SUBCHAPTER 424 - TONGUE-LASHING

I called my new dance the New Yorker for a curious reason.  One day someone in class asked me where I had learned this dance.  I fibbed on the spot.  I didn't want to tell them it was the 'Aggie Jitterbug'.  Back in the Seventies the Texas A&M Aggies were very unpopular in Houston.  Due to an inherent 'city versus country' bias, many Houstonians considered the Aggies ignorant because they were from the country.  The Aggies were resentful and rightly so.  The frequent jokes about them were very demeaning. 

Call me a coward, but since my students consisted mainly of 'city slickers', I preferred to avoid controversy.  So I simply told everyone I was teaching 'the latest dance from New York'.  Once I saw how impressed the students were, the name stuck.  And so the Great Imposter fooled them yet again into thinking he was a true dance professional.  On the other hand, my partner dance breakthrough allowed me to maintain my solid lead as the best-known Disco teacher in the city of Houston.  I owed Janie a real debt.  Thanks to her, I became one of the few people to teach Disco partner dancing in Houston.  In fact, I may have been the first.  This New Yorker was a huge boost because it brought countless new people to our doors who wanted to learn how to partner dance.   

There was some considerable irony at work here.  I never told anyone that a pretty coed from Texas A&M was responsible for saving my career.  To this day, I find it amusing that the disrespected Aggies were the main reason Houston's city slickers learned how to partner dance to Disco music.  Considering this was akin to building an Arab mosque with Jewish donations, I preferred to keep this my own little secret. 

The 'Great Partner Dance Crisis' had been such a close call that I didn't know if my nerves could take much more of this.  I was exhausted.  Not only was I working two jobs, for the past two weeks I had spent what little free time I had visiting the Pistachio Club and practicing my new dance moves with Suzy.  However, I assumed the trauma was worth it because I had managed to save my beloved Disco job.  

My New Yorker was at best a modest accomplishment.  Several months later I would discover a far superior partner dance known as the Latin Hustle, aka 'The Hustle'.   The Latin Hustle had footwork, kept the beat, and moved just as fast as my New Yorker.  Relatively speaking, the Hustle was a racing bike to my tricycle.  That said, my New Yorker served its purpose as a 'training wheels' partner dance.  Since no one in Houston was doing the Hustle yet, the New Yorker was the perfect dance to get started on.

As long as no one was concerned about clever footwork or keeping time to the beat of the music, the New Yorker worked just fine.  Since most men didn't listen to the beat of the music anyway, they loved this partner dance.  The New Yorker quickly became a very popular fixture in my classes.  It was so easy to learn that the men were able to begin partner dancing in the clubs as early as their first or second class.  

Here's the bottom line - I was proud of my accomplishment and it was good for business too.  Noting how much my students enjoyed learning the New Yorker, word of mouth brought many referrals to the studio.  The New Yorker marked a major stepping stone in my climb.  At the time, I assumed this New Yorker partner dance was all I needed.  Now I could live happily ever after.  Unfortunately, nothing could be further from the truth.  My 'Great Partner Dance Crisis' was just the start of a nearly impossible six month period where Lance Stevens intimidated me time and again with his bullying.  Indeed, his unceasing demands to produce new patterns would force me to take one dangerous risk after another.

I had hoped my cute little New Yorker partner dance would satisfy the boss, but to my dismay, Stevens was not impressed.  One night Stevens watched my New Yorker class from the sidelines.  When I saw him watching, my heart sank.  I knew I was in trouble simply by reading his negative expression.  Sure enough, after the class was over, Stevens asked me to come with him to his office.  In private, he gave me the worst chewing out since the days of Fujimoto.  Stevens let his disgust be known loud and clear. 

• My students were not dancing on the beat. 
• I wasn't teaching any sort of footwork Stevens had ever seen. 
• My female students had no styling or dance showmanship. 
• My women let their free hand hang down at their side, the crime of the century.
• Many students looked clumsy.  This meant I wasn't teaching proper dance technique. 
• My male students had no idea how to lead. 
• But forget all that.  Most of all... whatever happened to the 'Disco Swing' Stevens had ordered me to teach?

Awash in a sea of criticism, I was furious.  Make that beyond furious.  I had moved mountains to create this admittedly rudimentary dance system at his request.  Furthermore my students liked the New Yorker.  The New Yorker was so easy and effective that it allowed men to begin partner dancing in the Discos right off the bat.  Stevens had asked for a partner dance to be taught to Beginners and I had given him exactly what he asked for.  As a result people were streaming through the doors and putting serious cash in his pocket.  And what was my reward?  Right now I was facing a list of criticisms that stretched out the door.  We know that I did not handle criticism well, so this barrage really stung.  Considering the time limitations and the pressure Stevens made me work under, what did he expect?

So I snapped.  Feeling insulted and unappreciated, I tried to defend myself.  Big mistake.  When will I ever learn?  "Mr. Stevens, when you watched my class, did you see how much the students enjoyed what I was teaching?"

Stevens lost his temper and barked at me.  "Why didn't you teach the Disco Swing like I told you to!?!"

"With all due respect, sir, what I am teaching is material I have copied from watching people dance in the clubs combined with material from your Disco Swing.  That is what you told me to do, Mr. Stevens.  Surely you noticed I used several of the patterns you taught me."

"Young man, 'Disco Swing' is graceful and it keeps the beat of the music.  It is far superior to that abomination you have cooked up.  Someday you will understand that when someone tells you to do something, you do it.  I have 40 years in this business and you have 2 months.  Who do you think you are?  I have a business to run and I gave you an order."

That pissed me off.  This guy had no idea how hard I had worked to come up with something that would make my students happy.  Furthermore Stevens had never been to a Disco in his life.  What did he know about Disco partner dancing?  Frustrated, I lost my temper. 

Raising my voice, I blurted out, "Mr. Stevens, I did not teach your Disco Swing because there's something wrong with it!  That dance is slower than what they use in the clubs.  The students would not dream of using Disco Swing because it moves at a snail's pace compared to the best dancers.  Anyone using Disco Swing would be laughed off the floor.  If you don't believe me, go look for yourself!"

Stevens stared at me in shock.  I had never talked back to him before.  Stevens stood there too surprised to respond.  He could not believe that a smart-mouthed, snot-nosed kid half his age had just told him, The Master, that his beloved Disco Swing sucked. 

Seeing the expression on his face, I paled.  What had I done?  Did my mouth suddenly develop a Death Wish?  My mother used to get fired for doing things her way without permission.  Furthermore, the last time I stood up for myself, Dr. Fujimoto had thrown me out of graduate school.  Now I expected Stevens would do the same and dismiss me on the spot.  However, unlike Fujimoto, Stevens spared me.  He simply turned and walked off fuming in anger.  I suppose the only thing that saved me is that Stevens did not have an instant replacement.  Otherwise I would have been fired for my impertinence. 

Meanwhile I was seething at Stevens for being such a jerk.  Stevens hated Disco so much that not once did he ever visit a Disco to see for himself.  Consequently I had eyes and Stevens was flying blind.  In Stevens' defense, his students tended to be a 50-plus crowd who had no desire to move at a break neck speed.  For them, I imagine Disco Swing worked just fine to the rapid Disco beat.  But I was teaching young people my age, people like Janie who loved the energetic pace.  The Disco crowd danced at a clip roughly 33% faster than Stevens' older crowd.  I was right to stand my ground because I gave my students what they wanted.

On the other hand, I was pretty certain I had not heard the end of this.  It was a serious mistake to openly defy him.  I suspected that Stevens would not tolerate my affront to his grandeur for long.  Sorry to say, my fear would be proven true.  There's an old saying... 'He was right, dead right.'  Stevens would have his revenge.

SUBCHAPTER 425 - EXPLOITATION

Following our heated 'Disco Swing' argument, things were quiet at first.  Lance Stevens gave me the cold shoulder.  Ten days passed in March without a word.  Too bad it didn't stay that way.  On the Ides of March, the date when Julius Caesar was murdered, Stevens made his move.  Somehow I doubt that Stevens noted the calendar connection, but his cold-blooded attack left me reeling nonetheless.

"Archer, I want you to create a follow-up class for the students when your current Beginner Partner Dance class concludes in March."

I was very confused.  My Beginner Partner Dance class was scheduled to finish at the end of April, not March.  "Are you saying you want an Intermediate Disco class?"

"That is exactly what I am saying.  You have a big class and it is good business to come up with a new class to keep them around.  Take advantage of the popularity.  I expect this fad will be gone soon, so 'We' need to capitalize on it while we can."

"There is one problem, Mr. Stevens.  My classes are two months long.  Beginner Partner Dance on Monday doesn't end until late April."

Stevens just stared at me for a moment.  "Huh, I see your point.  Well, I don't want to wait that long.  I'll just start it on another night."

As I stared in horror, Stevens pulled out his scheduled.  "There's an opening on Wednesdays in April.  We will do it then."

"But that only gives me two weeks to prepare!"

Stevens did not even bother to answer.  He just walked away, leaving me to pull the dagger out on my own.  Et tu, Lance.  Reeling, I reviewed the conversation.  Stevens had said 'We need to capitalize.'  'We'?  Give me a break.  What Stevens was really saying was that 'He' needed to capitalize.  Depending on the number of students who signed up for the next level, Stevens would stand to make anywhere from $1,000 to $2,000 dollars for my efforts.  Considering a month's salary at my Child Welfare job was $1,500, this was serious money back in those days.  However, creating an Intermediate Disco class would not change my salary one bit.   I was incredulous at his nerve.  Expected me to tackle this new project with just two weeks notice was asking too much. 

And just exactly how much effort was Stevens willing to invest?  None.  And what would be my reward?  In return for busting my ass, I would get to keep my magnificent $15 an hour part-time job.  How did I ever get so lucky?  Welcome to American Capitalism.  Or perhaps 'Master-Slave' was closer to the truth.  Yes, Masta, right away, Masta...

I thought it was odd that Stevens had not bothered to answer my concern.  Instead he just walked away.  His actions spoke for themselves.  'My way or the highway.'  His contempt was so great he assumed I would either bow to his will or he would use my defiance as an excuse to get rid of me.  Noting how Stevens took me for granted, my bitterness went flying off the charts.   I don't think Stevens had the slightest idea how much work I had put in to create the New Yorker partner dance he had demanded back in February.  Now Stevens wanted an instant replay.  He expected me to just snap my fingers and... presto!... pluck an Intermediate class out of thin air. 

Another sign of his contempt was how little warning he had given me.  Two weeks.  Stevens assumed two weeks was sufficient.  All I had to do was use my vast experience to create an entire new level consisting of 8 one-hour classes spread out over April and May.  I think Stevens actually enjoyed my predicament.  He knew I lacked the training to pull this class off.  After that ugly 'Disco Swing' incident, this was my payback.  He would either exploit me or run me off.  Or maybe both.  Due to the level of his hostility, I feared there was a real possibility I would be fired shortly after I handed him this lucrative new Intermediate class. 

I had several options.  I could protest and demand fair compensation.  I could demand to be given more time to create the new course.  I could say no and risk termination.  Or I could accept the challenge and keep my mouth shut.  Stevens was right about one thing... an Intermediate class would be good for business.  More and more, my Monday Beginning-level students were asking if I had a class which would teach them more partner dancing.  However, I did not know if I had the strength to survive another ordeal like the last one.  Currently my Beginning Disco class was half line dance/freestyle and half New Yorker.  An Intermediate class would consist totally of partner dancing.  This meant inventing enough brand-new Partner Dance moves to fill up an eight-week class.   Stage Two would require twice as much work.  Did I really want to go through that again?  And how would I ever come up with a complete course in two weeks? 

I shook my head in despair.  Give Stevens credit.  He knew how important this job was to me, so he expected I would knuckle under and give him what he wanted.  So did I rise to meet the challenge?   Of course not.  I invoked the Rick Archer motto:  Avoid and Procrastinate!

Six days passed and I did not lift a finger to create a new class.  I had expended tremendous energy during last month's Great Partner Dance Crisis and all I had gotten in return was a severe tongue-lashing.  Now Stevens was ramming this new Intermediate class down my throat.  Full of resentment, I rebelled by refusing to look for potential new patterns.  Call it 'passive aggressive'.  

Right now, Travolta and Disco were as big as the Beatles had once been.  As the Disco Phenomenon grew, 'Partner Dancing' was proving to be more popular than Freestyle.  TV variety shows featuring Disco singers were common now.  Top-flight dance couples appeared on these shows to accompany singing stars like Donna Summers.  People were treated to glamorous images of beautiful women with long legs spinning effortlessly on the dance floor.  Soon a new feature emerged.  Dance acrobatics were being featured on a regular basis.  The sight of daring women being tossed high in the air stoked America's new partner dance passion on a nightly basis.  Disco was sexy.  Disco was exciting.  Disco was dangerous.

I mulled it over.  Yes, I felt sorry for myself, but I could never leave this scene.  So I changed my mind.  I would give Stevens his class even though he had deliberately thrown me to the wolves.  But you know what?  If Stevens was going to throw me to the wolves, perhaps the day would come when I could turn the wolf pack back on him.  Revenge is a dish best served cold.

SUBCHAPTER 426 - ONE STEP AHEAD

So was Fate on my mind?  Absolutely not.  I was far too preoccupied with survival to see the hidden implications.  Not once did it dawn on me that Stevens was doing me a real favor by forcing me to discover resources I never knew I had.  Instead, I was full of hate.  I despised this man morning, day and night as I did his bidding.  I had one week left and no material.  By indulging my resentment, I had let an entire week slip by.  The Great Imposter had become the Great Procrastinator.  Now I was in serious trouble.  There was no way I could create an entire eight week Intermediate course in one week.

Did I want this job or not?  Yes, of course I did.  I had my entire self-esteem wrapped around teaching dance.  If I lost this job, I would never forgive myself.  Each night from 7-10 pm I taught 3 one-hour classes.  These classes had anywhere from 20 to 70 students asking me to hand them the partner dance moves they needed to join the growing Disco party raging across Houston.  This Magic Carpet Ride was the most satisfaction I had ever experienced in my life and I was desperate to hang onto it. 

At one point, I thought I was a terrific dance teacher.  After all, my students said so.  Stevens thought differently.  Stevens had made it clear that I did not know a damn thing about teaching dance.  In his mind I was doing entertainment, nothing more.  He hurt my pride in much the same way that Fujimoto once pointed out I had no business being a therapist.  During his tongue-lashing, Stevens had embarrassed me when he pointed out all my lady students let their free hands droop to the floor.  He made me feel so ignorant.  Due to my inexperience, I had no idea how important this issue was.  However, now that Stevens had pointed it out, the hanging hands issue was such an obvious no-no that I had to wonder why he had never bothered to tell me this before.  Rather than insult me, why wouldn't he train me?  Would it be so difficult to take a struggling young teacher aside and offer a few well-placed suggestions?  Why did this man hate me so much?  I was more than willing to learn, but Stevens could not care less.  It was more fun just to humiliate me. 

The similarity between Stevens and Fujimoto was unmistakable.  Once they saw my shortcomings, they decided I wasn't worth the effort to salvage.  Instead of helping me, they took potshots instead.   Based on what happened to me at Colorado State, I felt like I was doomed.  Certain that Stevens could not wait to terminate me, all he needed was a replacement and then it was curtains for me.  Overwhelmingly insecure, I walked on pins and needles around the man.  'Obsequious' became my middle name. 

Despite my precarious job security, I believed if I could make myself valuable enough, I could keep my job.  Right now desperate times called for desperate measures.  As it turned out, something I learned during the first crisis suggested a solution to this new crisis.  Suzy and I were making things up as we went along in our Beginner Partner Dance class.  Why not try the same thing with the Intermediate class?  I nodded to myself.  Yes, this was a good idea.  Due to my lack of time to prepare, I decided to fake my way through this problem.  With a nod to the Great Imposter, I cooked up a survival strategy known as 'One Step Ahead'.  I did not need to be a master teacher like Lance Stevens to succeed, but rather I just needed to know more than my students. 

Once I committed to developing the Intermediate Partner Dance class, my life became a daily ordeal.  As always, I was completely on my own when it came to scouting for moves.  During my February panic period, my only resource had been the Pistachio Club.  Now with a heavy heart, I forced myself to return to the Pistachio Club every night during the final week of March to research the dancing.  Struggling to find new moves, I became a nervous wreck in the process.  This was shaping up as the toughest test of my life. 

First I had to ingratiate myself to this boss from hell.  Then I had to feed this monster I had created.  My students kept demanding more and more Disco partner dance patterns.  The pressure to satisfy that demand was so overwhelming, all day long I was sick in my stomach with worry. 

I was young, 28, but teetering on the edge of exhaustion nevertheless.  I had my Child Neglect job by day, my Disco teaching job by night, and now I was spending every night after class trying to come up with new patterns to satisfy my customers and my boss.  Typically I got to bed at midnight, tossed and turned, then rose at dawn full of dread.  I was under way too much pressure. 

There is an animal known as the shrew.  The shrew is forced to eat its own weight daily to survive.  Since the shrew cannot survive on leaves like other animals, every waking moment is spent foraging for seeds, insects, nuts, and worms to stay alive.  The margin for error is so slim the shrew is forced to hunt constantly or die.  That was exactly how I felt.  I was constantly forced to forage for new Disco patterns or die.  Since I had no teacher to help me, the constant search to find new partner dance moves was killing me.  It was feed the beast or lose my dream job.

My day of reckoning came when my new April Intermediate class began.  To my relief, the first class went just fine.  As it turned out, the class was absolutely swollen with students.  To begin with, most of my Monday students were there.  Let me explain.  If one follows the two-month progression, my March-April Beginner Partner Dance class on Monday was scheduled to graduate at the end of April.  However, since Stevens did not want to wait that long, he scheduled my Intermediate Partner Dance class on Wednesdays using an April-May format.  My 'Survivors' as I called them decided to take the first month of Intermediate concurrent with the second month of Beginner.

I knew most of these students would be there because they had told me they were coming.  However, I did not anticipate a surge of new students who knew NOTHING about Disco Partner Dancing, including a ton of women who figured it was no big deal to skip the Beginner class.  The class was a zoo.  Don't ask me how, but somehow I made it work.  I started with a review of the Pistachio Step, my go-to move.  Since many people had never seen this move before, I asked my 'Survivors' to be patient while I caught the newcomers up. 

Then came my grand moment.  To make my experienced students happy, I taught a simple move called 'Peek-a-boo'.  Then I taught a new move called 'Cuddles'.  This was a simple yet quite popular option where the man wrapped the lady up in his arms.  I had to grin.  The veteran male dancers from my Monday class had a field day 'cuddling' all these pretty newcomer girls in their arms.  Judging by their giggles, the girls didn't mind at all.  I was so amused, I told a joke.  First I made the men put their partners in Cuddles and hold the position while I spoke.

"All right, guys, now pay attention.  You've got your arms around these lovely girls who are more than happy to let you hold them while I yap away.  Now think about it.  How many margaritas would it take in a bar to get them in same position?  Heck, the money you paid for this dance class was the best investment of your life!"

The class roared.  Better still, the girls made no attempt to free themselves after my joke and the guys took notice.  At the moment, the birds and the bees were flying hot and heavy.  So I figured the best thing to do was to just play music and dance.  Normally I played a three minute song every now and then, but I put on a long 15-minute Disco version of 'Romeo and Juliet'.  Every couple minutes I told everyone to switch partners and take turns dancing with different people.  I was killing time, but called it 'Practice'.  Fortunately no one caught on because they were having way too much fun to care.  Several love affairs were spawned on the spot. 

This had been a close call.  After Peekaboo and Cuddles, there were no more moves in the piggy bank.  I had nothing prepared for the following week.  However, based on my One Step Ahead strategy, if I could just find one new move before next Wednesday, I was set.  Mixing review, practice and one new move each week, I could maintain my masquerade and live to fight another day.  Yes, I was a woeful, inexperienced teacher.  But as long as I stayed One Step Ahead of my equally woeful, inexperienced students, I just might pull this off.  One week down, seven to go.  Fake it till you make it.

SUBCHAPTER 427 - GROWING PAINS

My Intermediate class gamble definitely put my One Step Ahead survival strategy to the test.  It worked, but the cost to my nerves and stamina was a high price to pay.  My class was one hour long.  For the next two months, I would spend the first half hour reviewing the previous week's material and practice to music.  The second half hour would be devoted to teaching the all-important 'New Move'.  Then for the rest of the week I would scout for my precious 'New Move' as part of my One Step Ahead strategy.  The scouting was a time-consuming process.  First I had to spot a new move which required an hour of watching, sometimes two.  There were times when I would go home empty-handed in which case I would have to go back the next night and try again.  Once I found a move, I would spend another hour or two at the studio with a female volunteer.  Sometimes Suzy helped, sometimes it was another female student.  Together we would figure out how the move worked and find ways to teach the move.  Once I knew what I was doing, the New Move would take all of 20 minutes to teach followed by 10 minutes of music.  It aggravated me that I was being forced to dedicate three to four hours per week to create a mere 20 minutes of new programming. 

My burden eased one night thanks to a new perspective.  For the first time I recognized how a dance teacher is similar to a guide.  It was true the constant expenditure of time was wearing me out.  At first, it irritated me that these dance patterns were so easy to learn when the students had someone like me to explain it to them.  Look how hard I was working just so these students barely had to lift a finger.  Then one day I realized my value to these students.  It was my job to save these people valuable time.  They wanted to join the Disco Party as soon as they possibly could.  So rather than go to a Disco and try to figure it out on their own like I had to do, they came to me. 

Once I realized how valuable my service was, my resentment at the heavy investment of time diminished.  In the old days, pre-Saturday Night Fever, Line dances and Freestyle were so easy that most people could learn by watching.  Partner Dancing was much tougher.  Partner Dancing was so complicated that these students required a 'Guide'.  Finally there was serious money to be made by dance studios.  Disco teachers controlled a valuable asset... the chance to look good on the dance floor.  I decided the best way to keep my job was to become an expert.  If I put in the time, then I could keep my dream job.  Then maybe the Magic Carpet Ride would last forever.  This realization made my ordeal so much easier to bear. 

My love life?  Non-existent.  While I realize my tattered love life makes for amusing stories, there was no drama at the moment.  Nor was I even in the mood.  I was so busy fighting to keep my head above water, the constant worry turned me into a nervous wreck.  You think being an Imposter is easy?  Guess again.  I learned the hard way that playing the Imposter requires an inordinate amount of vigilance.  I could be tripped up at any moment if I didn't stay on my toes.  Over the eight weeks of April and May, I walked into class on at least three occasions unsure how to correctly teach my new move.  Since I was teaching this material for the first time in my career, there were times when I was unable to precisely explain how the new move worked.  Since I still had no idea how to 'lead' these moves, I ended up confusing my students and chaos ensued.  Seeing them flounder, I had to bluff my way through every awkward moment. 

If something didn't work right, I would say, "Hmm, let me give that move some more thought and we can return to it next week." 

Or I would say, "That's enough on this move for now.  We will polish it up next week.  Let's do something fun to finish the evening."

At that point, much to the groans of my students, I would announce it was time to learn some obscure line dance as an emergency time-filler.  With their minds set on partner dancing, they hated to line dance!  Oh, how I missed the days when Line Dancing still meant something.  Things were changing so fast, I could barely keep up. 

In the third week of April, I caught a break.  A new guy named Max took over the once-a-week free dance class at the Pistachio Club from 6 till 6:30 pm.  I assumed someone had the sense to get rid of 'Copy Me', the worthless dance teacher. 

Max had lots of fresh ideas, but he also had a firm rule to teach the same material two weeks in a row.  This meant I could not count on Max to rescue me with a 'New Move' every week.  Sometimes Max came through and sometimes he didn't.   Each week I would cross my fingers and hope the free dance class with Max would offer a new idea. 

It was hit or miss.  If Max came through, then I would ask Suzy or some other girl to help me analyze the move the next day.  Unfortunately, sometimes Max taught a move I already knew.  If Max did not come through, then I would have to stand at the railing and peer into the throng of dancers on the floor waiting for someone to do something interesting.  Then I prayed I could remember it well enough to reconstruct it later.

One week at a time, slowly but surely I assembled a new set of moves.  Cuddles.  Reverse Cuddles.  Sweetheart.  Around the World.  Mister Twister.  Pretzel.  Stop Sign.  To my undying relief, my strategy was working and the Intermediate class took shape.  However, the neverending stress of maintaining this charade wore me down.  Tired and frustrated, sometimes I grew impatient.  As we know, that is when accidents happen. 

One night I inadvertently hurt a woman named Janice who was trying to help me.  Max had taught a very complicated move called the 'Pretzel' at his free Disco class.  This pattern was so complex it had four parts.  I wasn't sure I could remember, so the following night I made sure to ask Janice to stay after class and help me reconstruct the pattern based on notes I had made.

'Pretzel' was the perfect name for this pattern.  With the man and woman using both arms, the Pretzel was twisty and convoluted.  It was also dangerous.  I did not realize how awkwardly Janice's arms were tangled up behind her back.  Indeed, one of the arm contortions resembled a police-style wrestling hold used to immobilize an opponent.  In my ignorance, I lifted Janice's hand behind her back too fast.  By lifting her hand before her arm could straighten out, I wrenched her shoulder badly. 

I was horrified when Janice cried out in real pain.  I quickly let go, but the damage was done.  Janice winced as she rotated her bad shoulder and assessed the pain.  I was worried sick.  "Are you okay, Janice?"

"I don't know, Rick.  I feel a bad twinge.  Maybe it will go away."  

As I watched Janie groan in pain, I was very upset.  The thought of hurting this sweet girl evoked waves of guilt.  No good deed goes unpunished, right?  Janice rubbed her tender shoulder gingerly for a minute, then tried rotating her arm again.  This time Janice smiled a little.  "Yeah, I think I will be okay.  The pain is subsiding, but you will need to be more careful.  Hey, Rick, guess what?"

"What?"

"I think you Disco-located my shoulder." 

Janice grinned to make sure I knew she was kidding.  Yes, I got it.  ha ha ha.  Too bad the joke was on me.  I wasn't in much of a laughing mood.  This was a clear case where my desperation had caused me to take a bold chance that backfired.  Like an immature boy, I never seemed to realize there were certain moves which could hurt a girl.  However, now that I had actually hurt Janice, I learned my lesson.  From this point on, I made sure to be much more cautious when exploring new ground.

The Pretzel incident increased my paranoia.  If I could hurt Janice, my male students could easily hurt their partners in a similar way.  I knew I was taking chances by constantly depending on 'New Moves.'  The correct way to learn a pattern is to have a teacher explain how it works and warn about the dangers.  The risky way is to depend on a shaky memory to recreate a pattern seen briefly in a club.  Sooner or later, my luck would run out.  I became terrified a student would catch me in a bad mistake and expose me.  Or some girl would get hurt in class and no doubt news of the injury would get back to Stevens.  That would be the end of the ballgame.  

But I did not have a choice... I had to keep taking risks!  Since my students learned my current patterns just as fast as I could discover new patterns, I was never able to develop any sort of cushion.  I had no breathing room and no margin for error.  I was the shrew, constantly scrounging in a neverending race to keep one step ahead of my best students. 

I won't lie, I made mistakes all the time.  Sometimes I would slip up in class and just barely escape with my reputation intact.     However I never admitted that I didn't know what I was doing.  I relied on the students to assume the problem was with them, not me.  I discovered I had one huge advantage.  Since the students knew less than I did, they always assumed that any mistake was their fault.  As long as I could keep them believing this, I would be okay.  Therefore I would do anything to prevent the students from realizing just how little I really knew.  Every week I bluffed my way through another hour.  There was no guarantee the Great Imposter was going to win this race.  Walking a tightrope time and again, I was wracked by a constant fear of exposure.  I guess that's the price Imposters have to pay.  Fake it till you Make it.  If I could just survive this Intermediate class Crisis, I believed I would be competent the second time I taught the same course.  But first I had to survive the perils of trial and error.  Would tonight be the night I was exposed?

SUBCHAPTER 428 - LANCE STEVENS STRIKES AGAIN

It was now mid-April.  To my relief, my One Step Ahead strategy was working.  During April and May, I had succeeded in putting together my Intermediate Partner Dance class one week and one move at a time without getting caught.  In this way, I survived my second crisis in a row.  But it had not been easy.  One might think I exaggerate the danger of discovery, but I had close calls.  Skating on thin ice for several months, I took so many chances I was certain that sooner or later I would get get burned.  Sure enough, one night in late April my inexperience resulted in a very serious accident. 

Lance Steven's latest demand contributed to my downfall.  Practically the moment I reached a resting point with the Intermediate class, Stevens demanded I put together an Advanced class starting in May.   Stevens did not have much of an imagination.  He simply used the same rally cry as last month.

"Let's make some money while 'we' can!!" 

'We'?  Oh my God, here we go again.  Yes, massa, right away, I can't wait to work for free while you get rich.

"But Mr. Stevens, why so soon?  Why not wait till June?  That is when my Intermediate class on Wednesday will graduate."

"No, I want to cash in while I can.  I figure Disco is a flash in the pan, so I'm not taking any chances.  When your Monday class finishes in April, I want you to be ready in May with an Advanced-level class."

For the third month in a row Stevens had given me all of two weeks to come up with a brand new course.  Fortunately I was not quite as worried this time.  I had already seen it coming.  Burn me once, shame on you, burn me twice, shame on me.  Now that Stevens' bullying tactics had toughened me up, I was starting to think ahead.  Thanks to my students, I had been thinking about an Advanced class before Stevens said a word.  

I had grown very close to twenty or so students who had been with me through thick and thin.  These students were my 'Survivors', my troopers.  Over the course of the first four months, countless students had come and gone.  However, out of the masses, 20 people had fallen in love with Disco dancing.  None of them knew each other at the start, but at this point they were fast friends.  This core group had started taking classes during my January-February Honeymoon Stage.  They continued on to become my guinea pigs during my March-April Beginning Partner Dance class.  Now here in April I saw these same students two nights a week.  Let me explain.  If one follows the two-month progression, my March-April Beginner Partner Dance class on Monday was scheduled to graduate at the end of April.  But Stevens did not want to wait that long, so he scheduled my Intermediate Partner Dance class on Wednesdays using an April-May format.  My 'Survivors' were so gung-ho they decided to take the first month of Intermediate concurrent with the second month of Beginner.  It was complicated, but I made it work. 

Seeing these same people twice a week, I was very touched by their loyalty.  We had been together for four months and I did not want to see them leave.  Nor did they want to quit.  Here in April, the Survivors were having so much fun, they did not want their class to end any more than I did.  They had become such a tight-knit group that dancing was almost as important as breathing.  Taking Disco classes gave them a chance to see their friends twice a week plus surf on the cutting edge of the Disco Tidal Wave. 

Consequently they had already begun to inquire if I was going to offer an Advanced class.  I said I wanted to, but I would have to get Stevens' permission.  To be honest, I was stalling because I did know where I would find the material necessary to teach another level.  However, thanks to a lucky break, I had just discovered someone who had taught me several Acrobatics patterns.  Why not make Disco Acrobatics the focus of my Advanced class?  So when Stevens said he wanted an Advanced class to sell to the Wednesday Intermediate class, I was not intimidated.  Now that I had my 'One Step Ahead' strategy down pat, I assumed I would simply Fake it through the new level of Advanced classes on Monday. 

My new friend called himself 'Shark'.  Shark had a very high opinion of himself.  I met Shark at the Pistachio Club one night when I showed up to take the free Happy Hour Disco class.  I noticed that one of the students looked bored out of his mind.  This of course was Shark.  I did not blame him.  I was just as bored as he was.  The pace of tonight's class was very slow due to a large influx of newcomers.  Finally Shark couldn't take it anymore.  He took his pretty girlfriend off to the side and began teaching her an Acrobatic move.  My eyes bulged.  The move didn't look that tough and it was really impressive.  Even better, by edging closer, I could overhear his suggestions to his girlfriend.  Wow!  I had quite possibly learned my very first Disco Acrobatics move.  I could not wait to try it out back at the studio. I thought I had seen enough to explain the move to someone like Suzy or Janice even though they had never seen it.

Then I had an even better idea.  Why let this guy get away?  If I could learn some of his Acrobatics moves, then I would have my Advanced class handed to me.  Shark was about my age and seemed approachable, so I went over and introduced myself. 

Shark was very friendly.  "Hey, man, glad to meet you.  I'm Shark and this is Kellie." 

When Kellie smiled at me, I melted.  Kellie was quite a looker, so I was immediately envious.  However, I kept my attention on the goal.

"Do you have a name for that move you just taught Kellie?" 

"I call it the 'Death Drop'!"

Since Shark didn't seem to mind my questions, I continued.

"Where did you learn that move?" 

With obvious pride, Shark replied, "I was a high school cheerleader at Lamar High School here in Houston."   With a smile and a wink, he added, "Those other guys were all wimps, so the only one the girls trusted was me.  That's how I became the designated girl tosser." 

I laughed.  "Well, you ccertainly know what you are doing.  That Death Drop is spectacular!"

I praised Shark so much that he offered to show me another move.  Oh my goodness!  What a break!  However, there were people milling around, so I suggested we go over to 'Janie's Corner', the open spot near the Exit door.  This was the spot where Janie had shown me the Aggie Jitterbug, the lucky break that had saved my career. 

To my delight, the magic was repeated when Shark showed me a series of moves.  His next trick was an Acrobatic pattern called the 'Death Dip'.  This move was even better than the Death Drop.  Shark spun Kellie three or four times, then she fell backwards like a tree falling in the forest and landed with her back resting on Sam's thigh.  The sudden drop was was so unexpected, for a second the illusion was the girl was falling out of control.  This thrilling move was exactly the sort of things the pros did on those Disco TV shows.

"Wow!  I love that move!  But why do you name all your moves 'Death' this and 'Death' that?"

With a grin, Shark replied, "That's how I ditch my women when I get tired of them.  After I put them in the hospital, they never want to see me again.  Kellie is the only one to survive so far.  That's how she got to be my girlfriend."  

With that, Kellie righteously kicked Shark in the butt.  Plus she put some real steam into it.  When Shark just laughed, I assumed this was their little joke.

"Hey, man, you want to see another move?"

My eyes grew big  "Sure!"

The next move was the highlight of the night.  Shark put Kellie in Cuddles, then rolled her out.  She came spinning back in and jumped backwards onto his thigh.  The next thing I knew, Kellie was suspended upside down. 

"Damn, Shark, that move is really cool!  What do you call that one, the Death Plunge?"

"No, I call this one the Flying Flip.  This is one of my favorites.  You like it?"

"Yes, that move is incredible."

"Well, good, let me show you how it works."

I said I had to leave soon to teach class, so Shark proceeded to give me a quick lesson.  Kellie even volunteered to try one with me.  To my relief, I aced it on my first try.  Just before I left, I ordered a round of drinks for Shark and Kellie. 

"Shark, thank you, you have made my day.  And Kellie, when you become famous for winning your next beauty contest, I will tell everyone what a pleasure it was to hold you upside down!"

With that, I took off and raced to the studio.  I arrived several minutes late to teach my 7 pm class, but no one minded.  Since most of my students were single, they were having way too much fun flirting with other.  As for me, I was high as a kite.  What a lucky break this had been.  Shark had just handed me my next dance class on a silver platter. 

Later that night I asked Janice to stay and help me.  When I told her I had a new move, Janice frowned.  Janice of course was the woman whose shoulder I had hurt learning the Pretzel. 

"You're not going to try to kill me again, are you?"

I flinched at her odd choice of words.  Maybe it would be best not to tell Janice these moves were named 'Death Dip' and 'Death Drop'.  No doubt Janice would fail to see the humor. 

"Uh, don't worry, Janice, I promise to be careful."

Proceeding with caution, I tried all three moves with Janice and did pretty well.  Dating back to 'Sidecars' with Becky back in 1975, this was the second time I noticed I had a knack for acrobatics.  I always had trouble learning footwork, but throwing girls around seemed to come naturally.  It was an odd skill, but I made sure to file the information away for future reference. 

SUBCHAPTER 429 - COUNTDOWN TO DISASTER

By the time April rolled around, Disco Acrobatics had become the latest rage.  I saw several couples at the Pistachio Club use acrobatics when the floor was not too crowded.  Some of these acrobatic moves looked downright dangerous, but others seemed doable.  Thank goodness I ran into Shark.  Since I had hit a dead end finding new moves for my New Yorker partner dance, teaching Acrobatics was really my only option.  Thinking ahead, I thought it might be a good idea to practice teaching my acrobatic moves in advance.  Why not use the Jet Set Club for the grand experiment?  This would be like on 'off-Broadway' rehearsal, you know, maybe learn a few things before introducing these patterns to the tougher crowd at Stevens of Hollywood.  This turned out to be an enlightened decision.

The Jet Set Club on Thursday had become a major bright spot of my week.  Out from under Stevens' thumb, I could actually relax a little.  So far I had survived my only speed bump at the Jet Set,  that being the Gay Drama involving Irving, Lorraine, Melanie and Tony.  Since then, things at the Jet Set had settled into a nice rhythm.  A group of 25 Jet Set patrons became Thursday night regulars. 

Tonight I would teach Shark's 'Death Drop' for the first time.  In retrospect, the entire evening was one long countdown to disaster.  To appreciate the bizarre events, some preliminary background is necessary.  Some elements were out of my control while other factors were just pure ignorance on my part.  One major factor was the elevated stage.  Standing a full seven inches off the floor, Tony had raised it to make it easier for the spectators to watch.  Not only that, there was no railing.  Why block the view?  I thought Tony was nuts.  Considering half the people were drunk while they danced, someone could easily fall.

I would have never guessed a woman's clothing would cause a problem.  The whole point of the Wife Swappers Club was to provide a location for couples to meet other couples with a similar Jet Set Mind Set.  Many of the men liked to sample the wares ahead of time, so pre-hookup groping was a popular activity.  In particular, the men luvved to partner dance.  Partner dancing gave the men an excellent opportunity to fondle women they didn't know very well.  In their minds, Disco Dancing and Dirty Dancing were one and the same.  The men would boldly touch wives and girlfriends of other men from time to time.  The men thought it was funny.  They referred to it as 'getting to know you'.   

So what did the women think about this??  I saw some dirty looks and hand-slapping.  However, since the women did not make a scene or leave the stage in protest, I decided it was none of my business.  As for me, I kept my hands where they belonged.  I also learned the women had tricks of their own.  For example, a low cut blouse invited attention, a shirt buttoned to the top did not.  A short skirt invited attention while pants or a long skirt with a tight belt said forget about it.  This secret would play a major role in the events of the night.

Another feature in the coming disaster was the lighting.  In general, the Jet Set was kept extremely dark to encourage the groping activities.  However, they had dedicated lighting for the centrally-located round stage.  In a way, it was like Theater Lighting. The light on the stage gave everyone in the club enough light to see what was going on while keeping the rest of the club dark.  The lighting arrangement made the participants feel important.  They were 'The Show'.  Meanwhile, anyone seated ten feet away was semi-invisible in the gloom.  Spectators seated in the darkness could watch 'The Show' and contentedly fondle their 'compagnon de la nuit' at the same time.

The floor lights stayed on while I taught, but Kevin the DJ would always turn the extra lights down low when he played music.  Not only did this plunge the entire club into near-complete darkness, whatever happened on stage was shadowy in the murky light.

This made no sense to me because now the crowd could not see the dancing on-stage.  So I asked Kevin about it.  Kevin replied he did this under orders.  The extreme darkness allowed the dancers to touch each other intimately while they danced without the whole world being able to see.  Kevin was also under orders to play occasional slow dance music.  I soon learned the term 'slow dance music' was Jet Set code for 'groping in public on stage'.  It was not unusual to notice a man slow dance with one hand down the woman's skirt or a woman's hand inside his unzipped pants.  I do not exaggerate. 

Tonight was my first chance to teach an Acrobatic step.  In the Death Drop, the woman falls backwards very fast.  Anyone watching invariably gasps because it looks like she is going to hit her head on the floor.  However, once the woman comes to the end of her arms, her progress stops inches from disaster.  The Death Drop was perfect for this group because it was flashy, but not nearly as dangerous as it looked.  Or so I thought.

The dancers loved the Death Drop and so did the crowd.  However, I was secretly chagrined because my students were pretty awful.  Fortunately, they were so loaded they thought they were awesome.  Meanwhile the spectators loved it more for the comedy than the expertise.  It was terrific entertainment watching people stumble around trying to figure out how this move worked.  And stumble they did.  Due to my inexperience, I did not properly explain to the men how to counter-balance the woman.  Women were bouncing off the floor with regularity because the men kept losing their balance. 

Thank goodness the ladies were good sports about it.  The men broke their fall for the most part, so the floor contact was more like a bump than a crash.  So what was the problem?  If the man leaned forward, the woman's weight and momentum would pull him over the balls of his feet.  This caused him to stumble.  The man needed to keep his shoulders back as he lowered the woman.   Did I know this at the time?  Yes, but it did not occur to me to properly explain it to the men.  I assumed they would know this instinctively like I had. 

Another problem was the need for the man to shorten his arms.  If he let the woman go to the end of his arms, he risked letting her head hit the floor.  I instinctively knew this as well.  I always kept my arms bent for the woman's safety.  Unfortunately I took the 'shoulder's back' and 'short-arm' concepts for granted because they seemed self-evident.  Since I had done this automatically with Janice, it never occurred to me to pass these tips on to the men.  This omission would prove my undoing. 

I also failed to take into account the copious amounts of alcohol consumed.  Drinking played a large role in the Jet Set classes.  Alcohol had its good points and bad points.  The customers liked to drink to help them loosen up with everyone watching.  For line dancing and freestyle, no problem.  However Acrobatics required concentration.  I was worried because the people who drank were not paying very good attention. Instead they became noisy and tried to show off to the crowd.  Everybody was a comedian and a know-it-all.  Seeing how careless some of the men were, I began to worry a woman might get hurt.  However, what could I do?  The Show must go on. 

Okay, so what went wrong? 

To my surprise, it took forever to explain how this move worked.  It did not help that everyone was laughing and cutting up.  Since I had learned this move in 5 minutes, it blew my mind how inept these men were at picking this up.  Finally after 40 minutes of instruction, it was time to practice the Death Drop to music.  However the floor was far too crowded for all nine couples to try the acrobatic move at the same time.  I solved the problem by saying we would take turns.  I asked four couples to step off the stage and wait beside it while the other five couples went first.  These four couples stood next to the elevated floor while the first five practiced the move.

Kevin stuck to his orders to turn off the Stage Lights, so the stage was shrouded in darkness when the music started.  Once the lights went off, the dance floor became so dark that if someone was drinking at the bar 30 feet away, they could see our silhouettes, but they could not see our faces.  When the lights went off, the people on stage were temporarily blind for a moment while their eyes adjusted to the near-total darkness.  That contributed to the problem as well.  Once the music started, the five couples began the dance pattern that led to the Death Drop.  More or less simultaneously, the five men dropped their lady partners backwards down to the floor.

Suddenly the bar was rocked with a blood-curdling scream straight out of the Psycho shower scene.

"Ooooooh my God, I'm Blind!!!  Oh my God, I can't see anything!  I'm blind, someone help me please, I'm blind!!!  Help me!"

As if that wasn't enough, an instant later, there was a second blood-curdling scream!  In the darkness, it sounded to me like two women were screaming!  Since both screams took place very close to me, I was scared to death.  I had no idea what in the hell was going on! 

Why was this screaming woman blind?  I yelled to Kevin the DJ to turn the lights back on, but with the loud music playing, it did no good.  He could not hear me.  Meanwhile the panic-stricken screaming of both women continued.

Everyone frantically looked around, but no one knew what had happened.  The screaming scared everyone out of their wits because the place was so dark.  Everyone in the room was yelling at Kevin to turn the lights back on, but he was in his booth ten feet away with his headset on.  Furthermore, in the gloom, Kevin could not see the panic spreading across the crowd. 

The first woman screamed again.  This time it was more like a moan from an injured person. 

"Oh, help me, please!  I can't see!  I'm blind!"

The horror-movie screams lasted for 10 seconds and then they stopped.  Now there was considerable chaos and pandemonium.  Was there some sort of madman in our midst who was hurting these women?  Full of fear, a lot people ran for the Exit Door, the only visible light in the room.  They ran out the front door just in case Jack the Ripper was loose somewhere inside the dark club. 

Since I was one of the few sober people in the building and the screams were close by, I tried to figure out the problem.  Now that my eyes had adjusted to the gloom caused by the stage lights being turned off, I looked down and noticed there was a body lying on the other side of the dance floor.  It had to be a woman because I could see her bare legs.  I immediately guessed this woman had to be the source of the screams.  What was she doing down there?  Did someone stab her or hit her in the head??  I could barely see a thing, so I ran ten feet and dropped to my knees beside the woman. 

To my shock, I could not find a face.  Where is this woman's face!?!  Cursing the dark, I had no choice but to use my hand to trace along the side of the woman's body from her legs on up.  I discovered there was a giant dress covering the top of this woman's face.  I frantically tugged at the dress, but in the darkness I could not seem to figure out which direction to pull.  Continuing to fiddle with the long dress, pulling on this dress turned out to be a big mistake.  From above, the owner of the dress chewed me out big time. 

"Goddamn it!  Whoever the f...k you are, get your goddamn hands out of my dress!!!"

Hearing this, the fallen woman with no face began to plead for help again.  "I'm blind!  I'm blind!" 

Things became even more absurd.  With my right hand holding onto the long dress, the fallen woman's renewed screaming below caused the woman with the giant dress to move away in fear.  This caused a series of crazy responses.  First, the dress lady's movement freed the fallen woman's face from under the dress.  Second of all, when the woman tried to move away, my grip inadvertently tightened.  This caused me to fall directly on top of the woman on the floor.  Oh shit. 

Suddenly I was eye to eye with the fallen woman's face in the darkness.  Now that the dress was removed from her face, she stopped screaming.  "Oh my God, I can see!  Oh, Thank God!"   Now she realized that some man was on top of her, so she started screaming again.  "Get off of me, damn it, get off of me!!"

Meanwhile, someone had gone to the DJ booth to tell Kevin to flip the lights back on.  At the worst possible moment, the lights were restored just in time for people to see me scrambling to get off the fallen woman.  Sure enough, the moment the lights came on, the entire room saw me down on the floor moving away from the helpless woman.   Uh oh, I could be in trouble...  To anyone watching, based on my position and the woman's word, it was obvious I had just been on top of her.  Only one problem... their eyes had not adjusted yet, so they were not quite sure what they had seen.  Nevertheless, every eye in the room was riveted.  Caught in the act!!!! 

What in hell was that dance teacher doing on top of that woman in the dark!?!  Why are they on the floor together?

Hearing the entire crowd gasp, I paled.  These people could easily jump to the wrong conclusion.   

I jumped up as fast as I could.  Everyone must think these two women were screaming because I had attacked at least one of them in the dark.  Maybe even both!!  First I was gay, now I was a sex fiend.  Or maybe I was Jack the Ripper.  Or maybe I was all three.  I didn't know what to do, so I reached down and helped the woman up.  At this point we were alone on the stage with the whole room staring in shock and suspicion.  Someone had hurt that woman and I was the obvious suspect.  When I saw those angry faces, for a moment I thought I was going to be lynched.  However, everyone was still in so much shock, no one moved.  That gave the fallen woman enough time to come to her senses.

For the first time, I recognized her.  This was Shannon, one of my favorites due to our similar age.  Now she recognized me too.  Suddenly Shannon figured out what had happened.  In a flash, she realized I had been down there trying to help her.  Shannon swiftly wrapped me up in a passionate bear hug.  Squeezing me tight with both arms, Shannon kissed me on the lips, then proclaimed for everyone to hear, "Oh, Rick, thank you so much for saving me!  I was really scared!"

When the crowd heard Shannon absolve me, everyone was incredulous.  I have never seen so many bewildered people in all my life.  You had to see to believe it.  Lickety-split, I had gone from axe murderer to molester to hero.  Now Shannon began to cry and laugh hysterically at the same time.  I felt so sorry for her.  Realizing Shannon was drunk out of her mind and quite possibly hurt, I carefully moved her to a nearby seat, then sat next to her.  Once the people nearby saw that Shannon was okay, they guessed that she had fallen and that I had probably fallen as well trying to help her up.  They relaxed and I was off the hook.  Now everyone was curious to know what had happened.

I was enjoying Shannon's adulation when when the woman with the long dress came over and yelled at me accusatorily.  She was really mad because she thought I had been on the floor doing something naughty under her dress.  It only took one look in the light at that dress to see that Shannon's face had somehow gotten caught underneath.  Unfortunately, the woman was so stoned nothing made a bit of sense to her.  Drunk, confused, suspicious, it took her forever to catch on.  When she finally figured it out, the expression on her face was so puzzled that I had to laugh. 

This was insane! 

Due to the darkness, I cannot be absolutely sure what happened, but I can make an educated guess.  Three people had been involved... Shannon, her dance partner Philip, and the Long Cool Woman with the black dress.  All three were quite drunk and the extreme darkness had done the rest. 

The problem started when Philip stumbled as he dropped Shannon to the floor. Philip was so drunk, he had not paid much attention during class.  Consequently Philip had failed to 'counter-balance' Shannon.  Losing his balance badly, Philip had let go of Shannon's hands.  Speaking bluntly, I think Philip dropped Shannon straight to the floor!! 

Shannon's rapid plummet caused the back of her head to bounce hard off the floor, stunning her badly.  Drunk as she was, I have to wonder if Shannon was even conscious.  I think she may have blacked out for a moment.  When Shannon regained consciousness, she instinctively grabbed her head in agony.  Writhing in pain, I assume she twisted sideways and somehow got her head tangled under the second woman's floor-length black dress.  With her face hidden, Shannon's world turned pitch black.  Drunk and knocked senseless, Shannon believed she was blind.  That is when she began screaming in the dark. 

The woman with the long dress had no idea what was going on.  She and her partner were standing next to the floor waiting for their turn to dance.  In the dark, neither of them saw Shannon fall.  Nor did the woman realize Shannon's face had become tangled underneath her dress.  It was a comedy of errors. 

Philip did not help things one bit.  He was so drunk he did not realize this was his own partner that was screaming.  When Philip heard the screams in the dark, he ran off the floor.  What a prince! 

Poor Shannon.  She probably had a concussion.  Drunk, abandoned, blind and writhing in pain, Shannon had just laid there screaming with that giant dress covering her head.  Shannon was so disoriented, she had no idea what her problem was.  Stuck under the dress, all she could was scream frantically for help.  Compounding the silliness, the woman with the black dress was so drunk she had no idea the screaming was coming directly from under her dress, so she just stood there and screamed too!  With two women screaming at the same time, they not only panicked each other, they terrified the entire darkened room. 

About this time, Philip came over to reclaim his blind lady.  How noble.  Philip and Shannon crawled off in search of a secluded booth.  The way Shannon rubbed the back of her head, I felt really sorry for her.  She was going to have one heck of a headache.  They were both crimson red at all the attention, but they calmed down once they reached a booth.  After sobering enough to walk, they quietly slunk out of the building.  I never saw them again.  I guess they were too embarrassed to return.

Explanations of what had happened raced through the club at the speed of light.  Instantly the Jet Set Club exploded in a raucous roar of laughter.  I have little doubt the details were embellished with each retelling.   To my relief, I came out of this as a good guy.  This was apparently the funniest thing that had ever happened at the Jet Set, even funnier than the Lorraine-Irving incident.  Jokes passed rapidly around the room... Disco Dancing can make you blind, women shouldn't wear clothing on stage, et cetera, et cetera. 

Nor did it stop there.  Much of the laughter involved the bizarre sight of me climbing off of Shannon just as the lights came on.  Rumors began flying that this all started when the two of us tripped while we were making out in the dark.  Or maybe I really did use the darkness to stick my hands under the second woman's dress for a cheap feel. 

Hmm, maybe the teacher isn't gay after all, he's perverted!  No wonder those women screamed!  ha ha ha.   

This had been a long night.  As I walked out the door, Tony got my attention. 

"Hey, Rick, that was great!  Can you do that again next week?"

If Tony was teasing, he didn't show it.  Never a dull moment at the Jet Set.

SUBCHAPTER 431 - FAKE IT TILL YOU MAKE IT

I was caught in the swirling tides of a gigantic cultural phenomenon.  Disco kept gaining more and more momentum during the first half of 1978.  Disco music was on the radio, on the TV, in the malls.  It was everywhere.  Disco fashions were popular and flashy new Discos were opening.  Donna Summer dominated the airwaves and TV was awash with Disco acts.  The whole world was rushing to join the Dance Fever bandwagon.  

The pressure never let up.  My life was a perpetual crisis.  The combination of the Boss from Hell and the rapid snowball effect of the Disco Phenomenon created a neverending ordeal.  Countless people who had never danced in their lives were being persuaded to take dance lessons.  Despite all my stumbles and fears, so far I had done a pretty good job giving my students what they wanted. 

I had been Houston's first Disco teacher and I was probably the first to begin teaching 'Disco partner dancing' as well.  The number of students was incredible.  There were times when my Beginner classes had over 100 students.  The combination of 'Courses a la Carte' and positive word of mouth brought student after student to our doorstep.

In a sense, I was a victim of my own hard work.  By staying one precarious step ahead of the storm surge, my reputation increased the size of my classes.  So did my number of teaching hours.  I was teaching two, sometimes three classes per night.  After that, I spent another hour at the Pistachio Club looking for new patterns or stayed late at the studio to practice my upcoming New Moves.  

Disco was a Tidal Wave sweeping the nation and sweeping me along with it.  At times, the frenzy was almost too much.  I was growing with my job, but my job was growing faster than I could keep up with it.  Just when I got my Beginning Disco class down pat, the demand for Intermediate and Advanced classes created a second and third crisis.  The demand for more partner dance moves was eating me alive.  Feeding the hungry Disco Beast was a neverending battle.

I played Fake it Till You Make it every night and prayed no one would bust me. 

The challenges never seemed to end.  First I had been told to add partner dancing to my March Beginner class.  Then I had been ordered to create an Intermediate partner dance class for April.  Now Stevens demanded a new 'Advanced class' starting in May.  You know the story by now... more money in his pocket and I got to keep my job. 

But you want to know something?  I was a pretty good scrambler if I say so myself.  Yes, Stevens kept me in perpetual crisis mode for three solid months, but I had come through every single time.  That gave me a definite sense of invulnerability, a feeling that I could handle anything because I was so smart and clever.  It hurts me to say this, but wasn't I overlooking something?  Gary had suggested I visit the Pistachio Club when I was ready to give up back in March.  Janie had shown me the Aggie Jitterbug.  Max had taught me the Pretzel.  Shark taught me the Death Drop.  The timing of their arrival was uncanny, but that small detail was lost as my ego grew larger. 

In particular, I was proud of myself for starting work on an Advanced class before Stevens even got around to ordering me to do it.  In order to create an Advanced class, I had to come up with a whole new series of complicated patterns, most of which would be risky moves like the Flying Flip and the Death Drop.  What a headache.  If only there was someone I could turn to!!  Certainly not Lance Stevens.  So why not get a head start for a change?  My decision to teach the 'Death Drop' at the Jet Set probably saved my career.  The whole reason I taught the Death Drop move at the Jet Set in the first place was to get some much-needed practice before teaching the same move at Stevens of Hollywood.  At the Jet Set, I could get away with murder... and almost did.  If that accident involving Shannon had taken place at Stevens of Hollywood, it would have cost me my job. 

Instead I got off scot-free.  When I said I spent most of 1978 impersonating a dance teacher, I mean it.  The Scream in the Night was a prime example of 'Fake it till you Make it.'  Lost in all the drama, no one but me realized I had been directly responsible for this accident due to my ignorance on how to correctly teach this move.  Shannon had hurt her head badly, but she was so drunk she never thought to blame anyone but her partner.  By failing to anticipate the danger of a woman being hurt in the acrobatics move, this had been another 'arrows in the back' moment for my brave pioneers.  Another mistake like this and I might be taking someone to the Emergency Room.  

For the first half of the year I knew little more than the people I taught, but I didn't dare let them know that.  Fortunately, the Scream in the Night incident was something of a wake-up call.  Lately I had let down my vigilance a bit.  When the 'Scream in the Night' took place in April, this put me back on high alert.  I was not out of the woods after all.  The 'Scream' incident made it clear there was a real potential for danger when I began teaching Acrobatics in my May Advanced class. 

Meanwhile, my Intermediate students at Stevens were excited to know I was developing an Advanced level.  I was proud of my loyal following.  My Survivors, a group of 20 students, were chomping at the bit to learn Disco Acrobatics.  They were really hooked on Disco Dancing and glad to have another class to look forward to.  They told me they wanted to take Disco lessons for the rest of their lives.  I think some of them meant it. 

I was touched by their enthusiasm, but I also felt guilty at times.  They deserved a legitimate instructor.  So how did I keep getting away with it?  I was a better dancer than my students... which wasn't saying much.  My superiority helped me disguise my ignorance as a teacher.  Thank goodness they always assumed that any problem was their fault, not mine.  I told myself if I could hang on, someday I would become competent.  I will say one thing.  As Impersonators go, so far I had been pretty good at it.  I had the wits to scramble and hustled hard to keep up my facade.  

Yes, I had screwed up with the 'Scream in the Night', but on the other hand, I had come out of the disaster unscathed.  Fake it till you Make it!   With each day, my optimism improved.  I was improving rapidly as a teacher.  Every day I was able to survive, I gained new insights on how to explain the material more clearly. 

The worst was over, so when May rolled around I actually had the nerve to believe I knew what I was doing.  I had even begun to act kind of cocky lately.  This was a dangerous game, but as long as I could continue to stay one step ahead of my students, I figured I could pull this deception off without another hitch.

Once I finished teaching my Advanced class, from this point on I would not have to invent any new levels unless I wanted to.  Therefore I could see the light at the end of the tunnel.  I could see the day was not too far off when I would no longer have to fake it.  In fact, I figured I was pretty much in the clear already. 

However, the risk was always there and I knew it.  Like Jesse James, the bullet might be fired behind my back and I would never see it coming.  My biggest fear was having a student show up who knew more about dancing than me.  What would happen if my students could compare a gifted dancer to the Great Imposter?  In order to maintain my charade, I prayed that no one with real talent ever appeared. 

So naturally one day someone did.  His name was Eric.

SUBCHAPTER 432 - ERIC

Lance Stevens held me in total contempt because I could not dance to his standards.  He tolerated my presence simply because he did not want to teach Disco himself and because Disco teachers were hard to find back at the beginning of the Disco Era.  That meant Stevens needed to keep me around until someone better came along.  Therefore, despite my obvious lack of dance talent, Stevens gave every Disco student to me, then turned his back and held his nose.

In the second week of May, a swarthy, dark-haired Hispanic man walked into the studio.  It was late, 9:30 pm.  Realizing we were in the middle of something, the man sat down and began to watch from the viewing section.  As it turned out, we had 10 women and 4 men.  The women had been complaining about the shortage all night.

"Rick, we are short of men.  Why don't you ask that guy to join us?"

The moment I saw him, I had a sick feeling.  How did I know?  Maybe it was the tilt of his head or the sneer on his face, but I knew this guy was trouble.  However, two other ladies overheard the conversation.  When they pestered me as well, what choice did I have? 

Eric was not only gorgeous, he could really dance.  Every woman in the room was mesmerized.  Eric did nothing to challenge me during my class, so the threat of exposure was not a problem.  However, his presence bothered me a lot.   Eric had the ability to pick up everything I taught effortlessly.  In fact, Eric was the best dancer in the room.  Yes, better than me, so I was totally intimidated.  What is he doing here?  And why is he so talented?  I was about to find out.  After class, Eric stuck around and introduced himself.

"Hey, man, I'm Eric.  Glad to meet you.  Good class tonight.  Hey, look, I just got here from Los Angeles.  I taught some dance in L.A., won a contest here and there.  Now I'm staying with my sister here in Houston and I'm looking for work.   Who's the boss man around here?"

With a gut-wrenching stab of fear, I bravely pointed to white-haired Lance Stevens on the other side of the room.  Eric was gone in a flash.  I watched from afar as Stevens conducted an interview.  As a woman walked by, without warning Eric grabbed her and began dancing.  That was it took.  Eric was very smooth as he led this lady through moves she had never seen before.  Stevens was impressed.  I winced as a giant crush of insecurity hit.  Noting that Stevens had never looked at me that way, I knew exactly what this meant. 

Stevens hired Eric on the spot.  Eric was 28, my age as well, and full of confidence.  Eric knew all kinds of flashy LA street dance moves and was an expert at Latin dancing.  Stevens approved and so did the women.  The ladies could not take their eyes off him.  Eric had a brash, outgoing personality and that Latin swagger women find so irresistible.  I felt like dog meat compared to this guy. 

The sad thing is that I understood I was probably responsible for Eric's presence.  I had gotten lucky with the Courses a la Carte 'Neon Sign' spotlight had pointed to Stevens of Hollywood at the start of the year.  Since then, I had busted my ass to take advantage of this golden opportunity.  I had put in four solid months of work, created three new classes on my own time and generated tremendous energy in the process.  Stevens of Hollywood was the best-known Disco studio in the city thanks to me.  It was completely understandable that new-to-town Eric had been drawn to the location with the best reputation in search of a job. 

Eric's presence blew my mind.  He was my worst nightmare.  To me, Eric's appearance was like a bad ending to a science fiction film.  Here we are sending messages to outer space to let the aliens know where to find the Earth.  Then one day, lo and behold, an alien race far superior to humans show up.  They like the looks of our planet, so out come the death rays.  What's the phrase for that?  'Extinction level event.'  That is how I felt about Eric.  He had the initials 'E.L.E.' written all over him.  Lance Stevens had just hired a man who had more talent than me.  Knowing full well that Stevens only kept me around because he had no one to replace me with, I was certain my days were numbered.  My guess was that Stevens would gradually let Eric assume control of my classes.  If so, what could I do about it?  Nothing.  I had no idea how to counteract this threat.

Sure enough, the next day I learned that Stevens had handed Eric a Beginning Disco class starting next week.  Stevens did not even bother to tell me.  I noticed when I looked at the schedule.  The writing was on the wall... literally.  My name was erased and Eric's name had been penciled in.  Just like that, I had no class to teach starting next Wednesday at 8 pm.  I was certain this was the first step to being replaced completely.  Ironically, at the exact moment I thought I finally had job security, I had no security at all.  Was there any justice in the world?  By pushing my meager talent to the limit and taking great risks, I had put my heart and soul into creating the top Disco program in the city.  Now my hard work was about to be handed to another man.  I was sick beyond belief at this turn of events.  

Stevens never explained his action to me.  Nor did he worry about my feelings.  I assumed his attitude was that if I didn't like it, I could quit.  Although I was furious, I said nothing.  I knew Stevens didn't like me.  I knew the only reason I kept my job was Stevens did not have another option.  Now with Eric here, I had no leverage.   Unwanted by Stevens and outclassed by Eric, the clock was ticking.

Oddly enough, I liked Eric even though I hated his guts.  Unlike Stevens who had nothing but disdain for me, Eric was always friendly.  We should have been rivals, but Eric was so damn confident of his own ability, he realized I posed no threat to him.  He even offered to show me moves from time to time.  I felt so utterly defeated.

One day I came to the studio early.  I heard Disco music coming from a side room and peeked in.  Eric was dancing with a really pretty girl.  I was mesmerized.  Eric was the best dancer I had ever seen.  He was dancing moves I never knew existed.  This guy was so far out of my league it was pathetic.  I quietly closed the door and went somewhere to throw up. 

Later I mentioned to Eric I had seen him dancing.  "Eric, what do you call that style of dancing?"

"I call it Disco, but its a form of street dancing and Mambo put together.  Latin dancing and Disco are pretty similar."

I nodded as if I knew what he was talking about, but the truth was that I was clueless.  Mambo?  Never heard of it.  Eric not only had more talent than me, he had more knowledge.  Eric was the archetype of a professional dance instructor.  Unlike me, Eric was no imposter.  He was good and he knew it.  He exuded that charisma known as Latin macho.  If ever there walked a man who could be termed 'God's gift to women', that would be Eric.  

Eric was the Anti-Me.  Eric was the Pro, I was the Schmo.  Eric not only looked like a dance instructor, he acted like one.  Eric was a natural who made me look stiff in comparison.  He was a good-looking guy who had won a couple dance contests and could command every eye in the room with his flashy dancing.  He was smooth with the girls and cocky in his demeanor. 

Right now in May Eric was only teaching a Beginner class, but I assumed it was just a matter of time till Stevens put Eric in charge of all Disco classes.  The end was in sight and I was a goner.  I had absolutely no answer for Eric. 

SUBCHAPTER 433 - MACHISMO

The studio was abuzz with Eric Fever.  The women lined up the moment he walked in the door.  One night Eric did an impromptu exhibition with a woman on the main dance floor.  The woman had just finished her 6-7 private lesson.  About this same time the students for my Advanced class were strolling in for our 7 pm class. 

As my students milled about, I noticed Eric walk over to put some music on.  At first I assumed he was about to check the woman's progress.  But when I saw her dance, I changed my mind.  This woman was too good to be a student.  That is when I became suspicious.  This was no private lesson, this was a set-up.  These guys had been rehearsing! 

Eric was incredible.  Flips, dips, hips, spins, and penetrating, soul-searching gazes that suggested they continue this in private.  I could not decide who Eric was trying to seduce, his partner or my students.  The murmur in the crowd confirmed the electricity in the room.   This performance did not seem accidental.  No one could take their eyes off him.  No one but me, that is. 

I watched in horror as my most loyal students stopped their conversations to watch in awe as Eric danced.  Eric knew exactly what he was doing and it worked.  This was the night the Legend of Eric began.  From that point on, that's all my students could talk about.  Just shoot me. 

Lance Stevens had witnessed the event as well.  The smile on his face said it all.  Eric was his guy.  Assuming the sands of time regarding my tenure were running on empty, I walked around the studio with a deep sense of dread.   I panicked when Stevens called a meeting at the end of May.  Considering how insecure I felt, I was immediately on guard.  Since Stevens had never called a meeting before, I figured this meant Eric would be there too.  Trying to calm down a bit, I asked Stevens what this was about.  When refused to tell me what this meeting was about, the uncertainty amplified my paranoia.  However, I doubted he was going to fire me.  Why call a meeting when he could speak to me face to face.  So now I wondered if he was going to order me to train Eric.  If that was the case, I was ready to quit.  Eric didn't need my material to begin with and my pride was too great to humble myself like that.  No, he was not going to ask me to train Eric, so I had no idea what was going on.  All I knew was that I had a really bad feeling about this meeting. 

Due to my anxiety, I arrived a couple minutes early.  I knocked on the door and Stevens told me to come in.  Seeing Stevens at his desk waiting for me, I felt sick in my stomach.  Stevens told me to take a seat, but I chose to remain standing by the door.  If I was going to be fired, I wanted to leave before the tears appeared.  My heart was thumping and my sense of dread was way out of control.

To Stevens' obvious irritation, ten minutes passed.  He said nothing to me, but looked at his watch a dozen times.  Suddenly Eric burst in without warning.  No knock.  Eric just swung the door open and boldly walked to a chair across from Stevens.  Before Stevens could say a word, Eric made a grandstand move.  I watched in shock as Eric plopped his feet up on the opposite side of Steven's desk.  My mouth dropped open.  Was Eric out of his mind?  Stevens would never tolerate a stunt like that.  Eric grinned at me, then shot some sort of knowing look straight at Stevens to get his attention.  Following his arrogant entrance, Eric immediately launched into a sales pitch.

"Lance, let me get to the point.  I want to be your business partner.  I am good, very good and you know that.  You've watched me teach and you've watched me dance.  You are nearing retirement age, so I assume you are looking for someone to hand the reins to.  I am your man.  What do you think?"

I was aghast.  I could not believe Eric's boldness.  Where did he get the nerve to call Stevens by his first name?  And what was with this feet on the desk routine?  Eric was so confident of himself that he even made his pitch with me in the room.  Why would Eric do that?  It was insanity not to discuss this in private.  I was certain this guy had badly misread Lance Stevens.  If Eric had waited to make his pitch in private and shown some manners, Stevens would have been far more receptive.  For that matter, if the two men had been alone, Stevens might be willing to give Eric a chance to apologize for his brash behavior.  However, having me in the room changed the dynamics.  Eric had just challenged the boss in front of another employee.  His approach felt more like a demand than a request.  Eric was typically the Man with a Plan, so whatever happened to his smooth touch?  I held my breath to see how this would play out. 

Sure enough, Stevens was stunned.  Stevens had a huge ego.  Didn't Eric know this?  For a moment, he stared in shock at Eric's feet on the desk.  Then a deep frown came over his face.  As I guessed, Eric's amazing display of hubris had rubbed Stevens the wrong way.

"Young man, perhaps you didn't read the sign on the door.  The sign says Stevens of Hollywood.  I am Lance Stevens from Hollywood, California.  I won contest after contest on the West Coast when you were still in diapers.  I opened this studio ten years ago without any backing.  I did it on my own and I didn't need your help to do it.  I have run this studio for ten years without a partner and I certainly don't need one now, especially not one with an attitude like yours."

Then Stevens turned to me.  He pointed to the door and said, "Archer, you don't need to be here."

Eric's aggressive approach had violated all norms of common sense.  Assuming Eric was about to receive the tongue-lashing of his life, I wasted no time exiting.  Before I left, I saw a flash of panic cross Eric's face.  Eric had just come to his senses.  Realizing his arrogance had gotten the better of him, Eric wasn't sure he could talk his way out of this.  Lance Stevens took enormous pride in letting the world know that he was the Master.  This was his studio!!  It had his name on the door for a reason.  For some cocky street kid to walk into his office and suggest being partners after a brief three-week apprenticeship was a pretty serious insult.  Did Eric not understand that a polite approach might have worked?  Apparently not.  His Latin swagger had backfired badly. 

Standing nearby, three minutes later I watched Eric leave Stevens' office and head for the front door.  Eric was so upset he never saw me.  Death by machismo.  This moment was pure Déjà vu.  Watching Eric lose it with Lance Stevens was like reliving my own demise with Dr. Fujimoto.  I had been dismissed from Colorado State due to my lack of political common sense and now Eric had committed the same sin.   I was overwhelmed with all sorts of painful emotions.  I did not enjoy watching myself in the mirror one bit.

SUBCHAPTER 434 - AFTERMATH

I never saw Eric again.  In fact, I never even heard of Eric again which was kind of odd considering someone with his talent should have made a name for himself in Houston dance circles.  Why didn't Eric talk to Stevens in private?  If the two of them had been alone, perhaps Stevens could have settled for chewing out the young man in private.  Why Eric did not grasp this was beyond understanding. 

Lance Stevens never said another word to me about Eric.  He simply told me to add Eric's current May-June Beginner class to my list of responsibilities.  Suddenly I was teaching on Wednesdays at 8 pm again.  Stevens had made Eric's class six weeks instead of the usual eight, so the class had four more weeks to run.  I will never forget the disappointment of his groupies when I walked into Eric's class and said I would be taking over.  This was a difficult class to teach.  For one thing, I had never met any of these students.  Furthermore, the women would not shut up. 

"Who are you?" 
"Where is Eric?" 
"Why isn't Eric here?" 
"Is Eric sick tonight?" 
"Will Eric be back next week?" 
 

Although the men were less vocal, they too had a loyalty to Eric.  I could see Eric had been well-liked by his students.  I asked them to show me what Eric had taught so far.  To my dismay, they showed me footwork to a type of partner dancing that did not register.  It would not be till six months later that I realized Eric had been teaching the legendary 'Latin Hustle'.  That fact alone demonstrated just how far ahead of the curve Eric had been.  Why I held the keys to the Kingdom and not Eric was a complete mystery to me.

Since I had no idea how the Latin Hustle worked, I trotted out my sad little 'New Yorker'.  I almost died when I saw the disdain on their faces.  I was offering a VW Bug to a group used to a Porsche.  Some day I hoped to be as good a teacher as Eric, but for now they were stuck with the Great Imposter.  My incompetence triggered a new round of complaints.

"Why don't you teach us what Eric was teaching us?"
"You need to tell us what is going on here."
"Did Eric quit and go to another studio?" 
"If so, which studio?"
"Do you have Eric's telephone number?"

The following week was equally pathetic, but in a different way.  In protest, most of the women refused to return.  This left the men with no one to partner dance with.  The boy-girl ratio was so bad, I was forced to go back to Freestyle and Line Dances.  Imagine how well the 'Left Behinds' felt about that.  In the third week, now the men did not bother to show up either.  By the time the fourth and final class rolled around, I was down to one couple and one extra man.   I asked if anyone knew where all the students had gone.  Big mistake.  The woman replied, "I imagine they are all looking for Eric." 

That barb did more damage than a knife cut.   It was truly humbling to replace someone who actually knew what he was doing.  Needless to say, I was deeply shaken by Eric's demise.  I was grateful to be given a new lease on life, but at the same time I was forced to give this incident some serious thought.  Eric's weird departure had Fate written all over it.  Now I had to decide what to do about it.

SUBCHAPTER 435 - OBSERVATION 56