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MYSTERY OF THE
TEXAS TWOSTEP
CHAPTER FORTY THREE:
PROCRASTINATION
Written by Rick
Archer
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LIMBO
MONTH TWO
FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 23, 1979
THE CURSE OF PROCRASTINATION
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Thanksgiving 1979 had been a very tough day.
Here on Friday morning, it was time to pick up
the pieces of my tattered life.
Now that
I had started to believe Jennifer
was a lost cause, I half-heartedly
turned my attention back to my beleaguered dance
career. Shaking my head, I reviewed last
Monday's class. I had made my class angry by
concentrating on the two older women who
struggled. I
barely escaped being caught in a trap regarding
a demonstration of
the Texas Twostep. I
had finished class on a poor note by playing a
Polka that was too fast. I had
raised further suspicion by refusing to go dancing
with the gang for the third week in a row.
To top it off, there was something about Devin and Mona's Waltz lesson I could not put my finger on.
I
counted five mistakes, five possible reasons why my students would be
gunning for me this coming Monday. I
better get my act together or else.
Right now, my biggest concern was the
Twostep. Joanne had
insisted there was something she called 'The New
Twostep'. She said what Glen had
taught about the Foxtrot was helpful, but there was something missing.
Whatever it was that was missing, would my
sharp-eyed students be able to spot it? I was terrified that passing off Ballroom Foxtrot
as Twostep would be the mistake that
tripped me up.
There was trouble brewing. I could sense it by
the angry expressions I saw in class last
Monday. These
students had been visiting Winchester
and Cowboy
for the past three weeks. These were
experienced Disco dancers with powers of
observation equal to my own. They could
compare what they saw in the club to what I was
teaching in class. That thought terrified
me. What did they know that I did not
know? I wondered if they talked amongst
themselves.
Were they suspicious?
What new problem would it be?
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If
it was not Sally and Susan,
it was Devin and Mona. Or Jerry asking to
see the Twostep. Or Lynette demanding I go
dancing with her.
What
would go wrong in my fourth week?
Something was bound to happen
and I would never see it
coming until it was too late. There
were just too many loose ends. So far the
students had given me the benefit of the doubt,
but one
more stumble and my credibility would be gone.
It was actually possible some of
my students knew more about Western dancing than
I did thanks to three weeks of practice.
Overwhelmed by a sense of doom, Smoke and Mirrors would
not save me this time.
I turned the problem over in my mind all day long.
The only possible solution was to visit
a Western club like I had
promised myself I would do.
This Flying
Blind
stunt
had to stop now or the Great
Imposter was going down. Oddly enough, I
thought of Gettysburg. My father was a
Civil War buff. His favorite story
involved Jeb Stuart, lead scout for the
Confederates. Stuart's cavalry had been
detached on a raid. Taking his sweet time
to return, Stuart was not present to provide
Robert E Lee with timely intelligence on the
movements of the Union Army. Even though
the Confederates reached Gettysburg first,
Stuart's failure to report back allowed the
North to seize the high ground. Blinded by
this crucial lack of information, Lee's
strategic missteps led to the Confederate defeat
at Gettysburg.
Unless I removed my own Blinders, I was pretty
certain a similar fate awaited me. I did have one
consolation. Obviously whatever
Joanne had taught me had to
be close or I would have been exposed long ago.
But
my uncertainty over the
Waltz request and my lack of
confidence concerning the Twostep haunted me. There were gaps in my knowledge
that could prove fatal.
I had a catastrophic
fantasy of what might happen next Monday.
I could just see my nemesis Dave speak up.
"Rick,
I have never seen that
Twostep move
you call the Zigzag.
I've been
dancing over at Cowboy for the last
three weeks and I've never
seen anyone do that
move. That Zigzag is pretty strange. Where did you
learn that move? You know what, I have a funny
feeling about you. I'm beginning
to wonder if you even know how to dance
country. You never come
with us on Monday, so where exactly do you go to
Western dance? Name
the club. Give me an address.
Describe it to me."
How
could I possibly survive a direct challenge like
that? I did not have the slightest idea
what any of the western clubs looked like other
than the Cactus Club plus the
uninspiring pictures in the newspaper of
Gilley's. As my paranoia
mounted, the only solution was to visit a club. But
my heart sank every time I
contemplated this move.
I
just kept putting it off. No
matter how desperate things were, I was mired in
cowardice.
Any rational person would say, "Rick, why take
a chance?
Nothing bad has happened
yet. No one has confronted you. You still have time to
visit a club and look for yourself.
The solution to your
problem is staring you right in the face!"
The
only way I could explain my
self-destructive
behavior was my tattered love life.
At a critical time when I should have been
thinking about getting my butt over to a
Western club for reconnaissance, I
could not get Jennifer off my mind.
I
was so depressed, I refused to investigate a situation that was
likely to make me even more depressed than I already
was. The thought of wrapping my life around
awful music, boring dancing, and rowdy beer
guzzlers was more than I
could bear right now. How
does anyone explain Procrastination? I had never been more stuck in my life.
To
me, the only reward of procrastination is a
temporary relief of stress. But
ultimately the problem only grows worse
until the day comes when the bill is due.
My worst fear was facing the ugliness of
Western clubs. I fully expected a visit
to a Western club would present further evidence
that the world of Country-Western music and
dancing was another version of Cactus Club, Gilley's
and
Winchester Club
rolled into one. I assumed Cowboy
was just as bad as the rest. What I feared
the most was 'Confirmation' that the
World of Western was
just as nasty as I believed it was.
In
other words, why fight to save my career when I
would never be able to accept endless nights of
stupid dancing, awful music, and certain country
people I would prefer to avoid?
And yet I still loved to teach dance. If I
wished to continue, facing
facts
was my only hope. That led to
a
fierce debate between
the healthy side of my mind and the resentful side. Finally I made my
decision. Tonight I would visit
Rodeo. Joanne had
said Rodeo was not as bad as I
thought it was. I was reluctant to take
her word for it, but maybe she was telling the
truth. At any rate, before I threw in the
towel, I owed it to myself to take one good
look.
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On Friday night, I was down to just
one 7-8 pm Disco class, 10 students.
There was no Camelot
afterwards. Pistachio was closed; Camelot was a thing of the
past. I dreaded my upcoming visit to
Rodeo the entire time.
After class ended, I overheard a couple of my
students talk about going to the 8:30 showing of
Breaking Away. When I
asked, a guy told me it was about some
kid who rode a bicycle. That
sounded ridiculous, but then he added it
was about an underdog kid who wanted to
prove to a bunch of rich fraternity guys
that he was just as good as they were.
Recalling my childhood days at the poor kid
at a rich kid's school, my deep-seated
resentment towards people born to privilege
provoked a sudden urge to join my students.
I
told myself I would
go dancing tomorrow
night instead of tonight.
Saturday was more of the same.
I agonized over the need to
go on a
scouting mission.
The more I thought about it, the
more the anxiety
from these thoughts
became unbearable.
Sick with fear,
I could not seem
to make myself act. Sitting in the comfort of my
home following a day of private lessons, it
was easier just to watch TV. I
promised myself I would go dancing
Sunday night
instead.
After all, I
no longer taught at the Meyerland Club on Sunday evening.
With my back against the wall, I planned go
to Rodeo
and confront my
fears
Sunday night.
I was dreading the visit,
but I would force myself to do it NO MATTER
WHAT.
Tomorrow. I will think about this
tomorrow. After all, tomorrow is
another day.
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SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 25
DOWN TO MY LAST CHANCE
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It was Sunday
evening,
November 25. I
spent the entire day moping over Jennifer when I
should have been focused on
my visit to Rodeo tonight. Tomorrow
night would be my
fourth showdown with the Monday Western
class.
If I could
just make myself check things out at Rodeo,
hopefully I would be in the clear. My
mind was made up. I was definitely going
through with this visit. Around 7 pm
on Sunday evening, I
was in the process of getting ready for Rodeo when Jennifer called.
I felt a sudden
burst of hope. I had not
spoken to her
since Thanksgiving morning.
"Jennifer, I am
so glad to hear from you.
Can I come over?"
To heck with
Rodeo. Jennifer was more
important.
"Not a good idea, Rick. I've been
driving all day from Dallas and I need to get some
rest."
"So
how did your talk with Jeff go this weekend?"
"More
of the same. I talked with Jeff
over the phone a couple of times, but I
didn't want to see him. Mostly I just
wanted to spend time with my family and
cheer up a little. Don't worry, nothing
has been decided. What about you and
Victoria?"
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I said there wasn't
anything new to report. Michael
was gone
and Victoria was
miserable.
I told Jennifer how Victoria
had been drunk when she called.
Unfortunately, Jennifer did not see the humor. Nothing
that involved Victoria was funny to her.
Instead she changed the subject.
"What about your visit to the Western club
you promised to make? How did that
turn out?"
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Her
question aroused a huge stab of guilt. I was ashamed to admit
that I had procrastinated. Right now I felt so weak.
"I
am planning to go to Rodeo tonight,
but that gives me an idea.
Cowboy
is just a couple blocks from your apartment. I
could just as easily go there instead. Jennifer, why don't you come with
me? It is so close we could walk."
"I'm
sorry,
but you need to count me out. I have
no desire to visit a kicker club. I
saw some
pictures of
Gilley's in the
Houston Chronicle this past week. Oh my
god, I have never seen anything so ugly in
my life!
I have no interest in
visiting a Western dance club.
It aggravates me no end that suddenly 'Country' is so darn important.
What
is wrong with people? So John Travolta
filmed a movie in Pasadena. Big deal.
I
prefer
Disco. Once Disco
is gone,
I'm going to take up knitting
or some other hobby, maybe
something more exciting than Western like
stamp collecting.
Anything has to be better than
being forced to learn kicker dancing
against my will."
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I
frowned.
Jennifer
and I shared
the same prejudices.
The
only difference was that her job
didn't depend on it.
Just then
Jennifer added,
"But don't let me stop
you. You should go."
When Jennifer paused,
I sensed trouble.
"What's the matter,
Jennifer?"
"Rick, I
have some bad news for you.
Jeff
accused me of beating around the bush.
He was really irritated that I had come all
the way to Dallas but didn't find the time
to meet with him. So he has decided to
take time off from work. He will be flying to Houston to
visit this coming week.
I think Jeff senses my heart isn't in
this engagement stuff. I really don't want
him here, but I didn't know what to say
without seeing him blow his top. So I said
okay. I figured you deserve to know."
My heart
sunk as
I felt an intense flash
of jealousy. Since Jennifer said nothing
about a hotel, no doubt
Jeff would spend the week in Jennifer's
apartment. If so, where would Jeff sleep?
Realizing the answer was obvious, I was furious.
But what could I say? There was nothing I could
say. Victoria had spent the week with me, so
this was a bitter taste of my own
medicine. Jennifer was doing to me with
Jeff what I had done to her with Victoria.
Karma. I was so upset
I was reeling. This very
well could be the end for Jennifer and me.
After I hung up the phone, I was
sick with nausea over the thought of
losing Jennifer. Plagued by overwhelming jealousy and
feelings of helplessness, to hell with visiting the stupid dance club.
Just then the vision of Delilah crippling Samson
crossed my mind. This was not the first
time I had thought of Jennifer in these terms.
Jennifer's
had the
most uncanny ability to rob me of my willpower.
Indeed, her bad news
had removed all remaining fight in me.
And so my self-pity gave me
exactly the excuse I needed to blow off tonight's
trip. I took the dogs for a long walk instead.
As we
walked the neighborhood, I was a powder keg of
intense feelings.
Bitterness towards Jennifer.
Disgust at myself for avoiding the dance club
all week long.
I
was ashamed of myself. I felt
like the biggest coward that ever walked the earth
for avoiding Cowboy and Rodeo.
I had promised myself all
week long I would go to
western dancing this weekend, but I had been lying to
myself. Why not
admit the truth? I just didn't care any more.
I came
home, grabbed a beer, turned on the TV in my bedroom and
wallowed in pity. This was the worst
damn year of my life.
The woman I loved was slipping away and
there wasn't a single thing I could do about
it short of strangling Victoria. Trust me, I considered it.
Miserable, I invited my dogs Emily and Sissy up on the
bed for company.
Emily was my beloved border collie and Sissy was
a small dog of unknown parentage. Both
dogs were strays I had found wandering the
streets. Right now they were my only
friends.
"Well, Emily
and Sissy, tomorrow it will be over.
The Posse will catch up
and lynch me.
So what? My dance career will be over, but I
still have a college degree. I suppose I can
find gainful employment somewhere. Whatever
happens, don't worry, you guys will be okay. I
have enough savings to pay my house note and buy dog food for a year."
Both dogs wagged their tails
at that cheerful thought. At least someone wanted to be with me.
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SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 25
DARK NIGHT OF THE SOUL
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I could not sleep on Sunday
night.
Doomsday was imminent. Tomorrow night's class was sure to be
murder.
Do I
really want to throw it all away?
Of course not.
But for six straight nights, I had failed to force myself to take the only realistic action
that would save me.
I was
facing the worst personal crisis since the dark days of Colorado State
six years ago. Those were the days when Vanessa had betrayed me and
Dr. Fujimoto had told me my days as a graduate student were numbered. There had
been no
way out. Once Fujimoto made up his mind that I was a loser and
Vanessa left for Portland holding the same opinion, the die was cast.
There had been no way to rescue the Colorado
State crisis. However, this time I had a realistic solution
to solve one of my problems... just go visit a Western club.
However I had failed to summon the willpower necessary to make this common
sense
move. Hating myself intensely for behaving like a helpless
victim, I was mired in self-criticism and
depression. This was Colorado State all over again. I was a failure in love and a failure at my job. I
was an adulterer, a coward, and a fraud. I had lost my girl to a man she
openly admitted she didn't love, I was dominated by a woman who could care
less about me, and I had ruined the life of Michael and Stephanie
who deserved better. On top of all that, I despised the only
thing that could save me.
So where were those
lofty thoughts that I was following my Destiny? I hate to say
it, but I was so upset, no thought of Fate crossed my mind.
Once all hope was shattered, distant thoughts such as God's Will
were relegated to the dungeon. Country-Western left me so disgusted,
there was no reason to continue. I had tried teaching
western lessons, but my heart wasn't in it. Teaching Western
brought me no satisfaction
whatsoever. Besides, by taking no action this weekend, I had thrown away my final chance
to see what I was up against. On Monday night I fully expected
my risky behavior would prove my undoing. It was too late
to take action now. I had no choice but to show up totally
unprepared and
take the abuse. Surely my students' patience had run out.
No one likes being deceived. Something terrible was bound to happen.
Certain these people knew about C&W dancing than I did, I would no
longer be able to
mask my incompetence.
My attitude problem with
Western had taken a terrible turn for the worse
back in June when Joanne
invited me to the Cactus Club. The Cactus Club
was more responsible for my negativity than any other factor. Joanne kept saying the dancing wasn't
as bad as I thought it was, but I didn't trust her.
Seeing is believing. I
believed what I had seen at the Cactus Club.
In my mind, the Cactus Club was the face of all Western dance clubs.
That belief had been reinforced by photos of
Gilley's and unflattering descriptions of the
Winchester Club.
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If these honky-tonks were
representative of the Western dance scene, then I agreed
with Jennifer that it was time to find a new hobby.
When Disco hit the expected dead end, I would need to move
on.
I was on the verge of losing Disco, the great passion of my life.
Of course I shouldn't quit, but I was going to do it anyway. That
was the mood I was in. I wanted to give up on this
ridiculous Western experiment. And, based on the
problems I anticipated for Monday night, I was certain to get my
wish.
Had I been
healthier emotionally, I might have rallied against this
negativity. But my life was in so much turmoil that
all I wanted to do was quit. The thought of trading
the exciting world of Disco for the
dreary, ugly world of Western was too much to bear.
Of course it
is ridiculous for a grown man to write of
his passion for something as silly and superficial as Disco. However, I think I have made it clear this was the
main thing I lived for.
The French have a term for it. "Raison d'etre",
i.e. the most important reason for someone's existence. Disco Dancing was the best thing to ever happen to me.
To me, Disco was
color, Western was black and white. Once you've known
color, it is impossible to accept shades of grey. That was my
dilemma in a nutshell.
In my heart,
Disco had saved my life.
Perhaps if I had
grown up with Country-Western, I would have had no problem
accepting this mediocre form of dancing. The honky-tonks would
have been my only Reality, so I would not have objected.
But in my case,
Disco came first!
Following the
graduate school
fiasco, Disco Dancing had rescued me from the worst
depression I ever faced. To my everlasting
surprise, Disco
had offered me the chance to finally excel at something...
teaching. Once I wrapped my entire
Being
around Disco Dancing, I could not bear to see it go...
especially now that I had seen what the alternative looked like.
Here's the sad thing. Deep down inside, I wanted to continue
to teach
dance. But right now, I had never felt more alone in all my life.
Filled with despair, there was no one to talk me out of my
insane decision to quit. Deep in
mourning, I
was prepared to go down with my ship, taking memories
of beautiful women and exciting nights of dancing to the bottom of the
sea.
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