JANUARY 1978, the disco years, Age 28 the HONEYMOON PERIOD

I have spoken about the Arabic proverb that divides Life into Darkest Day and Brightest Day.  Starting with my problems at Colorado State, I had known nothing but failure for four years.   That changed the moment Saturday Night Fever came to Houston in January 1978.

Now that my Brightest Day had begun, suddenly I could do no wrong. I was astounded to see my goofy Dance Project from 1974 magically turn into a full-time second job.  The irony, of course, was that I was too busy to give much thought to the Supernatural element just yet.  What if this dream job was gone tomorrow?  For the time being I would cross my fingers and make a wish to do this forever.  Then I got to work.

The women.  Oh my, the women.  Everywhere I looked there were beautiful women taking my classes.  I smiled at them, they smiled at me.  My heart was overjoyed.  And did I do anything about it?  No, of course not.  I was still a very shy boy and this flurry of eye candy was way too new to me.  Eventually my confidence would kick in, but for the time being I was far too overwhelmed to make any bold moves.  Exercising patience, I decided to get my new job under control first.  Then I would worry about the pretty girls.

Considering how little I knew about the dance profession, I did very well during my first month.  As I said earlier, three long years of freestyle classes, jazz classes, and line dance lessons had prepared me well for this first month.  Of equal benefit were the three dance classes I had taught the previous year.  Although this new development took me completely by surprise, I imagine I was better prepared to take immediate advantage than any other person in the city.  And yes, I did notice how suspiciously convenient this was.  However, I chose to see how things turn out before I jumped to any conclusions.

The energy kept snowballing so fast that soon it felt more like an avalanche.  Disco was on fire and Houston was burning to a crisp with Disco Fever.  I received some nice compliments from my students regarding how well I explained the material and how patient I was.  This gave me a huge boost of much-needed confidence.  If anyone needed compliments, it was me.  I was still carrying the scars of my dismal performance in graduate school.  Plus I had accomplished little in my past three years of social work.  Every day I saw neglect cases featuring people with dead-end lives and no desire to fight.  Now in dance class, I saw enthusiastic students learn rapidly thanks to my teaching efforts.  I was gratified to finally contribute something of value. 

I prayed this Magic Carpet Ride would never end.  It meant the world to me.

END OF JANUARY, 1978 the infamous jet set club

The Disco Era was a very glamorous time.  It set the stage for sexy, beautiful women to come out and play.  Disco clubs attracted beautiful women like flowers attract bees.  The suggestive music, the frenzied dancing, and the revealing fashions went hand in hand.  Ladies took great delight in wearing skimpy outfits that displayed their figures to outrageous perfection as they danced.  On any given night, I would spot a dozen women who took my breath away.  Disco music invited women to move their bodies in the most exquisite ways.  Women were invited to lose their inhibitions... and so they did. 

"Your body, my body, everybody move your body, let's all chant!"

The Hippie Era of the late Sixties initiated an unprecedented pursuit of hedonism that became the Sexual Revolution of the Seventies.  And then came the Disco Era to supercharge the heady days of unrestrained lust to fever pitch.  People from all walks of life wanted to get in on the action.  That included married people.  With Disco trending hot, places like the Jet Set, a notorious swingers club, was more than happy to cash in. 

Besieged with requests to offer dance lessons, Bernard, the owner, decided to find a Disco teacher.  So naturally they called Stevens of Hollywood, the best known Disco studio in the city.  One night in late January, Stevens handed me a phone number for a night club named Jet Set International.  I stared at the card and furrowed my brow.  I had never heard of this place and had no idea what it was.  I stared at Stevens who returned my stare impassively.  Something was up, but Stevens said nothing. 

Finally I asked, "Okay, I give up.  What is this place?

Stevens continued to say nothing, but I saw amusement written on his face. 

"C'mon, Mr. Stevens, you are hiding something, that is pretty obvious.  What is the Jet Set International?"

To be perfectly frank, I knew Stevens did not like me.  For that reason I was reluctant to trust him.  I felt like he was setting me up for something.  I was right, but fortunately this time it was more harmless than usual.  He was simply having a private joke at my expense.  Stevens grinned wryly, then decided to confess. 

"The Jet Set Club is Houston's answer to Sodom and Gomorrah.  The Jet Set Club is a wife swappers club located in northwest Houston.  They want someone to teach dance lessons as a way to get all the little boys and girls worked up."

Stevens went on to say that Bernard, the man who owned the place, owned strip joints around the city.  "This Bernard guy is a big mover and shaker in the sex industry.  He wants a hot stud to come out and turn his naked girls on.  He asked for Travolta, but I told him you would have to do.  Boy, is he in for a surprise."  

I flinched at the crack.  Stevens laughed hard at his joke while I stood there biting my tongue.  Just then, Stevens' next appointment walked in, so he left to go meet her.  I did not appreciate the insult, but I getting used to it.  Meanwhile I stared at the phone number feeling incredulous.  A sex club?  I did not think Stevens was kidding.  Stevens was invariably sarcastic, but he not what you would call a put-on type of guy.  That was not his style.  I took the phone number and stared at it.  I had no idea what I was getting myself into, but I was pretty sure this wasn't my cup of tea considering how limited my sexual experience was.  The Jet Set Club sounded like an evil place.  On the other hand, I had to admit I was curious. 

At that moment, I thought of a former girlfriend.  Rachel was an extremely independent Israeli girl I had met four years ago while she toured the United States on her own.  Rachel's dominant characteristic was fearlessness, a willingness to take chances.  Should I do this or not?  I was no prude, but actually I kind of was and this unknown world felt risky.  That is when I thought of Rachel.   Hmm.  Rachel never let anything stop her.  Mulling it over, since I didn't have a girlfriend, who was there to object?  Free to explore, if I had to choose which path to take, let's try the one I have never tried before.  I dialed the number.

After setting up an appointment with Bernard, I drove over to the Jet Set on Thursday night following my dance class at Stevens.  The parking lot was empty and the Jet Set Club was practically deserted as I walked in.  Looking around for all the naked women Stevens had promised would be there, I was disappointed to see the few people present had their clothes on.  I noticed a man at the bar sitting alone.  I assumed that was Bernard.  Sure enough, he saw me and beckoned me over.  I had been expecting Hugh Hefner or some sort of hyper-masculine sex magnet, but I got Danny DeVito instead.  Bernard turned out to be a short Jewish guy, 50, plump and balding.   Noticing that Bernard had left his shirt open to show off his flabby hairy chest and expensive gold chain, I was definitely caught off guard.  Amused to see this nebbish style himself as a lady's man, I smiled to myself.  No doubt the women clawed to get at him. 

At the same time as I sized up Bernard, he was doing the same to me.  "So you're the dance teacher."

I nodded.  What a lucky guess.

"So, Rick, you know what I do, right?  You know what this club is famous for?"

The answer was not really, but I did not want to admit my misgivings.  It was easier just to nod again. 

"Listen, Rick, here's the score.  My club does thriving business on Fridays and Saturdays.  These are prime Swap Nights because people don't have to work the next day.  However, things are dead during the week.  That's where you come in.  Thursday is our slowest night.  I want you to teach Disco lessons as a way to boost attendance on Thursday nights."

Bernard didn't come right out and say it, but I gathered Thursday night was the chance to rest up for a big weekend of orgies and wife swapping.  I idly wondered why it wasn't called 'husband swapping', but decided not to ask.  Having never been married, I could not begin to imagine what went through these people's minds.  Variety had never appealed to me.  My preference was one girlfriend at a time, but first I would have to find one.  Realizing I had a lot of catching up to do, my mind was filled with all sorts of impure thoughts.  Embarrassed to note my curiosity had begun to get the better of me, this was the moment I realized I was going to take this job.

"Okay, Bernard, I will give it a try.  I teach at Stevens of Hollywood on Thursday nights until 9 pm.  After driving out here, the earliest I could get here would be 9:30."

"Hey, don't worry, that's fine by me.  After everyone puts their kids to bed, they don't start getting here till 9 pm.  9:30 is perfect.  That gives them time to have a few drinks to warm up and get a little flirting in as well."

I rolled my eyes at Bernard's description.  What am I getting myself into?  Too late now.  The die was cast.  If for no better reason than to see what this place was like, I agreed to start the following week.  The start time seemed kind of late, but if that was what Bernard wanted, then 9:30 it is.  I would teach classes at the studio from 6-9 pm, then get in my car and race over to the Jet Set Club. 

Just to prove how happy he was to see to me, Bernard hugged me!  Due to our difference in height, Bernard put his cheek up against my chest, then wrapped his arms around me and squeezed tight.  Good grief.  What is this all about?  I was suddenly Bernard's best friend.  I had no idea why he had hugged me so tight, but it seemed very odd.  Was Bernard gay?  As if things were not weird enough.  However, there was no time to think.  Bernard swiftly grabbed my arm and rapidly ushered me into the club.  I paled immediately.  Not an empty seat in the house.  Restless and impatient, the crowd was clamoring to get the show on the road.  I froze on the spot.  What in the world did Bernard tell these people?  Did he promise John Travolta would make a guest appearance? 

Incredulous, I asked, "What's going on here, Bernard?  These people are climbing the walls!"

Bernard smiled.  "Hey, I'm just as shocked as you.  I never expected to see this kind of a crowd!"

Noticing me stare at the crowd in disbelief, Bernard confessed he had promoted my appearance like crazy, but he never expected his promotion was going to work this well.  In other words, he was just as surprised as me.

"All week long I told my customers you were coming at 8:30 pm.  I did this so I could sell plenty of drinks before you arrived.  I never expected the entire crowd to show up punctually at 8:30.  These people have never been punctual in their lives!"

Never in his wildest dreams did Bernard expect a turnout like this.  Just then he gave me a wistful look, sort of like the Casablanca moment at the end of the movie when Rick Blaine and Captain Renault discuss their beautiful friendship.  I imagine Bernard was praying I would not bomb tonight.  Guess what?  I was praying the same thing.  There was something about Saturday Night Fever that created a type of frenzy that was difficult to fathom. 

These people looked grouchy.    Fueled by an excess of alcohol, over the past hour the crowd had grown impatient to see me.  They seemed ready to eat me alive... and not in a pleasant way.  One patron after another asked the same question: "What time is that goddamn Disco teacher going to get here?"  Now I knew why Bernard was so terrified.  Since Bernard didn't have my phone number for reassurance, he had become frantic that I might not show up.  Bernard was much happier now that Elvis was in the building.  Maybe that was why he hugged me... I had just saved his skin.  Hmm.  That gave me an idea. 

Behold the power of the Disco Ball!!   With an evil smile, I decided this might be a good time to ask for a raise.  Seeing that I was thinking (always a dangerous thing), Bernard put his arm around me and dragged me deeper into the club.  He didn't want to risk any chance of cold feet.  Smart man.  I would love to say that I strode boldly to floor and took command.  Nothing could be further from the truth.  I was very intimidated as I looked around.

Contrary to what Lance Stevens had promised, everyone had their clothes on.  Darn it.  Not one naked woman in the room.  I did not know whether to be disappointed or relieved.  One thing was clear.  Stevens had played a joke on me.  He had told me I would be teaching naked strippers how to Disco dance with the customers.  Although Bernard owned strip clubs, now I realized this was not one of them.  This is where middle America met to exchange consenting spouses for the night.  Like I said, this was the Seventies.  Anything goes.  Or so they said.  I wouldn't know.  But I was about to find out.

As Bernard led me through the throng, he shook one customer's hand after another.  Everyone was congratulating him for bringing a real live dance instructor to the Jet Set.  Imagine my relief to see their mood change.  This was the most enthusiastic crowd I had ever seen.  Talk about selling drinks!  Good grief, that extra hour of drinking had these people totally tanked.  Their enthusiasm was overwhelming.  Now my original question crossed my mind again.  What in the heck had Bernard told them about me?  Was I supposed to perform?  Was I supposed to take my shirt off?  Was I supposed to rub bodies with someone's wife on stage?  Was I obligated to stick around afterwards?  The things I get myself into.  I felt like Alice in Boogie Wonderland.

Fortunately things turned out to be much tamer than my catastrophic fears.  All I had to do was teach a few line dances and offer a few quips.  That much I could do.  I taught four line dances in 45 minutes, starting with the Electric Slide.  The night was a roaring success.  The dancers and spectators alike were very enthusiastic.  They loved me!  Was I really that funny?  Nah.  These people were so out of it they laughed at everything I said no matter how lame.  Judging by tonight's results, maybe I should try to get all my students drunk.  The Jet Set was weird, but the first night had been fun.  Maybe this place wasn't such a bad idea after all. 

It had been a long day.  Before heading home, I went to the bar and ordered a beer.  "It's on the house," the bartender said.  I said thanks, then wondered if there were any other perks I didn't know about.  Several cute well-wishers dropped by to say the class had been fun, but to my regret none of them grabbed my thigh.  Oh well.  So much for my wild fantasies.  While I sat there nursing my beer, I surveyed the scene.  The club was kept very dark, no doubt to disguise the rampant hanky panky going on the secluded booths that lined the walls.  The bar did steady business and there tables around the dance floor. 

The main feature of the room was a raised circular platform in the exact center of the room.  I assumed the floor was raised a foot and a half so the customers could see the dancers in action.  As opposed to the gloom elsewhere, the dance floor was well lit to create a theater effect.  The contrast between the pitch-dark room and ultra-bright stage would eventually lead to one of the strangest stories of my life.  

The elevated floor was about 500 square feet, so it was fairly large.  However I was not happy because the raised floor had no railing of any kind.  Considering the floor was a foot high, I thought it was dangerous to have an elevated floor with no rail.  Considering the amount of drinking, someone was sure to lose their balance and fall.  Since that could easily happen, Bernard was taking a real chance here.  Furthermore, what would I do if everyone wanted to participate?  There was not enough room!  And what if somebody fell off because the floor was too crowded?  I decided not to worry about it.  This was Bernard's problem, not mine. 

My biggest worry was fitting everyone up here on this platform.  There was no way this floor could accommodate all the people in the club.  It would take a floor five times this size to do that.  Fortunately, during class tonight most guests had preferred to watch.  To my relief, the circular stage was large enough to hold nearly everyone who wanted to participate.  However, there were a few overflow people, so we had pushed the tables back to let the extra people dance on the carpet.  No one seemed to care. 

Bernard's clientele looked normal enough to me.  By and large this largely blue collar crowd was well-behaved and friendly.  The crowd was much older than people I taught at the studio.  I had a young singles crowd at the studio while these married people were at a different stage of their life.  I was the youngest person in the room.  Even the waitresses were older. 

I noticed a large contingent of sleazes and teases.  There were some very hard-looking women in this place.  Some women wore tight pants either black or with leopard prints.  Other women wore short, tight-fighting dresses to show off their legs and figures.  The prevalence of low-cut blouses suggested these gals were on the prowl.  Noticing the women talked tough and flaunted their bodies, the gals in this room were no strangers to the company of men. 

Some of the men were attractive, but in general there was an over-abundance of creeps.  What baffled me was their braggadocio.  These guys were no prizes, but they acted like they were utterly convinced they were God's gift to women.  Sighing a bit, I wished I had that kind of confidence. 

I had been surprised at the willingness of so many people to participate in my lesson.  I was still grouchy about some teenage boy scouts at a recent afternoon gig. They had refused to dance because Dancing wasn't cool enough for them.  Not so at the Jet Set.  I had never seen so many people hot to trot.  That is when I remembered that the Jet Set customers had been drinking steadily for a solid hour before I even started.  I was glad to see the booze had loosened everyone up.  It's a lot easier to lead a crowd in a direction where it already wants to go.

I went on to teach the entire month of February.  My classes were a huge hit.  However, there was trouble in Paradise... I was running out of things to teach.   This Jet Set crowd tested me in a way I never expected.  The students in my Stevens classes went home after class and promptly forgot what they learned.  The Jet Set crowd was different.  They stayed after class to practice what I had just taught them.  I noticed their learning curve was much sharper as a result. 

This made me worried.  If I didn't learn some more moves, pretty soon their enthusiasm would empty my bag of line dance patterns.  However, that was the least of my problems.  What really upset me was when these people began to pester me to teach partner dancing.  They had seen Saturday Night Fever and they were burning to learn how to partner dance like Travolta in the movie.  This became my first hint of my impending Partner Dance Crisis.  The Honeymoon was over.  There were some serious storm clouds coming my way.