MYSTERY OF THE TEXAS TWOSTEP

CHAPTER THIRTY TWO:

BRONCO BILL

Written by Rick Archer 

LIMBO MONTH ONE Wednesday morning, OCTOBER 10, 1979 APATHY

It was Wednesday morning.  The trials of U-Turn Week were in the rearview mirror, but the trauma remained.  Following my Tuesday night talk with Jennifer, I awoke mired in a terrible depression.  Victoria had me under house arrest, Jennifer had me at arm's length, and low attendance in the October classes confirmed Disco was on its death bed.  As I sat down for coffee, the phone rang.  It was Joanne calling to confirm we would practice later today like I had promised.   Given how miserable I felt, I groaned at the thought of resuming the class at Meyerland on Sunday.  I hated the world, I felt sorry for myself, and I was in no mood to do anything that required will power.

"No, we don't need to meet.  There was no Meyerland class last night, so due to the two-week break these people are going to need a complete review next Sunday.  Plus we have not even introduced the slow slow quick quick Twostep.  By the time we finish, I figure there will be at most 10 minutes or so.  I'll just tell another stupid joke or two and that should do it.

Joanne was not happy.  "Rick, you are beyond pathetic.  You would rather spend time thinking up stupid jokes than bother learning something useful to teach.  Sooner or later someone is going to trip you up.  You cannot continue to gamble like this.  It really upsets me that you are skipping our practice session two Wednesdays in a row.  You never skipped a single Disco practice.  What is wrong with you?"

"That's because I actually gave a shit about Disco.  Country-Western sucks."

"All right, buddy, have it your way."

Joanne was so offended by my hostility that she slammed the phone.

I felt terrible.  Joanne was right of course, but given how upset I was over losing Jennifer and how pathetic Western dancing was, I could not seem to force myself to do the right thing.  I lacked the will to do anything to improve my life.  Victoria had me on hold, Jennifer had me on hold, Disco was dying, Western was disgusting.   No drive, no purpose, no direction.  Unable to lift a finger, I had entered a state of complete apathy.  If someone offered to shoot me, I might just tell them to go ahead.

SUNDAY, OCTOBER 14 BRONCO BILL

Sunday, October 14, marked the 5th week of my 8-week course at the Meyerland Club.  After skipping Wednesday C&W practice with Joanne two weeks in a row, I showed up for my next class unprepared.  It took every ounce of willpower to force myself to show up.  Nor did it help that Joanne walked in five minutes late.  Given how much I needed her, I think she did it deliberately. 

Given my woeful attitude, it was no surprise I taught poorly from the start.  I was so preoccupied with my problems that I went through the motions.  I was not enjoying teaching this group.  These people were far more interested in socializing and wearing their gaudy western outfits than they were in actually learning to dance.  I had never regretted my decision to teach this class more than I did tonight.

I should have been alarmed that the Meyerland class had lost over half the students we started with.  This was a sure sign that I wasn't getting the job done.  But so what?  This was country-western, the lamest, most primitive form of dancing I had ever been exposed to.  Heck, if they didn't care, then I didn't care.  Don't look to me to supply the enthusiasm.  The combination of their lack of interest and my weak instruction had eliminated so many students that only a handful remained.  In my lovelorn delirium, I was shocked to notice these few remaining people actually cared to learn something.  Not only were they paying attention, the students were impatient with the glacial pace.  In particular a student named Bill frowned a lot.  Bill was a grizzled codger who seemed very impatient with me.  I pegged him at 60, more than twice my age.  He had the mean look of a guy who did not suffer fools.  As I feared, towards the end of my review, Bill asked a series of questions that caught me totally flat-footed. 

"Rick, all you ever do is call out 123-456.  How exactly does the Polka footwork fit the beat of the music?  It seems to me when you dance, your footwork doesn't always fit the music.  While we are at it, I have some other questions.  Why haven't we learned the Twostep yet?  And how can I tell the difference between a Polka and a Twostep?"

A bolt of fear shot through me.  Not only had Bill noticed that I paid no attention to the music, he asked questions for which I had no answer.  I had no idea how many beats of music there where in a unit of Polka.  I avoided Twostep because I was terrified the Foxtrot moves Glen had taught me did not resembled anything danced in the clubs.  Furthermore I had no idea how to identify a Polka from a Twostep.  And I was off-beat because I refused to listen to the music.  This Bill guy had me dead to rights.  Scared to death, what should I do?  Fortunately I remembered my panic signal for Joanne.  

"Those are some good questions, Bill.  Let me finish what I am doing and I will get back to you in a moment...'

Then I turned and stared darts at Joanne.  I was dismayed when Joanne stared back with a blank face.  Damn it, Joanne had forgotten my panic cue!  With my back to Bill, I silently mouthed the words 'Play some Music!' and secretly pointed one finger to the turntable.  Seeing the look of fear on my face, Joanne suddenly caught on.  She jumped to attention and remembered her rehearsed line.

"Hey Rick, would this be a good time to practice to music?"

"Oh, definitely, Joanne, please play us a Polka."  And hurry...

As Joanne rushed frantically to the phonograph, I saw a funny look cross Bill's face.  Based on his frown, he knew I was up to no good.  I was almost certain he had guessed Joanne's sudden spring to action was no coincidence.  Just as Bill was about to say something, I interrupted and yelled out to everyone, "Okay, everybody, go and get a partner.  The review is over, so it time to practice to music!"

Before Bill could object, the music started and I began calling out 123-456.  To my immeasurable relief, some lady grabbed Bill and distracted him.  I had spent an entire year faking my way through Disco.  Not once had I ever come as close as this to getting busted.  I suppose my apathy had caused me to ignore the danger this class presented.  As the class danced, I was worried sick over Bill's confrontation.  Thank goodness Joanne had played the music as a distraction.

Just as the Polka music was about to end, I looked at my watch.  The class had ten minutes to go.  I whispered to Joanne.

"Go stand by the phonograph.  The moment that song ends, put on the Cotton Eye Joe as fast as you possibly can."

Sure enough, as the Polka song came to an end, I announced it was time to dance the Cotton Eyed Joe to music.  This idea was met by a considerable number of groans because we had already danced it earlier in the evening.  They were sick of the Cotton Eyed Joe, but thanks to Joanne, the familiar strains of the song began playing before the class could organize a united protest.  Once half the class dutifully began dancing to the music, the other half capitulated and joined in. 

Bill was apoplectic.  He looked so mad I though he might have a stroke.  He took one threatening step towards me, but at the last moment someone grabbed him.  With some woman holding on to his arm for dear life, Bill sullenly cooperated and got into the line of dancers.  Given his obvious hostility, I did not dare give Bill a chance to confront me.  As the class danced to the music, I felt like a punched-out boxer begging for the bell to ring.  As Bill danced, I noticed he kept glaring at me with a deep frown.  A nasty argument seemed inevitable.

Oh boy, I was in real trouble.  Bill knew I had deliberately ducked his questions.  Panic-stricken, in the middle of the song I whispered, "Joanne, I'm leaving, so you've got to cover for me.  Tell the class this concludes the Polka and Cotton Eyed Joe part of the class.  Then announce next week we will spend the entire night learning the Twostep." 

"Rick, you can't leave me alone like this!  Where are you going?"

"Tell them I am judging a dance contest tonight and had to leave early.  Tell them anything you want, tell them I'm going to the North Pole, I don't care.  I'm outta here!"

"But I don't know what to say!"

"Figure it out, damn it!  I cannot stick around or this Bronco Billy guy will kill me.  Here, try this.  Tell them I have a dance competition to judge and... "

Just then I saw Bill turn his back.  In mid-sentence I rushed out the door with the music still playing.  I was taking a real chance here.  Joanne rarely said a word, so I had no idea what she would say.  This had been a narrow escape and there were sure to be consequences.  However, for now I had my reprieve.  Oddly enough, Bronco Bill had done me a favor.  Now that the Great Imposter had come within a whisker of being exposed, for the first time in two weeks I actually felt something again.  It was called Panic.

MONDAY MORNING, OCTOBER 15 CORNERED

It was Monday morning, October 15.  Last night the Great Imposter had barely escaped being exposed.  I had been completely numb, but that had changed the moment Bronco Bill had put the fear of God into me.  Curious to know how much trouble I was in, that morning I called Joanne at her office.   "How did it go after I left?" 

Joanne answered, "Bad.  Real bad.  This Bill guy is gunning for you."

"That's what I was afraid of.  Listen, I have a favor.  Can you come by tonight from 6-7 and let me get a head start on next Sunday's class?  Don't worry about Victoria.  She won't be here."

Joanne said okay, so we met that evening to cover Twostep.  As usual, Joanne and I practiced in a side room.  Once the door was closed, I said, "Okay, let's hear the bad news.  What happened with Bill after I left last night?"

Joanne frowned deeply.  "You were smart to leave when you did.  You dodged a bullet."

"Why do you say that?"

"After I announced that class was over, Bill stomped up to me and demanded to know where you had gone.  I told him a fib that you had some Disco performance to get to.  Bill looked very skeptical.  He didn't buy my excuse for a minute.  Then Bill started asking me the same questions he asked you."

"What did you tell him?"

"What do you think I told him?  I said, 'Gee, Bill, I don't know this technical stuff.  I just follow!'"

Where have I heard that before?  Suppressing a small smile, I said, "Then what?"

"Things got tense.  Bill got angry and sneered at me.  He said something like, 'I don't think either of you have a clue what you are doing'.  Then he stomped off.  You better be ready next Sunday.  This guy is coming after you.  That was a close call!"

Close call?  No kidding!  I shuddered involuntarily at the memory.  I could still feel Bill's angry stare when I brushed him off using Joanne's music.  Seeing me dodge him surely confirmed his growing suspicion that I was a fraud.  Joanne was right.  Bill would definitely be gunning for me.

Due in large part to my anxiety, I paid better attention as we went over the Polka footwork again.  Right before the end of our hour, my Die Hard friend Lynette opened the door without knocking and walked in.  She did an immediate double-take when she saw us.  Lynette was a popular member of my Monday Acrobatics class.  I had asked Lynette to come to the studio early to help balance the boy-girl ratio in my 7-8 Beginner class.  But this was not 7 pm, this was 6:40 pm.  The moment Lynette stopped in her tracks with a wide-eyed look, I could tell this meant trouble. 

"Uh, Lynette, I will be finished in here in a couple minutes."

Lynette frowned, but she took the hint and left.  Although she said nothing, I could tell by her expression she knew I had been practicing C&W with Joanne.  They say curiosity killed the cat.  In the case of Lynette's expression, I instinctively knew this was serious trouble.   I did not have long to wait.  Later that same night, 9 pm to be exact, I was cornered by a group of three people. 

TUESDAY, OCTOBER 16 GLEN TO THE RESCUE

It was Tuesday, October 16.  My dance career was hanging in the balance.  Dwindling attendance in my October Disco classes combined with Lynette's persistent nagging made it crystal clear that C&W was my only hope.  But first I needed to get past Bronco Bill next Sunday at the Meyerland Club.  As things stood, I had no answer for his questions. 

Following Monday's lesson with Joanne, I made up my mind to beg Glen to help me.  Only one problem.  Glen hated Country-Western even more than I did.  Unfortunately, that meant there was a strong chance Glen would turn me down cold.  Long ago, Glen had forbidden me to ask him for any help with C&W.  Glen had made it absolutely clear.  "No Country Western!!"  

Like me, Glen could not stand the music.  Glen had grown up in Pasadena, home of the Rednecks.  He hated the place with a passion.  He said the music reminded him of the worst times of his life.  Growing up gay surrounded by an ocean of redneck hostility could not have been easy.  But I did not know who else to turn to.  Glen was my only hope.  

Victoria had decided to quit private lessons back in early September.  Since then I had danced alone with Glen for the past six Tuesdays.  To my surprise, we had gotten along better than I expected.  Following my close call with Bronco Bill, I decided to throw myself at his feet and pray our growing rapport might soften his heart a little. 

On the way to Glen's studio on Tuesday morning, I ran two errands.  First I stopped at a liquor store.  Then I stopped at Don's Record Shop, a popular record store in Bellaire. 

I needed to purchase some Western music.  Joanne had a collection of ten country singles.  Her favorite song was 'Mama, Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up to be Cowboys'.  Noticing that this song appeared on a Willie Nelson-Waylon Jennings album, I held my nose and purchased the album.

Glen noticed the Willie and Waylon album under my arm as I walked into his studio.  Seeing him tense up, I produced a hidden bottle of Zinfandel as a peace offering.  It didn't work.  Glen was supremely miffed. 

Seeing his face crinkle into a deep frown, I panicked.  "Come on, Glen, don't give me that look.  I need your help!  Please!" 

When Glen didn't say a word, I got down on my knees and began to plead.  You think I'm kidding, but not this time.  Not only did I get down on my knees, I put my hands together in supplication.  This was a very serious moment where my future hung in the balance.

"Glen, I am in so much trouble!  I agree with you that country music is awful.  I hate the music just as much as you do.  But I need your help in worst way ever!"

Staring angry darts at me, Glen shook his head sideways to indicate 'no way'.  Then he silently mouthed 'No! No! No!' for good measure.

I wasn't going to give up.  That's how bad it was.  "Glen!!  Please!!  I am begging you!  Let me tell you what my problem is."

Glen rolled his eyes and crossed his arms.  He glared at me for a while longer, but finally relented.  Pointing to two chairs, we went and sat down.  "All right, Rick, what's the problem?"

"I want you to teach me how to tell what song is a Twostep and what song is a Polka."

Glen groaned visibly.  Fortunately, to my undying relief, once I explained my situation, he agreed to help.  "In Ballroom dancing," Glen said, "you can decide what dance to use to which song by counting the speed of the music.  I suppose the same trick will work for C&W."

I know it is odd to say, but I had never learned how to count music.  The main rap against Disco music was that it all sounded the same.  There was some truth to that.  Every song was pretty much the same speed.  Some songs were slower, some were faster, but there was not enough of a difference to matter.  I never had a reason to analyze the speed.  Country-Western music was different.  It had Polkas, Twosteps, and Waltzes.  Glen said the speed of the music dictated which of the three dances to use.  This was news to me.  It was also an indication of just how totally ignorant I was of my own profession.  Given that I had no idea how to tell the difference, this was not my proudest moment.   Nor could Joanne have explained it to me in a million years.  Joanne could 'feel' the difference, but she could not tell me how she knew.  I was gambling Glen could explain it in a logical way I could use to get Bronco Bill off my back.

With an involuntary shudder, Glen put the Willie Nelson album on his record player.  Looking at me with thinly disguised hostility, Glen remarked, "If this music causes damage to my turntable, I will expect you to replace the entire unit with a new model."

"Very funny, Glen.  Now here's my problem.  I don't know the difference between a Twostep and a Polka.  Is there some way you can teach me how to tell the difference?"

"You have come to the wrong person.  I don't know a single thing about Twostep or Polka.  However, I'll listen to your album."

We listened to the 'Mamas and Babies' song first.  When I saw Glen wince, I thought he was about to change his mind about helping me.  I hated that song too, so I should have known better and saved that song for later.  Too late now.  Glen gritted his teeth and said it was a fast Waltz. 

Song 2 was a mystery, so we skipped it.  Song 3 was a Waltz.  Song 4 was a Waltz.  Song 5 was another mystery.  Song 6 was a slow ballad.  Song 7 was also a slow ballad.  Song 8 was another mystery.

Song 9 was 'Gold Dust Woman', a song made famous by Stevie Nicks of Fleetwood Mac.  When Glen heard this one, he was incredulous.  "Which one is singing, Waylon or Willie?  Whoever it is, the man who is singing has the worst singing voice I have ever heard in my entire life." 

"No argument from me," I replied.  "What would you dance to it?"

"Beats me.  Maybe a West Coast Swing, I guess."

"What is a West Coast Swing?"

"Something similar to the Whip that Lance Stevens taught you."

Song 10 was another Waltz.  Song 11 was another mystery.

"So which songs were Polkas and which were Twosteps?"

"I'm not sure.  However that last song reminded me of a 'German Polka'.  It had a similar speed and the right feel to it."

"What is a German Polka?"

Glen looked at me in astonishment.  "You have to be kidding.  You don't know what a German Polka is?  Didn't you ever watch Lawrence Welk on TV when you were a kid?"

I looked at Glen sheepishly.  "Uh, maybe by accident a few minutes once or twice.  I saw that show sometimes when I flipped channels on Saturday evenings when I looked for the football station.  But I couldn't stand the music, so I never watched for long.  What is a German Polka?"

"It's a dance that started in Germany and Czechoslovakia.  German immigrants brought the dancing and music to Texas in the later part of the 1800s.  Haven't you ever heard of Oompah music?

"Yes.  My teacher played an Oompah song one time in German class back in high school.  Isn't that the music they play at the Oktoberfest events?"

"That's right.  They also play German Polkas on the Lawrence Welk show all the time.  They get the brass section warmed up and everyone hops around to tuba and fiddle music.  I am pretty sure most of today's bluegrass and country-western music has its roots in dance music from the Old World.  We used to call it beer drinking music." 

"Do you drink beer?"

"No, not unless I'm forced to.  But I do like Oompah music.  It is fun to dance to."

"But you hate country music."

"You know, if they would just shut up and stick to playing the instruments, I might be able to tolerate it.  But I cannot stand the twang.  It makes me want to tear my hair out."

"Yeah, me too.  You said that the final Willie and Waylon song is about the same speed as a German Polka.  Could you dance a German Polka to it?"

"I suppose so.  The speed of the music is what matters.  The dancing doesn't care if it is Willie Nelson or some crooner on Lawrence Welk who sings the song." 

"Is the German Polka hard to learn?"

"Not really.  Let me find a song."

After searching his record collection for a Lawrence Welk album, Glen played a bouncy song with a crazy sound.  Now it was my turn to roll my eyes.  I laughed as the sound of accordions, clarinets, trumpets, tubas and fiddles filled the room. 

"Seriously, Glen, do people really dance to that music?"

"Sure they do.  Over in Europe this is big stuff."

"Okay, I believe you.  I have heard Lance Stevens play that music.  It sounds sort of like some of the Ballroom music he plays.  I hate that music."

"That's too bad.  With Disco on the way out, you might try being a little more open-minded.  Ballroom dancing has kept dance instructors in business for a long time.  I could show you how to teach Ballroom."

"Forget it.  I will never teach Ballroom.  But I might teach C&W.  So what's the verdict?  Is that Lawrence Welk Polka song the same speed as the Willie Nelson song?"

"Why ask me?  Figure it out for yourself."  

At this point Glen patiently taught me how to count the speed of the music to both songs, then compare.  He told me to count the beats for an entire minute to get a speed measure called 'Beats Per Minute'.  Even though I hated the music, I forced myself to listen and count for an entire minute.  First I counted the beats to the Willie song, then to the Welk song. 

"Both songs are about 120 beats per minute."

Glen smiled.  "Yes, that is correct.  Good for you.  So, is that enough?  Are we finished?  I don't ever want to listen to that music again!"

"You cannot be serious.  I bet this music is growing on you this very minute."

"Yeah, like bacteria on moldy food.  So what's next?"

"Can you dance a German Polka to Willie and Waylon?"

"You won't catch me dancing to it, but, yes, I suppose so."

"Okay, let's use your music instead.  Do me a favor, Glen, and show me the basic step to German Polka."

Glen did a triple step dance similar to Joanne's Polka, but it had a weird hop in it.

Curious, I asked, "Do you think the Texas Polka came from the German Polka?"

"Probably.  Does the Texas Polka Joanne showed you have a hop to it?"

"No.  Maybe the Texas Polka is the same as the German Polka without the hop."

"Beats me.  I have never been to a kicker joint, so I wouldn't know."

"How do you count the German Polka relative to the steps and beats?"

"German Polka is based on six steps danced to four beats.  1 and 2, 3 and 4.  You hop on the half-beat pause preceding the triple steps."

"Can I show you what I learned about the Country Polka from Joanne?"

"If you must."  However, the moment I wrapped my right arm around his neck, Glen pulled my arm away, then glared at me as if I had wounded him.  "What on earth are you doing?!?"

"Joanne taught me to hold her like this.

"Maybe so, but I have a real problem with your arm around my neck.  Very uncomfortable and the odor from your underarm is killing me.  Put your hand on my back where it belongs."

"But that neck wrap is how Joanne showed me to do it!" 

Glen frowned mightily.  "Do you want my help or don't you?"

"Yes, of course, but that's the style.  I saw it myself at the Cactus Club.  Those guys stick their right arm around the girl's neck."

"I'm sure that's true, but I have a strong hunch the kind of women you will be teaching will prefer having the man's arm around their back.  Let me put this another way.  If you want my help, you will put your arm around my back.  You don't have a choice."

So I put my right hand on Glen's back like he told me to.  I immediately noticed how much easier it was to move Glen around with my hand on his back instead of his neck.  "I see your point, Glen.  Much easier to guide you."

After we danced a few steps, Glen laughed. "Your Polka needs work, but yes, it looks like your Texas Polka and German Polka have a lot in common." 

"Will you show me how to dance to a German Polka?  I will try to follow."

Glen danced the woman's part going backwards.  While we danced, he 'back-led' me the same way a female instructor might guide a beginning male student.  Unlike poor little Joanne who had no way to lead a large man in the Polka, Glen was the same size as me.  He had no trouble guiding me around.  Dancing with Glen paid huge dividends.  I suddenly began to 'feel' the dance.  To my surprise, my Polka wasn't quite so mechanical any more.

"Wow.  This is awesome!  When I dance with Joanne, I stumble all the time, but when I dance with you, I think I am getting the hang of it.  It is a lot easier to learn with you.  All I have to do is follow."  I paused for a moment to laugh, then added, "Good grief, now I'm beginning to sound just like Joanne." 

Encouraged by our success with German Polka, I persuaded Glen to take another look at Joanne's 'Slow Slow Quick Quick' idea.  "Hey, Glen, I have another question.  If the Texas Polka came from the German Polka, do you think Twostep came from Foxtrot?  After all, both dances have the same 'slow slow quick quick' rhythm."

Glen rolled his eyes.  "I have never seen what you are talking about, so I can't answer."

Frowning, I replied, "I'm sorry, I forgot you've never been to a Western club.  I am going to take a shot in the dark and assume Foxtrot and Twostep are related.  We worked on Foxtrot a couple of weeks ago, but I've forgotten what we did.  Will you show me the basic step to Foxtrot again?"

After a brief demonstration, I said, "That looks sort of like Joanne's Texas Twostep."

"Different speeds of music call for different types of dancing.  I wouldn't be surprised if a dance similar to Foxtrot exists in Country-Western." 

"Will you play a Ballroom Foxtrot for me?"

Glen put the Lawrence Welk album back on, then placed the needle on some preposterous song called 'Bubbles in the Wine'.  I absolutely groaned when the music began.  I couldn't decide which was worse, Willie, Waylon or Bubbles in the Wine.

I was so appalled by the music, I froze.  Fortunately, Glen snapped me out of it.  "Well, there's your Foxtrot.  Aren't you going to count?"

I looked at the second hand on my hand and slowly counted the beats.  84 beats per minute.   "See, Glen, I knew you could help!  You just told me a lot of stuff I never knew before.  But I can't tell if any of the songs on this Willie album are the same speed."

Glen rolled his eyes for the umpteenth time.  "We are not going to listen to that music again.  Never again."

"Yeah, but how will I find a Twostep on that album?"

"Do you have a turntable at home?"

"Yes."

"Then treat it like a homework project.  Play the music to each song and count the speed by yourself."

I nodded.  There was a limit to how much Glen was willing to hold my hand.  He had given me what I needed, a simple mathematical tool by which I could tell what song was a Twostep and what song was a Polka.  I would live to fight another day.

"Glen, thank you, you have been a real blessing.  But right now I need some Disco music to cheer me up.  Can we dance one song to Disco before I go?"

"All right, go find your favorite song and put it on."

As we partner danced the Latin Hustle to 'Boogie Oogie Oogie', for that one brief moment I was overwhelmed with happiness.  Dancing to Disco music was such a joy.  I asked myself for the millionth time why Disco had to die to make room for country-western. 

WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 17 FINALLY GETTING SOMEWHERE

The following day was Wednesday, October 17.  At 4 pm I drove to Stevens of Hollywood for my scheduled Country dance lesson with Joanne.  She arrived at the same time.  I was already in a very bad mood.  To begin with, I was sick with worry over last Sunday's run-in with Bill.  Now I had another problem.  Not one song on that Willie and Waylon album was anywhere near the 84 beats per minute count that Glen suggested might be the right speed for Twostep.  Given how little patience I had to fight life's obstacles at the moment, this new thorn in my side was making me crazy.  In the horrible mood I was in, I dreaded spending hours upon hours in fruitless search for an answer to the Twostep problem. 

Meeting in a side room at the studio, Joanne was very alarmed. 

"You were definitely not yourself last Sunday.  Was it Victoria??"

I smiled in spite of myself.  "How did you guess?"   For that matter I could have added Jennifer, Bronco Bill, Polka and Twostep.  The list was endless.

Joanne gave my hand a squeeze and whispered, "How you keep your sanity with that woman around is beyond me."

I looked at Joanne and nodded.  We shook our heads in sad wonderment.  Ain't life a bitch?   However, today I had my game face on.  No time to feel sorry for myself.  But first an apology was in order. 

"Joanne, I want to thank you again for covering for me last Sunday.  I know it was awkward, but at least you bought me some time."

First Joanne gave me that 'you've been a very bad boy' look, but then she smiled. 

"I was glad to help.  Hey, before we get started, guess what, I have a present for you!  After what happened with Bill, I was worried about you.  So after Bill chewed me out, I went back to Rodeo last night."

"What did you learn, Joanne?"

"I ran into Doug, the same Aggie guy who told me the slow slow quick quick secret.  I asked him to dance and studied his footwork as best I could.  Afterwards I made a special effort to ask Doug how he learned to dance the new country-style."

I smiled at Joanne in appreciation.  "That was a good idea.  What did he say?"

"He said everybody learns to dance the Country Twostep up at Texas A&M if they want to have any fun at the parties after the football games.  Then I asked if he could answer a question for me.  When he said okay, I showed him that old-fashioned Walking Twostep."

"You mean 'Step-Tap, Step-Tap, Walk Walk' like they use at the Cactus Club?"

"Yes.  I asked Doug if he had ever seen this before."

"What did he say?"

"Doug laughed and said that's the way he first learned it.  However, he also said that Country dancing is changing to the 'slow slow quick quick' style.  Every year some of the freshman try to use the Walking Twostep.  However they get laughed off the dance floor until someone takes mercy on them.  Once they learn the new style, the women are more than happy to dance with them."

"Is Texas A&M some sort of dance hotbed?"

"I guess so.  I dance with Aggie guys all the time.  They are always the best country dancers."

"Do any of the men at Rodeo use the old Step-Tap style?"

"No one I danced with.  They all dance the new Twostep that uses four steps instead of six."

"Do you have a name for the new style?"

"Not really.  Most of the time I call it the New Twostep."

"Well, I guess we need to figure out the footwork used to the New Twostep.  But first I have to solve another problem.  Go get me your favorite Twostep song and put it on the turntable."

I groaned the moment Joanne began playing a Twostep song that drove me nuts.  It was called "Redneck Mother" by Jerry Jeff Walker. 

"Up against the wall, redneck mutha, just kickin' hippies asses and raisin' hell!" 

I gritted my teeth and began counting.  72 beats per minute.  Hmm.  Close, but no cigar.

"I have a question, Joanne.  Is this song the regular speed for a Twostep?"

"No, it's a bit on the slow side."

I nodded.  "Okay, play your other records."

None of them came close to 84 beats per minute.  "Is that it?  Have you played them all?"

"No, I have a couple new ones.  You want me to try them?"

"Of course."

The next song was completely different from the others.  The music was sung by a female vocalist.  The song had a smooth, folk-song feel to it that reminded me of ballads sung by Judy Collins and Joan Baez.  "Hey, I like that song.  Who sings it?"

"Crystal Gayle."

I nodded and began counting.  84 beats per minute.  My heart began to pound.  Progress at last!  "What's the name of that song?"

"Ready for the Times to get better."

I smiled.  I liked the title.  A good omen if there ever was one.  We spent the next two hours experimenting with Foxtrot patterns danced to the Crystal Gayle song.  Thank goodness I had worked with Glen on Foxtrot the day before.  Although Joanne was useless at explaining things to me, she was invaluable as my eyes.  I would take a Foxtrot pattern and try it out on Joanne.  Although Joanne discarded a few of my ideas, most of the time she would confirm that whatever Foxtrot pattern Glen had taught me would work as a Twostep pattern.  With a little practice and polish, I figured Joanne's Twostep insights would give us enough material to squeeze through next Sunday's Meyerland Club class and the following week as well.  

As I drove home, I thought about that Crystal Gayle song.  Maybe, I don't know, but maybe some Western music wasn't so bad after all.