SATURDAY, November 23, 1974, the lost years, Age 25

THE RIVER OAKS SEVEN SEND A MESSAGE

After Rachel left town, predictably a major depression set in.   As things stood, the Dance Project had gone on hold the moment I met Rachel on Thursday, November 7.  I did not go to dance class on Saturday, November 9, heading to Galveston instead.  I was too depressed over Aaron, the Rice professor, to go to dance class on Saturday, November 16.  As for the Magic Mirror, I had not practiced in over two weeks.  Each night I took one look at the Magic Mirror and said to heck with it.  I wasn't in the mood anymore.  Instead I headed to my thinking chair and mulled things over.  I was deeply preoccupied with the Supernatural nature of this event.  In particular, I found Rachel's similarity to Vanessa to be uncanny.  The aggressive approach, the need to leave town soon, words of love followed by... 

After Rachel's departure, I came to view her as a messenger from God.  Why?  Rachel differed from Vanessa in one extraordinary way.  She told the truth about sleeping with Aaron.  Trying as best I could to put my hurt feelings aside, I asked myself an interesting question.  How many women would have told the truth in that situation?  Emily had lied to me.  Carol had lied to me.  Vanessa had lied to me.  But Rachel had told the truth at considerable expense to herself.  One little fib and we could have had one more night of bliss together.  Hmm.  My intuition suggested that Rachel was sent to teach me a lesson.  If so, what could I learn from her?

I saw Rachel as a role model.  This talented woman had shown me the correct way to live one's life... take chances, open up to people who were different, be truthful even when the truth hurts someone dear, act decisively without needless delay.  Yes, Rachel had exposed my flaws, but that wasn't such a bad thing.  In a manner reminiscent of Fujimoto, Rachel had taught me exactly what I needed to work on to advance myself.  I had issues with jealousy, possessiveness, and fear when opportunities arose.  So, yes, in a Cosmic sense, my time with Rachel had definitely helped me along my path.  I would be wise to emulate her.

Rachel imparted another message, a stealth time bomb destined to explode soon.   Prior to that, the River Oaks Seven imparted a message of their own.  It was Saturday, November 23.  One week had passed since I lost my temper with Rachel.  For lack of anything better to do, out of habit I returned to David's Freestyle dance class.  Trust me, the River Oaks women were not happy to see me.  But they shrugged and turned their backs.  Unfortunately, even though the pressure was off, my heart was not in it. 

I had not practiced in the mirror once in three weeks.  In fact, I was strongly considering dropping the whole damn thing.  It had taken a massive guilt trip to force myself to attend today's class.  Furthermore, now that I was here, I regretted coming.  Whatever David was teaching, I could care less.  Barely going through the motions, mostly I watched the River Oaks women.  I noticed their poise, their regal bearing, their self-confidence.  What a privilege it must be to occupy such a lofty position in society.  It occurred to me Rachel could stand right next to these women.  Based on a strong hunch that Rachel was born to wealth, I imagined she would fit in nicely with this elite group.  At the moment Rachel was touring America breaking a new heart in every town.  However, someday she would settle down and no doubt achieve greatness.  I fully expected to read about Rachel in a magazine some day.

As for me, I was hardly destined for greatness.  Not at this rate.  I stared at myself in the dance class mirror.  If nothing else, today's class had gotten me to look in the mirror again.  As usual, I was disgusted with what I saw.  I felt sick as I stared at the noticeable scars on my face.  Maybe that's why Rachel deserted me.  My scars were my favorite explanation whenever something went wrong.  However, this time I was not so sure.  Rachel had no problem with my looks whatsoever. 

Then I observed my dancing.  Seeing how fluid the River Oaks women were compared to my mechanical motion, I had a long way to go if I expected to catch them.  Darn it, why was I even bothering?  Losing Rachel had taken all the fun out of my Dance Project.  This is when a very painful insight hit.  The whole point of the Dance Project was to use dancing as a way to get to First Base with women I met in clubs.  Okay, if it didn't take a lifetime, sure, I would like to learn a few dance steps.  However, given my lack of progress, it was time to rethink this.  'Dancing' did not have a single thing to do with Rachel.  I met Rachel on the volleyball court.  I met Yolanda at her job.  I met Gloria at my apartment project.  And how many women had I met through dance?  Zero.  So what did I need dance for?  There had to be other ways to meet women that were a lot easier than this goofy uphill struggle I had committed to. 

But that was not all of it.  Dancing could get me to First Base with women, but what about Second Base?  Third Base and Home Plate for that matter.  Let me clarify.  Running the base paths means different things to different people.  For example, First base, kissing. Second base, fondling. Third base, private area, Home Plate, figure it out.  To me, First Base was getting a woman to talk to me.  Second Base was a date.  Third Base was a fledgling relationship.  Home Plate, serious relationship.  I had gotten to Third Base with Rachel only to screw everything up.  What good did it do for me to worry about getting to First Base if I was doomed to ruin everything once I got there?  That thought hit me with the power of a sledgehammer.  Now I realized why I had stopped dancing in the Magic Mirror at home. 

Why bother using Dance as a way to meet women when I was bound to screw things up again like I had with Rachel? 

I was wasting my time, wasn't I?  With that negative thought, I lost all enthusiasm for dance.  And with that, I quit.  I didn't want to be here anymore, so I walked out of the room 10 minutes after class started.  I was done forever with this stupid dance class.  And I wasn't coming back either.  Why should I?  Now that Rachel had shown my problems went so much deeper than my fear of approaching women, I was completely disgusted with myself.  This dance idea had to be the stupidest thing I had ever done in my life.  If the River Oaks women wanted to celebrate my departure, let them.  I didn't care anymore.  However, before I left, I stopped to take a mental snapshot of the women.  Curious, they turned their heads and stared back with something akin to pity.  I could not help but notice these women really were beautiful creatures.  They exemplified the woman Rachel would become in time. 

Noting the odd look on their faces, it was like they were trying to tell me something.  Here we go with the Blind Spots again.  I felt my mind was hiding a secret that would no doubt upset me further.  The moment I got home, I moved my thinking chair in front of the Magic Mirror and sat there staring at myself.  Whatever this secret was, it had something to do with Rachel, the River Oaks Seven, and St. John's.  The River Oaks women were the key.  Watching them today had upset me in a new way that I could not put my finger on.   Finally the answer flashed before me.  Every one of those women was likely married to a powerful, successful man.  For that matter, maybe one of their husbands was a distinguished Rice professor, someone like Aaron.  Perhaps someday Rachel would marry a man like Aaron.  Maybe even Aaron himself.  Maybe at the end of her 'See America' adventure, she would pick the winner of her talent search and fly back to him.  That thought hit like a ton of bricks.  What if Rachel married Aaron someday?  I was so upset I could not see straight.
 

I already knew the reason I disliked the River Oaks Seven.  They were older versions of the girls who had turned their backs on me in high school.  I wasn't good enough, was I?  My mind had tiptoed around this issue before.  However, Rachel's dalliance with the Rice professor brought something else into the open... the missing River Oaks husbands.  The River Oaks women had married men who resembled the boys I had gone to school with, boys who by and large ignored me just like the girls did.  No doubt those same boys became wildly successful oil men who had married the talented SJS girls they dated in high school.  That is when it occurred to me the foolishness of dedicating my energy to this ridiculous dance project.  What I should have been doing was pursuing an impressive career that would attract an impressive girl like Rachel, something like becoming a Rice professor.

A successful career would be a million times more effective at impressing a woman than competence on 'Step-Ball-Change'.  And with that, Rachel's ticking time bomb exploded.  The utter cruelty of this realization struck like a knife through the heart.  With my Blind Spot removed, I was overwhelmed with waves of shame.  My jealousy towards Aaron was rooted in the thought that I wasn't good enough to compete with him or my former male classmates for the affection of truly elite women.  

Let's say I met another Rachel someday.  The moment our conversation drifted to what I did for a living, she would realize my long-term prospects were severely limited. 

"So tell me, Rick, what do you do for a living?  What are your plans?  Where do you expect to be in ten years?"

I scoffed.  At this rate, in ten years I would be in the same place I was now... nowhere. 

Following my dismissal from graduate school, I had been an idiot to choose dance lessons over returning to college to find a career any woman could respect.  This Dance Project was not going to cut it.  What I needed was a CAREER. 

Until the day came when I could use a successful career to attract the best and beautiful, I was doomed to remain the Solitary Man. 

Serious

Monday, November 25, 1974, the lost years

THE INVITATION

Oddly enough, God wasn't finished with me.  God had sent Rachel to deliver a painful message, but the intent was not to defeat me.  He wanted my attention.  I know this for a fact because shortly after my Career revelation, God sent the key to my next step.

Don't ask me how, but I emerged from my weekend funk just enough to drag myself to work the following Monday, November 25.  At the first opportunity, I slunk into Mark's office.  Today I needed Mark more than ever before. 

"Mark, I am a mess.  This weekend I finally got to the bottom of what upset me so much about Rachel sleeping with Aaron."

"What did you decide?"

"I cannot believe I lost Rachel to a Rice professor.  That hit on top of a very badly damaged nerve.  How can I ever hope to compete with a guy like Aaron?  He is an educated man who possesses inside knowledge about Israel, Rachel's homeland.  Aaron is an academic superstar, I am an academic failure.  That could have been me at Rice University.  I have the talent to be a professor, or at least I thought I did.  But no, I am the asshole who got himself thrown out of graduate school.  Right now, the irony is overwhelming."

"You are still bitter about being thrown out of graduate school."

"Yes, I am.  You have no idea, Mark.  The pain is driving me insane.  I feel so empty right now.  I have come to the conclusion that I will lose every girlfriend I ever meet to a man who is better than me.  Even if I do meet another Rachel, my lack of career and lack of direction will doom me for eternity.  When it comes to a superior woman like Rachel, she will immediately inquire about my career.  The only reason Rachel didn't care about my lack of career is she would be gone in a week.  But if I were to meet a girl like Rachel who lives in Houston, it isn't like I can pull a career out of my hat."

"Why don't you go back to school, Rick?  You're young, you've got plenty of time to start over."

"Mark, you're right.  You are absolutely right.  But you don't know what it was like to get kicked around in graduate school.  The shame of Fujimoto's putdowns still follows me wherever I go.  I'll be damned if I dare put my head back in that noose again.  I don't want to go anywhere near another school.  There's got to be something I can do with the degree I have, but where do I look?  My prospects are like the old joke... "Yes, I have a degree in Liberal Arts, thank you for asking.  Do you want fries and ketchup with your burger?'"

"I see your point, but this is a decision you need to make for yourself.  If picking a great career was easy, then I would have a different job as well.  Back when I was in college, I wanted a fabulous career in designing clothes.  But after a year or so of knocking on doors that didn't open, I was getting low on funds.  So I decided to settle for a steady paycheck.  Listen, Rick, I hate to cut you off, but I have someone coming for an interview in ten minutes.  Let's pick this up again soon.  Before I forget, I am throwing a party at my house this coming Saturday.  Would you like to come?  Maybe being around some energetic people will cheer you up a little.  Plus I know how much you like to dance.  There will be dancing, I promise."

"Don't ever say that word again.  I'm done with dancing."

"Boy, you really are in a bad mood.  I thought dancing was your big ticket to girls."

"Yeah, so did I until I met Rachel.  Thanks to her, I realized no matter how many dance steps I learn, dancing will never hold a girl of her caliber for long.  Besides, I still can't dance a lick, Mark.  If you saw me dance, you would just laugh.  I am beyond pathetic."

"I have only known you for a month, but I know you tend to be hard on yourself.  Why don't you come to my party and try out some of your moves?  If there is one thing I know about you, dancing makes you happy."

"Not any more.  Dancing is a dead end.  I am really at a loss what to do next."

"Come to my party.  A birdie just told me you should not be alone right now.  You are moody, depressed and you need to snap out of it.  I think you need to socialize a little.  Every time you are alone, you get down on yourself."

"Oh, Mark, I appreciate the thought, but I want to meet girls.  How am I going to meet girls at a gay party?"

"Guess what?  That is where you are wrong.  Lots of different people come to my parties.   Besides, I have a surprise for you.  There will be girls for you to dance with."

Despite my foul mood, I almost laughed out loud.  "Mark, you are the biggest liar I have ever met.  You will say anything because you know I am so stupid and gullible.  With my luck, I will fall for another drag queen."

Mark laughed.  "You know me too well, but this time I'm telling the truth.  Mariah always invites her girlfriends from the Welfare unit she supervises.  We had over a dozen women at my last party.  They were all single.  So quit being a closed-minded jerk and come join us."

Mark pushed a flyer across the desk.  Under the heading 'Party at Casa Mark', it had his address and a simple map.  I picked it up and said, "Okay, Mark, let me think about it.  I'll let you know later in the week."

As I walked back to my office, I had no intention of going to Mark's party.  The whole idea of going to a gay party was ridiculous, but I didn't want to say something to Mark I might regret.  Since it was easier just to say nothing, I avoided Mark for the rest of the week.

 

Saturday, November 30, 1974, the lost years

MULLING IT OVER

Thanksgiving came and went.  Thank goodness Polly and Allen Clark invited me over.    Mark was right... I should not be alone right now.  Spending Thanksgiving with the Clark family was a blessing.  At least I had one place where I felt welcome.

Two days later it was Saturday morning.  I had a decision to make.  Recalling how I had walked out early from dance class last week, I wasn't sure what to do.  Should I return to Disco Dave's class and try again?  It had been two weeks since Rachel left, three weeks since I had danced in the Magic Mirror.  I was falling way behind.  To my surprise, I felt a flicker of interest.  No matter how big a loser I was, Mark was right about one thing.  Dancing did make me happy. 

On the spur of the moment, I decided to return to David's Freestyle class.  As expected, the River Oaks Seven were irritated to see me return.  I could see their frowns thanks to reflections in the front mirror.  Good.  I was glad they were upset.  If I can't be happy, then at least give me the power to make those horrible women miserable. 

On the other hand, David seemed pleased to see me.

"Welcome back, Rick.  I was afraid we had seen the last of you."

Gay or not, I wanted hug David for saying that.  I wondered how the women would react to his comment.  Sure enough, when he welcomed me back, all seven women instantly wanted to strangle him.  David saw the scorn on their faces and immediately panicked at his slip.  The exchange was funny, so I laughed in spite of my bad mood.  Let the aristocrats suffer for a change.

I went to my usual spot in the back.  David put the music on and I did my best to get my big clumsy body moving.  Staring at the River Oaks Seven as I practiced, I was reminded this dance class was just as much a part of my Fate as Rachel had been.  What an odd thought.  If Rachel's appearance was supernatural, then the ongoing presence of these River Oaks women was supernatural as well.  It was a Cosmic Joke that I had chosen 'Dance' of all things to stage my comeback from the Colorado State disaster, but there was no doubt in my mind that I had been guided to this dance class for a purpose.  I had no idea what the future held.  Nor did I know why I had been so blind to ignore the career path.  But my presence in this class was not an accident.  I truly believed that.  For better or worse, these awful women were here for a purpose, so I might as well deal with them.  This thought rallied me.  I had no idea why learning to dance was so important, but when an activity has been given a Divine Seal of Approval, maybe I would be wise to stick with the program.  To my surprise, I was suddenly glad I came back today.  Mark was right... I liked dancing.  Too bad I wasn't any good at it.

In that moment, I suddenly realized Rachel had been given the Cosmic Seal of Approval too.  Rachel had done me a favor by reawakening my ambition to be somebody.  Where on earth had my mountain of ambition gone? 

Once upon a time, getting into college had been my burning ambition.  I was poor and I knew neither parent would help.  So for three years I sacked groceries 20 hours a week to save money for college.  In addition to my job, I studied like crazy and finished in the top five of my class.  I wasn't handed a full scholarship to college by accident, I earned that scholarship!

But then Fujimoto came along and did a fine job of extinguishing my ambition.  Where had it gone?  I felt so lost.  Right now nothing on earth meant more to me than escaping this awful feeling of mediocrity.  I idly wondered if any of these socialite women had gone to St. John's when they were young.  Their refusal to accept me as an equal continued to draw blood.  More than anything in the world I wanted to prove to myself that I was the equal of my ultra-talented former classmates. 

What makes a person superior?  The British assume a person's blood makes them royal, but considering the poor behavior of some of their monarchs, that didn't cut it with me.  No, Superiority was Rachel.  Rachel was the most superior person I had ever met.  Her spirit, her enthusiasm, her willingness to try new things had impressed me deeply.  With that thought, I smiled.  Maybe I was looking at this from the wrong direction.  Previously I believed Rachel had been sent to torment me and expose my weaknesses.  Now I considered the possibility she had been sent to inspire me, to get me moving again.  I nodded at that thought.  Rachel had shown me what it was like to embrace new experiences and meet new people, to not be afraid all the time to take chances.  Rachel had also reawakened my desire to achieve something in this world.  If it took sleeping with Aaron to drive that important message home, then so be it.   Fujimoto had beaten my ambition out of me and Rachel had jolted it back to life.  Call it shock treatment. 

If Rachel was meant to be my inspiration, what would I do if I was more like her?  I suppose I should try something new, something out of my comfort zone.  I should go to a club and ask a woman to dance.  No no no!  Not that.  Hmm.  Something a little less scary.  And with that, I changed my mind about Mark's invitation.  I would go to his party tonight with all those gay people and dedicate the experience to Rachel's memory.  Well aware I was the proverbial shy boy, I needed to find some way to not be such a shrinking violet all the time.  However, as always, Phobia poured cold water on my idea.  Phobia had all sorts of reasons why I shouldn't go. 

'You are still licking your wounds from Rachel's departure two weeks ago.  Why go to a party when you are in such a bad mood? Besides, Mark was just fibbing.  There won't be any girls there.  So what is the point of going to a gay party?  What kind of fun will that be?  What exactly do you intend to talk to these gay people about?  This is a complete waste of your time.'

I frowned.  That damn Phobia is such a jerk.  However, as always, Phobia's logic was tough to argue with.  I wanted to meet women, not men.  Mark had assured me there would be lots of women there in addition to his gay friends, but Phobia didn't believe him.  Neither did I.  At that moment, Chip tossed in an interesting thought.  My mind drifted back to Galveston Beach.  I recalled the girl from the second car who had chosen to keep her swim suit on.  I had been too preoccupied with Rachel to pay attention to her, but I remembered that she was pretty in a shy sort of way.  Maybe Mark was telling the truth.  Maybe I would see that shy girl again at Mark's party.  Besides, I had just spent the entire month of October learning gay-speak.  Maybe I could talk to a couple gay guys.  A little sarcasm, maybe joke or two about having sex on a pool table, I would fit right in. 

When I returned home, I looked at the flyer Mark had handed me.  Mark lived across the street from Cherryhurst Park, the Montrose park where I had taught myself how to play basketball.  I had fond memories of Cherryhurst Park.  I recalled how my border collie Terry would run around chasing squirrels while I practiced shooting lay ups and jump shots.  Any memory of Terry always cheered me up.  I took Cherryhurst Park as a good omen.  However, I would need an umbrella.  That is because Phobia continued to rain on my parade.  Mark said there would be dancing.  Dancing?  Give me a break.  Phobia reminded me I wasn't in the mood to dance nor was I ready to risk someone laughing at my spasticity.  Besides, I was still wallowing in my post-Rachel mourning process.  I had 27 stages of grief to go.  Preoccupied with thoughts of finding a career, dancing was the last thing on my mind. 

Chip said to ignore Phobia.  Maybe I would meet someone, maybe I wouldn't, but it wasn't like I was teeming with options.  Anything beat shooting pool on a Saturday night in my lonely apartment.  I thought again about that shy girl.  Although my mind was set on dating another girl of Rachel's caliber, at the moment I wasn't feeling very picky.  If a girl would smile at me once in a while and laugh at one of my stupid jokes, any girl would do at this point. Chip was right.  It was either go to Mark's party or stay home and feel sorry for myself.  Mark was right about one thing.  It was not good for me to be alone.  Recalling my vow to try new things in Rachel's honor, that was the deciding factor.  I would go Mark's party and feel sorry for myself there instead.  One small step for mankind, etc.

Saturday, November 30, 1974, Age 25, the lost years

DANCE PARTY AT CASA MARK

The moment I walked in the door at Casa Mark, I regretted my decision.  To begin with, Chip's shy girl was nowhere in sight.  And yes, there were women, but they were not quite the women I had expected.  It wasn't till I arrived at the party that I realized Mark had the sense to avoid telling me the women were all lesbian.  Phobia was ecstatic.  "I told you so, I told you so!"

I groaned at how gullible I had been.  Silly me.  As usual, I was so lonely I believed whatever I wanted to believe.  This was the same wishful thinking that landed me in Drag Queen Lynn's arms back in July.  If I wasn't careful, I would probably fall for the same trick tonight.  I immediately looked to make sure Lynn wasn't here.  The coast was clear.  No Lynn and no likely drag queens.  Good.  Let's not do that again. 

Just then my breath disappeared as Mariah walked by.  Mark's wife smiled at me politely, but did not stop to talk.  I could not keep my eyes off her.  Hmm.  Maybe I'll stay a little while longer.  Oh my, Mariah is so beautiful!  I wouldn't mind falling into her arms.  I knew for a fact Mariah was not a drag queen.  I had seen her naked down in Galveston.  A pleasant memory indeed. 

When Mark first mentioned he had a wife, I did a double-take.  Huh?  I thought it was odd for a gay man to have a wife, but decided not to pry.  I was expecting some sort of plump, easy-going Hausfrau, but I was completely wrong.  Although my focus had been on Rachel during the trip to Galveston, I had a chance to discretely appreciate Mariah's lovely naked body.   Tall and model-thin with long, straight dark hair, Mariah was tough to ignore. 

Like Mark, Mariah was a supervisor in the Welfare department, but at another location.  The beach trip had not revealed much about her.  Mark had said she was quiet by nature and I believed him.  Mariah had not said a word during the long drive down and back.  Indeed, at this party in her home, Mariah was quite reserved.  Unlike Mark who was everywhere at once, Mariah limited her conversation to a select few.  I wondered if Mariah was a lesbian.  I watched carefully, but there wasn't anything that gave the slightest hint one way or the other.  So far she had not shown any interest in women.  Actually she didn't show interest in anyone, male or female. 

Mariah's demeanor was not feminine, but not masculine either.  Mariah was a no-frills, matter of fact kind of girl.  Maybe the word 'austere' would work.  Mariah wore no makeup nor did she fix up her long brown hair.  Her clothing was simple.  She didn't smile, but she didn't frown either.  She wore a mask that revealed nothing.  Mariah was the Ice Queen, distant and cool.   

Who is this mystery woman?  I watched her all night long, but never learned a thing about her.  Despite her aloof demeanor, I was very attracted to Mariah.  From the vantage point of my big leather chair, I passed my time fantasizing about her.  Later in the evening, Mariah smiled at me a second time.  However, she did not stop to chat.  As she walked away, I watched how gracefully she moved and nodded in admiration.  I let out a soft whistle in disbelief. 

"How the hell does a gay guy get a wife who looks like Mariah??"

Considering the Mariah-Mark mismatch, my mind raced to Robbie and Yolanda, Mr. Thick and Ms. Thin.  No one ever said Love had to make sense.  And so the story of Mystery Mariah began. 

Unfortunately, other than Mark's beautiful wife, there was not one attractive woman in the house.  I shook my head in frustration as I looked around.  Oh well, now that I was here, I might as well make the best of it.  It was sit here and watch or go back to my lonely apartment.  Anything was better than spending another Saturday night alone.  I was surprised at how crowded the party was.  There were easily 50 people spread out in every room.  It didn't take long to be reminded I had zero party skills.  A loner by nature, I had no idea how to be outgoing.  I was 25 years old, but had never learned how to make small talk with strangers.  And I wasn't likely to learn tonight because I refused to approach anyone.  I was cordial when spoken to, but unwilling to make the first move otherwise.  Sticking to my chair for protection, an hour passed without anyone saying a word to me.  How was I supposed to strike up a conversation with someone I did not know?  What would we have in common?  Hmm.  Just then I thought of something. 

"Hello, my name is Rick.  I have a question.  Have you ever been picked up by a drag queen?  Do you know who the Queen of Sheba is?"

Yeah, I'm sure that would go over well.  I would be the hit of the party.  Since I did not know a soul and conversation was out of the question, I stayed glued to my comfortable chair and watched people dance.  The dance music was playing from the moment I arrived.  Donna Summer and Gloria Gaynor were the current popular singers and Van McCoy's Do the Hustle had just been released.  Lots of people were freestyle dancing, at least 20.  As I watched, I asked myself why exactly am I sitting here.  These people aren't any better dancers than me.  What is wrong with me?  I have taken lessons for four months, yet I still do not have the guts to dance in public.  For the umpteenth time I detested myself for my cowardice.  However, since I didn't know anyone to ask, I stayed rooted to my seat. 

People kept arriving.  Pretty soon Casa Mark was packed.  I discovered that Mark was extremely popular in his world.  Now that I thought of it, I should not have been surprised.  Given his natural warmth, Mark was an excellent host.  Watching Mark make everyone feel welcome, I was envious of his superior people skills.  So far Mark had spoken to me only once, just a brief welcome.  He had waved several times since, so he knew I was here.  Watching Mark in action, I took mental notes.  I wistfully speculated whether the day would ever come when I could be as outgoing as Mark.  It upset me that I did not have the slightest idea how to initiate a conversation with someone I did not know, but what was I supposed to do about it?  It was easier just to sit.  And sit some more.

THE DANCE POLICE

An hour had passed and I had not left this chair since I entered the party.  This chair was my best friend.  Without asking, Mariah had handed me a beer, then wordlessly walked away.  Huh?  What was that all about?  At least I had this beer can to talk to.  I was resigned to the fact that I probably would not leave this chair until I decided to go home.  Mark was too busy for me, so I didn't bother him.  I knew no one and I was too intimidated to ask anyone to dance.  In my defense, I had little enthusiasm for asking a gay guy to dance.  Ditto for the lesbian ladies.  There wasn't anyone I wanted to dance with, so why bother?  I suppose I could have gotten up and asked myself to dance, but with my luck, Phobia would have said no.  Small joke. 

For lack of anything better to do, I thought about Rachel.  When would I ever find another woman like Rachel?  Probably never.  Rachel was one of a kind.  Resigned to being lonely for the rest of my life, I sunk deeper into this big, comfortable leather chair.  Here at Heartbreak Hotel, I felt safe enveloped by my new friend.  Would Couch Catatonia at the Clark's house be jealous?  Probably.  I really liked this chair.  It was my refuge, my protection from an uncaring world that had been mean to me.  Lonely man cries for love and has none, Chapter 407 in the Book of Love.  Aching terribly over Rachel's loss, I refused to leave this chair until the World apologized for its cruelty.  Lost in pity, I nearly jumped out of my skin when some lesbian lady came over to insist I get up and dance with her. 

"Sorry, buddy, but you've been sitting here far too long without dancing.  You're spoiling the party, so get up and dance!"

Totally caught off guard, I was stunned.  Where did this strange woman come from and why was she so demanding?  Flustered, I blurted out, "Naw, I better not.  I don't know how to dance."

To my surprise, the lady would not take no for an answer.  "That is not an excuse.  By the way, my name is Donna," she said, "and I am Chief of Police here at Casa Mark.  During my patrol, I have observed you are in violation of party rules.  We have what an Inactivity Time Limit.  You exceeded your limit an hour ago.  Time's up.  You have to dance whether you like it or not."

This Donna woman was so completely deadpan, I thought she was serious.  I immediately protested. 

"No one told me I had to dance."

"Sorry, mister, ignorance of the law is no excuse.  Stand up, please." 

"Are you serious?"

This time I detected the hint of a smile.  "Yes, of course I'm serious.  It is my duty to make sure all guests dance.  That's the rule.  You have been observed drinking a beer obtained at this party."  Donna pointed to the beer can on the table next to me.  "That is evidence.  That obligates you to comply to the rules of Casa Mark.  Sorry, buddy, you gotta dance.  That's the price of admission."

Although I was impressed with the caliber of Donna's bullshit, I still refused to budge.  However, Donna didn't budge either.  This was a test of wills.  "C'mon, big boy, get up.  This is a party.  Even parties have rules.  It's your turn to dance!  Don't make me hurt you!"

"Who am I going to dance with?"

"Me, stupid.  Now get your ass up."

Dance with a lesbian?  How do I politely say, "Not interested"?  When I didn't move, to my amazement Donna grabbed my arm and started to tug!  Donna was a short, plump woman, so of course I was too strong for her.  However, Donna would not give up.  Instead, Donna waved to another woman.   "Pat, we have a serious problem guest.  Get over here and help me get this bozo on his feet."

I was incredulous when Donna's girlfriend Pat grabbed my other arm.  Now both women were pulling me up, thereby giving a comic twist to the term 'drag queen'.  To my surprise, these women were strong!   And determined too.  Plus they were having way too much fun with this.  Pat started giggling.  "C'mon, you big ox, get up and dance with us.  Quit being such a party pooper." 

Pat's friendly insult broke the tension.  I began laughing in spite of myself.  They were pulling so hard, I would have to use actual force to resist further.  Unwilling to risk hurting the women, I stood up voluntarily.  Pretty much against my will, I suddenly found myself dancing.  I was in shock.  How on earth did this happen?  I could not believe I was on the dance floor with these women.  Good grief!!  My Phobia kicked in and I was terrified.  Were these women going to laugh at me when they saw how bad I was? 

No, they did not laugh at me.  They could have cared less.  Mostly they leered at each other.  I shrugged and kept dancing.

I was so nervous I could only remember one pattern.  I moved my feet side-touch, side-touch for the entire 4 minute song.  That's right - one single move for 4 minutes.  As usual, my self-criticism kicked in.  I had practiced two dozen different patterns over the past four months, but I was so tense I could only think of this one move for the entire song. 

After half the song, Pat left.  It was just Donna and me.  "Hey, what's your name?"

"'Rick."

"Good to meet you, Rick.  I am so glad I didn't have to put you in jail.  We torture guests who don't dance.  Now that you have decided to cooperate, you seem like a nice person.  But I am warning you.  If you wish to stay, I better see you dance again.  Don't make me ask you again.  Do you understand?"

I forced a weak smile.  For the second time I wondered when Donna would start laughing at my mediocre dancing.  To my relief, Donna didn't laugh.  In fact, she didn't frown or make fun of my dancing at all.  In fact, she barely noticed me.  Donna was too busy enjoying herself to care.  She had a happy smile on her face as she worked her ample hips joyfully to the music.

With that, I started to relax.  Oh my gosh, here I am.  I am actually dancing in public!  As Gloria Gaynor belted out, "I will survive", I laughed at the words.  I want to survive too.  I want to survive Rachel, I want to survive Colorado State, I want to prove to the River Oaks Seven that I was just as good a person.  Most of all I wanted to be brave like Rachel.  I wanted to shed this damn Phobia and live life to the fullest like she did.   

When the song ended, I felt a real sense of triumph.  I had just danced in public.  Wow!  Let's hear it for the boy.  I thanked Donna for the dance, then went back to my chair to gloat.  I did it!  I had danced with an actual woman and she did not faint or laugh at me.  Nor had any onlookers laughed and jeered.  No one ridiculed me like Connie Kill Shot's roommates back at the college mixer.  In fact, no one paid a bit of attention.  I felt so silly.  All this worry and no one gave a damn how poorly I danced.  I could be a real dork sometimes.  Why was I always so sensitive?  Insignificant as this incident might seem, it was important to me.  I had crossed a real mental barrier out there.  I was immensely relieved to discover I could dance in public without people laughing at me.  When I stopped to think about it, this was only the third time in my life I had danced in public.  Mass quantities of marijuana had assisted participation at my Senior Prom.  My mistake was to dance sober with Connie Kill Shot in college.  Five years later I danced again and lived to talk about it.  Chip on my Shoulder was proud, but Phobia was pouting.  Phobia was not at all happy over my breakthrough.  Fear does not die easy.

Unfortunately, despite my initial triumph, I wasn't completely cured.  A little while later, several people got up to try a line dance known as the Four Corners.   Donna and Pat were trying to show some of the guests how to do it.  Donna snapped her fingers at me, so I dutifully got up and tried a couple steps.  However it was too complicated, so when Donna was not looking, I sat back down in frustration.   Fortunately, I wasn't traumatized.  Despite my line dance setback, I was eager to try my Freestyle dancing again.  Seeing Pat walk by, I got up and asked her to dance.  To my relief, she agreed.  I was proud of myself for dancing at this party.  My enthusiasm helped me ignore countless warning messages sent by Phobia.  Undeterred, I told Phobia to drop dead.  Dancing with Pat was a signature moment of glory.

Now that I was on a roll, I looked around for another partner.  I noticed an older woman sitting by herself.  She was watching the dancing with the same wistful look as me.  Noticing the way her toes were keeping the beat, I remembered Jim Deane's Fly Me to the Moon observation.  Deane had claimed that toe tapping is a sure sign a girl wants to dance.  I took a deep breath and rose from my leather chair.  My heart pounded as I went up to her and asked.  Imagine my delight when she accepted.  Good for me!  As we danced, I noticed she seemed happy that I had asked.  Gosh, asking girls to dance isn't as hard as I thought it would be!

After the dance, I chatted with the lady for a moment.  Frances, 55, was in the same boat as me.  She was very lonely and eager to talk.  As we spoke, I gathered she was probably a lesbian.  However, she was not getting many offers due to her drab appearance.  It occurred to me that asking Frances to dance versus asking Mariah to dance was not the same thing.  Even though Mariah was no longer a stranger, she was way too beautiful to risk asking for a dance.  I would wise to build my confidence by asking women like Frances, Donna, and Pat to be my dance partners.  For the time being, women in Mariah's league were too big a challenge. 

Oh well, one step at a time.  I was proud of myself nonetheless.  Feeling rewarded for asking Frances to dance, I felt encouraged to try again sometime.  If not tonight, maybe Mark would have another party.  I was glad I had come to Casa Mark tonight.  This party had been a huge tonic for my broken spirits thanks to Donna's bizarre and quite timely intervention.  I was so encouraged by my progress that I was ready to resume my Dance Project in earnest. 

DRAGGED OVER A BARRIER

In Stage Two the dogs were placed in a box with two sides.  Although they could not see the other side due to a barrier, the wall was easy enough to jump.  The bottom of the danger side was electrified.  The moment Seligman rang the buzzer, the bottom of the danger side gave the dogs a shock. 

What happened next?  Two-thirds of the dogs refused to try to escape even though escape was effortless.  The moment the dogs heard the buzzer, rather than jump over the barrier, they laid down in despair and whimpered till the shock went away. 

Seligman was curious to see if he could cure the dogs of their defeatist attitude.  Sad to say, nothing worked at first.  If a dog gave up the first time, he continued to give up.  Nothing could persuade the dog to jump over the barrier to safety.  "Come here, boy, jump!"  No luck.  Coaxing didn't work, whistling didn't work.  Neither did food.

Seligman placed the Defeated Dogs in the box without the buzzer or the electricity.  To his satisfaction, the dogs repeatedly jumped the barrier without a problem.  Then he put the dogs back into box, rang the buzzer and began the shock treatment.  The dogs gave up immediately.  This blew Seligman's mind.  These dogs KNEW how to escape, but the buzzer locked them into failure. 

Someone suggested tying a rope and dragging the dogs across the barrier during the buzzer/shock phase.  To Seligman's surprise, this technique worked occasionally.  By physically dragging the dogs KICKING AND SCREAMING across the barrier while the shock was in progress, half of the dogs caught on and cooperated.  The other half resisted.  

Seligman's Rope Intervention was the only thing that resembled a cure.  Without his help, the mentally-handicapped dogs would have never jumped.  They would have wallowed helplessly on the electrified floor of the compartment and whimpered in pain.  Sort of like me.  As I sat there in the chair at Casa Mark, I asked myself an odd question.  Why am I thinking about this? 

When the answer hit, my jaw dropped.  The parallel between those dogs and myself was inescapable.  The only way to cure the dogs was to drag them over the barrier.  Donna had just dragged me over my own barrier.  By forcing me to dance whether I liked it or not, Donna had 'tied me to a tree' and forced me more or less against my will to do something I did not want to do.  Donna's Intervention had been amazing.  I had danced in public, no one had laughed at me, and now I was willing to try again.  I could not believe my good fortune.  

Wasn't it amazing that Donna, a complete stranger, had helped me defy my Rejection Phobia?  Hmm.  Was this a Supernatural Event?  Stop and think about it.  Given my Phobia, there was no way in hell I was getting out of that chair under my own power.  Donna had done me a tremendous favor by dragging me to my feet.  This was too good to be true.  In fact, Donna's action was so significant I was positive the Universe had sent Donna to help me cross this barrier since I could not cross it on my own. 

From this point on, I just might be able to try dancing in public.  But why would Donna go to all that effort?  She was a complete stranger.  Why would she go so far out of her way to force me to participate?  I did not see her insist with anyone else.  You know me, I see the Supernatural hiding behind every shadow.  I was certain Donna's assistance was a case of Divine Intervention.  No other explanation made any sense.

However, in this case, a Footnote is necessary.