outfit was way out of my comfort zone.
Since I rarely drank alcohol, it didn't take much to numb myself for
courage. After finishing my second drink, I went to the restroom to change. I tipped
the restroom attendant a couple bucks to store my jeans, car keys and shirt in
a safe place. My costume had no pockets, so I left my wallet behind in the car
and stuffed cash inside my shoes. I was ready to go. I knew I had done the right
thing when I saw the huge smile on
the elderly attendant's face. He got a big kick out of my
outfit.
"Young man, that is quite a
costume. If I were your age, that's what I would be doing
too! Go get 'em!"
I smiled in gratitude. At least someone
who worked at this stuffy place had a sense of humor. Once I
donned
the mask, Leopard Man was ready
for his grand entrance. With my heart racing, I ventured into the club.
It did not take long. Boy, did
I get some stares!!
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As I walked around, I recognized a half dozen
of my students scattered
throughout the club. These particular students were
considerably older than me and quite affluent. No
surprise there. By definition, a person
had to be wealthy to afford this place. I was quite
relieved to notice my students were not interested in dancing,
at least not at the moment. I
definitely did not want them to see me, so I took a different path and headed for one of the floors where they
would not notice me. I knew if they spotted me, my
dancing would draw their attention and make them suspicious.
My height and build would do the rest. There goes my
secret identity.
What should I do if
one of my students spoke to me?
On the spur of the moment I
decided to add 'silence' to my costume persona.
One word from me and they would know. Certain I would face a long night of teasing
from my friends over my wild outfit, I
refused to speak to anyone. Why not? Everyone knows
leopards can't talk.
Now for my next problem. Being speechless made it tricky to
get dance partners. How do I ask a woman to dance without asking?
Sign language. I noticed a woman smiling at my costume,
so
I went up to her, touched her arm and pointed to the dance floor.
She was a little shocked at first, but then she was amused. After looking me up and
down, she gave me her hand and followed me to the floor.
This woman was in for a surprise. I
put on quite a show. After that, my silence didn't
matter. I had no further need to ask women to dance.
For the rest of the night the women did the asking. I would
leave the floor only to have a pretty girl walk up and smile. The
bolder ones simply hooked their arm into mine and led me
back out. There were quite a few women
who thought my costume stunt was
hysterical. Nor did it hurt that I was the best male
dancer in the building. I was very impressed with the caliber
of some of the women who asked me to dance. Had I
not just met Patricia, I would have been sorely tempted to
ditch my secret identity and see where those smiles might
lead. However, I decided to stick to dancing.
Gosh did I have fun!
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Back when I was first
learning to dance Freestyle, a friend of mine from the
Welfare Department invited me to go dancing
in a gay bar. I was not gay, but saw no reason to say
no. Besides, I was curious. The gay style of dancing is pretty
wild... gyrating hips, arms pumping in the air, spinning like a
dervish. I always made sure to carefully keep that style under wraps at the
Pistachio Club, but for old times sake I turned it
loose at the elan Halloween party. Since
no
one knew it was me, I threw caution to the winds and gave
free rein to my Gypsy spirit. The
vodka helped considerably. Through the magic of
straws, I consumed my fair share that night.
This was way too much guilty pleasure. As the Masked Leopard,
I could move my body any darn way I
pleased short of lewdness. It was good for
my spirits to indulge in hedonism.
Did I ever get attention! For one thing, I had no competition. Those stiff rich guys couldn't dance
a lick. Once they saw how good I was, they either went
to another floor or moved far enough away that no
one could compare them to me. Holding court at the
front of the dance floor, I always danced with the
prettiest girls. Considering I wore the boldest
costume and danced well, I drew quite a crowd.
All night long women came up to ask Leopard Man to dance.
Catching
a girl's appreciative smile, I would wave. She would wave right back. Frequently
she would be the next girl to ask me
to dance. Or if necessary I would walk over to her. As the
ladies watched me move, their eyes went from head to toe. Watching them lick their lips and
laugh with excitement, I
got the same narcissistic rush that male strippers must feel. I was pleased
the
ladies liked the
show.
Perhaps the Reader is curious to know how the Dance Teacher
who could not Dance suddenly became the star of the night.
Over the past ten months I had danced five nights a week in
class and at least once on the weekend. While it was
true that I was mediocre at the start of the year, the
constant practice had made quite a difference. Just
because someone is a slow learner does not prevent them from
reaching their destination. It just takes them longer.
I might add that it did not take much to be the best dancer
in a club where dancing was an afterthought to mos of the
patrons.
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One thing I did not
anticipate was the number of people who insisted on talking
to me. When I took an occasional break, I never lacked
for company. As a celebrity of sorts, I suppose it made sense.
Despite all the people who came up to talk to me,
I refused to speak. I would simply place a finger over
my lips to indicate my role included silence. The
funny thing is, my silence didn't stop people from talking
to me, especially the women. You've heard the
expression 'Curiosity killed the Cat'. To my
great amusement, the ladies were dying with curiosity about my
secret identity.
"What's with the mask? You dance pretty cute, but are you
secretly
ugly?" "Are you married?"
"Who's the better dancer, you or Tarzan?"
"Are you a real animal or have you been tamed?" "I'll give you $10 to take off that mask." "Did
elan hire you to do this?" "Were you raised by leopards?" "Do you look as good under that mask as you do on the outside?"
"Do you have super powers?" "Why won't you talk to me?"
"Who are you, Phantom of the Disco?" "What strip club do you work at? I think I've seen you
perform." "If I buy you a drink, will you
take off that mask?" "Do you have an underground lair here at
elan?" "Are you for rent? I need
an escort for a dance party this weekend."
"Why won't you speak to me? Are you shy?"
"Did you learn to dance like that in the jungle?" "When I took your picture
a moment ago, did you remember to smile?"
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What an ego trip! I satisfied
countless fantasies that night. Recalling those days when I
felt like the ugliest kid in high school, it felt good to be center of attention. I especially enjoyed being the star while surrounded by rich men and beautiful
women.
In a sense, they were an extension of my St. John's
classmates... rich, beautiful, smug. Considering I was the boy who never danced in high school,
I had come a long way
since then. It was satisfying to dominate the dance floor with
my audacity. Tonight I explored a side to my personality that ordinarily
I would never
dream of revealing in public. It was fun to be an exhibitionist,
but I would have died of embarrassment without that mask.
Lots of people asked to take pictures. To my delight, a man
brought a voluptuous Cat Woman onto the dance floor. Her
entrance was accompanied by great applause, so I turned to look and
immediately stopped breathing. When my curvy counterpart
smiled in greeting, I gulped. Wow! This woman is
stunning! As it turned out, Cat Woman's date had arranged this
meeting because he wanted to take pictures of us together. I
was more than happy to oblige. Thanks to his inspiration, we
attracted quite a crowd. As we danced, we were subjected to
countless camera flashes. We also posed for several pictures
together. Cat Woman looked so good in her outfit that I could
not take my eyes off her. I have never wanted to undress a
woman so badly in my life. My heart sank when her boyfriend
had the sense to reclaim her. Catwoman was the highlight of my night. My only regret was not
getting a picture for memory's sake.
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As the evening wore on,
a new game emerged. People were determined to identify
me. Various women called me by different names to
catch me off guard, but I ignored them. My biggest
fear remained being spotted by one of my students. Since no one at my studio had ever seen me dance
quite like this
before, I wanted to protect my reputation at all costs. As I
danced, I heard someone say my name. I shook my head
no, but wondered who had guessed right. I
looked over at the people watching me dance and saw
Skeptical Jane. Oh no. What is she doing here? Jane was
the attractive woman who thought
my tales about the Jet Set were sheer nonsense. She was
shocked to visit the club one night and discover my stories
were true.
One week later, Jane
had surprised me by asking me to take her dancing some
night. I said sure and we set a date. However,
over the weekend Jane got cold feet. She stood me up,
but at least Jane had the courtesy to leave a
message on my answering machine. The message said she had decided to
return to her husband. I had not seen her since.
I often wondered if that was the truth or just a convenient
excuse.
There was a woman with
Jane, but I did not recognize her. They both stood on
the outskirts of the dance floor and watched. After the song
ended, Jane came on the floor and cornered
me. She was certain it was me, but I
shook my head no. Watching Jane get frustrated amused me no
end. It was fun to irritate her because she was so certain it
was me. This Clark Kent-Lois Lane guessing game was
fun.
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After a while I started
feeling guilty about fibbing to her. Besides, I
owed Jane a favor. One night at the Jet Set Club Jane
and I had put on quite a show. One of spectators, a
woman named Karen, was impressed. Later that night Karen
asked me if we could go dancing sometime. With a sigh,
I recalled my brief, but tempestuous love affair with Karen.
That gave me an idea. It was after midnight now and the
crowd on the dance floor had thinned. It was a weeknight and
people had jobs in the morning. I was bored with
Freestyle and wanted to partner dance. It might be fun
to repeat the show Jane and I had put on at the Jet Set. With that
thought, I gave in and whispered to Jane that yes, it was me. Frowning mightily, Jane wagged her finger
like a third grade teacher chastising a naughty boy.
"Oh, Rick, you are such
a terrible person!! You are in serious trouble for
lying to me! I knew it was you!! I knew it, I knew
it, I said so over and over, but you deliberately aggravated
me."
For a second I
thought she was serious, but then she grinned. Jane said, "C'mon, you bad boy, you owe me a dance
for being so rotten!"
We immediately began to
partner dance which of course drew quite a crowd, especially
when I flipped Jane upside down to big oohs and aahs.
Like I said, I
stayed in shape by tossing women around. Not only
that, Jane had
long been one of my favorite dance partners. However, Jane proved
to be my undoing. While I
was out there with Jane, a couple from the studio named Pat and Bill recognized my
style and waved to me. I didn't mind... I was having too much
fun partner dancing to care about my secret identity any
more. However, I did keep the mask on.
After the song, I swore them all to secrecy. "Don't you
dare tell anyone at the studio!"
"So, Jane," I asked, "what's
the story on your husband?"
Jane blushed. "That is
actually on the level. We are still together."
"So where is he? What are
you doing here?"
"Kenneth does not like to
dance and does not want to learn, but right now he is out of
town. He knows I am here tonight with my girlfriend Elaine. No
doubt I am facing another one of our arguments when he returns
home. But let's not talk about that. Right now I
just want to dance."
I spent the rest of the evening dancing with
Jane and once with her friend Elaine.
At a certain point late in the night, somewhere around 1 am, the
floor was empty. The few remaining people cleared the dance floor
and encouraged us to give it our best shot. Seeing
a big grin on Jane's face, I was happy to oblige. Now that I
had room to execute some of the riskier acrobatics, I took my hood off
for safety purposes. With the floor clear, we performed every acrobatic
move Jane knew and got all kinds of applause.
After that, Jane was flush with excitement. For a moment
there, she gave me a look. I knew exactly what that look
meant. But then I thought of Patricia and thought otherwise.
"Jane, it has been
really good to dance with you again. You are quite the
dancer. Well, I better go now and leave on a high note.
I enjoyed seeing you again."
We both knew it was the
right thing to do, but that did not stop either of us from
knowing what had passed between us. Jane gave me a hug
and a wistful look, then took off with Elaine. Now
that Jane was gone, I saw no reason to stick around.
This had been quite a night. I had come to
elan to dance without inhibition. With
my costume freeing me from my acute
self-consciousness, I had been rewarded with one of my
favorite
adventure. It was fun to be the star. I loved
Disco so much. I never wanted it to end.
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THURSDAY,
OCTOBER 26, 1978
A PROMISE FROM PATRICIA
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It was Thursday,
October 26, one night after my visit to elan.
Patricia was in a good mood as she walked into her dance class. It was hard to believe our new
romance was only a week old. After giving me a kiss, Patricia
said she was
looking forward to tomorrow night's Halloween Party at the Pistachio
Club.
I had the Jet
Set to teach, but decided it could wait. I invited Patricia
to stay behind for some extra practice. Patricia had the same problems
learning to dance as me back when I started.
Patricia was not a natural
dancer. For one thing, she was analytical and her
brain got in the way. She was a control freak who had
zero instincts for following. Consequently she was
stiff and tense when we partner danced.
I think I knew
what her problem was. If forced to guess, the problem
was her pride. During our conversation at Vargo's, Patricia
had told me she preferred not participate much in the dancing
back in high school. More than likely, Patricia did
not like to Freestyle because she could not bear to look bad
at anything she did. She was so used to being perfect
that the thought of messing up while trying to get the hang
of it was abhorrent to her. I was reminded of the rich
guys at elan last night who did not bother to
dance. Why should they? Their looks, money and
well-practiced pickup lines guaranteed attention. Patricia
was their female counterpart. I imagine
her beauty alleviated any need to participate in the dancing. No
doubt Patricia held court surrounded by young men eager
for a hint of her smile.
Well aware her
pride was responsible for her difficulty, that is why I suggested
we practice a little after class.
The nice thing about partner dancing is that it disguises a
lack of natural dance ability. I realize this is an
odd thing to say, so let me explain. Freestyle
requires a willingness to shake your booty and move your
body in suggestive, uninhibited ways. Considering
Patricia was very formal and proper, that was out of the
question. But partner dancing does not require hip
motion or body contortions. That is why all those
doctors and researchers in Victoria's group were enjoying
themselves. They did not feel silly when they partner
danced.
Thanks to my
patience, Patricia began to discover the same thing.
Once she got over her fear of looking ridiculous, she relaxed a little.
That helped considerably. Once Patricia discovered if she waited for me to
lead, she didn't stumble all the time. This in turn
meant that her mistakes would not be so obvious and no one
would laugh at her. This cheered her up immeasurably.
Patricia thanked
me for the help. "Now I am not so worried about
looking like a fool tomorrow night."
Pleased by her
attitude improvement, I asked what her costume would be.
With a big grin,
Patricia replied, "As a way to acknowledge our first conversation, I have decided to come as a Patrician."
Seeing the
twinkle in her eye, I did an
immediate double-take. If I didn't know better, Patricia
was making an attempt at humor. Imagine that. Playing
along, I commented, "Gosh, Patricia,
being Patrician is your natural
state of being. How will I recognize you?"
"Don't
worry, you'll recognize me."
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