MYSTERY OF THE TEXAS TWOSTEP

CHAPTER TEN:

THE OUTCAST

Written by Rick Archer 

On the night my friend Joanne asked me to visit a honky-tonk known as the Cactus Club, I was aghast at what I saw.  The building was filled with mean-looking rednecks, bubbas and bikers who very easily could have played extras in Deliverance, a movie about deadly backwoods hillbillies.

Prior to my career as a dance teacher, my job at the child welfare agency had put me in touch with some of the angriest people I ever met.  Over the past four years I visited homes in Pasadena, a town heavily populated with brawling blue collar transplants from the country.  From what I gathered, many of my clients hung out at Gilley's, the biggest C&W dance hall in the state.  Gilley's was known as Redneck Paradise.  

No doubt there were good people in Pasadena, but my child abuse job exposed me to its darkest element.  Keep in mind that child abusers are not the nicest people to begin with.  The ones in Pasadena were the worst.  I came into contact with the meanest, most racist people I had ever encountered.  The presence of swastikas, Confederate flags, and Klan symbols in many of the homes I visited confirmed my worst prejudices. 

Sad to say, my Cactus Club visit had reinforced every negative view I held towards Country people.  Seeing me dressed 'Preppie', I was instantly marked as an outsider.  As a result, I received the same hostile reception I used to encounter during my visits to the Pasadena homes.  The message was clear: "Young man, you don't belong here."

The Cactus Club regulars didn't like me and I didn't like them.  The people were unfriendly, I despised the music and I hated the primitive dancing.  Besides that, I was bitter because this stupid Western dancing was being rammed down my throat by the invisible Wizard of Oz.  I was losing Disco, the one thing I truly loved, and seeing it replaced with the dreariest form of dancing I had ever seen.  Ensconced in one of the worst depressions of my life, I vowed to never visit a Western club again in my life. 

The thought of spending time in bars like the Cactus Club was bad enough.  Nor did I relish dealing with hostile people if I were to teach Western dancing.  As things stood, what little I had seen of Houston's new Western Era evoked the same dread I used to feel whenever I visited the homes of the child abusers.  Hating everything there was to hate about Country-Western, my bitterness exposed an intolerance that scared me.  I hated people who were prejudiced, but here I was just as bigoted towards them as they were towards me. 

Overwhelmed by deep pessimism, I was very reluctant to take this next step.  On the other hand, I loved teaching dance.  Besides that, it was the only thing I had ever been good at.  As things stood, this Meyerland opportunity might be my only way to continue my career.  A very sobering thought indeed.

Another sobering thought were my shaky ethics.  I had just accepted an offer to teach something I knew nothing about.  Well aware my decision was borderline unethical, I felt considerable guilt.  On the other hand, if I could pull this off, then no one would care.  It is said that scruples and high morals are the province of well-fed men.  Hungry men cannot afford the luxury of lofty values.  Just don't get caught.   Besides, it was not like I was endangering anyone's life.  While it was true that bad doctors bury their mistakes, at worst I risked someone getting their toes stepped on.  I could live with that on my conscience. 

There is something called 'gut-wrenching panic'.  This is the kind of feeling someone gets if a plane suddenly plummets or the doctor calls to say there is a problem with a recent test.  That was how I felt right now.  As the implications of my gamble sunk in, I entered a state of terror.  I had FIVE DAYS to find a solution.  With panic coursing through my body, I grabbed the Yellow Pages and called three dance studios.  They each said the same thing... no one at their studio taught country-western.  That is what I had been afraid of.  I called two more studios.  Same thing.  Dead End.  I thought of Sandy.  She said her group of friends had called every dance studio in the phone book without any luck.  Now I getting the same result.  Was it possible that C&W dance teachers did not exist?

Glen Hunsucker was my dance teacher.  I had known him for nearly a year.  His specialty was teaching jazz to talented teenage dancers who hoped to become professionals.  In addition, Glen taught Ballroom and Disco to supplement his income.  Over the past year, Glen had worked wonders with my dancing.  His suggestions on footwork and leads had turned me into a top-flight Disco dancer.  Unfortunately, due to the Karate Chop accident, those days were over.  Having sworn off any further thought of performing, Victoria was no longer willing to participate in my lessons with Glen.  From here on out, it was just Glen and me.

As I drove to my regular Tuesday private dance lesson, I prayed Glen knew something about Western dancing or perhaps knew someone who could help.  The moment I saw Glen, I wasted no time popping the question. 

In a huff, Glen replied, "Are you out of your mind?  Hell, no!  I wouldn't teach Western for all the tea in China.  Besides, there's nothing to it.  I grew up in Pasadena where kicker dancing is popular, so I've seen how lame it is.  All you do is shuffle around.  Plus I hate the music."

"But Glen, can't you teach me what you know?"

"Rick, you don't get it.  There's nothing to teach!  This dancing is so easy, people can learn it on the spot."

"Show me."

With a snort, Glen grabbed me.  Using a technique known as 'back-leading', Glen made me step to my left, then add a tap.  Then I stepped to my right and added another tap.  Then he made walk forward two steps.  In other words, 'Step-tap, Step-tap, walk walk.'  We were done in less than 30 seconds. 

"Congratulations," Glen said.  "Now you know how to dance the Texas Twostep.  Kicker dancing is so easy people learn it on the spot.""

I groaned.  I had seen this before.  This was exactly what I had seen people doing at the Cactus Club.  If that's all there was to it, I was doomed.  Glen had said, "It's so easy people can learn it on the spot..."

Those words hit like a sledgehammer.  His rebuke reminded me of the time Joanne had taught me the Cotton-Eyed Joe at the Cactus Club.  Learning it on the spot, it took me less than two minutes to catch on.  Glen was right.  Western dancing was so easy, no one would ever pay to learn this.  Except maybe the Meyerland people.  Since none of them had never seen country dancing in their life, they had mistakenly assumed it was tricky to learn.  Boy, were they in for a surprise.  Where was I going to find enough material to fill eight weeks of classes?  And who would show it to me?  I was in serious trouble.

With a heavy heart, I responded, "Glen, please tell me you're joking.  Surely you know more than that."

"No, Rick, I am not joking.  Let me explain something.  To people in the Ballroom community, Country-Western dancing represents the deepest, darkest pit.  In our minds, Country-Western dancing is for pond scum, bottom feeders, tow truck drivers.  It is considered the lowest, most mediocre form of dancing that exists.  No Ballroom instructor, no Disco instructor, no Jazz instructor, no Ballet teacher in their right mind would dream of having anything to do with this kind of dancing.  How do I put this?  It's beneath them."

"Then why is it so popular in Pasadena?" 

"That should be obvious.  It gives men permission to grope women.  Men wrap their smelly arm around a woman's neck.  Once the woman is trapped, they grab the woman's butt with their free hand, then rub their fat beer bellies up against her body.  They parade around the floor in the mistaken belief that their partner thinks they're sexy.  So to answer your question, the answer is no, I don't teach Bubba Dancing and no one else I know teaches it either.  For that matter, I'm not sure there is anything to teach.  Maybe the Polka, but I don't know.  Like I said, most people get out on the floor and learn what little there is from their partner.  Why don't you go to some club and watch for a while?"

Damn it.  I had already gone to a club, the Cactus Club.  Glen's description of the Step-Tap Twostep matched exactly what I had seen.  And he was right about why there were no teachers.  First and foremost, there was nothing to teach.  That was my biggest fear, the lack of material.  My other objection was my prejudice towards the music and the lowlifes who frequented country bars.  There was no way I would ever set foot in the Cactus Club again.  I had already seen all I needed to know that Glen was right.  If the Cactus Club was representative of what Western dancing had to offer, this Meyerland class was a Dead End.  I decided I would call Sandy in the morning and resign.

Tuesday, September 4 VICTORIA HAS SOME BAD NEWS

When I got home from my lesson with Glen, I called one more dance studio, got the same answer, then gave up calling dance studios. 

Now I turned to my other headache.  I called Victoria at home to find out what she and Michael had decided during their big Labor Day powwow.  I was incredulous to discover NOTHING was decided.  Victoria said Michael got a last-minute offer to spend the weekend with friends at a lake house, so they changed their plans and took Stephanie with them.  According to Victoria, other than a brief conversation down by the lake, there was no real opportunity for a serious discussion of their future.  I did not believe a word she said.  Here is a couple in the midst of serious marital problems.  Does Victoria expect me to believe they postponed making an important decision so they could spend a relaxing weekend together instead?  Who knows, maybe she was telling the truth. 

I had given up believing Victoria's status reports on her marriage.  I doubted there had ever been a 'Labor Day Talk' scheduled in the first place.  More likely Victoria sensed I was about to cut her loose and had used this 'serious discussion' ploy to stall for more time.  I was angry.  I had delayed dropping the axe specifically to grant her request for more time.  Instead she had reneged on her promise.  Oh well, no problem.  I was in such a good mood after meeting Jennifer, I decided to let Victoria proceed at her own pace.  In my opinion, my upcoming freedom from Victoria's tentacles was 'fait accompli'.  It was just a matter of time before Victoria caved in and went crawling back to Michael.  Besides, I had more important things to worry about, namely my Meyerland Club promise.

I spent Tuesday afternoon looking for a solution.  Desperate, I called two more studios.  Same answer... sorry, Charlie.  Now it was time to go to work.  Maybe one of my students knew someone, so that night I addressed both my dance classes.  I asked my 7 pm Tuesday students if they knew someone who could teach Country-Western dancing.  No one had a clue.  I asked my 8 pm students the same thing.  Same answer.  Right now I was so anxious I could not see straight.  Disco was dead and Country could not replace it.  This whole thing seemed hopeless.  Did Victoria know about my dilemma?  No.  Since she taught her two small classes in another room, she remained in the dark.  Good.  Let's keep it that way. 

After class, I tracked down Victoria.  "How many students did you have?"

"14," she replied.  "5 in my Beginner class, 9 in my Intermediate class."

I frowned.  "You know the rules.  We need 6 paying students for a class to make.  Why didn't you cancel your Beginner class?"

"Because I didn't want to.  Furthermore, I don't standing here arguing about.  Let's go to my car."

I stared at Victoria in disbelief.  I was facing a horrible crisis for which I had no solution and now Victoria wants to engage in another useless round of Car Talk.  Give me a break.  Now that I had met Jennifer, there was nothing to negotiate.  However, I did not dare tell Victoria about Jennifer.  Just then, an Arabic saying crossed my mind.  "If you are upset over losing a finger, lose a hand."  If I wanted to stop thinking about Victoria's worthless dance class tonight, how about telling her about my new girlfriend?  Or the likelihood that my career was about to end.  These thoughts brought out an ironic snicker. 

Hearing my bitter laugh, Victoria asked, "What's so funny?"

Driven to my wit's end with fear over Victoria's stalling tactics and my increasingly hopeless Country-Western gamble, I lost my temper.  I replied, "There is nothing funny, Victoria.  You want to negotiate our future?  Forget it.  Try negotiating with Michael instead of me.  You have wasted my time for the past two months and I'm fed up.  I have a suggestion.  When you decide to leave your husband, we can talk.  Until then, just leave me alone." 

Then I turned and walked away.  To heck with Car Talk.  It felt good to defy Victoria for a change. 

LATE TUESDAY EVENING, September 4 JENNIFER

When I arrived home that night, I called Jennifer.  I had not told her about Victoria yet.  My hope was Victoria would set me free over Labor Day, so I had kept mum on the subject.  Now was not a good time to talk about Victoria.  I was too upset, so we had a long talk about the depressing Meyerland Club situation instead. 

"What do you plan to do?" she asked. 

"I don't know, Jennifer.  I guess I could screw up some courage and go visit a Western bar and have another look-see.  But do you want to know the truth?  I say why bother.  Based on what Glen told me, teaching Country-Western is a dead end.  Based on what I saw at the Cactus Club, Glen is right, there's nothing to it.  The whole thing is a giant waste of time.  The easiest thing to do is call Sandy back in the morning and tell her to find someone else.  Except that I doubt there is anyone else."

"What do you mean?"

"Sandy said she had other people to call, but I think she was bluffing.  I think she called a bunch of people and I was the only one foolish enough to say yes.  I am convinced Country dancing is so easy there is no one in town who teaches it.  Let me tell you something.  This Urban Cowboy nonsense started with the opening of Western dance club called Cowboy in February.  That was seven months ago.  In all this time, not one person has ever asked me for a Country lesson.  This means no one is interested, probably because the dancing is so easy no one needs a teacher." 

"Then why did the Meyerland Club call you?"

"Because they didn't know any better.  First and foremost, these goofy women need an excuse to show off their fancy new clothes.  Plus they have some sort of Western Gala coming up in November and they don't want the floor to be empty when the band plays.  But the main reason they called if because they have no idea what the dancing looks like.  They seem to think there is actually something to learn, but they are wrong.  This is bullshit.  I'm going to call Sandy back and tell her to forget it."

Jennifer could hear the disgust in my voice.  "Listen, Rick, before you give up, let me remind you this Meyerland job promises to be quite a payday.  Not only that, if it is true there is no one else, you could be one of the first people to take advantage of the coming Western craze."

An interesting comment.  What Western Craze?  As far as I could tell, there was no Western Craze.  However, there might be one down the road.  I had not really thought of it that way.  However, I was so disgusted by the thought of giving up Disco to teach Western, I was dead set against this.

When I did not respond, Jennifer said, "There must be something you can do."

"I agree with you on one thing.  I don't want to leave all that money on the table.  But what can I do?  I've called eight studios and drew a blank on every one of them.  I asked my dance teacher and he drew a blank.  I asked my students in two classes tonight and they didn't known anyone.  If there are any western teachers out there, I don't know how to find them and I am out of options."

"Do not give up so easy.  My father always says there is opportunity in crisis.  If you can get past this hurdle, who knows.  I heard someone say they expect John Travolta will stir up a beehive of interest in Western dancing just like he did with Disco.  I bet the interest just hasn't hit yet, but it will when the movie comes out.  Since there doesn't seem to be anyone else who knows how to teach Western dancing, maybe you can beat everyone to the punch."

"That reminds me of something one of my students said tonight in class.  'Gee, Rick, are you saying you don't you know how to teach Country-Western?  If you don't know how to teach it, where else can I go to learn?'"

"That is exactly my point.  You don't have any competition, so give it some more thought.  If you can lick this problem, who knows where this Western stuff might take you.  Hey, listen, I'm a working girl and it's getting late.  Will you come over tomorrow night after class?" 

"Yes, of course.  I will see you tomorrow night."

I sat there in the dark wondering where I could find a teacher.  This was quite a challenge.  There were certain mysteries in life I could not seem to figure out.  How do fish get in high-elevation mountain ponds?  Why are there matching pyramids in Egypt and Central America?  Why is Disco dying in Houston but nowhere else?  Why does Victoria chase a soon to be unemployed dance teacher when she has a perfectly good husband?  Most important of all, the Zen question of the day:  Who teaches the Western teacher when there are no Western teachers? 

Frustrated, my mind was made up.  I would call Sandy tomorrow morning and back out. 

WEDNESDAY, September 5, 1979 MEMORY LANE

On Wednesday morning, I awoke in a very pessimistic mood.  I poured some coffee, then sat at my kitchen table wondering what to do.  When no solution came to me after 20 minutes of futility, I got up and went to my office.  It was time to call Sandy and tell her the bad news.  What choice did I have?  Like Glen said, the dancing was so easy anyone could pick it up right out on the dance floor.  I knew Glen was right because I recalled how Joanne had once taught me the Cotton-Eyed Joe as the music played at Cactus Club.  It was so easy it took less than a minute to catch on.  Just then something stirred in my mind.  What was it? 

"Joanne taught me the Cotton-Eyed Joe..." 

Aha!  That was it!  I had completely forgotten about Joanne, probably because we had parted on such bad terms three months ago.  Maybe I should give her a call.  However I hesitated for fear she would bite my head off.  Instead I took a trip down Memory Lane.

As I sat here staring at the phone, today was the one-year anniversary of meeting Joanne.  We had a checkered past.  Joanne had shown up for a Beginner Disco class at this time last year.  The moment I danced with her, I realized she had exceptional dance ability.  I also realized she had to be the loneliest woman I had ever met.  Curious about her, I asked Joanne to stay after class.  In a roundabout way, I tried to figure out why a pretty girl like her was so miserable.  I did not have to try very hard.  Joanne proceeded to pour out her soul to me.

Joanne grew up poor on a farm and got a lousy rural education.  When she was 24, her father lost the farm and told her to go find a job.  Due to her meager job skills, Joanne had trouble finding employment in the economically-depressed Pennsylvania area she lived in.  Her distant cousin mentioned Houston's booming economy, so Joanne got in her beat-up car and drove 1,500 miles.  Due to her good looks, she got a low-paying job as a receptionist.  Joanne made enough to rent a cheap apartment, but not enough to afford a home phone.  The way Joanne made it sound, she had a TV, a suitcase, a light fixture plus a mattress her cousin had given her.  She ended her story by saying she liked to dance, so she had picked this studio out of the Yellow Pages listings.  Noting that she lived at least 10 miles and 30 traffic lights away, I asked why my studio was the winner.  She gave me a sheepish grin and confessed it was on the same street as her job and her apartment.  That made it easier to find.  Say no more.  I got the picture. 

Joanne was broke, overwhelmed in the big city, lonely and friendless.  She was also easy pickings due to her obvious crush on me.  Given that we were alone, I had trouble containing that certain stirring.  Fortunately, I had both a conscience and a girlfriend named Patricia, so I felt protective rather than exploitive.  Here again, my belief in Fate affected my decision.  After getting thrown out of graduate school four years earlier, I had returned to Houston lost and lonely with my self-esteem hovering at zero.  If ever someone had needed a friend, that would me.  Fortunately a family I had been close to as a boy reached out and offered their home till I could get back on my feet.  Due to my empathy, I had a hunch I had selected by Fate to provide a helping hand to Joanne.  In other words, 'pay a kindness forward'.  What could I do to cheer her up?

"Joanne, I need a favor.  Whenever I see a good move at a dance club, I take notes.  But I don't have any way to polish these moves or figure out how they work before I turn around and use them in a class.  Would you be willing to be my assistant on Monday evenings?"

Seeing her eyes light up, I knew I had done the right thing. 

"How would this work?" she replied.

"On Mondays I have a Beginner class at 7 as well as an advanced Acrobatics class at 8.  If you could come at 6 pm, we could practice acrobatics for an hour, then maybe you could stay and demonstrate the woman's part to my 8 o'clock Acrobatics class."

Joanne was excited.  "Gosh, that would be wonderful!  Would I need to pay anything?"

I winced when she said that.  If anything, I should be paying her.  "Uh, no, you would be my volunteer.  I really hope you will say yes.  I could really use your help."

And that's how it started.  Every Monday without fail Joanne was there to help me perfect my patterns.  However, there was one aspect that made me sad.  I had expected Joanne would bond with my students, but she remained aloof.  As I got to know her I figured out what was wrong.  95% of my Disco students were college-educated professionals while Joanne claimed her greatest skill was milking cows.  Due to her low-status job and limited education, Joanne realized her lack of sophistication would show the moment she opened her mouth.  So she said nothing. 

Joanne was pretty, but her lack of confidence held her back.  Very tall at 5' 8", Joanne was slim with an incredible figure and exquisite long legs.  She had long brown hair and an attractive slender face.  If Joanne could learn to smile and carry herself with pride, she would have been a knockout.  However, Joanne was a dark person by nature.  During Monday dance class she found it tough to fit in with our group due to her shyness and small-town education.  On Fridays at the Pistachio Club she had a bad tendency to sit by herself much of the time.  Unfortunately, her cool demeanor and perpetual scowl had a chilling effect on potential suitors.  No wonder she was lonely.

Joanne possessed phenomenal dance ability, but even this seemed to work to her disadvantage.  As a rule men are insecure about their dancing.  Joanne rarely got asked to dance because she was far too intimidating for the average dance student.  Sitting alone much of the time, Joanne preferred to mope over in the corner.  Since she constantly frowned, the timid types did not dare approach.  However, she did get her fair share of attention from men outside our group.  Thanks to her sensational body, the experienced hustlers found Joanne difficult to ignore.  Smart enough to realize her frown masked loneliness, these guys stuck around till they got what they wanted, then moved on.  Feeling used, Joanne turned increasingly bitter. 

JOANNE'S DOWNFALL

Joanne's ability to attract the wrong type of men was problem enough, but she did not help things with her ignorance of dance studio politics.  Unable to disguise her feelings for me, she repeatedly tipped off the Supreme Diva of Discord who saw her as a threat.  Joanne was defenseless against the nasty games played by Victoria. 

By coincidence, I met Victoria and Joanne within two days of each other at the start of September 1978.  Every Monday September through November, Joanne and I practiced Acrobatics for an hour before classes started.  Victoria had no idea who Joanne was because she never came to the studio on Monday night. 

Joanne's downfall began when she stole the show at Victoria's Christmas Party in December.  A crowd of 300 had been mesmerized by her death-defying acrobatics and ability to spin a dozen times in a row without getting dizzy.  The crazy thing is that our performance was unplanned.  All I did was ask her to dance and the result was electric.  Even crazier was the fact that we had never danced before in public.  So how did we become an instant hit?  All those weeks of practice every Monday night had unknowingly turned Joanne into my ultimate dance partner.  Joanne was just as surprised I was, but no one was more shocked than Victoria.  Furious at Joanne for stealing her thunder and even angrier at me for aiding in the young woman's stardom, Victoria went ballistic.  

As if upstaging Victoria was not bad enough, Joanne made things worse by hugging me much too close and far too long at the end of our smash performance.  Not that I minded, but Victoria did.  Joanne had a fatal flaw.  No matter how hard she tried, Joanne could not disguise her longing for me.  Fearful that my friendship with Joanne might get serious, Victoria worried that I would replace her with my voluptuous dance prodigy. 

Nothing could have been further from the truth.  Joanne might be better, but Victoria was a very good dancer in her own right.  More important, Joanne could never match Victoria's popularity and business acumen.  Victoria had nothing to worry about, but for some reason she failed to see that.  Instead she decided Joanne had to go.  So when January 1979 rolled around, Victoria got out her knives. 

Victoria understood that guilt, gravity and gossip are the three most powerful forces in the Universe.  Through use of daily phone calls to her dance studio girlfriends, Victoria whispered that the 'Ice Queen' was too stuck up to dance with anyone but me.  That was not true, but I had to admit that was an easy rumor to believe.  As a result, Joanne found herself sitting alone more often than usual the following week.

Then Victoria spread the rumor that Joanne was trying to steal me from my girlfriend Patricia.  It was a clever lie because it had some basis in truth.  No, Joanne was not trying to steal me, but she wore her heart on her sleeve in public.  She hoped I might choose her next if my troubled relationship with Patricia failed.  Victoria's whisper campaign worked to perfection.  Joanne was far too vulnerable to handle the cold shoulder treatment.

Realizing she was unwelcome with the Disco crowd, Joanne quit the studio in March and began dancing in the C&W clubs instead.  In her case, it was a wise move.  Driven into permanent exile by the Disco snobs, Joanne realized the Country-Western crowd was far more to her liking.  The fresh start allowed her to smile for a change.  Due to her good looks, she got asked to dance a lot. 

I missed Joanne so much that I asked her to help me teach a Disco class at the Meyerland Club in May and June.  One night after class Joanne persuaded me to join her at the Cactus Club.  Bad move.  The following Sunday I asked her to visit Annabelle's with me.  Another bad move.  Sitting with seven Disco students from the studio, the group glared at Joanne with hostility.  Why?  They had just discovered she ditched Disco in favor of Country-Western dancing.  A man named Jim was so irritated he decided to confront her. 

"Hey, lady, explain something to me.  Why would a woman with your dance ability desert Disco for something stupid like kicker dancing?  How can you stand hanging out with a bunch of rednecks?"

Deeply offended by his rudeness, Joanne lost her temper.  Glaring at Jim, she said, "Well, buddy, you better get used to rednecks and cowboys or else give up dancing.  The way things look, pretty soon every single Disco will be gone.  Then what are you going to do?"

At that, Joanne stood up and stormed out of the room.  Horrified, I chased her down at the elevator.

"Calm down, Joanne.  I'm sorry that happened.  I didn't expect to see you get ambushed like that.  Okay, so you ran into a major jerk, I apologize for that.  Why don't you come back inside with me?  If you want, we can sit alone."

Joanne was hopping mad.  "Oh my God, Rick, you're so blind.  This kind of crap happens to me every time I go to a Disco.  You just don't know how nasty these people are.  Jesus, I didn't think my day could get any worse, but it did.  Thank you very much for reminding me why I quit Disco in the first place.  I'm heading over to the Cactus Club.  At least I'm welcome there."

And with that, Joanne turned to leave.  I tried to follow her into the elevator, but Joanne put her hand up to stop me.  She barked, "No!  Don't bother getting in.  Thanks for the memories, but I'm done.  By the way, I won't be back at Meyerland next week."

Joanne stared daggers at me as the doors began to close.  Suddenly she reached her hand out and stopped the doors for one final word. 

"I swear, you and your stinking dance crowd has brought me more misery than I have ever experienced in my life.  Adios, Amigo."

WEDNESDAY, September 5, 1979 DOWN TO MY LAST SILVER BULLET

As I sat there staring at the phone, it struck me how incredibly weird it was that my friend Joanne was the only person who could save me from my crazy Meyerland gamble.  Joanne had come into my life on Labor Day 1978.  Here we were again, one year later on Labor Day 1979.  Sad to say, Joanne was no longer part of my life.  Her disappearance was partly my fault, partly her fault, but mostly Victoria's fault.  I let out a grim chuckle at the thought of how mad Victoria would be if she discovered how badly her decision to exile Joanne from the studio may have backfired.  And then I frowned.  Considering how badly things had ended three months ago, there was no guarantee Joanne would agree to help me.  Nevertheless, I could not help but sense the presence of Fate in the room.  I unconsciously looked around.  Was it my imagination or was my Guardian Angel looking over my shoulder?  Yes, she was.  Or at least it seemed that way.  I flinched as she whispered to me.  "Well, Rick, are you going to call her or not?"  

What choice did I have?  I was beyond nervous as I dialed Joanne's number at work.  I was very worried she no longer worked there.  If so, I would have no way to get in touch with her.  Joanne did not have a home phone and I did not have an address.  Even if she answered, I had no idea if Joanne would speak to me.  Given how we parted, there was a good chance she would refuse to talk to me.  But my worst fear was that if she agreed to cooperate, there was very little for her to teach.  I was already fairly certain Country-Western dancing was a complete waste of time.  If that was the case, my dance career was doomed.  But here again, what choice did I have?  Right now this was the only door open to extend my career.  You've heard the term 'Hail Mary'.  Joanne was officially my last hope. 

As the phone rang, my heart beat wildly.  To my undying relief, Joanne answered the phone.   Even better, she sounded happy to hear from me.  I could tell by her voice that she wasn't mad at me any more.  Thank goodness!  A surge of relief shot through my body.  This was the old Joanne, not the bitter woman she had turned into.  My heart pounded as I told Joanne about my problem.  Unfortunately, as I feared, Joanne said no.  Actually she said, "Hell no!"  But it was not because she was mad at me, but rather she was very skeptical she could help.  Undeterred, I explained my problem some more.  Fortunately Joanne softened a bit. 

"Rick, I don't have the first clue how to teach Western dancing.  All I do is follow.  I have no idea what my feet are doing, so what makes you think I can tell you what I am doing or the guy is doing?"

"C'mon, Joanne, don't give up so easy.  Surely you can help somehow.  There has to be something you can do.  If you can just bring some Country records with you, maybe you can dance by yourself to the music and I can watch how your feet move."

"That won't work.  Unless a man leads me, I wouldn't know where to start.  I'm sorry, but I never think about my feet when I dance.  I dance by feel.  Unless a man is guiding me, I cannot tell you a single thing about how my feet move.  And I certainly don't know what his feet are doing." 

"Hey, don't sell yourself short.  You taught me the Cotton-Eyed Joe at the Cactus Club, so that's a good place to start.  Besides, I am up against a wall.  You are the only person I know who has ever been Western dancing.  You are my last hope.  If you turn me down, there is no one else but you.  Please?"

Unfortunately, my sales pitch did not work.  Joanne remained silent.  But she didn't hang up, so there was still hope.  Realizing she was on the fence, it was time to play the ace card I had saved for this likely impasse. 

"Look, Joanne, I'll tell you what.  This job pays a lot of money, maybe as much as $2,000.  If you can help me figure out what to teach, I will split the money 50-50.  You stand to make $1,000.  That's a lot of money.  Just promise me you will try."

To my dismay, Joanne did not bite.  The phone stayed quiet as Joanne thought it over.  I was in agony as the seconds passed.  One minute, a millennium.  Two minutes, an eternity.  Finally I heard a deep sigh.  That was my first good sign.  Thank goodness Joanne was dead broke as usual.  I had a hunch $1,000 was equal to her entire monthly salary.

"Okay, Rick, you win.  I got bills to pay.  Otherwise I would tell you it's a big waste of time.  I'll try to help, but we need to get going if this gig starts on Sunday.  I can get off work early today, so let's meet at 4 pm.  Just tell me I'm not going to run into Victoria."

"Victoria doesn't work on Wednesdays.  Don't worry about her."

"Good.  Because otherwise I won't do it.  But there is one problem."

I held my breath.  "What?"

"I don't own any records."

"Then buy a few and bring them with you.  I'll pay you back."

"One more thing."

"Now what?"

"Don't expect much."  

As I hung up the phone, I thought again how strange it was that Victoria's hostility had turned Joanne into an Outcast.  If this spiteful woman had not chased Joanne off to the Western clubs, I would have been deprived of my only chance to save my career.  This odd twist was why I suspected Supernatural involvement.  Pretty much against my will, I felt like the Universe was intent on turning me into a Country-Western dance instructor. 

Considering I did not want to cooperate, why was I doing this?  Twice before in my life I had tried to outwit Fate.  Both times Fate had 'insisted'.  And so, kicking and screaming, I decided to face the coming ordeal.

1979: THE YEAR OF LIVING DANGEROUSLY
 

Suspicious

Lucky Break

Serious

Lucky Break

Suspicious

Cosmic Blindness

Serious

Strange Accident
Dance Curse 5

Suspicious

Eerie Premonition

Serious

Strange Accident
Dance Curse 4

Serious

Strange Accident
Dance Curse 3

Suspicious

Coincidence

Serious

Telekinesis
Dance Curse 2

Suspicious

Cosmic Blindness
Dance Curse 1