SUNDAY, September 9, 1979
JENNIFER'S FAMILY
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Sunday, September
9, was an important day. Tonight would mark the
debut of my curious career as a Western dance teacher.
First, however, I had promised to meet Jennifer's family for lunch. As I drove to the
restaurant, I had misgivings. I had not
spoken to Jennifer since Wednesday night.
However on Sunday
morning, I spoke briefly with Jennifer on the phone. I was
pleased to hear the excitement in her voice about how I would meet her
family for lunch. However, I still had no inkling why she had flown
to Dallas. Nor did I understand why I had not been
invited to last night's wedding as her escort. I decided not to ask.
Given how poorly Thanksgiving had
turned out with
Patricia's parents a year ago, I wasn't getting my hopes up for
Jennifer's family.
Recalling the disdain Patricia's father had felt for a lowly
dance teacher, I wondered if a similar Fate awaited today. To
my pleasant surprise, just the opposite took place.
Jennifer's family liked me. Jennifer
spotted me at the restaurant door and rushed over to greet me. Jennifer made a special point to bring me
directly to her father.
He rose to greet me with a
handshake and a warm smile. "I am very glad to meet you, Rick.
Please call me Frank."
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I was grateful for the
warm greeting. Recalling how
Patricia's father had barely said a word, Frank's
ready acceptance touched me. Jennifer's mother and her two high school
age brothers were
equally friendly. I took careful note of
the pleasure Jennifer took from introducing me to her family. She seemed so proud of me. I
also noticed her father's
smile as Jennifer made the introductions. Father and
daughter obviously
had a special connection. Anyone who made his daughter happy made
Frank happy. I was so taken aback by the warm reception, I nearly began to cry.
Trust me, this had been a really tough weekend. As I sat down, I hoped they did not notice the
tears welling up in my eyes.
Want to know
something odd? Age 29, I had never met the father of a
girlfriend until Patricia came along. As for Victoria's father, I
never met him, but I knew he had a low opinion.
Based on whatever lies or half-truths Victoria had fed the man,
her father referred to me as the Playboy. In
stark contrast, Jennifer's father seemed genuinely interested in me. I was surprised at how
touched I was by his kind reception.
It had been ages since I had felt 'Respectable'.
I was not close to my own parents. Although they both knew
about my dance career, they could have cared less. This
past year with its neverending problems
had cost me much of my self-respect. I had
always believed I was a good person, but I had spent the past year
telling one lie after another. In addition to breaking
Joanne's heart, Patricia viewed my dance career as pathetic
while Victoria
reminded me I could not hold a candle to her husband's
brilliance. In the midst of so much
criticism and guilt, Jennifer promised a fresh
start. I really appreciated this
unexpected chance to hold my head high.
Frank and I
did all the talking. While Jennifer and her family listened
with interest, the
conversation became a gentle interview of sorts. I didn't
mind. After being ignored at Thanksgiving, I was flattered to
be the center of so much attention. There was no doubt
this man sincerely wanted to get to know me, so I was happy to
cooperate. As I answered his questions with candor, Frank
smiled. He never criticized my story in any way, even the part where I
told him how I had been thrown out of Graduate School in 1974.
Frank nodded sympathetically when I admitted my professors might
have been right all along. I explained it still hurt to admit
that I wasn't the right person to become a therapist, but as my self confidence had risen during the Disco phenomenon,
so had my acceptance of past failure. He was especially interested
when I told the Silver Lining story of how Graduate School
failure had led to my dance career. He nodded with
approval as I told him what I was trying to accomplish with my
dance program.
I winced when
I noticed Jennifer's jaw drop. She had never heard me
tell the story
of Colorado State. But Frank was very encouraging, so I
continued. When I told him how much I
enjoyed teaching dance, Jennifer's father said he was glad that I had
found something I enjoyed. When I sheepishly confessed it was kind of
frivolous job, Frank countered by saying I was being
modest.
"Young man,
let me share some experience with you. It is rare in life
to be able to make living at something one is skilled at and enjoys as
well. Don't be so hard on yourself."
I only got one frown.
I told him I had misgivings about the future of Disco dancing and that
maybe I should go back to a more traditional career path.
"I disagree,
Rick. I advise you to be patient and stay with it.
Jennifer says you might have some new opportunities with
country-western dancing. From my vantage point, you
are in the perfect position to be patient. You are young and you have no dependents,
so why not follow this path a little longer? Don't
quit the dancing just yet. Follow your dream, son."
When Jennifer's
father called me 'son', this time I really struggled to fight back
the tears. My biological father had never been much on praise or
support, so Frank's kind words really got to me. I was very touched that a man
of this caliber would show respect for my unusual path.
The
stress of Victoria's continuing nightmare, the death of Disco, plus
my uncertainty about the country
dance class later tonight had me feeling very tense. Tonight I was about
to embark on a path that could change the direction of my life. If ever I had
needed some encouragement, this was the right time.
Taking these kind
words as a good omen, I was on the verge of serious
tears. Thankfully, I was
saved by the waitress. She came by to ask who wanted
desert. This was my chance, so while everyone was
distracted I quickly dried my eyes with a napkin. Then I got up and said, "I
have to meet a friend to go over plans for my class tonight, so this is
probably a good time for me to go. I really enjoyed meeting all of you so much!
Thank you for inviting me."
Jennifer grabbed my hand
and walked me out to the parking lot.
"I think my
father likes you a lot."
I smiled. "I
like him too. You
have a wonderful father."
Jennifer nodded.
"That's for sure. Dad is really special.
You two really hit it off. He's always been cordial to my
boyfriends, but I've never seen him like that." Jennifer was beaming. When we reached my car, Jennifer hugged me and
kissed me. Then she wished me
luck.
"Rick, will you come over
tonight after you teach at the Meyerland Club?
I want to hear all about how things went."
"Of course."
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SUNDAY, September 9, 1979
DREAMS
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As I
drove to the Meyerland Club, I finally
let those tears out. I must have cried the
entire way. I was under so much pressure with
my failing job and the volatile woman who would not
let go. Right now the only door open to me was
something I despised with a passion. Even
Jennifer had me off-balance. I still wondered
why I had not been invited to join her at the
Saturday wedding. But what I did not expect
was how much meeting Jennifer's father would upset
me. As much as I had appreciated Frank's
kindness, his
praise had caused my heart to ache. Jennifer's
father made me realize how
badly I longed for approval. I still despised my
own father
for abandoning me. Ever since he ruined my
childhood with his affair, we rarely spoke. As
for my mother, all she
ever did was ask for money that never got
repaid. Lance Stevens
hated me. I had a thousand friendly
acquaintances such as the Clear Lake Seven couples, but no close friends.
I no longer considered Victoria a friend. Other than
the Clark family and Jennifer, that was it. I
guess what I am trying to say is that I
was on my own most of the time. I had to face
these dilemmas completely on my own.
Over the
past six years, I had experienced untold amounts of
failure and criticism.
Dr. Fujimoto had reduced me to rubble with his sharp
words in Graduate School. Then he expelled me
for good measure. During the Lost
Years, I had been stuck in a dead-end
social work job unable to accomplish much of anything.
For the past year and a half, I had been humiliated
many times by my boss Lance
Stevens over my lack of dance ability and experience as
a teacher.
I had been nagged to death by Patricia for wasting my time on
a
frivolous dance job and I had been
nitpicked to death by Victoria over how poorly I matched
up against her talented husband Michael. Until
Jennifer came along, no one patted me on my back.
I felt like I was fighting for my career all on my
own and right now I was scared to death of
losing everything I had worked for.
With so many negative influences,
imagine my surprise
to receive encouragement from Jennifer's
father. Frank appreciated that I had created a business
pretty much on my own. Well, not really.
I gave God most of the credit with all those lucky
breaks and Victoria got the rest. Nevertheless I was stunned by
his welcome acceptance of my job. Are you
kidding me? You mean a dance teacher can be
respectable? That was the first time I had ever
been complimented on dancing as a profession.
Without coming out and telling me to my face, most people put 'Disco Dance Teacher' on par with
subservient positions such as 'Life
Guard', 'Ski Instructor', 'Hair Stylist' and 'Bartender'.
Most people had no idea I was a college graduate. Who needs a college degree to teach people to dance?
I could
not forget how
Jennifer kept beaming at me this afternoon. She was thrilled that her
father liked me. I wished I could have had a father
like hers back when I was a kid. But maybe it
wasn't too late. If I married Jennifer, then I
would have this incredible family to call my own. Oh my goodness,
wouldn't that be awesome? I could not help but
feel I had passed my first test as a potential
son-in-law with flying colors. I was in love with Jennifer
and I fell in love with her family too. My shoulders straightened
considerably at the thought of being part of this tight-knit,
loving family. Maybe these powerful feelings I
felt were not just a dream.
But what was I going to do about Victoria? Where Victoria was concerned, I felt
absolutely no guilt about pursuing Jennifer.
I was so tired of Victoria's back and forth that I
wanted to scream!! Victoria had been all talk and no action for two
straight months. "Today is the day for
firm decisions! Or is it?"
Jennifer was the one.
Only once before in my life had I felt like this... Katie.
I had failed miserably with Katie, but now that my confidence
had been restored, I was doing well with Jennifer.
However, as long as Victoria was in the picture, there was
danger. So far Victoria had no inkling
of Jennifer's existence. Let's keep it that way. Victoria would go
ballistic
if she found out.
Well, too bad. Victoria was married and I had made no
promises. Although that all-important
Forbidden line had
been brushed, it had not been crossed. Victoria could protest all she
wanted, but the ring was on her finger, not mine.
I had every right to see Jennifer.
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SUNDAY, September 9, 1979
THE COUNTRY-WESTERN FASHION SHOW
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Just
when I thought my life could not possibly get
weirder, it got weirder. You won't believe
this story.
After lunch with Jennifer's family, I
got to the Meyerland Club early.
With time to kill, I sat in my car awaiting Joanne's arrival. I nervously
considered my risky gamble. I reminded
myself to try to put my C&W prejudice aside.
My main objection was being forced to give up Disco to accept Country
in its place.
However, no matter
how much I hated 'Country' for murdering
my beloved Disco, what choice did I have but to
walk through the only door open to me?
As a result, I was in the precarious position of
teaching a class I had no business teaching.
Considering I was about to teach a form of dancing I had only
briefly seen with my own eyes, I
was in great danger of being exposed as a
fraud. I should have been ashamed of myself for
impersonating a qualified C&W instructor,
but I needed to make a living. I did have
one very unusual advantage. I had been here before with Disco.
Thanks to spending six months playing a risky
game called 'Fake it till you Make it', I
figured my Faking skills would transfer to
Western. As
long as I knew more than the people I was
teaching, I could probably fool them.
However, if
there was one good Country dancer in the
room who knew what the dancing was supposed to look like, I
risked terrible embarrassment. One
tough
question or ignorant move on my part was all it would
take to expose me.
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Hopefully the Polka material would be enough to
fake our way through the night. I
did not have a clue about Western Waltz or
Texas Twostep. What would I do if someone asked me a question
I did not have an
answer for? Would Joanne be able to help?
Given her woeful lack of knowledge, it was doubtful she would know the answer.
However
she might be able to run
interference. When Joanne arrived, I wasted no time telling her to cover
for me if necessary.
"What are you talking about, Rick? I don't know how to explain
anything. You know I never talk in Disco
class, so what makes you think I am going to
talk in Western class?"
"I
understand that. I am thinking more in
terms of distraction. If someone asks me a particularly
tough question, I plan to say, 'Hmm, that's a good
question. Let me think for a moment.' That
will be your cue to bail me out. When you
hear that, I want you to interrupt me and say, 'Rick, is
this a good
time to play some music?' I will
reply, 'Why
yes, Joanne, that's a great idea!'"
Joanne repeated her line: "Rick, do you want me to play some music?"
Then she looked at me. "Is that all I have to say?"
"Yes, say that as a way to break the train of
thought. Just
get me through the first class. Once I
know what I am dealing with, I can
adjust from there."
Joanne was a lot more worried about this than
I was. Thanks to my 'Fake it till you Make
it' phase last year, I had vast experience at bluffing
my way through dance class. However, if I
got caught, Joanne would suffer the same embarrassment
as me.
Considering she knew how poorly prepared I was,
Joanne was convinced something was going to go wrong.
At first, her fear was starting to get to me.
However, the
moment we entered the room, I realized I had nothing to
worry about. Why?
The large ballroom was very
crowded. There were at least 50 students.
This was amazing. It meant that I would be able to reward Joanne's
loyalty with a sizeable check. But what
really got my attention were the preposterous Western
outfits these Über-wealthy women
were wearing.
Their outfits were
so gaudy, they
seemed more suitable as Halloween costumes.
Joanne
immediately turned to me in shock. We both
grinned, then looked back in
wonder. So
these were the latest fashions, 'Western Chic'
as Sandy had coined it. Truthfully, I
don't think
I had ever seen anything more ridiculous in my
life. Nor had Joanne. You had to see
it to believe it.
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Full of astonishment, Joanne whispered, "The
farm girls I
grew up with would not be caught dead
wearing this stuff!"
No kidding! It took
everything in my power not to break out laughing. This
was hysterical.
Looking around,
the only person in this room who might
have conceivably milked a cow was
Joanne. So why was I no
longer intimidated?
I would
bet my entire paycheck that not one person in this room
had ever been Western dancing.
These wealthy Jewish people were city slickers, definitely not the home, home on the range
types.
The sophisticated clientele included prosperous lawyers and
businessmen with attractive wives whose names regularly appeared in the socialite
pages of the newspaper. Fortunately, I had been a member at the nearby Jewish Community Center
for five years. The JCC was not only
my favorite place to play sports, my
dance career had started there last year. Due to my
JCC experience, I felt very much at
ease with this group. If
this was how they wanted to spend their money,
more power to them.
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Once
my surprise wore off, I
became amused by
the evident ostentation.
These outfits were so overdone I wondered where
these women found the nerve to appear in public.
Fancy cowboy hats, snakeskin boots, tasseled dresses
with Indian designs, turquoise jewelry, the list
goes on. I could not imagine how
much money these women had spent. This wasn't a dance class, this
was some sort of weird fashion show. Even
the men were decked out. They looked like
Kicker Kens dressed to accompany Barbeque Barbies. Thanks no doubt to their
fashion-conscious
wives, the men were decked out in new boots, new cowboy hats
and the latest in Western shirt design.
Despite their sheepish grins, the men
seemed to be enjoying
this golden opportunity to be pretend Cowboys.
Judging by the drinks in their hands, the
alcohol was playing a key role in their good
mood. As
everyone strutted and preened, I decided
the members of this club had way too much disposable income.
While Joanne and I were
looking at the biggest payday of our lives, some
of these outfits probably cost more money than we
would make for teaching the entire eight week
class. In my opinion, the
whole thing was silly beyond comprehension.
However, don't bite the hand that feeds you.
I had the sense to keep my opinion to myself.
Staring in
disbelief, I wondered why these women would
spend small fortunes on clothes that amounted to
little more than 'wear it once and put it
your closet' costumes.
No self-respecting female would wear these
outfits in public. Or at least I hoped
they had the sense not to.
The mysterious closing of the Discos to make way
for Western clubs had been my first clue that
something totally absurd was taking place in
Houston. Now I had my second clue.
Whoever instigated the Western Dance Club Transformation was surely behind this fashion extravaganza
as well.
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I quietly tipped my
cowboy hat to the mysterious Wizard of Oz.
Whoever
visualized this expensive farce was part-madman, part
genius. Urban Cowboy was set to debut next
summer. That was nine months in the
future. Nine months is a very long time.
Who on earth has the power to stir up so much fuss
this far
in advance?
Who was the
marketing genius who could persuade intelligent
women to spend a small fortune on clothes
they might wear once or twice, then completely
forget?
I
had read a woman's fashion article in the
Houston Chronicle that predicted
Urban Cowboy was going to be the
biggest thing to hit Houston since the
Astrodome. Famed designer Oscar de la Renta was quoted in the
article, "Thanks
heavens Texas women love clothes. They are a beacon of what is
wonderful about America."
Considering how outlandish these outfits were,
where did this kind of confidence come
from?
Although I had nothing against wealth, conspicuous Fashion statements
were foreign to me. My
middle class upbringing could not conceive spending a small fortune
on a fancy wardrobe with limited practicality.
I suspected these clothes were destined
for a resale shop. What was the point?
No one even knew
if the movie was going to be a hit or
not. So why all this unnecessary consumption?
The fashion mavens here at the Meyerland Club did not care if the movie was a hit. As
long as
their girlfriends were interested in playing along,
that was all that mattered.
I would bet
money that
90% of these people could care less
about learning to dance Country. These
people were no more Country than I was
Japanese. And yet they were ready to
dance Western for the first time in their lives.
Why go
to such lengths? It had to be the clothes.
I would bet these wealthy women had gone on a wild shopping
spree and decided to organize this class as a sneaky reason to show
off their clothes.
It occurred
to me that someone in
the fashion
industry had bet the farm that Urban
Cowboy was going to be big. The
article went on to say that Mr. de la Renta was a frequent
visitor to the Bayou City.
Looking at these women decked
out in their Country finery, I finally understood why
articles about Mr. de la Renta were appearing in the Houston Chronicle.
Whoever organized this Western Fashion onslaught was also
planting these stories in the newspaper. Oh how I
yearned to know who it was and how on earth they pulled it
off. I wanted to bow down and acknowledge their
genius.
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Tonight's fashion show violated common sense. Saturday
Night Fever had triggered an interest in Disco
dancing. The ensuing Disco apparel appeared as a
Reaction
to the Disco phenomenon. However, in this case, there
were no flooded C&W floors. I know this because Joanne
told me so. That meant these people were
anticipating a
country phenomenon rather than 'reacting'. That struck me as really
strange. One
Disco after another was closing because club owners 'anticipated'
Country was going to be big. Likewise these over-dressed women 'anticipated' Country was going to be big.
However, in reality Country was not
big, at least not yet. With the movie nine months away,
someone's
masterful hype
had convinced these people to put the horse before the apple
cart. I was dying to know who it was.
As I gazed around the room, I asked who had the marketing skills to pull this
off. Was this John Travolta's doing?
John Travolta
had created Disco, the biggest dance phenomenon since the Big Band Era.
Now
people seemed to expect he would do the same thing for
Western dancing. But the movie had not even been
filmed, much yet released, so why were people going nuts
a year before the debut? No, this wasn't Travolta.
This was someone else. Travolta's reputation helped
considerably,
but this fashion show suggested extraordinary
behind-the-scenes manipulation. The inexplicable
changes such as these fashions and Houston's Disco
closings were taking place way too far in advance to pin this
all on John Travolta. No, this
had to be the
work of some sort of Wizard of Oz
who dreamed up these strange developments. Completely
in the dark, all I could do was shake my head in wonder. If this was Hollywood, what
fantasy-crazed script writer could possibly dream up a scenario
more ridiculous than seeing my dance career rescued by Oscar de la Renta's Western fashions?
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SUNDAY, September 9, 1979, the disco years,
AGE 29
RETURN OF THE GREAT IMPOSTER
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Out
of curiosity I
asked Joanne if she had ever seen clothes like
this at Gilley's or Cactus
Club or any other Western
club she had visited.
"Are you
kidding? No self-respecting cowboy or cowgirl
would dream of appearing in public looking like
this. I bet one of those outfits is equal to
my monthly salary. The people I dance
with worry about paying their rent and their car note.
Not these people. They are
here to just show off."
I laughed. That's what I
thought too. To think I had been afraid someone who actually knew
something about country-western dancing would show up. I had worried needlessly. There wasn't a 'Real Cowboy' in the bunch. That
included me. I had almost no idea what I was teaching. Other
than Joanne, we were all
pretending to be Country.
Joanne and I
marveled as everyone went from person to person to check out
the outfits and the fancy gowns. This was nothing
short of a Costume Ball, a modern version of the court of
Marie Antoinette. In place of the French Minuet,
tonight we had the Cotton Eye Joe. Bad
trade. I suspected French couture would likely beat Texas
couture
any day of the week.
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Who was I to
criticize? I decided if this goofy fashion show made people happy, far be it for me
to rain on their parade. I
do not
think I was alone. I suppose most of these people were well aware of the absurdity.
But why say a discouraging word? Easier to play along and have
a good time. They were clearly having fun, so I would
too.
Now that I knew this dance lesson
was merely an excuse to show off everyone's
fancy new clothes, I relaxed. The class was already ten minutes
late. Awesome. I was more than
happy to let these people waste as much time as possible.
The
less remaining time I had to cover the
Polka, a dance I barely understood, the better.
When I saw Sandy wave to get our attention, I knew we were
about to start. However, I made sure to take one last
look to ensure this once-in-lifetime vision would remain
etched in memory. Gosh, I wish I had brought a camera. As I prepared to greet the class, I
shook my head in wonder. I never imagined
my dance career would be rescued by a Country-Western
fashion show.
We
started with the Cotton Eyed Joe.
About five minutes into my explanation, I
noticed how boisterous the crowd was. When I noticed
many people still had mixed drinks in their hand,
I understood. I had seen this last summer
at the
Gangster Dance Class. That had
been
an event where it was okay to got loaded. With
that memory, a light bulb
turned on. Whenever people mix booze and
dancing, a sense of humor is more effective than
dance instruction that requires concentration. As a test, I
told a joke about a former country-western dance
student (fictitious of course).
"One night a
guy named Chris
admitted he had
never danced the Cotton Eyed Joe in public.
Curious, I
replied, "What's the matter, Chris? I
thought you knew how to do the Cotton Eyed Joe."
"Yeah,
Rick, I do."
"So what's
the problem, amigo?"
"I'm
worried about messing up and looking bad in front of
my girlfriend."
"Why not get
drunk and work up your nerve?"
"Yeah, I
tried that, but every time I got drunk enough to get out
there, I couldn't remember the footwork."
For a moment, no
one said a word. With a groan, I realized they were
too drunk to understand the punch line. The joke was
too complicated. Nervously, I added, "Hey, y'all, it's a joke!"
Once everyone
realized I had told a joke, the roar of the crowd was
deafening. "Oh, I get it, too drunk to remember how
to do it!" Considering it was a lame joke, my
suspicion was confirmed. To put it politely, the crowd
was pleasantly inebriated. Most of them had come early
to have cocktails, maybe loosen up a bit while they
participated in this unusual Costume Ball. From the
looks of them, most of the men had their arms twisted to
attend. They came strictly as a way to humor their
wives. Happy wife, happy life. In
that case, serious drinking was the easiest way to get through
the night. I smiled.
In the state these guys were in, the Great Imposter had
nothing to worry about.
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"Grab your partner,
do si do, here we go with the Cotton Eyed Joe!"
My decision
to
stretch out teaching the Cotton
Eyed Joe as long as possible
was an inspired choice.
The more time I wasted,
the better.
I refused to listen to the music because it made
me nauseous. However, I discovered if
I counted the first 8
beats
when the music began,
that is when the dancing was supposed to start.
That much I could do. After that I stopped
listening to the music. The first time we
put on the record, to my dismay, our footwork
did not end anywhere near when
the music
ended.
Not a good sign, but no one
complained
because they were
all gasping for breath.
I
whispered to Joanne, "Why we did finish
after the music?"
"Because they moved to the speed of your
voice, not the music. When you called
it out, you were nowhere near the beat.
Next time, try listening to the music for a
change."
Listen to the music? I
shook my head in disgust. "I'm sorry,
Joanne. I really don't have any
business being here."
Joanne frowned at me. "You
are correct. You have no idea what you're doing. Incidentally,
that joke you told was awful. You nearly lost
the class right there."
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I nodded. "You're right,
my joke was too
complicated." For a moment, I was lost in
thought. Maybe I needed one
of those drinks myself. What am I doing
here? I hate this dancing. I hate
this music. I hate these clothes. If
I had an ounce of pride, I would quit.
Just then, some woman
interrupted my thoughts to ask a question.
"Rick, why did we finish well after the music
ended?"
Joanne looked at me in horror, but I
was prepared.
"Gosh, ma'am, I think it must be those Western outfits y'all are wearing.
Those clothes are so
loud, no one could hear the music."
This time they
caught on without effort. The guffaws were
endless, so exposure was averted. I smiled, but inside
I was
angry at myself. We had been off-beat due to my incompetence.
Joanne was right. Next
time I guess I would have to listen.
In the meantime, this woman's
question was a blessing
because it gave me an excuse to teach the Cotton
Eyed Joe again under the guise of 'Review'.
What a perfect waste of time!
After prolonging the Cotton Eyed Joe, we
only had 20 minutes left for the Polka.
Gee, what a shame.
However, before I could begin, some lady asked me to
demonstrate the Polka. Sensing she was probably the
only sober person left in the building, this spelled trouble. My fear was intense because
I believed she was suspicious. I looked expectantly at
Joanne. She was just as worried as I was, but then
she caught on. "Hey, Rick, is this a good time to play
some music?"
I groaned.
NO! This was the worst time to play some music because
it obligated us to demonstrate something I did not know how
to do. Joanne realized her mistake, but it was too
late now.
Neither us knew if we could pull this off, but we had to
try. Joanne put on a song called "Luchenbach,
Texas". Sure enough, it was Wailin'
Waylon, my favorite singer (or not). I could not stand
this song, so I refused to listen to it. Instead I put my arms around Joanne and
pretended to lead. In truth, Joanne was pulling me
along as she danced
backwards. She whispered 123-123 the entire time so I would know
how fast to move. We danced
two full circles for about 30 seconds, then stopped and
took a bow.
It was good enough to pass inspection.
In fact, the students
actually clapped after our pathetic demonstration.
Hearing the applause, Joanne and I stared at each other in disbelief.
If they only knew...
When the
song was over, I asked Joanne why she was counting the whole
time. In a whisper,
she replied, "I had to count because it was the only
way to keep you on the
beat. If someone in this crowd realized you can't keep
the beat, they might realize you have no idea you know what
you are doing."
"I'm sorry,
you're right, Joanne. I'll tell you what. I
don't like this music, so
I will teach the steps.
But whenever there's music on, why don't you
call out the rhythm to the class? That way we can
all stay
on the beat."
"You know I don't like to say anything."
"Just do it! How tough is it
to count to three? Just count the steps to the music
out loud, that's all
you have to do."
Joanne nodded,
but she wasn't happy. I had taken this
crowd for granted, but now I realized there was danger after
all. With
a deep sense of dread, I began to teach the
Polka. I had decided to drop the 'Redneck'
from the name. Wrong crowd.
No more 'Redneck Polka'. As for teaching the Polka, I knew so little about what I was doing that I
decided to bluff my way through. One thing I had learned when faking my way
through Disco was to make people laugh. Trusting my
instinct, I converted an
old Disco
joke to Country. I explained that women start
the Polka on their right foot and the men start the Polka on
their wife's foot. ha ha. I was embarrassed at how hard everyone laughed.
It had to be the cocktails.
Seeing how well that joke worked, I told a
follow-up.
"Are
there any lawyers in this room? Here's a
country-western lawyer joke. Did
you hear about the man who lost a foot
in a country dance accident? He tried to sue, but the
defense said he didn't have a leg to stand on."
Groans and
smirks ensued. Thankfully most of them liked it. Half the men were
probably
lawyers trying to remember the joke well enough to tell it
at the office. Desperate to
waste as much time as possible to avoid
actually teaching anything, I did my best to make them laugh.
Sarcasm and insults are the bedrock of Jewish humor, so I
began a prepared spiel.
"Did you
hear about the cowboy who played a country
song backwards? He got his wife back, his truck
back, and his job back."
"Did you
hear about the cowboy who died smoking a cigarette on a
cliff? He threw the wrong butt off the cliff."
"Two
triangles met on a country dance floor and decided to square
dance."
The way they
laughed, you would have thought I was working the Borscht
Belt in the Catskills.
Just
call me Lenny Bruce. Seeing
how the jokes loosened up the crowd, Joanne
shook her head in semi-disgust, semi-admiration.
She could not believe I had the nerve to
blatantly
bullshit my way through tonight's lesson. Joanne's
country-bred values about a day's pay for a day's work were
badly insulted.
However, she also understood the less I taught, the less likely
we would get caught. So she played along and pretended
to
laugh.
When I
wasn't making wisecracks, Joanne
carried me the rest
of the way. She covered every
mistake I made when we danced together and made sure to keep
smiling when I stepped on her feet. I had to hand it
to Joanne. She was scared
out of her wits just like I was,
but there she was playing 'Fake it Till you Make it'
like an old pro. I was proud of her.
However, I cringed when
Joanne began to call
out the Polka to music. "Ready, Go. 123 123 123 123 123".
A unit of Polka was six steps, not
three. Even I knew that much. But poor
Joanne couldn’t seem to make it
all the way
up to 4-5-6. I made a mental note that next week I would
resume doing the counting even if it meant listening to the
music. 1-2-3,
4-5-6. That gave me an idea, so I turned around
and told a joke
about the dancing cowboy who wore a glove with six fingers
so he could count his Polka steps. Another big laugh,
another look of disbelief from Joanne. Somehow we
made it through the hour.
Everyone thanked us and said how much fun it was.
I don't know if we fooled them, but
at least no one
confronted us. After
class, Joanne pulled me aside in the parking lot.
"Where did all those stupid jokes come from?
You spent more time telling jokes than teach."
"I
just wanted to get through the night, Joanne.
We had so little material to work with, I didn't
want to run out of something to teach.
Besides, I figured the more I said nothing of
importance, the less
chance I would get caught explaining something
the wrong way."
"You know, I have taught the Cotton Eyed Joe
to a couple guys over at the Cactus
Club just like I taught you that one
time. They always get the footwork by the end of
the song, 3 minutes at the most. I
watched the clock while you taught the
Cotton Eyed Joe. You
stretched it to 40 minutes!
How the heck did you do that?"
I
laughed nervously. "I'm
not sure what your point is. Are you
saying you disapprove?"
"I'm not sure. At first I had no idea what you were
doing with all the jokes and teasing, but now I get it.
You deliberately stretched the Cotton
Eyed Joe to disguise your lack of knowledge
about the Polka."
"Let's
keep that our little secret. Next week, I will get serious, but
for tonight the fewer chances I took, the
better. Incidentally, thank you. I could not have
pulled this class off
without you. In particular, you really
saved my butt during that Polka demonstration."
She
nodded and gave me a little smile. "You
know what, Rick, you are something else.
You don't know a damn thing. So how you got us through tonight is beyond me.
But we have to do better next week. Can I assume we will meet again at the studio
next Wednesday? And you
promise Victoria won't be there?"
"Don't worry,
the coast is clear. See you on Wednesday at 4 pm for Round
Two."
With that I
closed her car door and Joanne took off mumbling
to herself. One
down, seven to go. I was hardly out
of the woods, but this had been a good start.
Now that I had bought some time, I had a fighting chance of
surviving this giant gamble. Thank goodness Joanne was back.
What a pleasure it was to have her there.
It was just like old times. Thanks to Joanne and Texas women who love
clothes, I might just
save my dance career.
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