The bizarre combination of the Mistress Book, Yolanda's scorn, a stalled car and the unsettling experience with Lynn sent me reeling.  I spent most of the following week involved in the Great Tough Guy Debate.  After all that worry about Yolanda's brazen tactics and my reluctance to use pressure, the irony came at the end of the Debate when I was unable to force myself to call Yolanda.  That is when I heard a knock on the door.  The Point of No Return was coming to get me.  At this stage I had no will whatsoever to approach a woman I did know.  Desperate for a lifeline, I ran across Jim Deane's 'Fly Me to the Moon' story.   

Now that this story had persuaded me to commit to a Dance Project, on Friday, July 26, I looked in the Yellow Pages for a dance studio.  I called the three dance studios closest to my apartment, but none of them had classes in 'nightclub dancing'. 

The fourth call went to Dance City USA.  This studio was located on Richmond Avenue in the Galleria area 5 miles from my Montrose area apartment.  I spoke with a lady named Edna on the phone.  Edna wasn't busy, so she took the time to talk to me.  After I explained what I wanted, Edna said I had come to the right place.  She recommended the studio's brand new Disco Freestyle class on Saturday morning.  This class had only met two times previously. 

Edna explained that Dance City was primarily a Ballroom Dance studio.  However, David Dumas, one of their Ballroom instructors, had fallen in love with this new type of music called Disco.  Edna said two of David's students had seen him dance and asked him to teach a class for them.  Now I asked Edna if I could ask a dumb question.  She laughed and said sure. 

"What is Disco music?  I've never heard of it."  

Edna laughed again. 

"That's not a dumb question.  Disco music is fairly new.  The word comes from discothèque, the French word for 'dance club'.  However, the music cannot be described over the phone.  It is sort of a cross between Motown dance music and syncopated Latin music.  When you take David's class, you will find out."

I had no idea what Latin music sounded like, but Motown music was something I understood.  I was a huge fan of Aretha Franklin and Marvin Gaye.  However, I still had no idea what I was getting myself into.  Edna sensed my reluctance so she continued talking.  She said there weren't many people in the class so I would get lots of attention.  Now I understood why Edna was taking extra time with me... she was trying to build the class.  Her sales pitch worked; I promised I would be there tomorrow morning for David's Disco class.

This was a pretty big step for me.  When I describe my Phobia as an extreme anxiety disorder, I am absolutely serious.  I was an emotional cripple, a walking basket case.  Besides my problems with women, I was still upset over being tossed out of graduate school.  Riddled with loneliness and depression, I was able to function at my Child Welfare job and play basketball, but that was the limit.  What I am trying to say is that I was risking all my remaining courage on what seemed to be a futile project.

In the privacy of my apartment, I spent every night criticizing myself for my inadequacies and faults.  Right now I was concentrating on the Rejection Phobia, but there were other problems as well.  I did not have a friend in the world and my ever-present loneliness was killing me.  The extent of my hostility towards women frightened me and I was worried about Blind Spots.  I still had no answer to the mystery of what I kept doing wrong that made women like Yolanda brush me off.  My problems were so profound I had actually begun to believe there was some sort of Supernatural Curse hanging over me.  Or maybe I was secretly gay, a new worry that had surfaced thanks to Lola-Lynn.  Did women sense this about me?  That might explain their lack of interest. 

I was a deeply confused young man who was on the verge of giving up and taking a Siesta from women for a while (or maybe longer).  And yet at the exact moment I asked if I was destined to strike out with women for the rest of my life, this persuasive 'Fly Me to the Moon' story had appeared.  This story about the power of dance as a way to meet women had captured my imagination.  Not only that, but the timing was so perfect, I believed it was an answer to my prayers.  The fact that the suggestion had come from the Mistress Book carried extra weight.  From the moment I discovered this strange book, I had the uncanny feeling that I had been led to this book through Divine Intervention.  Seeing dance lessons as a lifeline of sorts, this goofy dancing idea had become magnified in my mind as the only possible solution to my Phobia problem. 

LOST YEARS:  THE ORIGIN OF DISCO MUSIC

Prior to my first dance lesson, I wondered again what Disco music was.  If it wasn't the Doors, the Eagles or Marvin Gaye, then I had no idea what to expect.  During my year at Colorado State, I had never heard of Disco music.  That is no surprise.  Most people agree the first Disco music appeared in New York in 1972, but the songs were not released nationally until 1973.  I would soon discover Disco was a fusion of Jazz, Motown and Latin\Salsa dance music. 

The origin of Disco music can be traced back to World War II.  After the Nazis banned live music in Paris, the French switched to phonograph records.  They danced to Swing music in underground jazz clubs known as Discothèques.  The word “Discothèque” mixes the French word “bibliothèque” (library) with “disque” (phonograph record).   As time passed, the abbreviated term "Disco" came into common use. 

Disco music evolved in several ways.  Here in America, it started with Sixties Motown.  In 1971 Isaac Hayes mixed soul with funk to create the theme song for Shaft.  When Hayes won the Academy award for most original song, the rush was on.  One Afro-American musician after another looked for ways to Jazz up the music.  Not to be outdone, Latin artists found ways to add Salsa rhythms to Soul music. 

Meanwhile, a pretty soul singer named Donna Summer got her big break in Europe.  She had gone to Germany to sing songs from Hair such as 'Aquarius'.  After several years of touring the country with her music troop, Summer met an Italian music genius named Giorgio Moroder.  Teaming up, Moroder added a pulsating, hypnotic electronic beat to Summer's endless cooing of suggestive lyrics.  Together they created smash hits like 'Love to Love You, Baby' and 'I Feel Love'.  This sexy new sound was so popular in Europe that Summer's hit records became referred to as 'Disco music'. 

In 1974 Donna Summer crossed the Atlantic to merge the European sound with the American influence.  This new style of music caught on quickly.  Moroder would later be known as the "Father of Disco" while Donna Summer was called the "Queen of Disco".  Together with Isaac Hayes they were the pioneers of this new music genre. 

Many people think the Disco Era began with Saturday Night Fever in 1978.  That is not true.   The embers of Disco began smoldering six years before the movie came along.   SNF was smart to place the action in Brooklyn since the New York area was where Disco music and the dancing first became popular here in the USA.  They say the great cultural trends start in New York.  When it comes to music and dance, there is definitely some truth to that.  Take Swing music and Swing dance for example.  Jazz music originated in New Orleans while Charleston dancing got its start in South Carolina.  However both trends stayed under the radar until Jazz and Charleston collided in Harlem following the completion of World War I.  Jazz and Charleston teamed up to become a signature part of the Roaring Twenties.  The fusion of Jazz and Charleston eventually led to the Big Band Swing Era with New York again serving as the epicenter.

As my story unfolds, it will be important to understand that the Disco Era was divided into Act One and Act Two.  The problem with popular music is the limited life span.  No matter how much fun the music, eventually people tire and move on.  First came the Jazz Era of the Twenties which morphed into Swing music.  Who would have guessed the fabulous Big Band Sound of the Thirties would ever come to an end?  But people were worn out following World War II.  Swing music was replaced in the Forties by lullabies and blues.  Rock 'n Roll, country, and rockabilly emerged in the Fifties.  The Sixties saw a wide variety of sounds such as surf, pop, folk, R&B, psychedelic, rock and Motown. 

Dance Music was all over the place in the Seventies.  Funk, smooth jazz, jazz fusion, Latin, soul, hard rock, punk rock, soft rock, outlaw country, progressive country, Disco, you name it.  Although Disco music was an important music trend of the Seventies, during Act One it was never mainstream.  Due to a limited audience, the first Disco cycle faded in late 1977.  However, just in the nick of time, Saturday Night Fever came out of nowhere to create Act Two.  Not only did the movie rescue Disco from the grave, it propelled interest in Disco music and dancing to unimaginable heights.  Thanks in large part to the popular Bee Gees movie soundtrack, Act Two saw Disco music become the dominant form of pop music form in 1978 and 1979.  Disco was not quite as popular in 1980, but it was still going strong.

Disco music featured great dance rhythms accompanied by uncomplicated, repetitive lyrics.  Since the point was to allow the rhythm to dominate, Disco lyrics were at best a mindless afterthought.  For that matter, some Disco music didn't even bother with lyrics.  As Disco music evolved, synthetic electronic rhythms were emphasized to create a hypnotic feel.  

The lack of emphasis on lyrics was a major complaint.  Unlike Country-Western music which tries to tell a story, the electronic beat dominated Disco music.  In a way, this was a shame because a song that told a story had the best chance to reach people on an emotional level.  To this day, Aretha Franklin's 'Respect' and Gloria Gaynor's 'I Will Survive' resonate due to their powerful message while other songs fade into memory.  Let's face it, some people liked Disco music, some hated it.  As for me, I loved Disco music right from the start. 

Disco dancing first caught on in New York's gay bars in 1973.  From there it moved to other U.S. cities, usually starting in the local gay bars before crossing over to the straight bars.  When I took my first dance class in July 1974, Disco was just beginning to catch on here in Houston.  It was not until 1975 that Disco broke out nationwide.  KC and the Sunshine Band (Shake Your Booty), Gloria Gaynor (I Will Survive), and Donna Summer (Love to Love You, Baby) released Disco songs that became big hits on the pop charts.  Three years later, the stage was set for Saturday Night Fever to turn Disco music and Disco dancing into a social phenomenon at the start of 1978. 

I knew nothing about Dance City, the place where I took my first dance class.  I would later learn this studio was a major fixture on the Houston dance scene.  Dance City was by far the largest dance studio in Houston.  This studio gave birth to two legendary figures.  George Ballas was the man who created Dance City.  Ballas had met his wife Maria during a Tango lesson.  Maria was a gifted flamenco dancer who also taught Ballroom.  Maria persuaded George to become a dance instructor like herself.  Performing together, they made quite a team.  After moving to Houston in the mid-1950s, George and Maria worked at the Arthur Murray and Fred Astaire Ballroom dance franchises.

In the late 1960s, Ballas opened his own studio in a vast, underutilized building located next to a Houston cinema.  Timing is everything.  When the fabulous Galleria was built a couple years later, property values in this part of town skyrocketed while the lease on the dance studio remained low.  Dance City became the newest hot spot with the rich.  In its heyday, Dance City employed 120 teachers and covered 43,000 square feet.  Boasting that his giant dance studio was the largest in the world, Ballas referred to it as "a supermarket of dancing with babes, booze and big bands all under one roof."

After selling his studio in 1970, George Ballas acquired fame for a different reason.  Ballas used his free time to fidget with a weird lawn trimming device.  George Ballas would one day become known as the inventor of the Weed Eater.  Not only that, his son Corky Ballas was a talented dancer who would one day become an International Ballroom champion.  Mark Ballas, son of Corky Ballas, continued the family legacy when he became a fixture on the popular TV show Dancing with the Stars.

Dance City gave rise to another celebrity in the dance world.  A gracious lady named Patsy Swayze would one day own Houston's most prestigious jazz-ballet dance studio.   Early in her career Patsy taught at Dance City several times a week while her rambunctious 10 year old son Patrick ran around terrorizing the place.  Although Patsy was long gone from Dance City by the time I showed up in 1974, our paths would later cross in 1977.  That is when Patsy became my jazz teacher and my friend.    

 

July 27, 1974, Age 24,  the lost years

RUNNING THE  GAUNTLET

After hanging up the phone with Edna on Friday afternoon, I tried very hard to find a reason to chicken out.  I knew I was taking a real chance with this dance class.  Jim Deane's dance story had been encouraging, but now my fearful side took over with dire predictions.  After all the problems I had been through over the past year, I didn't have much courage left. 

Tossing and turning all night, I awoke the following morning convinced this was the worst idea I ever had.  Since there was nothing in my past to suggest I had even the slightest bit of dance talent, I was doomed to screw up and hate myself even worse.  On the other hand, I was 24 years old and going nowhere.  The Mistress Book suggestion about dance class was the first constructive idea I had encountered in ages, so I decided to go through with it. 

Saturday, July 27, 1974, was not quite as big a calamity as Pearl Harbor, but in my case it came close.  This was a day that would live in infamy.

With no idea what I was getting myself into, I was a nervous wreck as I walked into Dance City at 10 am.  Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all.  However, Edna had made two persuasive arguments.  First she said this was the perfect class to prepare me to dance at a nightclub.  Then she insisted this was the only class of its kind in the city.  Considering the three other studios I had called said they had no such class, I assumed Edna was telling the truth.  This class seemed like my only choice.

Hoping for reassurance, I asked for Edna at the registration desk.  I was out of luck; Edna did not work weekends.  Oh well.  I had promised myself that no matter how afraid I was, I would not back out.  Filled with anxiety, I paid for my class and got directions to the dance room.  

On my way to the Disco class, I noticed a group of ten well-groomed, nicely-dressed men lined in a row.  Each man wore a coat and tie.  Standing in front of the knee-high wall that lined the edge of a giant Ballroom dance floor, I had to walk past these men to get to my classroom.

Since Edna had told me Dance City was primarily a Ballroom dance studio, I assumed these men were Ballroom instructors waiting to greet their dance students as they arrived.  Noting two couples already dancing behind the line of ten men, I guessed that Saturday mornings were a prime time for private lessons.  I also assumed these men congregated here because this was the entrance to the main dance floor. 

As I approached the men, they were engaged in conversation with each other.  Suddenly they all stopped talking to look me over.  As I walked up, they eyeballed me so closely that I was taken aback.  Good grief, these men were practically leering!  What was this all about?  As I got closer, I did a double-take when I realized each man was likely gay.  In my sheltered life, I had never seen more than two gay men together.  Now there were ten in a row.  With each man staring intently at me, this was by far the weirdest welcoming committee I had ever faced.  Except I had been wrong about the leering.  Yes, some were leering, but the other half were frowning.  Noticing the strange expressions and mixed reaction, I felt very much on guard.

As if I was not feeling shaky enough at coming to this foreign place, those men upset me with their strange stares.   I could not figure out what was going through their minds.  What was their problem?  Based on their frowns, it clearly was not lust.  So why were they staring at me like this?  What did I do wrong?  Was I invading their space or something?  Talk about being put on the spot!  I groaned to myself.  I was already nervous enough about my first dance class and now I had to deal with gay dance instructors checking me out.  Feeling extremely self-conscious, my gay fears resurfaced.  It had only been one week since Lola-Lynn the drag queen had picked me up.  Thinking back to Lynn plus the ten times I had been propositioned in college (unsuccessfully), I had long wondered why gay men took so much interest in me.  Do I look gay?  Do they know something I don't know?  I suppressed my panic as best I could, but it was not easy.  The leers of some and the wide-eyed, poker-face stares of the others rattled me badly.  

Well, I wasn't going to let this stop me.  I made it this far, so I might as well keep going.  Since the only way I could get to my room was to walk past this gauntlet, I gritted my teeth and kept my eyes focused straight ahead.  You know how I am about omens.  As omens go, this reception committee was about as bad as it gets.  My nerves were shot and I had not even made it to class yet. 

I hesitated in front of the closed door.  Hearing the dance music, this was it.  Last chance to turn around.  Possessed by a very bad premonition, I did not want to go in.  Looking at my watch, I was 10 minutes late.  Why not just leave?  However, I had hit such a complete dead end in my life that right now the only hope seemingly available to me was this powerful urge to take dance lessons.  Committed to a project for which I believed I had little natural ability, I clung to the hope I was not as bad as I thought.   

I could hear dance music inside the room, but the Gay Gauntlet had unnerved me so much I continued to waver.  I turned around to see if they were still looking at me.  Yes, they were.  If anything, those men helped me make up my mind.  Rather than chicken out liked I wanted to do, I did not want them to see me turn tail and run.  So I decided to go through with this class.  Anything to avoid passing those guys again.  Who knows, one of them might say 'boo!' and grab me.  Taking a deep breath, I steeled myself as best I could.  I went to open the door, but stopped.

On the eve of my first dance class, I was incredibly nervous.  I was borderline mentally ill and I had no idea what insanity was coming next.  Making matters worse, after all those stares from the Gay Gauntlet, I was badly intimidated.  My hand was shaking as I opened the door because I was certain this dance class was going to be terrible. 

I was so stunned by what I saw that I froze on the spot. 

THE DANCE CLASS FROM HELL

There were 8 people in the room.  Standing in front was David, the tiny gay dance instructor.  Behind Dave stood seven extremely well-dressed women lined in a row side by side.  One glance was all it took to realize these seven women came from the cream of Houston society.  I knew this because I had spent nine years at a prestigious Houston prep school staring at women like these every afternoon when they met at my school daily for afternoon tea, coffee and social climbing.  I was incredulous.  What on earth are these seven sophisticated women doing in a lowly Beginning Freestyle class?  The whole point of this class was to learn how to shake your booty, but these women were so ridiculously thin they did not have a booty to shake. 

The seven women took one glance at me and reacted with horror.  Their expression was quickly replaced by intense hostility.  These women did NOT want me in here.  It reminded me of the time a St. John's woman had chased me away from the coffee are in a very offensive way.  I was 10 years old at the time and quite harmless.  The woman objected to me standing in the hallway as her group of socialites sipped tea in the SJS Commons area.  Saddled with bad memories of that snob, now I had seven more just like her staring at me. 

This was my unpleasant introduction to the River Oaks Seven, a group of society women who would become immortal to my story.  No doubt these well-dressed ladies of privilege lived in nearby River Oaks, home to Houston's elite.  I never learned their names, but they looked like they had been ripped from the Houston Chronicle's Best Dressed List.  They reminded me so much of the mothers of my former classmates that I automatically assumed they lived in River Oaks.

River Oaks was the Houston area where the millionaires lived.  Lined with luxurious mansions and extraordinary age-old oak trees, River Oaks was synonymous with wealth.  Although I grew up poor, I knew all about wealth.  That is because I attended a River Oaks private school known as St. John's for nine years on a scholarship.  Although I did well academically, spending nine years on the bottom rung of the SJS Status Ladder had created a deep sense of social inferiority.  The moment I saw these women, all those years of feeling like the underdog came rushing back.

The women were twice my age, half my size, and a million times wealthier.  They stared at me with utter contempt.  I could understand irritation at having their class interrupted, but their disdain went way past that.  A homeless person could not have received a more haughty look than the seven gazes directed at me with laser intensity.  Their immediate dislike felt personal.  There was so much scorn in their eyes that I could see they wanted me to leave. 

These imperious snobs were so perfectly matched I was certain they knew each other.  Thanks to my years at St. John's, I knew the 'High Society Look' well.  They exuded prosperity.  Elegant clothes, tasteful scarves, expensive jewelry and impeccably coifed hair gave these ladies a cultured, aristocratic appearance.  The women had matching petite figures.  They wore expensive tailored dresses which fit perfectly on their ultra thin bodies.  

Based on their cold stares, I felt like I was trespassing.  Their instant dislike evoked a painful flashback.  I used to feel the same way at St. John's.  In particular their grimaces were reminiscent of the stares I received during my leprosy days of acne.  Indeed, these seven women were so much the spitting image of the rich women who had once intimidated me at St. John's that I felt transported straight back to High School Hell.  What are these women doing here? 

The seven ladies reminded me of the St. John's Mother's Guild.  The Mother's Guild sponsored dance parties after each home football game.  These parties were held in the River Oaks homes of various Mother's Guild members.  I recalled arriving at their doorstep with my blotched face.  Those mothers would take one look at Leper Boy and frown as if I was imposing.  Although I was not welcome, they were duty-bound to let an SJS student into their home, my Freddy Krueger mask of angry red pimples notwithstanding.  I shuddered at the memory of their chagrin. 

Confronted by a wall of seven imperious women united in their desire to see me leave, I told myself this could not be happening.  This was pure Twilight Zone, too weird to be believed.  I could not fathom what circumstance could possibly have arranged this eerie revival of high school trauma.  It was uncanny how much these hateful women reminded me of similar tormentors from yesteryear.  As the River Oaks Seven glared with imperious patrician expressions, I recognized a replay of the disdain I had received in the past.  Their hostility triggered all kinds of bitter high school memories including vicious taunts from my nemesis Harold... 'Leper Boy', 'Dick the Hick', 'Clearasil Kid', and of course 'Creepy Loser Kid', the insult of my nightmares.

A tidal wave of anxiety washed over me.  Those were memories I preferred to forget, but too late now.  St. John's was six years in the rearview mirror, but those memories had returned to haunt me anew.  As the socialites stood with arms folded across their chest, the sight of these pit bulls in lipstick brought waves of teenage pain and humiliation back again.  I was reminded of the pathetic, disfigured boy made to feel he should apologize for his unwanted existence by women just like the River Oaks Seven.  The message was clear.  I did not belong at a school dedicated to the privileged and beautiful.  Nor did I belong in this room they felt was reserved for them.

I wanted to run, but then I steeled myself.  I had a right to be here, so I looked around.  Where could I hide?  That was impossible.  Due to my height, I was unbelievably conspicuous.  The room was small and lined with tall 8-foot mirrors on three walls.  Due to my ever-present Rejection Phobia, I was sick in my stomach.  Just then the strangest thought crossed my mind.  There was 'Weirdness' present here.  This moment transcended Reality.  A Hollywood cast chosen to torture me could not have picked seven more perfect villains.  Something very strange was going on here.

The Gay Gauntlet had been bad enough, but this was so much worse.  Caught off guard, I was very intimidated by these women.  Given my current vulnerability, I was totally unprepared for this frosty reception straight out of my tormented past.  On a day when I had used what little courage I had left just to make myself show up, demons and fears had risen from their coffins to haunt me anew.  I couldn't take it any more.  I took one step to leave, then stopped when a powerful thought crossed my mind.  These women want me to leave!  

I had to hand it to those women, the moment they saw me, they had banded as one.  Greeting me with uniform expressions of horror, I came close to leaving the room.  Did I have the guts to stand up to this kind of hostility?  To my surprise, the answer was yes.  Although it was seven arrogant women against one emotional cripple, it did not matter.  Once my ancient St. John's defiance returned, so did my courage.  Those women had a lot of nerve acting like this was their private country club.  Who did they think they are?  I paid for this class and I had a right to be here!  Feeling a burning anger, I finally had a worthy target for all my pent-up Colorado State rage.  Unwilling to back down, I gave them my best Go to Hell look, squared my shoulders and walked to the back.  I stayed in the room specifically to spite the women.  It was the Creepy Loser Kid versus the Seven Sardonic Snobs.  Class warfare had begun.

DAVID DUMAS

Determined to stay, I found a spot in the back corner.  The teacher was a diminutive man who stood before an 8-foot mirror.  So far he had not said a thing.  I think he was just as surprised to see me as the women.  But once I got situated, David Dumas was not frosty.  Greeting me with a nod and warm smile, I took that as an invitation to stay.  I thought the women would have a heart attack.  They were aghast to see David give me permission.  Shocked that David wasn't going to toss me out for the sin of existing, much less invading their class, the seven women turned their backs to me in a disgusted huff.  No doubt David would hear from these women for the crime of sticking up for me.

David was an unusually handsome Hispanic man.  He was a nattily attired, 5' 7" wisp of a guy a year or two older than me.  David was thin and very tan.  He had dyed his hair blonde most likely to accentuate his deep tan.  Leaving his shirt open down to the last two buttons on his flowery shirt, David had no chest hair.  He wore a colorful purple sash wrapped around his waist and the tightest hip-hugging pants I had ever seen on a man.  By his mannerisms, speech and the way he dressed, there was little doubt David was gay.  I had nothing against people who were gay.  A quarter of my Child Welfare agency was gay.  Same for my Montrose neighborhood apartment project.  After last week's adventure with Lola-Lynn, living in a complex populated with older gay men, and walking this morning's gauntlet of 10 gay dance instructors, my whole world had turned gay.  I could have cared less.  I had bigger problems.

Standing in back, the seven women formed a barrier between David and me.  However, my view was not blocked.  I was Goliath compared to everyone else.  Although David's back was turned, I could see him staring at me through the mirror.  The seven women were also using the mirror to stare at me.  Why such intense interest?  Can't they just leave me alone? 

Just then I happened to glance at myself in mirror for the first time and gasped.  Oh my God!!

MOUNTAIN MAN

In the mirror staring back at me was the spitting image of Paul Bunyan without the beard.  It had been so long since I had looked in the mirror, it took a second to realize this was me.  I knew I was a big guy, but I had never quite grasped my size until I saw these tiny Lilliputian women staring at me half in terror, half in disgust. 

I was ashamed of my appearance.  I looked like a giant oaf in comparison to David and the petite women.  At 6' 1", 200 pounds, I was not only a head taller, I was twice as wide.  Thick as an oak tree, my shoulders alone were the size of two wafer-thin women placed side by side.  With my bulging muscles, I could have snapped any one of those toothpick snobs in half for the fun of it.  Given my obvious defiance, no wonder they were afraid of me.  However my size was not the only problem, it was my appearance.  I was quite a sight... and not a pleasant one either.

The worst part had to be the long hair.  Understand that long hair was fashionable in 1974 Colorado.  Lots of young men at Colorado State had long hair back in those days, but not here in Houston.  The unkempt mop I bore that day was unwelcome in ultra-conservative Houston.  And what about the clothes?  What was a hillbilly doing in a Disco class?  I was wearing blue jeans with a flannel plaid shirt, plus thick Colorado mountain boots.  This was appropriate clothing for 50 degree Rocky Mountain weather, but hardly for 100 degree Houston heat.  I guess in the back of my mind I was still living in Colorado.  Or more likely, I had been so depressed since returning to Houston, I had not paid attention to how I looked.   

There's an old saying, 'Take a look in the mirror.'  Due to my acne-related revulsion, I rarely looked in the mirror.  This was a bad habit left over from my terrible acne years in high school.  Once Vanessa left, I felt so ugly, I stopped looking altogether and learned to shave in the shower.  It had been several months since my last glance.  Now I had no choice.  Trapped in a room of mirrors, I was shocked by my appearance.  The shame was overwhelming.  The presence of these River Oaks women reminded me of the days when I had been the ugliest boy at St. John's.  Gee, lucky me.  Just like old times!  

During my miserable year at Colorado State, I did not get a single haircut.  Why bother?  Once Vanessa broke my heart, I stopped caring about how I looked.  In the span of nine months I had gone from an acceptable Prince Valiant haircut at the start of the year to some sort of macabre Charles Manson look.  Geez, put a beard on me and I was a Charles Manson lookalike.  Not a pretty sight.  For the first time, I had an inkling it wasn't my scars, but rather my wild hillbilly appearance which had contributed to my lukewarm reception with the Colorado State coeds.

I noticed the River Oaks women continued to stare by way of the mirrors.  They tried to disguise their disgust with a poker face, but their eyes gave it away.  Seeing the utter disdain, I turned crimson with shame.  Now I knew why the gay men had stared at me.  It could not possibly have been sexual attraction as I had feared at first.  The Gauntlet Gawkers stared for the exact same reason these women did... I looked like a freak.  

Shaking my head in disbelief, I was truly ashamed.  It was painful to know I resembled some sort of grotesque backwoods chainsaw monster.  I was Sasquatch in comparison to these model-thin women with perfect figures.  St. John's had been the Land of the Beautiful People and today's ladies upheld that tradition.  They resembled the mothers of my former classmates to perfection.   With their flawless make-up and precious petite bodies, these women upheld that tradition nicely.  Thin was in, stout was out.   Feeling like a giant ogre, the embarrassment was overwhelming. 

This dance class had turned into a nightmare.  The constant sneers made it clear how unhappy they were with my presence.  Unfortunately, the shock of seeing how truly ugly I was had removed most of my defiance.  As a result I was defenseless to resist their scorn.  God, how I hated myself.  As waves of shame coursed through me, I looked down at the floor to avoid further eye contact.  Due to the excruciating tension, my hands balled into fists and I began to grind my teeth. 

It was impossible to hide... no, not from them, but from myself!!  I had long feared mirrors and this room reminded me why.  It was painful to look at myself.  However, with mirrors on three walls, that was unavoidable.  There I was, Sasquatch, a wild hillbilly Mountain Man towering over a Lilliputian world of seven tiny rich women and their tiny gay dance instructor.  It was a bizarre sight indeed.

Damn it, those women would not stop glaring at me!  No doubt it was fear. Who could blame them?  With just one misstep, I might fall and crush someone with my clumsiness.  Or worse, I would go Helter Skelter and slash their throats!  Using their blue blood as finger paint, I would smear hideous Disco messages on the mirrors.  Hmm, the way I felt, that might not be such a bad idea. 

It took a while, but eventually the women decided I wasn't homicidal.  Assuming their lives were no longer in danger, the seven women returned to snobbery, their natural state of being.  Their pained looks made it clear they didn't like having their dance party interrupted by a wilderness monstrosity.  However, since there was nothing they could do about it, now they pretended I did not exist. 

The damage had been done.  I could not bear to stay in here much longer.  I swear to God, I felt exactly like I did back in high school on that terrible day when people stared in shock at my overnight acne explosion.  Memories of walking down the hallway with students staring in horror at my swollen red face came flooding back.   Facing a terrifying rerun of my years of humiliation during High School Hell, I accidentally looked at myself in the mirror again.   Bad move.  The sight of my sunken pock-marked cheeks made me sick with revulsion. 

I should not have looked in the mirror.  That mirror destroyed me the same way kryptonite crippled Superman.  The horror of seeing my disgusting long hair in combination with my inappropriate clothes and scarred face was more than I could handle.  Sick to my stomach, I wanted to leave in the worst way.  I would have left right there except for my desperation to solve my fear of pretty girls. 

Recalling what my friend Jason had once said about the Point of No Return, I was down to my last silver bullet and the wolves were closing in.  Deeply spooked by these calamitous circumstances, every ounce of my being longed to flee.  Oddly enough, the memory of my inability to call Yolanda kept me glued to the spot.  Based on a hunch almost impossible to explain, I believed these dance lessons were my last chance to conquer my loneliness.  Fearing the Point of No Return, I decided to hang in there.  Damn these River Oaks women for being here, but I needed these lessons.

Only one problem.  I was about to discover I had no affinity for dance whatsoever. 

THE DANCE CLASS FROM HELL

The main reason I stuck around was curiosity.  I wanted to find out if I was as bad a dancer as I expected to be.  I got my answer soon enough.  I was not as bad as I expected to be, I was worse.  On that fateful Saturday morning, my fear that I was a dreadful dancer was confirmed once and for all.  Just add it to the list of horrors.  There seemed to be no end to my suffering. 

The bad news was not exactly a surprise.  My mediocre dancing ability was something I had long suspected.  What upset me was discovering just how truly awkward I was.  I didn't expect to walk in and find I was ready for Swan Lake.  But I would have been pleased to at least pick up some of David's patterns.  Not so.  I could not do anything right.  Stiff and clumsy, I moved with the fluidity of a dump truck stuck in reverse.  The worst part was watching David dance in the mirror.  Comparing myself to his grace, I was reminded of the dancing hippos in Fantasia.

There was one particular dance step that drove me to distraction.  The infamous 'Step Ball-Change' pattern bedeviled me no end.  This triple step move was the defining Freestyle dance step of the Seventies.  To my dismay, David choose to devote most of his class to this move.

I could not execute this triple step correctly.  Nor did I have any idea what my mistake was.  I was constantly losing my balance which in turn made it impossible to keep up with the rapid Disco beat.  No matter how hard I struggled, I made absolutely no improvement.

In Hindsight I can share what the problem was.  My mistake was allowing my heel to touch the floor whenever I stepped back.  This created too much backward momentum, causing me to lose my balance.  The solution was not that difficult.  All I had to do was use the ball of my foot rather than my heel, but I was too new to understand what I was doing wrong.  Making matters worse, I noticed the River Oaks women had no trouble picking up the move.  Women typically curse about how uncomfortable it is to wear high heels, but high heels do offer an unexpected bonus when it comes to dancing.  Wearing heels teaches women to keep their weight forward over the ball of their foot.  Meanwhile, my basketball background left me flat-footed.  Putting weight on my heel was the most natural thing in the world.  I might add my heavy mountain boots made the problem worse.  This explains why the women picked the move up so much faster than me, but of course I blamed myself. 

As I floundered, I could help but notice the rich ladies handle the move without difficulty.  I have to say their ease aggravated me no end.  I am sure it gave them immense pleasure to see how much better they were than me.  No doubt my clumsiness reaffirmed their innate sense of superiority.  I wasn't sure, but I thought I saw one woman smirk at my difficulties.  Bitter at her scorn, I could feel my teeth clench together even tighter.  Given my thin skin, I became rigid with anger and self-contempt.

A good teacher would have noticed my problem and correct it.  However David never said a word.  My guess is the women had intimidated him.  David knew where his bread was buttered.  Given the obvious hostility of the seven women, he knew better than to risk their wrath by addressing me.  Making things tougher, David added this damn triple step move in every pattern he taught.  Since nothing I tried seemed to improve my balance, I made no progress.  The harder I tried, the worse I got.  My frustration was off the charts. 

A major problem was my damaged pride.  The unexpected presence of these River Oaks women had elevated my anxiety to a fever pitch because their appearance screamed 'St. John's Superiority'.   Just looking at them resurrected all my high school feelings of inferiority.  Their disdain made me feel like an unwelcome outcast all over again.  No wonder I was so tense.  I could not bear looking foolish and clumsy in front of these women who obviously believed they were superior to me.  Making matters worse, their dancing was impeccable.

I was baffled by the difficulty I was having.  How was it possible that I could be an excellent athlete, but pathetic at dance?   My feet worked just fine when I played basketball.  Why could I do a 360 spin move in basketball, yet nearly fall on my butt while dancing 'Step Ball-Change'?  Considering how much desperate hope I had riding on this class, my clumsiness was disheartening to say the least.

Right now that hope was draining fast.  Now that I knew the truth, the thought of using dance to find a girlfriend was so preposterous that I lost all remaining courage.  This class had been very important to me, but I didn't want to be here anymore.  I was pretty hard on myself back in those days and this was intolerable.  I was sick with rage at my futility.   Screaming at myself for being so clumsy, the was part was seeing my fond hopes go down the drain.  Unfortunately those women could tell I was struggling with my temper.  The smiles and snickers of my adversaries added exponential tension to my problem.  It was bad enough when these haughty women had expressed their scorn over my appearance.  Now they were openly contemptuous of my atrocious dancing.  This evoked the memory of Connie Kill Shot, the woman who once shared a similar disgust at my dancing back in college.  Back then I was so embarrassed I had gone two full years without another date.  The way I was feeling right now, this time my siesta might last four years. 

All kinds of questions raced through my mind.  Why were these women so much better than me?  Were rich people inherently better than me at everything?  Growing more self-critical by the moment, I cursed my inability to keep up with my tormentors.  Ordinarily my solution to every problem was to try harder.  Today that solution just made things worse.  I had never felt more helpless in my life.  

Several times I thought the women were watching me using the mirrors, but it was impossible to be sure.  Then I got my proof.  After one particularly spastic motion, a woman burst out laughing.  That pushed hard on my hot button because it reminded me of the time Connie's girlfriends had laughed at my dancing during a college mixer.  That did it.  I froze with shame.  In no mood to be a laughingstock, I turned to stone and just stood there.  I wasn't about to give those women anything more to laugh about.

Unable to participate due to my aggravation, I was a pressure cooker ready to explode.  The reason I had decided to stay was to show these women I was their equal.  Earlier in the class, I had been bound and determined to prove to these women I could match them stride for stride.  Now faced with their obvious superiority, imagine my frustration to see my defiance backfire on me.  They had every right to act superior because they were superior.  I had never in my life felt more like a failure than now.  First Vanessa, then Fujimoto, now 'dance class' of all things.  Discouraged and defeated, I should have left when I had the chance and spared myself the indignity.

A darkness came over me.  I snorted with bitterness over the optimism I felt after reading the 'Fly Me to the Moon' story.  I came here for the chance to do something positive for a change only to see my last hope fade away.  Never before had I been more convinced that I was Cursed.  I am completely serious when I say this.  I had been toying with the idea of being cursed ever since the Stalled Car incident and getting deceived by a drag queen.  I remember thinking, "Well, gee, Rick, dance class can't possibly be worse than Lynn and Yolanda..."  Famous last words.  Coming here had been a terrible mistake.  I had hoped for a long-overdue breakthrough only to be handed an overwhelming last-nail-in-the-coffin humiliation.

My thoughts had warned me this dance class was not a very good idea.  Why didn't I listen?  There was no way I would ever be any good at dancing.  I was so frustrated by my poor dancing that I wanted to walk out.  Just leave now and cut my losses.

I took two steps to the door, then suddenly stopped in my tracks.  A furious debate in my mind had stopped me.  'Leaving' was exactly what I had done four years ago when Connie Kill Shot and Company had laughed at my dancing.  I recalled promising Dr. Hilton, my therapist at Colorado State, that if I ever faced a situation like this again, I would not quit.  What had I accomplished by leaving the college mixer?  Nothing.  In fact, I had used that defeat as an excuse to postpone dating for two entire years.  Is that really what I wanted to do again?  Was it time to postpone dating again?  I couldn't take it.  I could not bear another minute of loneliness, much less two more years.  But what good would it do to stay?  I had promised myself I would take this dance class seriously, but that was before I realized how bad I was at dancing.  Why subject myself to this humiliation?  At that moment a solution came to me.  Why not stay after class and ask David for some help?  I nodded.  That much I could do. 

Being lost in thought did me a favor.  I was so preoccupied over the debate to stay or go that my temper cooled down.  I realized it was wrong to quit so easily.  Thank goodness I had a shred of pride left.  Given my failure in grad school, I little to show for my fancy prep school education.  However, at St. John's I had learned the value of persistence.  So I decided to stick around for the remaining five minutes in spite of the panic inside.  That said, I could not take another snicker from these women.  Having endured as much humiliation as possible for one day, I stood there with arms crossed for the last five minutes of class.  Filled with self-loathing, I was dying inside.  What was I thinking?  Coming here had been one of the worst decisions of my life.  Unless David could help, I was not coming back.

After an eternity, my First Dance Class mercifully ended.  As I waited for David to say goodbye to the River Oaks Seven, I recalled the strange Supernatural vibe that had crossed my mind.  My first dance class had been a total disaster.  So bad, in fact, that I was already referring to it as the Dance Class from Hell.

I don't know if I can even begin to explain how strange it had been to see those nasty women in the same room.  Let me put it this way.  Here I am standing on the edge of a cliff due to an intense fear of a woman's rejection.  Specifically I was terrified of having an attractive woman scorn me.  In addition, I had just been painfully reminded of my awkwardness at dancing by Lynn.  As a result, I was deeply worried that I might be ridiculed in class for my clumsiness.  However, I decided my fears were groundless.  I expected to join a room with other people who were equally as inexperienced as me, people reluctant to throw stones in a room with glass mirrors.  Instead, just the opposite happened.  I met seven beautiful women who spent the entire hour rejecting me.  Not only did they make me feel inferior, the women proceeded to snicker and sneer as I struggled mightily with something as pathetic as a simple dance step.

As I watched the women make a fuss over David before leaving, I was certain today's class had been far out of the ordinary.

In an Ordinary World, taking a dance class should not be more complicated than nonchalantly showing up for a ho-hum conversational Spanish class.  In an Ordinary World, one does not have a gay gauntlet stare at him like a bedraggled creature from the forest.  In an Ordinary World, one would not expect to walk into a dance class and suddenly be confronted with seven scornful women straight out of his tormented past.  In an Ordinary World, one does not look in the mirror and realize he resembles a mass murderer.  In an Ordinary World, one does not contemplate hari-kari over a poor performance on Step-Ball-Change.  This, my friends, was my worst nightmare.  Except that it was Real.  Or was it Real?  That utter Unreality of the days events crossed my mind.  If someone wanted to make this class as miserable as possible, they could not have done a better job.  This dance class wasn't just horrible, it was Weird! 

"That which doesn't kill you makes you stronger."  Is that what this was all about?  If so, it backfired.  I was not tougher.  In fact, I was on the critical list.   I stared at David as if he was my last hope.  Unless my Disco teacher could offer some kind of encouragement, I was not coming back.  From my distant corner I studied the women as they said goodbye to David.  I actually smiled for a moment.  A couple of the women were actually taller than he was.  For that matter, put a dress on David and he was easily the best-looking woman in the room.  Maybe I should introduce him to Lynn and they could enter a drag queen beauty contest together.   Surely this day could not get stranger.  I watched each woman hug their cute little dance instructor and give him a tiny peck on the cheek.  Oh, how sweet.  They treated their boy toy like a precious little pet.  David loved it.  He preened and giggled with delight.  smooch, hug, smooch, hug. 

I wanted to puke.  And that's when I got it.  These women were painting David's face with red lipstick for a reason.  This outpouring of scarlet affection made it clear that David was their personal property.  These rich women were marking their territory.  As if to emphasize that message, before they left, two of the women looked back at Sasquatch for one final sneer. 

"This dance class belongs to us.  Don't come back."

These sophisticated women knew how to make their point without saying a word.  The nerve of me to barge in.  My unexpected arrival had spoiled their private dance party.  It must be so difficult to enjoy being rich with a menacing mountain creature in their presence.  I shook my head in disgust.  I had met women like this group before.  Memories of polished society women chatting in the St. John's Reception Room floated through my mind.  All we needed was a tea set and some delicate cookies and my vision would be complete. 

Right now there were some really strange feelings and thoughts floating around in my head.  Today's class had been weird beyond weird.  It was eerie how today's dance class had evoked every St. John's memory of feeling socially inadequate.  Consequently it was such a relief to see those women gone.  Now that David and I were alone, he smiled at me.  Then he pulled out a tissue and went over to the mirror to wipe the lipstick off.  He readjusted his shirt and made sure his purple sash was intact.  Now he reached into his pocket and produced a comb.  After fixing his hair, David stared at himself to make sure he was still pretty. 

Despite all my tension, I actually grinned a little.  Give it a rest, guy, you're beautiful enough.  David had won my Citizen of the Year award for smiling when I first entered the room.  He could just as easily have won major points with the Seven Snob Sisters by frowning at me instead.  I was grateful he had chosen to be nice.  This simple act of kindness could not have come at a more important time.   If he had sided with the women, I would have thrown in the towel for sure.  David was my hero for giving me a reason to stick around. 

In addition, David's dancing had been impressive.  I had never seen anyone move like he did.  What I wouldn't give to dance like him!  If I could learn to dance like David, I believed I could get rid of this awful Rejection Phobia.  I would let my feet do the talking and women were sure to respond.  I might add that if I looked like David, I wouldn't even need to dance.  He may be a small, wispy sort of guy, but he was unusually handsome.  His blonde hair and deeply tanned face gave him an exotic pretty boy look.  Considering how preoccupied I was with my sense of ugliness, what I wouldn't give to look like he did.  Well, take that back.  I would definitely lose the purple sash.

David came over and stared up in awe.  "Oh my god, look how tall you are!"  Then he remembered his manners.   David stuck out his hand and said, "Welcome to my class.  We haven't met.  I'm David, but everyone calls me Disco Dave.  What is your name?"

Responding with a hand shake, I replied, "My name is Rick.  I want to learn to dance, but obviously I need some help."

David nodded.  "Yes, I saw that you were struggling.  Maybe I can take a look."

I smiled hopefully.  How should I put this?  I had David pegged as my last hope to rescue what seemed to be an ill-fated Dance Project. 

"David, if you can help, that would be great.  I stayed behind in hopes you might be able to help show me what I am doing wrong with that move you call Step Ball-Change.  However, before we start, can I ask you a question?  Who are those women?  They didn't seem very friendly."

"Oh, them?" 

David hesitated and looked over his shoulder.  He went over and peeked out the door just to be sure some of them weren't hanging around outside.  In a conspiratorial whisper, David confided in me. 

"Those women are my Ballroom dance students.  The ladies all know each other from their Ballroom dance club.  They take private lessons from me every week.  Sometimes they drag their husbands along, but usually they prefer to come alone because they prefer dancing with me.  I make them look good on the floor and I make it fun for them.  I make them laugh and feel like Ginger Rogers.  These women belong to an exclusive private club over in River Oaks that holds periodic galas complete with a live band that plays Ballroom music.  Or sometimes they come here when Dance City features a monthly dance party.  They wear their most expensive gowns to each event and compete to see who is best dressed, the most beautiful, and who is the best dancer.  It is a serious game to these women.  They are accustomed to be the best at everything.  They are so competitive they accuse me of making one look better than the other.  One lady even asked if I take bribes."

I laughed.  "Do you take bribes?"

Now David laughed.  "I haven't so far, but that's only because no one has offered.  I am too poor to have morals."

David did not spell it out, but I got the feeling that deep down he had issues of his own towards these women.  However, he was better at disguising it than I was.  David paused for a moment to frown, then continued. 

"I am sorry they were rude towards you, but these ladies think this class belongs to them.  In a way, I suppose it does."

"How so?  Why do they think that?"

"One night last month, Dance City had a Ballroom function that several of these ladies attended.  Not one husband came along.  Apparently the men were on some hunting trip at one of their big ranches.  Since these ladies are my students, I sat with them and kept them entertained.  I took turns dancing with the women all night long... Waltz, Tango, Cha-Cha, and so on.  Towards the end of the party, a lady named Madelyn told the others about the time I had shown her some of my Disco moves.  Immediately the other women demanded to see me dance.  I said not at this party, this was for Ballroom dancing only.  But the whole table ganged up on me and begged me to show off."

"What did you do?

"I looked around and realized it was late and the place had emptied out.  So I put on a little show."

David did a couple impromptu dance moves for my benefit.  I got the picture.  Impressive.  Then he continued. 

"They asked for more, so I put on a Disco record and did a Freestyle exhibition for these ladies, advanced moves, not the stuff I teach in class.  When I moved my hips, they went nuts.  They liked my style and they liked the Disco music too.  In fact, they liked it so much they begged me to teach them some of my moves.  I said sure, why not.

So I showed them a couple easy moves and let them copy me.  One lady, Barbara, said this was so much fun, she wished they could have a regular class.  The others agreed, so I said I would check with my supervisor.  It was late, but I knew he was probably in the office.  He never left till the party ended.  My boss said the place was booked solid at night throughout the week, but what about Saturday morning?  So I went back and told them the only available time was Saturday morning.  I figured they would sniff and say forget it, but I was wrong.  Saturday morning was fine with them.  "Can we do it around 10?  That way we can get our hair done before class and go to lunch afterwards."  So that was that.  Today was our third meeting." 

I frowned at the thought that the women were dining together at this very minute.  Take one guess who they were talking about.  David interrupted my thoughts by lowering his voice even more.   

"Rick, I saw those dirty looks.  I'm sorry about that.  I think they expected to have this class all to themselves, but I told them from the start the director insisted we had to open it up to the general public.  You are the first person to join and they didn't handle it very well." 

I nodded.  "Thank you, David.  That helps explain a lot.  It was just weird seeing them together and no one else." 

David smiled.  "You're welcome.  By the way, call me Dave.  That's what my friends call me."

I appreciated David's candor.  In a sense, David and I had something in common.   Back in the days when Rome ruled the world, these women were the Patricians, the aristocrats.  David and I were Plebeians, the dirt poor working class.  David may be their pet, but he could tell that these women considered him a menial to their whims.  In a way, David straddled two worlds.  When the River Oaks Seven was present, he would cater to their airs and finery.  However, when we were alone, he recognized a kindred spirit in me.  We were both struggling to find our niche in the world.  I had a feeling he wanted us to be friends.  Fine, I could use a friend.

Encouraged by his decision to take me into his confidence, I asked David for help.  

"Thank you for explaining that, Dave.  Now their behavior makes a little more sense.  Hey, do you mind if I show you the move that gave me trouble?"

"No, not at all, Rick.  Show me where you are getting stuck." 

With David watching, I danced my version of Step Ball-Change. 

David was kind enough to watch my hippo impersonation with a straight face.  He frowned mightily as he tried to figure out what I was doing wrong.  Then his face broke out in a smile.  He knew exactly what the problem was.

"Rick, you are putting your heel down in back.  Keep your heel up!"

Only one problem.  Although I sort of understood his explanation, I could not seem to stop doing it.  David was at a loss.  He could not figure out why I could not grasp his suggestion.  David was an unbelievable dancer, but he wasn't analytical like me.  David was more the 'Simon Says' type of dance teacher. 

Sure enough, David began dancing and said, "Just copy me, Rick.  Watch my feet and do what I'm doing." 

Unfortunately, that trick didn't work for me.  I had to have it explained better than that.  Don't ask me why, but I could not seem to imitate his feet properly.  Although he tried mightily, David could not find the words to make me understand what I was doing wrong.  I got frustrated because the same thing had happened with Lynn last Saturday.  What was wrong with me that I could not understand what David or Lynn wanted me to do?  To David's credit, he tried several ways to show me how not to put so much weight on my heel, but none of his suggestions worked.  I still didn't get it.  Try as I might, I kept putting that heel down in back and losing my balance.

Seeing how frustrated I was, David made another suggestion.  "Hey, Rick, let's try something else.  Rather than try 'step ball-change', maybe you could switch to a different kind of triple step."   David demonstrated a move he referred to as 'step together step'.  ... slide three steps to the right and tap, side three steps to the left and tap.  He repeated it several times. 

Note to Reader.  As I would come to realize down the road, 'step together step' is probably the simplest dance step in the book.  People use it in line dances like the Four Corners and Boot Scoot Boogie all the time.  When I watched David do it, he made it look easy.  Maybe I could do it too.  I tried as hard as I could, but this suggestion didn't work either.  I was too tense.  With David watching carefully, I was so worried about getting it wrong that I deliberately stopped after each step.  And when I stopped, I either forgot to transfer my weight or couldn't remember which foot was supposed to move next.  It was pathetic.  Was it my right foot or the left foot that had moved last?  Which foot moved next?  Does it move to the right or left?  Confused, I had to start over.  'Step together step'.  What could be easier?  But for the life of me I couldn't get it.  Finally I got so frustrated I could not force myself to continue.  I felt an overwhelming sense of humiliation.  I'm a college graduate.  I'm a really good basketball player.  But I cannot seem to bring my feet together and remember which one to move next.  How is this possible?  How can I be so stupid?

One does not need to understand my descriptions of the footwork to get the point.  Just accept that I was really struggling.  I believe part of my problem was that I was in shock.  The assault on my shaky self-esteem by the rich women had overwhelmed me.  Their contempt had wounded my pride so severely that I shut down inside.  To say I was 'tense' does not adequately address how upset I was.  Rigid?  Frozen?  Petrified?  Paralyzed?  Yeah, 'Paralyzed'.  I was so paralyzed with frustration that I refused to move any longer.

To David's credit, he spent 10 long minutes helping me and giving encouragement.  He was nice about it too.  David never once lost patience with me.  I appreciated that he did not make fun of me although I am sure he was astonished at my ineptitude.  Despite my pathetic showing, I was grateful David had tried to help.  Outside of the Clark family, this was the first real warmth anyone had shown me since I had returned from Colorado in defeat two months ago. 

After I gave up, David could see there was no point in continuing.  The funniest look came over his face and I did a double-take.  I had seen that look before, but where?   Baffled by my curious sense of déjà vu, for a second, I couldn't place it.  Then I got it.  That was the exact same look of pity Drag Queen Lynn had given me last week when he realized how hopeless I was at dancing.  I swear, it was uncanny how both men gave me the same look.  Then I recalled something else.  Right after that look, Lola-Lynn had moved in for a kiss. 

'No way', I thought.  This cannot be happening.  But my instinct was right.  The moment I saw the glint in David's eye, I guessed what was on his mind.  Was this guy out of his mind?  One would think my grotesque appearance would have acted as a natural deterrent, but apparently not.  Sure enough, David started his pitch innocently enough.  He teased me by saying that maybe my giant mountain boots must be the problem.  No argument from me.  Those things weighed a ton.

David put a hand on one of my arms, then looked up.  "I still can't believe how tall you are!"

What a keen observation.  Good grief, I towered over him. 

"You're so big!  How tall are you, Rick?"

"A little over six feet."

David paused to appreciate my height a bit longer, then continued. 

"Gosh, I wish I could be tall like you."

Now David lowered his voice to a conspiratorial hush.   "Rick, can I ask you a personal question?" 

Uh oh, here it comes.  I shrugged.  "Sure, Dave.  What do you want to know?"

"Is it true that tall men like you are well-endowed?"

Oh please.  David had just confirmed my hunch.  It didn't take much imagination to guess where this was headed.   What was this, 'Pick on Freaks Day' at Dance City?  First the Gay Gauntlet, then the River Oaks Seven, now Disco Dave.  Disheartened, I numbly replied I wouldn't know. 

I should have been outraged, but I was too beaten down to put David in his place.  I wasn't so much angry at David as I was depressed.  Why was this happening?   My arms were crossed and I wasn't smiling, but perhaps David did not understand body language.  Actually, I think he understood it just fine, but didn't care.  Ignoring my signals, David pounced.  After another crack about my colossal body proportions, he went in for the kill. 

"You know, Rick, I have an idea.  I think with just a little more help, you could get the hang of this Freestyle dancing.  But we can't stay here at the studio because someone needs this room in a couple minutes for a private lesson.  Why don't you come over to my apartment?  I live over in the Montrose area which isn't too far from here."

David had his pitch down pat.  Staring at him impassively, I feared a repeat of last week's debacle with Lola-Lynn.  Was I ready to trade a blow job for a dance lesson?  I was desperate, but not that desperate.  So I said nothing.  Undeterred by my silence, David continued. 

"I like you, Rick.  I like the fact that you didn't let those women run you off.  They can be very pushy, so I enjoyed watching you stand your ground.  I would really like to help you fix your dancing, so I'll tell you what.  Let me fix some lunch and we can get to know each other better.  Then I will help you with your dancing.  What do you think?"

What did I think?  I thought this was a very bad idea.  Yes, no doubt fixing lunch was a courtesy David extended to all his students.   Drag Queen Lynn lived nearby.  Maybe we could invite him too, have a three-way.  Perhaps Alice in Wonderland could join us for good measure.  Alice could be the girl who got away.  I could be the Mad Hatter.  The way he was grinning, David could be the Cheshire Cat.  Would the River Oaks Seven be joining us?  Would tea be served?  At least one of the women would suggest cutting my head off.  

As I stared at David, I was struck by the surrealistic unreality of the moment.  This was one of those moments when 'Weird' is actually an understatement.  At a moment in my life when I was hanging on by the slimmest of margins, David had pretended to be my friend as a way to set me up for seduction.  He had to know I was not gay, so why would he do this?  Did David lose his mind or something?

The irony was incredible.  David had his seduction lines down so pat I had to assume he had done this before.  I winced as David recited the Jim Deane playbook... soften me up with dance, offer to cook a meal, invite me to the lair, a little wine and dine, then go in for the kill.

Did everybody know these tricks but me??  I was probably the only idiot on the planet who had to buy a book to figure out how it's done.  However, there was one problem with David's approach... I wasn't the least bit turned on.  David wasn't going to get lucky, at least not with me.  It's tough to light a fire when the wood is soaking wet.  Just the thought of undoing his purple sash made me shudder. 

I really wished David had not done this.  However, it was too late now, the damage was done.  This was the final blow, the final insult, the Kill Shot.  There was no coming back from this.  This had been the Dance Class from Hell, an Extinction Level Event if ever there was one. 

As I stumbled to my car, I was sinking fast and there was no net to catch me.  My biggest fear was that I had finally reached the Point of No Return.

Assaulted at every level of my being, the Abyss was calling. 

Disgusted by David's proposition, I wasted no time leaving.  However, the moment I opened the exit door at Dance City, I was staggered by blistering Texas Heat.  The parking lot was Death Valley hot and equally lethal.  The pavement was baked to a crisp by a searing 102° temperature and visible heat waves were bouncing off cars.  In the distraught condition I was in, I thought I might pass out. 

The shimmering heat waves of the Parking Lot Inferno combined with lingering shock from my dance class had me so disoriented that I had trouble finding my car. As I staggered around the giant parking lot looking in vain among hundreds of cars, the world was spinning.  It was so hot, I felt like I had entered Hell.  Given the turmoil I faced today, perhaps I had. 

Houston is legendary for its extreme humidity.  Not just that, this massive concrete parking lot acted as a heat trap.  Feeling dizzy and out of control, the heat made it difficult to even breathe.  When I finally reached my little VW Beetle, I was in a state of panic.  I swung open the door and collapsed.  I was much too shaken to drive home, so I laid my head on the steering wheel and sat there feeling pitiful. 

The car was hotter than a furnace, so I turned on the engine and ran the AC.  Unfortunately, once I noticed I was low on gas, I had no choice but to turn the engine off and conserve what little fuel I had left. 

Wearing a flannel shirt with the ruthless sun beating down on the car, I was soon drenched in sweat.  I left the door open, but that did little good since there was no breeze.  Soon I had no choice but to take my sweat-soaked shirt off.  That didn't help either.  Shirtless and pitiful, I felt like a lobster boiled alive.  Even worse, I was  too shaken to leave.  In the condition I was in, I was an accident waiting to happen.

Every five minutes or so, I would briefly turn the AC back on.  Despite my crisis, I noticed with a grim smile that my car started each time without a problem.  Considering it was my stalled car last Saturday that got me into this mess in the place, I took note of the irony.

The heat was intense, but to be honest I was so numb I barely felt my discomfort.  That alone explains how bad a shape I was in.  I had been attacked on far too many levels to walk away from this experience unscathed.  Trying to make sense of the morning, I gripped the steering wheel tightly like it was a life preserver.  I turned the engine on a couple times to cool off, but just long enough to buy me a few more minutes till I could settle down enough to leave.  Mostly I just sat there and trembled.  I was just as rattled as one might be after barely surviving a close-call car collision.  My grotesque appearance, my clumsy dancing, my renewed St. John's sense of inferiority, and my faith in mankind had been brutally assaulted over the past 90 minutes.  Adding to my misery, a Texas Inferno well above 100 degrees was frying me to death because I was too weak to move.  The image of Hell was ever-present in my thoughts.

I tried to get a handle on what had taken place this morning.  What Dave had done bothered me more than the River Oaks Seven.  With those women I had my guard up.  I was used to women like that.  Not so with David.  I needed a friend so badly I had latched onto him like a drowning man.  I could not believe he had the nerve to take advantage of me.  I was mystified by his predatory treatment.  Why would David run roughshod over every rule of decency?  He had to know I was a long shot at best.  But David was so callous, he didn't care if his actions upset me.  No doubt he could tell I was down on my luck, so why not finish me off?

I wondered what had provoked the incident.  What gave David the impression I might be interested?  With my long unwashed hair, did I look gay?  No.  With these ragged clothes and giant boots, did I dress gay?  No.  Did I act gay?  No.  Did I dance gay?  Uh, no.  Had I smiled at him invitingly?  No.  Had I licked my lips to indicate arousal?  No.  Had I made sexual innuendos?  No.  Had I flirted in any way?  No.  Had I touched him in a suggestive way?  No.  Had I been 'asking for it' with excited laughter?  No No No! 

So what in the hell ever gave David the stupid idea that I was interested? 

I knew what David was thinking.  He could see I was a lonely guy down on his luck.  I was so desperate to learn to dance that maybe David could trick me into visiting his apartment.  Drop a couple Quaaludes into a soft drink and who knows what might happen?  I could not believe his cruelty.  No doubt despair was written all over my face.  If ever there was a human reeling from problems, it was me.  David knew the odds were remote, but he also knew that lonely people make poor decisions.  Why not take a shot?  I knew exactly what was going on.  Dave had sized me up perfectly.  I was depressed, lonely, confused, totally out of control.  Get me alone in his home and soften me up with booze or drugs.  If I had one gay bone in my body I could be David's afternoon road kill. 

They say it never hurts to ask, but I disagree.  It hurt a lot to be asked.  I had thought David was going to be my friend, but now I realized the whole thing was an act.  David was just trying to get laid.  As a result, his proposition had removed any remaining spirit.  There was no fight left in me.  By the grace of God there were no nearby cliffs or I would have been sorely tempted.  On the other hand, I could just stay here and let the Inferno do its trick.  Burn, baby, burn.  Based on my dark mood, a tempting thought. 

I took a deep breath.  I was in so much pain.  This was hardly the time for taking risks.  I had just been kicked out of graduate school.  I had been badly deceived by my former girlfriend.  I was fighting a mental illness that had turned me into a quivering coward.  With my back against the wall, I had take a giant risk.  And what did I have to show for today's dance experiment?  NOTHING BUT MISERY!  And to top it off, a man who pretended to be my friend had tried to trick me.  Now what?  Where do I go from here?  How long would it take to recover from latest failure? 

So far I had been able to ignore the heat, but it had became intolerable.  Maybe I should go.  Drenched with sweat, I was very close to throwing in the towel and returning to Couch Catatonia at the Clark family home.  Suspended animation sounded good right now.  Or maybe I should limp home to face my fears.  Considering how much I hated being alone, probably not a good idea.  Oddly enough, since I could not decide which place to go, I stayed right where I was.  I did not want to leave until I got David out of my system, so I turned the AC back on to buy more time.  Trembling in my car from a bad case of nerves, I kept asking why David would behave like that.  What was wrong with him?  I had let down my guard and trusted him because he had been so friendly.  What David had done had hurt deeply.  David's sucker punch had hit like a ton of bricks.  Why me?  David was a good-looking guy and a fabulous dancer.  No doubt he could have his pick of lovers.  So what did he need me for?   The answer was obvious... another conquest, another notch on his belt. 

Thanks to David, right now I felt like worthless dog meat.  On cue, Jim Deane's favorite tough guy mantra popped into my head.  "Find them, fool them, fuck them and forget them."  I had thought that line was amusing when I read it.  However, now that I was the prey and not the predator, that line had lost its humor.  I supposed there was a legion of women quite familiar with this macho attitude.  No doubt they would say, "Hey, Rick, tough break today, but join the club.  Men do the same shitty things to us all the time."

David saw a wounded bird and took aim.  What did he have to lose?  I shook my head in disgust.  There are times when the insensitivity of man towards his fellow man never ceases to amaze me.  David's uncaring behavior was akin to offering food to a starving dog, then kicking the helpless animal once it came close.  What kind of human being kicks a hungry, defenseless dog? 

The Christian message 'Do unto others' crossed my mind.  I had just gained a valuable insight.  Recently I had considered using force on Yolanda to get my way.  Alone in my apartment, the woman would have been helpless to prevent my attack.  Was taking advantage of her really any different than what David had done to me today?  Now that I could see first-hand how painful it felt to be treated like a piece of meat, I was glad I had followed my better instinct.  Nice guys probably do finish last, but at least I had a clear conscience. 

Suddenly I broke out laughing.  It struck me as funny that I had been handed a Christian insight in Hell.  Uh oh, there goes my new tough guy identity.  I snorted in disgust.  Who was I fooling?  Deep down I did not want to be a tough guy.  Every day was another struggle to remind myself that although some women are evil, most women are good.  If I followed the mean-spirited advice of the Mistress Book, I risked going down a path that would leave me even more cold-hearted and cynical than I already was. 

As my thoughts returned to David, the story of the Good Samaritan crossed my mind.  'Help your fellow man.'  Had our roles been reversed, I would have said to myself, "Gosh, Rick, you really struggled today, but don't quit.  Hang in there.  I want you to come back next week and try again.  I am sure you will do better." 

They say God works in mysterious ways, but this was ridiculous.  This overheated parking lot was the last place I expected to rediscover my sense of kindness.  With that thought, I smiled.  That revelation helped to cheer me up.  Good grief, when I first got in the car, I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown.  Now I had just laughed.  Amazing.  The laughter plus my indignation marked the first step on a tentative recovery from the Point of No Return. 

THE CHIP ON MY SHOULDER

Once I reached closure with David, my mind turned to the River Oaks women.  They had evoked my feelings of ugliness and inferiority, a message painfully reinforced by a look in the mirror.  Coming on the aftermath of Yolanda's rejection, renewed worries about my looks were front and center.  Although I cherished my St. John's education, how could I ever forget spending nine years feeling socially inferior to everyone at my school?  Once I reached college, this wound had mercifully gone into hiding.  I thought I was rid of this demon for good, but I was wrong.  The moment I saw that familiar haughtiness on their faces, I became the high school outcast all over again.  My sense of inferiority returned as if it was yesterday.  I despised those women for restoring my long-buried resentment. 

Confronted daily with a pervasive sense that I did not belong at St. John's, the only reason I survived high school was the giant chip on my shoulder.  During dance class today, I had noticed my age-old feeling of Defiance coming out of retirement.   Welcome back, old friend.  I would have never made it through today's ordeal without you.  Unfortunately, my Defiance had been in short supply.  Most of my Defiance had been beaten out of me by Dr. Fujimoto's constant criticism.  It gives me no pleasure to remind everyone that I was borderline mentally ill at this juncture.  Dr. Hilton had labeled my condition as 'acute social anxiety disorder'.  I definitely had all the symptoms... fear of rejection, constant worry, anxiety, avoidance of taking action to solve my problem.  I had physical symptoms such as trembling, fast heart rate, sweating profusely.  I don't say this to garner sympathy, but rather to make the point that I was a very disturbed young man.  Was it possible for a mentally ill person to cure something this serious on his own?  I definitely had my doubts.

More than anything, I suffered from acute loneliness.  The only solution was to make friends with a few girls, but I always expected the worst.  I was so sure I would be rejected, I had reached the point where I no longer gave myself a chance.  Thanks to my Phobia, I was so certain I would be shot down, I no longer dared approach an attractive woman.  Just the thought of approaching a pretty girl at a night club made me physically sick with fear.  As a result, I no longer left my apartment at night except to play basketball.  How would I ever win a fight if I could not even get in the ring?  That was the whole point of these dance lessons.  They were supposed to bolster my confidence just enough to begin approaching women again. 

Here I am, a young man fighting a fear of rejection in the only way he can think of -dance class - and guess who shows up?  Seven women who spent the entire hour rejecting me.  I tried to keep my guard up, but the River Oaks Seven ripped it to shreds.  They made me feel ugly by sneering at my hillbilly appearance and laughing at my clumsiness.  In the process, their disdain reawakened my sense of inferiority.  

Maybe they were laughing at my pock-marked face as well.  "How sad.  Poor Sasquatch could not find a decent dermatologist in the forest."  That thought made me cringe.  Every imagined slight and contemptuous laugh shot a dagger through my heart.  I had a terrible fantasy.  What if I asked a pretty girl to dance?  Would she take one look at my scars and laugh at me?  Or would she wait to see my dancing and then laugh?? 

The memory of Connie Kill Shot and her two co-stars reappeared.  These were the three women who had laughed out loud in contempt as they watched me dance at a college mixer.  My fear was that all women would respond to me with the same disgust as Connie.  That fear formed the very core of my Rejection Phobia. 

Today the River Oaks Seven had effortlessly triggered my worst demons.  I hated these women.  No matter how much the sun superheated my car, the nasty grin on their faces made me burn even more.  Their disdain touched on my appearance, my rawest nerve.  Right now I felt so beaten, I could not imagine finding the courage to face them again. 

FATHER, WHY HAVE YOU ABANDONED ME?

Despite the heat, I still did not have the strength to leave.  My mind turned from David and the River Oaks Seven to face the implications of my mediocre dancing.  Ultimately, this was the most important issue because I strongly wished to quit my Dance Project.  Quitting made perfect sense.  I had just received all the proof I needed to convince me I was never meant to be a dancer.  But for some nagging reason, a part of me did not want to give up.  Disturbed by the possibility that quitting was a mistake, I was determined to examine my doubt.  As a result, rather than turn on the engine and drive away, it was more important to analyze what had gone wrong.  Why had I struggled so badly in dance class?  I asked myself this question over and over.  After all, dancing seemed to come naturally to a lot of people.  That included my classmates back in high school.  So why me?  Why did I have to struggle?  I had no answer for that.  All I knew was that 'dancing ability' had been excluded from my genetic package. 

I was a good athlete.  Assuming I had better than average control over my body, one would assume I could learn to dance as easily as the next guy.  But instead I stumbled badly.  If my high school classmates and today's socialites could pull it off, then why couldn't I do it?  What was their secret?  Superior breeding?  I laughed at myself scornfully.  I was poor.  I was ugly.  I was friendless.  Fujimoto had made it clear there was something wrong with me.  I could not get a girl interested in me to save my soul.  Now I had just confirmed I was spastic as well.  What else could I fail at?

According to Jim Deane, learning to dance was supposed to require little more than 'a modest effort'.  Modest effort?  After today's events, learning to dance seemed insurmountable.  The way I felt, climbing Mt. Everest might be easier.  Prior to today's class, my optimistic fantasy suggested picking up a few useful dance steps.  Afterwards I could depart with a big smile over this exciting new Dance Project and look forward to next week's class.  So much for that daydream.  I was disillusioned and drenched in sweat here in the middle of a blazing parking lot.  Given how low my courage was to begin with, I had taken a huge gamble coming to class today.  In a sense, it was like going 'all in', a popular Poker phrase.  I knew I was taking a risk, but I never expected things to backfire so badly.  How could I have been so wrong?  Ironically, for a moment there I had felt in my heart that this dancing idea was the answer I was looking for.  With that, I paused for a moment to consider something.  Something was strange about today, something not right.  There is 'failure' and then there is 'FAILURE'.  I had walked into a situation akin to the Texas Chainsaw Massacre.  Under ordinary circumstances, one would not expect a Saturday morning dance class to turn into a Life Crisis.  There was a definite unreal quality to today's events.  

It was like the cards had been deliberately stacked against me. 

I did not understand.  I had felt Supernaturally Guided to take this class, i.e. the Fork in the Road.  To me, the presence of Vanessa's name in the Mistress Book, the inexplicable rejection by Yolanda, the stalled car and the strange appearance of Lynn appeared to be linked events meant to suggest Dancing was the answer to my prayers for help.  Working together, this series of events suggested Dance Lessons might be the only way I could lick this horrible Phobia.  Silly me, I had interpreted these signs as a message from God, a recommendation of sorts.  Yeah, right.  I snorted with disgust.   Here I was, trapped in this blazing heat too pathetic to drive home.  Unless I missing something, it looked to me like God had deliberately set me up for FAILURE! 

Why would God set me up for failure?  That made no sense!  It also hurt.  Isn't God supposed to help those who help themselves?  Here in the midst of my Epic Losing Streak, I had never felt so abandoned.  Seriously, had God forgotten about Graduate School?  Had God forgotten about the Curse of Vanessa?  I understood that life has its ups and downs, but wasn't it my turn to catch a break?? 

I lost my temper and cursed my terrible run of bad luck.  I screamed out loud in frustration, "Damn it!  Why does everything always have to be so hard for me?" 

Why did I have to be thrown out of graduate school?  Look how hard I tried!  And why did Vanessa ditch me?  Why can't I get rid of this Phobia?  Why can't I learn to dance like normal people?  Would it be so terrible to discover I had a secret talent for dance?  With just a bit of talent, I might find the courage to go dancing soon, meet some girls, hopefully solve my aching loneliness.  But no, that was not going to happen.  My bright idea had turned out to be a disastrous dead end, but the worst part is that I thought I was doing what God wanted me to do. 

Overwhelmed by futility and full of bitterness, I looked skyward and said, "God, is it asking too much to catch a break here?"

Instantly I was ashamed of myself.  I could not believe I had just complained to God.  This was a first.  Even when I got thrown out of graduate school I did not complain to God.  I felt responsible for my mistakes, so why blame God?  But I was complaining now.  My Failure today was unfair.  I was convinced God Himself had sent me here knowing full well I did not possess the ability to succeed.  And to make matters worse, I blamed God for planting those miserable women in the room to intimidate me.  And just in case I had any thoughts about continuing, I blamed God for giving David the idea to kick any remaining hope out of me. 

Today was God's fault.  I was sure of it.  I was angry.  But mostly I was disappointed.  I had really wanted this to work.  Screwing up today's dance class was the final straw.  At this point, my self-pity overwhelmed me and I broke down.  Right there in my car I began sobbing like a forlorn banshee.

For the past year, absolutely nothing had gone right and I couldn't take it anymore.  I cried and cried.  At least ten minutes, probably longer.  All that pent-up frustration poured out in torrents like water bursting through a busted dam.  I was defeated.  Feeling abandoned by God, my will to fight on was gone.  I had tried as hard as I could to lick this Curse and look where it got me.  I had failed yet again at something that was very important to me. 

That thud was the sound of me hitting the valley below.  My life had just hit Rock Bottom again.  I had thought hitting Rock Bottom in Colorado was as low as I could go, but to my astonishment this was the worst plunge of all. 

RISING FROM THE ASHES

In Greek Mythology, the Phoenix was a unique, semi-immortal bird that lived for five centuries in the desert.  At a certain point, the bird would build its own funeral pyre and deliberately burn itself to death.  From there the Phoenix would rise from the ashes with renewed youth to live through another cycle.  Over time the Phoenix has come to be symbolically associated with Rebirth and starting anew.

In my case, one would assume that since I had just hit Rock Bottom I had nowhere to go but up.  I disagree.  During the time I spent at Child Welfare, I met several people who got knocked down and never got back up again.  The memory of those poor dogs laying down on the electrified grid and refusing to do anything to save themselves in the Learned Helplessness experiment confirmed my belief that sometimes Defeat is Final.

Fortunately I caught a break.  Once the tears passed, I was possessed by a sudden urge to try coming to dance class again.  I realize how silly it sounds for a grown man to become a giant crybaby over a dance class failure, but please understand that class held powerful symbolism in my mind. 

I had convinced myself that Dancing was my best path back to women. 

That was a powerful incentive to try again.

I had invested far too much hope that my problems would be solved by today's dance class.  But now that this possibility was gone, I could not handle the disappointment.  My wistful, wishful ray of hope had been ripped away in about the cruelest way possible.  I wasn't strong enough to handle yet another set-back with grace.  As my frustration grew to a fever pitch here in the car, first I lost my temper at God and then I broke down in a torrent of tears.  To my surprise, those tears were a godsend.  I was a tough, humorless kid who didn't cry very often in those days, but I sure needed those tears today.  When the tears finally ceased, I was soaking wet.  A thunder shower could not have drenched me more thoroughly.  Good grief, even my blue jeans were soaking wet.  The car was a sauna full of humid steam from my overheated blood, sweat and tears. 

Like the Phoenix I suppose I had burned to death here in my car.  Now despite the unbearable heat, I felt better after crying.  With a big sigh, I was finally able to release my death grip on the steering wheel.  I sat back in my seat and took a long breath.  I turned the engine back on to get some life-saving cool air, the smiled.  Those tears had really helped.  Grateful to see myself regain some self-control, I began to think with a clearer mind.  I was surprised, maybe even shocked, at the next thought to cross my mind. 

I still wanted to learn to dance. 

I was incredulous.  Was I out of my mind?  Why try again when I had no natural ability!?!?  I immediately tried to talk myself out of it.

'...and the effort involved being modest as it is...'

I laughed bitterly.  Who said Learning to Dance was easy?  What a crock of shit.  I had known in my heart all along that I was a miserable dancer.  However I had chosen to ignore my better judgment and try anyway.  In my wildest dreams, I was going to take one dance class and go to some club.  Once the women saw how good I was at dancing, they would line up to be my next partner.  So much for this pie in the sky nonsense.  I was crushed to accept this Dance Project had been doomed from the start.  The events of the day made success seem inconceivable.  Be that as it may, I still wanted to learn to dance. 

I could not seem to shake any sense into the lunatic part of my mind that embraced this lost cause.  When the desire refused to go away, I sat up in my seat and paid better attention to the debate forming in my mind.  I didn't care about the heat because something important was developing here.  One part of me was ready to quit.  But another part of me insisted it wasn't hopeless.  I asked myself why I was considering further lessons.  The answer was clear.  'Dancing' had become mysteriously linked in my mind as the solution to my endless search for a girlfriend.  I had convinced myself that Dancing was my Best Path back to women.  Let me change that.  I saw Dancing as my 'Only' path back to women.  Dancing could cure my Phobia, I was sure of it.  All I needed was an easy way to break the ice with a girl I didn't know.  "Would you like to dance?" would do that for me.  That fantasy held great power in my mind. 

Before I entered class today, my intuition had promised me that learning to dance would eventually cure my Phobia.  They say that Intuition is the Voice of God.  I don't know if that is true, but I will say I was very surprised to see that same intuition was still alive even after everything I had been through today.  Not only that, this particular instinct was unusually powerful at the moment.  I snorted in disgust.  Okay, maybe there was some part of me that insisted on continuing, but that was not going to happen.  After being insulted, laughed at, propositioned and treated with scorn, I refused to go back to David's class. 

But how was I going to learn to dance without a dance class?   

I knew 'Dancing' was not something I could learn on my own.  But I could not return to Dance City, that was certain.  I never wanted to see David's face again.  And how would I ever face those nasty women?  Just the thought of seeing those women once more made me sick.  However, to my surprise, the Chip on my Shoulder spoke up to remind me how those women had tried to run me off.  "Rick, if you don't return, that would make those nasty women very happy." 

Hmm.  Chip had a good point there.  My mind conjured up an image of those rich women laughing and clucking to themselves next week... "Oh, wasn't that awful mountain creature pathetic?  I am so glad we ran him off!  He did not belong here."

I bristled at the thought.  There were people who thought I did not belong at St. John's either.  Chip said, "Rick, do you really want to give those women the satisfaction that they got under your skin?"

Chip knew exactly how to rile me up.  I found myself shaking my head in anger at how hard those seven women had tried to intimidate me.  Was I so scared of those nasty women that I could not face them again?  Now for the second time I laughed.  What was going on with me?  First was the Great Phobia Debate.  Then came the Great Tough Guy Debate.  Then came the Great Gay Debate.  Now I was having the Dance Class from Hell Debate.  At that moment Chip spoke up and said something wonderful. 

"Rick, you never let women like that run you off back at St. John's.  Have you forgotten that you used to kick ass at St. John's with your defiance?" 

It was true.  I had faced intermittent snobbery and disdain for nine years at St. John's and never let it stop me.  Why should I let it stop me now?  Yes, I was lost at the moment and nothing was going right.  That said, crazy as it sounds, the memory of St. John's rallied me.  I felt like a fog was starting to clear, like I was waking up from a deep sleep.

I had not always been a loser. 

In fact, I had tasted considerable success until I hit Colorado State.  I was a born competitor.  Competing against the smartest kids at the toughest school in Houston, I always finished near the top of my class.  I had a earned a full scholarship to St. John's and graduated with honors.  I had earned a full scholarship to Johns Hopkins and graduated with honors from there as well.  For that matter, I had earned a full scholarship to Colorado State and made the second highest grades if one overlooked that 'D' in Fujimoto's class.

Why I had I lost sight of this?  

Right now I was puny and weak.  Here in my Darkest Day, I was so full of defeat that everything seemed insurmountable.  But it didn't have to be that way.  In a flash, an unexpected surge of confidence ripped through me.  I had conquered handicaps before.  I had overcome my blind eye and I had come back from that crippling acne attack.  Due to my parents' neglect, I had practically raised myself.  Not only that, I helped pay my way to college by working a job after school for three years.  Whatever happened to my aggressive side?   

My time at St. John's and Johns Hopkins had taught me I had the ability to accomplish whatever was important to me. 

So I got pushed around at Colorado State.  Boo hoo.  Sure I had a tough run of bad luck, but I was still in the game.  For crying out loud, what was my problem?  Back when I was a kid, I taught myself to play chess completely on my own.  I taught myself to play basketball completely on my own.  Now I was very good at both skills.  I knew I had the ability to be the hardest worker on the planet when I set my mind to it.  So maybe it would take me longer than most people to learn to dance, but damn it, I was only 24 years old. I had my entire life ahead of me!  Time was on my side.  I would get there eventually.  If I wanted to learn to dance, then go ahead and do it!  With that thought, it was settled.  I had the ability to accomplish whatever was important to me.   And right now, Learning to Dance was that important. 

I was going to learn to dance... so help me God.

It was a crazy moment.  In fact, my decision felt like a sacred vow.  I had just promised myself that I would stick with dance lessons until I was a very good dancer.  It might take a long time, but I had no bills, no dependents, no one to answer to.  If this is what I wanted to do, there was nothing to stop me.  Not even the River Oaks Seven.  Not even my horny dance instructor.  A smile crossed my face.  I liked my decision.  Today I was waking up from a long nightmare and remembering who I really was.  Thanks to Chip, the healthy side of my mind had resumed control.  Why had I lost so much faith in myself?  It was beyond comprehension how crippled my mind had become in Colorado.  I had once been a fighter.  Now I had become so weak and helpless that I let life dictate to me rather than the other way around.  That included today.  Caught off guard, I had been badly knocked down. 

"Well," I told myself, "it is time to stop feeling sorry for myself.  Get back up and let's give it another try." 

I had thought my decision to return to dance class the following week was final, but I was wrong.  I had not even made it out of the Dance City parking lot when I began to second guess myself.  Phobia, the protective side of my personality, was trying to regain the upper hand. 

"Rick, what are you thinking?  There is no way you want to go back to David's class! You would be foolish to face those awful River Oaks women again!!"

My Dance Class from Hell had been a total disaster.  So why on earth would I subject myself to further humiliation?  I decided I had no choice but find another dance class somewhere in town.  I believed with a different teacher and normal classmates, I could relax and improve at my own pace.  Best of all, I would not have to confront a lifetime of psychological issues. 

Just then Chip chipped in (yes, bad pun, read at your own risk).

"Look, Rick, those women were not there by accident.  Admit it, they were put there by the Universe to force you to face your fears.  You have no choice but to go back." 

Damn it!  Just when I thought the Great Dance Class Debate was over.  No, obviously it wasn't over.  As imagery of the River Oaks Seven laughing at me flashed across my mind's eye, I nearly lost control of the car.  Faced with a major failure of courage, I was unable to drive and think at the same time.  So I stopped on the edge of the parking lot and turned off the engine to conserve gas.  Now I began Round Two of the Great Dance Class Debate.

Phobia had suggested a good compromise.  If I insisted on continuing dance lessons, another dance studio would spare me a repeat of today's trauma.  Only one problem.  Where was I going to find another class?  I recalled striking out on the first three dance studio listings in the Yellow Pages.  There was a reason for that.  A lady named Edna had told me Disco music was a fairly recent phenomenon.  Edna had added that David's class was the only one like it in town.  If Edna was right... and I had a sinking feeling she was... then it was going to be David's class or no class at all. 

I became sick with nausea.  My sniveling side begged me not to return to face all that hostility.  Phobia exclaimed, "You don't have any business going back there!  Those women hate you!  You will probably get your feelings hurt even worse.  Then where will you be?"

Oh, great, here we go again.  My Rejection Phobia was in high gear.  Phobia reminded me how terrified I was of appearing foolish in front of those pitiless women.  Realizing Phobia was right, a bolt of anxiety shot through me at the thought of returning to face those awful women.  I dreaded watching them sneer and remind me what a loser I was.  I recalled how one woman had laughed out loud at my dancing.  Why set myself up for more humiliation? 

Sensing that I was weakening, Chip countered.  "Oh, Rick, knock it off.  Do you really wish to give those women that much power over you?  Aren't you getting tired of being pushed around by women?"

Ouch!  Good point.  As the picture of Yolanda's pretty face entered my mind, yes, I was definitely getting tired of being dominated by women.  This went back and forth.  It was Chip versus Phobia with 'Me' caught in the middle.  My helpless, sniveling Phobia wanted to protect me from all threats related to women.   Phobia promised that if I kept backing down, I could avoid any further anxiety.  Chip said I had to fight back.  Wasn't I tired of backing down?  How would I ever restore my lost pride if I quit now?

My life had reached a critical juncture.  This was crazy.  A Beginner-level Dance Class had turned into my personal Gunfight at OK Corral.  It was strange how my search for an answer to my problems had led to this bizarre showdown, but this was it.  I had to make a choice.  Right now, I wanted to fight back.  If I became as a good a dancer as they were, those River Oaks women might show some respect.  However, it seemed like a lost cause.  They were so much better than me.  Considering the way I felt right now, Phobia was right, it made more sense to just give up.  I was incapable of learning to dance.

"Stop it!" Chip roared.  "You are giving up way too easily.  And stop picking on yourself all the time!"

Chip was right again.  The problem with feeling Cursed is that it had turned me into a helpless victim.  Right now one part of my psyche had me believing that I lacked the power to change my endless cycle of misfortune with women.  The longer I gave into this feeling, the closer I would come to the proverbial Point of No Return.  During my time at Colorado State, I had read a study on obesity that contained a dire warning.  Researchers concluded the longer a person remained overweight, the higher the risk the day would come when the obesity would become irreversible. 

"The worst thing is that negative perceptions gained during early childhood learning will remain imprinted in a child's brain, leaving a mark that will affect his or her way of perceiving themselves and the world.  It is imperative that each child receive intervention before a negative mind set develops that will virtually guarantee this paralyzing negative attitude lasts a lifetime."

Once a person loses hope, they approach the Point of No Return.  Lacking the courage to truly give it one's best effort, some people become so mentally defeated that they were in great danger of never trying again.  At this point, their obesity condition would become permanent.  They would give up fighting and settle for being fat for life.  Once fat, always fat.  By extension, once ugly, always ugly.

Considering my own negative mind set, that possibility frightened me.  Considering I had spent my past ten years feeling ugly, the Point of No Return research implied if I waited much longer, the day would come when there might actually be no way to cure my fear of approaching pretty girls.  (Author's Note: I understand that this entire debate must seem ridiculous, but mental illness is really tough to cure.)

Sensing I was starting to let my difficulties dictate to me again, it was time to assert my will.  I reaffirmed there was no way I was going to back down.  Today I had let the River Oaks Seven and Disco Dave intimidate me.  Okay, fine, they won this round.  More power to them.  I might add that my tendency to constantly criticize myself had definitely sabotaged my performance in class.  Maybe if I stopped criticizing myself, I might do better.  Why not just accept that I was clumsy and take it from there?  Chewing myself out wasn't going to make my dancing improve any faster.  

Yes, it was a shame that today's dance class had been so hard for me.  And yes, it was a tough break that dancing came naturally to other people, but not to me.  That said, I was certain if I put my heart into it, I would eventually improve and show those awful women that I was not a pathetic human being.  As for my dancing, I accepted that it would take a while.  However, if I refused to give up, I would get there eventually.  Vanessa and Fujimoto had sent me on a losing streak of epic proportions and Yolanda had prolonged it.  Now David and the River Oaks Seven had attempted to bar the door to my chosen comeback route.  Well, I wasn't going to let them stop me. 

For the second time today, I thought I had made up my mind to return next week. If they tried to close that Door again, I vowed to knock it down.  Full of confidence, I revved up the car.  And how long did my good mood last?  Maybe 30 seconds. 

A MYSTERIOUS HINT  

Sure enough, practically the moment I began to drive home for the second time, Phobia renewed its protest and refused to shut up.  I was overwhelmed by a new flood of doubt and negativity. 

"Rick, you cannot dance worth a lick.  Those women are just going to laugh at you again!"

Phobia was right, so my confidence wavered as the Great Dance Class Debate entered Round Three.  I thought I had made up my mind for sure, but apparently not.  Those nasty River Oaks women were sure to be ugly to me again and I despised David for betraying my trust.  Just then Chip reminded me that the man definitely knew how to dance.  If I could force myself to go back to David's class, I was sure to get the dance moves I coveted so much.  But where was I going to find the courage to return?  The moment I tripped over my feet again, those women were sure to laugh.

If only there was a way to improve in the meantime!  

That is when Phobia reminded me how embarrassed I had been over that stupid step-ball-change move.  The memory of that woman laughing at me made me wince.  It was incredible how my powerful Phobia used my fear of ridicule to control me.  As things stood, I was almost certain to repeat today's errors next week.  Feeling helpless, I realized I could not go back to that class until I figured out what I had failed to learn today.  Feeling trapped, as I waited at a stop light, out of the blue a voice whispered to me, "Go get a mirror!"

Startled, I looked around to see where that voice had come from.  As I turned my head, I noticed a hardware store right across the street.  I immediately grasped the meaning.  If I had a mirror in my apartment, I could practice what I had learned today. Without hesitation, I turned left at the light and headed to the hardware store.  That was quite a coincidence.  As the final decision on the Dance Class from Hell Debate hung in the balance, a voice from nowhere had not only suggested a mirror, something had guided my eyes to a place where I could find a mirror.  Hmm.  Nice timing.  I smiled a bit.  I liked the idea of buying a mirror.

This was the second time in my life that I had heard a voice like this.  The first time had been in 1970 (Event #26).  A voice from nowhere had warned me that I was seriously depressed and I better do something about it.  The next day I had visited the Baltimore Quaker Meeting looking for a way to cheer me up.  That day I met a man named Richard who suggested I read Autobiography of a Yogi.  This inspiration I took from this amazing book became the ladder I used to climb out of a very deep hole. 

Just my luck, now I was in another deep hole.  With a grim smile, I wondered if a mirror could rescue me from this Debate impasse.  Phobia refused to let me go back to my dance class.  What I needed was something to help Chip gain the upper hand over Phobia.  Given the strange events of the day, this 'Get a Mirror' message seemed like a good omen.  However, Phobia suggested I should think this over.  That is when my defiance kicked in.  I told Phobia to go to hell.  Since the 'buy a mirror' whisper felt suspiciously like Divine Intervention, for the first time all day Phobia shut up.  Freed of the incessant torment, I wasted no time driving over to the store.  Once inside, I noticed some decorative mirror tiles selling for a dollar apiece.  Shaped in squares, I thought the tiles were kind of tacky.  However, I did not care how ugly they were.  I needed a mirror and these reflective tiles would do the trick.  I picked out 15 tiles and headed to the check-out counter.

As I stood in line, the young lady at the register eyed me incredulously.  Thanks to the Parking Lot Inferno, my face was pale as a ghost and my clothes were soaked to the bone.  My pants were wet and so was my red flannel shirt.  Even the dollar bills I handed her from my wallet were soaking wet. As I stood there, water from my shoulder length hair steadily dripped onto her counter.  Considering there wasn't a cloud in the sky, the woman could not imagine why I was so wet.  Seeing her jaw drop at my appearance, I could read her mind.  I probably resembled the Creature from the Black Lagoon.  But so what?  I was on a mission and I didn't care how terrible I looked.  Just give me my change, lady, and I will stop dripping water on your counter.  

As I walked out of the store, I shook my head.  This day had been too weird for words. 

THE MAGIC MIRROR

The moment I returned to my apartment, I stuck the 15 mirror tiles on the wall.  Now I had a mirror 3 feet wide and 5 feet tall. 

I turned on the radio to KLOL, a rock music station.  Lady Marmalade wasn't exactly 'Disco music', but it had a good beat.  Standing in front of my makeshift mirror, I started to practice what I had learned earlier in the day.

I practiced 'step-together-step' over and over.  Now that the women weren't frowning at my appearance and dancing, I could relax a little.  As I calmed down, I started to see where my mistakes had been.  It did not take long to discover my fatal flaw... I think too much! 

I am too analytical, it is just my nature.  My brain didn't trust my feet.  By over-thinking my footwork, I became my own worst enemy.  Mind you, I could play basketball all day long without worrying about my feet, but when it came to dancing, I was acutely self-conscious.  My brain would not let my feet move unless it could supervise each step carefully.  The mirror helped immensely.  As long as I could watch my feet in the mirror, my brain eased up its vigilance.  Pretty soon I could let my feet move without stopping every ten seconds for another round of criticism.  Slowly but surely, I got it.  It took an hour, but I finally reached the point where I could dance to the music without stopping after each step to evaluate.

Each night that week I practiced dancing in the mirror.  Now that I had started to improve, I wasn't quite so self-critical.  To my amazement, Phobia continued its silence.  I was so encouraged by my progress that I no longer feared returning to David's dance class.  I had a new name for the mirror.  It was now the 'Magic Mirror'. 

I was thrilled to see my self-discipline make a welcome comeback.  Once I put my mind to something, I have an uncanny persistence.  Thanks to that discipline, I often succeed in academics even when I do not care for the subject.  Now I was pleased to note that persistence had transferred to Dance, another subject for which I had no natural affinity.  However I did have one advantage.  At least this time I was motivated.  Unlike useless subjects like Latin and Chemistry (with an apology to those who like science), I dearly wanted to learn to dance.  To my delight, I was excited over my decision to stay with the Dance Project.  I was very proud of myself, a feeling I had not felt in ages.

I practiced and practiced.  Then I practiced some more.  I practiced the next night and the night after that.  I practiced every night that week.  15 minutes, 30 minutes, 60 minutes, it didn't matter just as long as I practiced every night.  I didn't understand why it was so important, but this ritual was something I had to do.  In the midst of my Phobia crisis, I firmly believed that if I could learn to dance, I could somehow pull myself out of this hole.  I had not thought in terms of Fate in a long time.  For some odd reason the idea of Fate never entered my mind during my problems at Colorado State.  However, the Dance Class from Hell and the events leading up to it were so weird I was now convinced that something very important was taking place in my life.  As I stared at myself in the Magic Mirror, I wondered if this goofy dance project was part of my Fate.  The thought that God might have had something to do with that Voice was a powerful incentive to take 'Step Ball Change' seriously.

As I practiced my dancing at night, my mind returned to those high school dance parties of yesteryear.  Each dance had been held at the palatial homes of various classmates after home football games.  Yes, I wanted to see the big homes where my classmates lived, but the main reason I went was to watch the dancing.  Considering I never participated, why had I been so drawn to these dances?  I knew the answer to that.  It was rooted in my deep sense of inferiority.  I never dated in high school due to my acne-scarred face.  I never played sports due to my blind eye.  I never participated in plays or any sort of extracurricular event.  I did not play golf with the boys.  I did not play tennis at the local country club.  I did not go down to someone's beach house in Galveston for the weekend.  I spoke little to anyone outside of class other than two or three lunchtime friends who were shy like me.  And I certainly did not participate in the school-sponsored dances... but I wanted to. 

Throughout high school I never missed a chance to attend, but that did not mean I would participate.  I would spend the entire evening hiding in the shadows.  Those dance parties were important because they offered the only window I had into the private lives of my superior classmates.  I watched in envy as my classmates had fun dancing to the sounds of Beach Boys, Supremes, Aretha Franklin and Marvin Gaye.  Gosh, I wanted so much to join them!  But I would not have known where to start.  Nor would I have found the courage to ask a girl to join me.  During those nights of watching, I vowed that someday I would take the time to catch up to my classmates in dancing and dating.  Due to the acne, so far my entire life had been one of constant postponement.  For ten years, I had delayed my long lost goal of catching up to my classmates someday.  With a sense of irony, I realized the presence of the River Oaks women had reawakened my desire to become the social equal of my classmates.  I begrudgingly admitted the women were a Silver Lining of sorts.  If it had not been for my deep-seated desire to prove those women (and by extension my former classmates) were no better than me, I would have quit halfway through my first dance class.  The River Oaks women were the only reason I had stuck around.

There was something powerful about staring into the mirror.  step-touch, step-touch...  All kinds of strange thoughts floated through my head as I danced.  Plus the music.  Something was bothering me.  It was a struggle, but my mind eventually confessed.  I wanted to develop enough confidence to date women who were just as pretty, just as intelligent, just as gifted as the young ladies at St. John's.  That was my real goal, the chance to date the best and the beautiful.  Dream on.  Where would I ever get the nerve to talk to a woman of this caliber?  Women like these were out of my league.  Or were they?  step-ball-change, step-ball-change...

Every night as I practiced I had the chance to reflect on why the River Oaks Seven bothered me so much.  I was certain that Fate had deliberately placed those nasty women in my class.  Symbolically, they were the new representatives of 'St. John's Superiority'.  If I could catch up to those women, I could fulfill my teenage vow that I would one day learn to dance just like everyone else at my school.  Right now, my deep-seated desire to achieve equality was powerful motivation.  If I could match these society women step for step in dance class, by extension I would achieve a sense of parity with my former classmates.   step-together-step, step-together-step...

PREPARATION

I had a lot of unanswered questions regarding the Dance Class from Hell.  Recent events such as the Mistress Book, the Stalled Car and getting seduced by a drag queen had awakened a vague suspicion that I was undergoing a Fated Event.  I had no idea where this was headed, but something very strange was definitely going on.  Due to the extreme difficulty of the Dance Class from Hell, I began to wonder if there was a hidden message involved.  Fate had placed me in that dance class, I was sure of it.  I did not know why the class had to be so difficult, but it must have been a Karmic Test of some sort, a Trial by Fire.  I especially appreciated the intense heat of the parking lot.  To Hell and back.  Hmm.  Nice touch. 

The whisper suggestion to buy a mirror was another nice touch.  Feeling my confidence elevate whenever I practiced, this Magic Mirror felt like a Diving Blessing.  During the Parking Lot Inferno I had felt abandoned by God.  Thanks to the Magic Mirror, I no longer felt abandoned.  In fact, dancing in this Mirror cheered me up so much I felt like I was following God's Will.  With that thought, tears of joy came to my eyes.  To me, the Mirror implied I was not traveling this Dance Path alone after all.  Somebody up there liked me. 

The Magic Mirror not only helped improve my footwork, it reminded me I needed to do something about my appearance.  It was time I came to grips with the fact that I lived in Texas, not Colorado.  First I got a haircut.  Then I put away my beloved flannel shirts.  My mountain boots went in the closet never to be worn again.  Out came the loafers.  A little polish eliminated the dust.  As an added touch, I purchased a white polo shirt and khaki pants.  This was the St. John's uniform, a familiar suit of armor I had worn for nine years.  It was my way of reminding myself how I had once stood up to women like the River Oaks Seven at my school.  If I could do it then, I could do it again.  I wasn't exactly a sharp-dressed man, but I had made a vast improvement in a short time.

Each night that week I practiced in the mirror.  I was so encouraged by my progress I no longer feared returning to David's class at Dance City.  Dancing in the mirror had worked wonders on my confidence.  To my surprise, with Chip eagerly anticipating the showdown, Phobia remained in temporary eclipse.  Getting rid of the constant self-criticism was worth the price of this mirror many times over.  For the first time since leaving Colorado State, I felt like I was doing something positive to get my life back on track.

My attitude changed so dramatically during the week, I was bound and determined to show those awful women they could not intimidate me.  Furthermore I was determined to one day pass them.  Although I lacked natural ability, I would make up for it with practice born of self-discipline and the intense motivation I felt.  It might take a while, but now that I had my direction, I was sure I would succeed.  This class meant more to me than it did to them.  Those women had caught me off guard last week.  They had reminded me far too much of my lonely days standing in the shadows at those high school dance parties.  This time I was ready thanks to my secret weapon.  The Magic Mirror would change everything.  This dance class was where I would stage my comeback.  I was going to conquer all my demons at once - Vanessa, Fujimoto, snobs, fear of pretty girls, and those awful feelings of ugliness.  A fire raged in my belly.  As things stood, I was fighting a Curse known as the Epic Losing Streak.  For ten years I had backed down every time something went wrong.  Those days were over.

This dance class is where I would make my stand. 

The day was here, so I returned to Dance City and brought my Game Face with me.  The change was immediately apparent.  When the Gay Gauntlet stared at me, this time I stared back.  Hey guys, Freak Show is over.  Not only that, this time I smiled.  Why should I be afraid of them?   A couple men looked away at my challenge, a couple more smiled back.  Most important, this time no one stared or glared in horror.  My transformation had put a swift end to that. 

David was so surprised to see me I thought he would have a heart attack.  He took an involuntary step backward and covered his mouth to hide his shock.  When David saw the look of determination on my face, I am sure his first reaction was to wonder if I had returned to beat him up.  He forced a weak smile, so I nodded to reassure him.  The relief on his face was so obvious I almost broke character and laughed. 

The River Oaks women frowned.  No problem.  That was to be expected.  But they definitely understood the message behind my change in appearance.  Last week I looked like a homeless person, this week some of my prep school polish had returned.  I could see it in their eyes, a resentful acknowledgement that I had just as much right to be here as they did.  They still refused to show any regard for me, but they did not laugh or snicker once during class.  It was an uncomfortable truce to be sure, but a definite step forward.  At least they didn't try to get rid of me.

As for my dancing, the improvement was noticeable.  I was still clumsy, stiff and mechanical, but I no longer stumbled on Step-Ball-Change.  Best of all, no more temper tantrums over my my clumsiness, no more chewing myself out for every mistake.  The River Oaks Seven were still much better dancers than me, but I closed the gap slightly.  That was all the encouragement I needed. The Magic Mirror had worked a miracle of sorts.  Thanks to the Magic Mirror, today I won the Rematch.   And so my Dance Project began in earnest.