MYSTERY OF THE TEXAS TWOSTEP

CHAPTER THIRTEEN:

MEYERLAND CLUB

Written by Rick Archer 

SUNDAY AFTERNOON, September 9, 1979 JENNIFER'S FAMILY

Sunday, September 9, was an important day.  Tonight would mark the debut of my curious career as a Western dance teacher.  First, however, I had promised to meet Jennifer's family for lunch.  As I drove to the restaurant, I had misgivings.  Three days had passed since I had spoken to Jennifer on Thursday morning.  Finally Jennifer called on Sunday morning.  I was pleased to hear the excitement in her voice about how I would meet her family for lunch.  However, I still had no inkling why she had flown to Dallas.  Nor did I understand why I had not been invited to last night's wedding as her escort.  I decided not to ask.

Jennifer spotted me at the restaurant door and rushed over to greet me.  Jennifer made a special point to bring me directly to her father. 

He rose to greet me with a handshake and a warm smile.  "I am very glad to meet you, Rick.  Please call me Frank."

I was grateful for the warm greeting.  Frank's ready acceptance touched me.  Jennifer's mother and her two high school age brothers were equally friendly.  I took careful note of the pleasure Jennifer took from introducing me to her family.  She seemed so proud of me.  I also noticed her father's smile as Jennifer made the introductions.  Father and daughter obviously had a special connection.  Anyone who made Jennifer happy made Frank happy.  I was so taken aback by the warm reception, I nearly began to cry.  Trust me, this had been a really tough week.  As I sat down, I hoped they did not notice the tears welling up in my eyes.  

I recalled how Patricia's father had treated me with contempt when I visited her home over Thanksgiving a year ago.  The message was clear.  I was unworthy of the man's daughter, so why pay attention tome.  I had never met Victoria's father, but I knew he had a low opinion.  Based on whatever lies or half-truths Victoria had fed the man, her father referred to me as the Playboy.  I was not close to my own parents.  Although they both knew about my dance career, they could have cared less.  I rarely saw either of them.  In stark contrast, Jennifer's father seemed genuinely interested in me.  I was surprised at how touched I was by his kind reception.  It had been ages since I had felt 'Respectable'.  I had always believed I was a good person, but this past year with its neverending problems had cost me much of my self-respect.  In addition to breaking Joanne's heart, my ex-girlfriend Patricia had viewed my dance career as pathetic.  Meanwhile Victoria consistently reminded me of her husband's brilliance.  In the midst of this neverending criticism and guilt, Jennifer promised a fresh start.   

Frank and I did all the talking.  Our conversation became a gentle interview as Jennifer and her family listened on with interest.  I didn't mind.  I was flattered to be the center of so much attention.  There was no doubt this man sincerely wanted to get to know me, so I was happy to cooperate.  As I answered his questions with candor, Frank smiled.  He never criticized my story in any way, even the part where I told him how I had been thrown out of Graduate School in 1974.  I winced when I noticed Jennifer's jaw drop.  She had never heard me tell the story of Colorado State.  But Frank was very encouraging, so I continued.  Frank nodded sympathetically when I admitted my professors might have been right all along.  I explained it still hurt to admit that I did not have the right personality to become a therapist.  Then I added that as my self confidence had risen during the Disco phenomenon, so had acceptance of my past failure.  Frank was especially interested when I told the Silver Lining story of how my problems in Graduate School had mysteriously led to my dance career.  He nodded with approval as I told him what I was trying to accomplish with my dance program.

When I told him how much I enjoyed teaching dance, Jennifer's father said he was glad that I had found something I enjoyed.  When I sheepishly confessed it was kind of frivolous job, Frank countered by saying I was being modest.

"Young man, let me share some of my experience with you.  It is rare in life to make living at something one is skilled at and enjoys as well.  Don't be so hard on yourself."

"That is a kind thing to say, but I have misgivings about the future of Disco dancing.  Maybe I should go back to a more traditional career path."

Frank shook his head. 

"I disagree, Rick.  Jennifer says you might have some new opportunities with country-western dancing.  From my vantage point, you are in the perfect position to be patient.  You are young and you have no dependents.  So what's the hurry?  Why not follow this path a little longer?  Don't quit the dancing just yet.  Follow your dream, son."

When Jennifer's father called me 'son', I really struggled to fight back the tears.  My biological father had never been much on praise or support, so Frank's kind words really got to me.  I was very touched that a man of this caliber would show respect for my unusual career path.  The stress of Victoria's continuing nightmare, the death of Disco, plus my uncertainty about this country dance class later tonight had me feeling very tense.  Tonight I was about to embark on a path that could change the direction of my life.  If ever I had needed some encouragement, this was the right time. 

Taking these kind words as a good omen, I was on the verge of serious tears.  Thankfully, I was saved by the waitress.  She came by to ask who wanted desert.  This was my chance.  While everyone was distracted I quickly dried my eyes with a napkin.  Then I got up and said, "I have to meet a friend to go over plans for my class tonight, so this is probably a good time for me to go.  I really enjoyed meeting all of you so much!  Thank you for inviting me."

Jennifer grabbed my hand and walked me out to the parking lot.

"I think my father likes you a lot."

I smiled.  "I like him too.  You have a wonderful father." 

Jennifer nodded.  "That's for sure.  Dad is really special.  You two really hit it off.  He's always been cordial to my boyfriends, but I've never seen him like that."  Jennifer was beaming.  When we reached my car, Jennifer hugged me and kissed me.  Then she wished me luck.

"Rick, will you come over tonight after you teach at the Meyerland Club?  I want to hear all about how things went."

"Of course."

Just when I thought my life could not possibly get weirder, it got weirder.  After lunch with Jennifer's family, I got to the Meyerland Club early.  With time to kill, I sat in my car awaiting Joanne's arrival.  I nervously considered my risky gamble.  I reminded myself to try to put my C&W prejudice aside.  My main objection was being forced to give up Disco to accept Country in its place.  However, no matter how much I hated 'Country' for murdering my beloved Disco, what choice did I have but to walk through the only door open to me?  As a result, I was in the precarious position of teaching a class I had no business teaching.

Considering I was about to teach a form of dancing I had only briefly seen with my own eyes, I was in great danger of being exposed as a fraud.  I should have been ashamed of myself for impersonating a qualified C&W instructor, but I needed to make a living.  I did have one very unusual advantage.  I had been here before with Disco.  Thanks to spending six months playing a risky game called 'Fake it till you Make it', I figured my Disco Faking skills would transfer to Western.  As long as I knew more than the people I was teaching, I could probably fool them.  However, if there was one good Country dancer in the room who knew what the dancing was supposed to look like, I risked terrible embarrassment.  One tough question or some ignorant move on my part could expose me.

Hopefully the Polka material would be enough to fake our way through the night.  I did not have a clue about Western Waltz or Texas Twostep.  What would I do if someone asked me a question I did not have an answer for?  Would Joanne be able to help?  Given her woeful lack of knowledge, it was doubtful she would know the answer.  However she might be able to run interference.  When Joanne arrived, I wasted no time telling her to cover for me if necessary.

"What are you talking about, Rick?  I don't know how to explain anything.  You know I never talk in Disco class, so what makes you think I am going to talk in Western class?"

"I understand that.  I am thinking more in terms of distraction.  If someone asks me a particularly tough question, I plan to say, 'Hmm, that's a good question.  Let me think for a moment.'  That will be your cue to bail me out.  When you hear that, I want you to interrupt me and say, 'Rick, is this a good time to play some music?'   I will reply, 'Why, yes, Joanne, that's a great idea!'"

Joanne repeated her line:  "Rick, do you want me to play some music?"  Then she looked at me.  "Is that all I have to say?"

"Yes, say that as a way to break the train of thought.  Just get me through this first class.  Once I know what I am dealing with, I can adjust from there."

Joanne was scared to death.  Thanks to my 'Fake it till you Make it' phase last year, I had vast experience at bluffing my way through dance class.  However, if I got caught, Joanne would suffer the same embarrassment as me.  Considering she knew how poorly prepared I was, Joanne was convinced something was going to go wrong.  At first, her fear was starting to get to me.  However, the moment we entered the room, I realized I had nothing to worry about.  Let me explain.

The large ballroom was very crowded.  There were at least 50 students.  I was pleased because this meant I could reward Joanne's loyalty with a sizeable check.  But what really got my attention were the preposterous Western outfits worn by the wealthy women in the room.  Their outfits were so gaudy, they seemed more suitable as Halloween costumes. 

So these were the latest fashions, 'Western Chic' as Sandy had coined it.  This was the most blatant example of conspicuous consumption I had ever seen.  Truthfully, I don't think I had ever seen anything more ridiculous in my life.  It pained my middle-class sense of thrift to witness luxury-spending on such a lavish scale.  I assumed these outfits were an attempt to enhance their prestige, but all I felt was contempt.  You had to see it to believe it.

Full of astonishment, Joanne whispered, "The farm girls I grew up with would not be caught dead wearing this stuff!"

No kidding!  I was so amused it took everything in my power not to break out laughing.  Looking around, the only person in this entire room who might have conceivably milked a cow was Joanne.  I would bet my entire paycheck that not one person in this room had ever been Western dancing.  These wealthy Jewish people were not cowboys, they were city slickers.  This sophisticated clientele included prosperous lawyers and businessmen.  Their attractive wives were socialites whose names and faces regularly appeared in the society pages of the newspaper. 

Perhaps I have given the Reader the wrong impression.  I didn't care for their outfits, but I did like these people.  Shortly after my expulsion from graduate school, I had wandered into the Jewish Community Center.  The building was next door to the people I was staying with.  I had hoped to play some basketball, but instead I noticed men in the 50s and 60s playing volleyball.  When they saw me, they needed an extra man, so I joined them.  These men were very complimentary of my play.  I guess I brought out the 'Dad' in some of the men.  They teased me in a fun way and encouraged me to return.  These men did not know it, but their warmth became the main reason I survived those first few months after Colorado State.  As a result, I became a member five years ago.  The JCC was not only my favorite place to play sports, my dance career had started there last year.  Due to my JCC experience, I felt very much at ease with this Meyerland group. 

Once my surprise wore off, I became amused by the evident ostentation.  If wearing these ridiculous outfits made them happy, fine by me.  Lord knows they could afford it.  These outfits were so overdone I wondered where these women found the nerve to appear in public.  Fancy cowboy hats, snakeskin boots, tasseled dresses with Indian designs, turquoise jewelry, the list goes on.  I could not imagine how much money these women had spent.  This wasn't a dance class, this was some sort of weird fashion show. 

Even the men were decked out.  They looked like Kicker Kens dressed to accompany their Barbeque Barbies.  Thanks no doubt to their fashion-conscious wives, the men were decked out in new boots, new cowboy hats and the latest in Western shirt design.  Even their pants were fancy.  I didn't see a pair of blue jeans in the room.  Unless I looked at myself, of course.

Despite their sheepish grins, the men seemed to be enjoying this golden opportunity to be pretend Cowboys.  Judging by the drinks in their hands, the alcohol played a key role in their good mood.  As everyone strutted and preened, I decided the members of this club had way too much disposable income.  But why should I complain?  Thank goodness they had decided to spend it on me.  While Joanne and I were looking at the biggest payday of our lives, some of these outfits probably cost more money than we would make for teaching the entire eight week class.  In my opinion, the whole thing was silly beyond comprehension.  However, I had the sense to keep my opinion to myself.  Do not bite the hand that feeds you. 

Staring in disbelief, I wondered why these women would spend small fortunes on clothes that amounted to little more than 'wear it once and put it your closet' costumes.  No self-respecting female would wear these outfits in public.  Or at least I hoped they had the sense not to. 

The mysterious closing of the Discos to make way for Western clubs had been my first clue that something totally absurd was taking place in Houston.  Now I had my second clue.  Whoever instigated the Western Dance Club Transformation was surely behind this fashion extravaganza as well.  I quietly tipped my cowboy hat to the mysterious Wizard of Oz.  Whoever visualized this expensive farce was part-madman, part genius. 

Urban Cowboy was set to debut next summer.  That was nine months in the future.  Nine months is a very long time.  Who on earth has the power to stir up so much fuss this far in advance?  Who was the marketing genius to persuade intelligent women to spend a small fortune on clothes they might wear once or twice?  I expected these outfits would be discarded or send to die in their closet.  Or perhaps they were destined for a resale shop. 

I had read a woman's fashion article in the Houston Chronicle that predicted Urban Cowboy was going to be the biggest thing to hit Houston since the Astrodome.  Famed designer Oscar de la Renta was quoted in the article, "Thanks heavens Texas women love clothes.  They are a beacon of what is wonderful about America." 

It occurred to me that someone in the fashion industry had bet the farm that Urban Cowboy was going to be big.  The article went on to say that Mr. de la Renta was a frequent visitor to the Bayou City.  Looking at these women decked out in their Country finery, I finally understood why articles about Mr. de la Renta kept appearing in the Houston Chronicle.  Whoever was behind Houston's Western Fashion onslaught was probably planting fashion stories in the newspaper and on TV.  How I yearned to know who the Wizard was and how on earth he or she pulled it off.  I wanted to bow down and acknowledge their genius.

I grinned as I surveyed the 25 or so 'Beacons' in the room.  Considering how outlandish these outfits were, where did this kind of confidence come from?  I had nothing against someone bold enough to take a fashion risk, but these outfits were better suited for a Halloween Party.  I had nothing against wealth, but money spent on flamboyant Fashion statements were foreign to me.  I suppose if I was being fair, some of the outfits were quite lovely.  Only one problem.  The prettiest outfits were designed for younger, thinner women.  Ultimately, no one knew if the movie was going to be a hit or not, but clearly these fashion mavens did not care.  As long as their fellow Beacons were interested in playing along, that was all that mattered. 

SUNDAY evening, September 9 RETURN OF THE GREAT IMPOSTER

Out of curiosity I asked Joanne if she had ever seen clothes like this at Gilley's or Cactus Club or any other Western club she had visited.

"Are you kidding?  No self-respecting cowboy or cowgirl would dream of appearing in public looking like this.  I bet most of these outfits are equal to my monthly salary.  The people I dance with worry about paying their rent and their car note.  Not these people.  They're just here to show off."

I laughed.  That's what I thought too.  To think I had been afraid someone who actually knew something about country-western dancing would show up.  I had worried needlessly.  There was not a single 'Real Cowboy' in the bunch.  That included me.  Other than Joanne, the only authentic kicker in the room, we were all pretending to be Country. 

Joanne and I rolled our eyes as people went person to person to check out the fancy outfits.  This was nothing short of a Costume Ball, a modern version of the court of Marie Antoinette.  In place of the French Minuet, tonight we had the Cotton Eye Joe.  Bad trade.  Although I suspected French couture would top Texas couture more often than not, I kept that ungallant opinion to myself.

I have few regrets in life, but the failure to get a photograph of this event is one of them.  I suppose these people were well aware of the absurdity, but they were having fun.  Now that I knew this dance lesson was merely an excuse to show off their fancy new clothes, I relaxed.  The class was already ten minutes late getting started.  Awesome.  I was more than happy to let these people waste as much time as possible.  Certain that teaching the Polka going to give me trouble, the less time I had left, the better.  I just wanted to get through the night.

We started with the Cotton Eyed Joe.  About five minutes into my explanation, I noticed how boisterous the crowd was.  When I noticed many people still had cocktails in their hand, I switched to a bantering, wise-crack style.  This was my specialty.  I have noticed whenever people mix booze and dancing, a sense of humor is more effective.  Dance instruction requires my students to concentrate, but stupid jokes do not.  Trusting my instinct, I used an old Disco joke and converted it to Country. 

"Why did the old lady like the Cotton Eyed Joe?  She enjoyed hearing heavy breathing again."

I was embarrassed at how hard everyone laughed.  I'm not that funny, so it had to be the cocktails.  Seeing how well that joke worked, I told a couple of follow-ups.

"Did you hear about the cowboy who died smoking a cigarette on a cliff?  He threw the wrong butt off the cliff."

"Did you hear about the two triangles who met on the dance floor?  They decided to square dance."

Groans and smirks ensued.  The way they laughed, you would have thought I was working the Borscht Belt in the Catskills.  Call me Lenny Bruce.  Seeing how my crummy jokes loosened up the crowd, Joanne shook her head half in disgust, half in admiration.  Back when she used to help me teach acrobatics at the studio, I was all business.  Not tonight.  Reading the crowd, I was not here to teach, but rather to entertain.  I don't think Joanne liked this style because it ran opposite to her country-bred values about a day's work for a day's pay.  She could not believe I had the nerve to blatantly bullshit my way through tonight's lesson.  However, she also understood the less I taught, the less likely we were to get caught.  Although Joanne was scared out of her wits, she crossed her fingers and prayed 'Fake it Till you Make it' would save our skin.

That said, the night did have a couple hiccups.  Refusing to actually listen to the Cotton Eyed Joe, I called out the dancing faster than the music.  As a result, we finished dancing way before the music ended.  The Cotton Eyed Joe is a very energetic dance.  As people gasped for breath, some woman asked, "Rick, why did we finish long before the music ended?"

Joanne looked at me in horror, but I was prepared.  "Gosh, ma'am, I think it must be those fancy Western outfits y'all are wearing.  Those clothes are so loud, I couldn't hear the music." 

Guffaws ensued.  Although I smiled to the crowd, I was angry at myself.  We had been off-beat due to my incompetence.  Joanne was right.  It would probably help to listen to the music.  Ugh.  In the meantime, this woman's question was a blessing because it gave me an excuse to teach the Cotton Eyed Joe again under the guise of 'Review'.  What a wonderful waste of time!  By prolonging the Cotton Eyed Joe section of class, we only had 20 minutes left for the Polka.  Gee, what a shame. 

Just when I thought we were safe, that same lady asked me to demonstrate the Polka.  Sensing she was probably the only sober person in the building, this spelled trouble.  My fear was intense because I believed she was suspicious.  Joanne thought the same thing.  She panicked and blurted out her rehearsed punch line.  "Hey, Rick, is this a good time to play some music?"

I groaned.  NO!  This was the worst time to play some music because it obligated me to demonstrate something I did not know how to do.  Joanne realized her mistake, but it was too late now.   Considering I had not caught on to how the Polka worked till the very end of our Wednesday meeting, neither of us knew if we could pull this off.  However, what choice did we have?  I put my right arm around her back and pretended to lead.  In truth, Joanne was pulling me along as she danced backwards.  She helped by whispering "123-123" the entire time.  We danced two full circles around the room for about 45 seconds, then stopped and took a bow.  We were at best mediocre, but somehow passed inspection.  In fact, the students actually clapped after our pathetic demonstration.  Hearing the applause, Joanne stared at me in disbelief.  If they only knew...

I asked Joanne why she kept counting the whole time.  In a whisper, she replied, "I had to count because it was the only way to keep you on the beat.  If someone in this crowd realized you can't keep the beat, they might think you have no idea you know what you are doing." 

Hmm.  Good point.  Joanne was not happy.  She did not like Faking it, especially now that we had tasted danger twice.  But I had to teach something, so with a sense of dread I introduced the Polka.  Realizing how lame my explanations were, I decided to bluff my way through the remaining time by adding more jokes.  I explained that women start the Polka on their right foot and the men start the Polka on their wife's foot.  ha ha.  That earned me another dirty look from Joanne, but the crowd laughed.  Seeing how well that joke worked, I followed up with a joke about the dancing cowboy who wore a glove with six fingers.  That made it easier to count his Polka steps.  Another laugh, another look of disbelief from Joanne.  Somehow we made it through the hour.  I don't know if we fooled them, but at least no one confronted us.  

On my way out, I saw Sandy.  Curious about something, I went over to ask a question. 

"When you called me on Tuesday, you said a couple other ladies in my group had asked around but couldn't find anyone.  You also mentioned there was someone else on your list to call.  I was wondering how many people you contacted before me."

Sandy frowned.  "Why do you ask?"

"I've been asking around.  Based on what people tell me, it seems to me like I'm the only teacher in town.  If so, I think that's weird."

This time Sandy laughed.  "Ah, yes, I see your point.  And you may be right.  Between me and the other two ladies, we called ten different before you.  They all said no.  Thank goodness you said yes."

After saying goodnight to Sandy, I found Joanne waiting for me in the parking lot.  "Where did all those stupid jokes come from?  You spent more time telling jokes than you actually taught."

"I just wanted to get through the night.  We had so little material to work with, I didn't want to risk running out of something to teach.  Besides, I figured the more I said nothing of importance, the less chance I would get caught explaining Polka the wrong way."

Joanne frowned.  She began to idly kick a discarded soda can.  Hmm.  Better the can than me.  Then she spoke up.

"You know, I have taught the Cotton Eyed Joe to a couple guys just like I taught you that one time you went dancing with me at the Cactus Club.  Both men got the footwork by the end of the song, 3 minutes at the most.  I watched the clock while you taught the Cotton Eyed Joe tonight.  You stretched it to 40 minutes!  How the heck did you do that?"

I laughed nervously.  "Well, for one thing we started ten minutes late.  But what is your point?  Are you saying you disapprove?"

"I'm not sure.  At first I had no idea what you were doing with all the jokes and yap yap yap, but now I get it.  You deliberately stretched the Cotton Eyed Joe to disguise your lack of knowledge about the Polka."

I nodded.  "That is correct, but let's keep that our little secret.  Next week, I will get serious, but for tonight the fewer chances I took, the better.  Incidentally, thank you.  I could not have pulled this class off without you.  In particular, you really saved my butt during that Polka demonstration." 

She nodded and gave me a little smile.  "You know what, Rick, you are something else.  You didn't know a damn thing, so how you got us through tonight is beyond me.  But we have to do better next week.  Can I assume we will meet again at the studio next Wednesday?"

"Yes, count on it.  I will see you Wednesday at 4 pm for Round Two."

With that I closed her car door.  I noticed Joanne was mumbling to herself and shaking her head as she drove off.  One down, seven to go.  Now that I realized how little these people cared about Western dancing, I had a fighting chance to survive this crazy gamble.  Thank goodness Joanne was back.  Even though she was a nervous wreck, what a blessing it had been to have her at my side tonight.  Thanks to Joanne and the Texas Beacons, I might just save my dance career.