MYSTERY OF THE TEXAS TWOSTEP

CHAPTER FORTY SIX:

THE NOOSE TIGHTENS

Written by Rick Archer 

LIMBO MONTH TWO Monday night, NOVEMBER 26, 1979 night of reckoning

As I drove to Cowboy, I tried to grasp the depth of my predicament.  Was it paranoia or just my imagination, but it felt like there were whispers behind my back in class tonight.  How else would so many people automatically gang up on me?  This was no idle threat.  Not everyone was angry at me, but there was indication of wide-spread dissatisfaction. 

Surely this showdown had been planned in advance.  I assumed Dave, Jerry and Lynette were the ringleaders.  They had probably hatched this plan at Cowboy the previous Monday, but I had made things worse with my Waltz stumble earlier tonight.  After Lynette saw me working with Devin and Mona, I noticed she consulted with them briefly before class.  Once she heard their Waltz story, no doubt she recruited them to the cause.  I decided there were at least six people were at the heart of the plot.  There was Jerry and Lynette, Dave and his girlfriend Sylvia, Devin and Mona.  Of the six, Dave was the most dangerous.  He did not respect my teaching and made no attempt to hide it.  As for the rest of the class, most of them had no idea what was going on, but they were curious to find out.  No doubt one of the ringleaders would fill them in if asked. 

It struck me as strange they had not actually accused me of anything.  Despite being cornered, I had caught a major break.  Demanding that I go dancing with them seemed like a pretty odd way to confront me with their suspicions.  If they had begun asking pointed questions while they had me surrounded, I would have surely been exposed.   That is when it dawned on me... they weren't sure I was a fraud!  They were just suspicious. 

Based on the bad vibes coming from Dave, he would have had it out now.  I wondered what stopped him.  My guess is that he feared someone in the original group would have stood up for me.  Dave and his friends were the newcomers while all the rest were my friends from the Days of Disco.  Over the past year I had built up a lot of good will.  I suppose this explains why they were willing to give me the benefit of the doubt.  That is not to say I was out of the woods, but this trip to Cowboy was a compromise of sorts.  This was their way of giving me one last chance.  

The miracle was my last-second inspiration to invent the Waltz 'Travel Step' on the spot.  If I had not wiggled out of my Waltz dilemma, they would have had the proof they needed.  Someone like Dave would have confronted me on the spot with Devin to back him up.  But I had put just enough doubt in Devin's mind to postpone immediate conviction.  Aha!  The jury was still out.  Judging by their expressions, Dave, Devin and Mona were the only ones convinced I was a phony.  However, Devin and Mona had not had the chance to share their Waltz story with the others, so the poison had not spread.  Although Lynette and her friends were suspicious why I kept ducking their offers to visit Cowboy, they were at least willing to give me a chance to prove myself.

It crossed my mind that the effective job I had done in class tonight might have made a difference as well.  That in itself was another miracle.  I was incredulous to realize my laboratory Twostep creation had not only passed muster, it had pleased the class.  By easing some of the tension, rather than outright bully me with pepper spray questions, someone had come with the Cowboy alternative.  I assumed this softer approach was Lynette's doing.  Lynette was frustrated with me, but I also knew she liked me.  By giving me the benefit of the doubt, Lynette was probably the main reason I had not been lynched on the spot.  Rather than make a scene at the studio, the leaders decided to let my performance at Cowboy speak for itself.  As the saying goes, they had given me just enough rope to hang myself.  That meant I still had a chance.  My test would take place on the dance floor at Cowboy.  This trap was starting to make sense.  Yes, there were sharks circling the water, but this reprieve was actually a lucky break. 

My head was spinning with fear of the unknown.  I had no idea what to expect at Cowboy, but I was pretty certain I risked stumbling on my first try.  Well aware of all the things that could go wrong, I fought an overwhelming urge to turn my car around and head home.  However, I did not dare.  That would be a clear admission of guilt.  Twenty witnesses had heard me give my word I would go.  I was especially worried about Lynette and the other experienced female dancers in the group.  Surely these attractive ladies had been asked to dance by some of the Cowboy regulars during their after-class visits.  Now these same women would have an opportunity to compare how I danced the Twostep and Polka to the style of experienced men at the club.  Considering I had learned to dance by Braille, what were the odds that everything Joanne had taught me was correct?   How close was my German Polka to the Texas Polka?  How comparable was my Ballroom Foxtrot to the New-style Texas Twostep?   These women would know.  They would serve as interrogators and report back to the jury.

During my Year of Living Dangerously, my nerves had been fried so many times I assumed there were no nerve endings left.  Wrong.  Right now I was absolutely scared out of my wits.  Terrified.  Since I had never tested any of my dance moves in the Real World, the chance that every single move would work correctly right off the bat was remote.  I toyed with the idea of not dancing as the solution to my problems.  However, I doubted that would work.  There would be considerable pressure on me to perform on the dance floor with everyone watching.  Would I be clumsy and awkward?  Would my leads work?  Would it be obvious I had no idea what I was doing?  My worst fear was that I would make a mistake right out of the blocks and give my students the answer they expected.  One single misstep might be enough to confirm their guess that I barely knew what I was doing.  No doubt they would laugh at how pathetic I was. 

Perhaps the Reader thinks I exaggerate.  Absolutely not.  Given that I was totally blind to what the scene looked like, this doomsday scenario was a very real possibility.  Well, there was only one way to find out.  To be honest, I was actually sort of curious myself.  Unsure what to expect, I fervently wished I had some way to practice in advance before getting out there.  No chance of that.  Once I hit the floor, there was nowhere to hide.  

WHERE ARE THE PICKUP TRUCKS?

I had never been to Gilley's, but I passed it many times during the four years I investigated child abuse.  The parking lot had always been jam-packed with a sea of pickup trucks.  Many trucks had gun racks and Confederate flag stickers.  They all had Gilley's stickers plastered to their rear bumpers.  Gilley's made it standard practice to glue stickers on every vehicle. 

Cowboy was located in Houston's high-rent district.  The club was only two blocks from Houston's fancy Galleria shopping mall.  The Galleria was where Houston's wealthy elite did their shopping.  I still had not figured why someone would put a country-western dump like the Cactus Club mere footsteps away from Houston's answer to Fifth Avenue.  I assumed I would get my answer tonight.  I got my first clue in a curious way.

As I pulled into the parking garage behind the club, I did not see a single pickup truck.  Huh?  As I surveyed the long row of expensive vehicles, I recalled the sea of pick-up trucks at Gilley's.  I was confused.  Was I in the wrong place?  How can you have a country-western beer joint without pickup trucks?

I got my second clue when a fancy sports car pulled up beside me.  As the lady exited her vehicle, she smiled at me.  This woman was unusually pretty.  Back at the Cactus Club, other than Joanne, there had not been a single woman who remotely looked like this gal.  She was a serious looker.  Young.  Thin.  Classy.  Great outfit.   Indeed, the moment I saw this woman,  either something was wrong with my eyesight or my mental picture of the Cowboy patrons was in serious need of adjustment.  I could have sworn C&W was painted in shades of black and white.  Was it my imagination or could Country-Western be seen in living color?  

I wasn't sure where the front door to the club was, so I let the pretty girl walk ahead of me.  By the way she moved her hips, I sighed with relief.  I suddenly had the welcome feeling I was going to like this place after all.  One glance at this woman and the expensive cars suggested Cowboy catered to a much different clientele than I had anticipated.  Indeed, the women of Cowboy were just as beautiful as the women of Disco.  Wow!  This was a very pleasant surprise.

Then I blinked.  In fact, I had seen some of these women before.  Where?  At élan, Annabelle's and Pistachio Club.  These ladies wore drastically different outfits, but they were still amazing.  In a blinding flash, I realized what a fool I had been.  I felt like the Universe had played a giant Cosmic Joke on me.

I was embarrassed to see how silly I had been.  Cowboy was not even remotely a dive.  Far from it.  It was so elegant the first thing that came to mind was élan, the Disco playground frequented by Houston's well-heeled professionals.  Judging by the well-dressed people at Cowboy, this was the exact same crowd.  In hindsight, that made sense.  McFaddin-Kendrick owned both Cowboy and élan.  All their clubs were lavish and Cowboy was no exception.  Why had I failed to anticipate this? 

I was stunned by the enormity of my mistake.  Never in my wildest imagination had I dreamed Cowboy was this attractive.  I was flabbergasted to find my fears about Cowboy had been baseless.  The entire time I thought all Western clubs including Cowboy were ugly like Gilley's, Winchester and Cactus Club.

Joanne had told me several times things weren't as bad as I pictured them, but I did not believe her.  Since I assumed the worst, I had been too big a sissy to check it out.  It was easier to feel sorry for myself and mourn the death of Disco.  Now I realized Joanne had been right all along.  Unbelievable.  Too bad she wasn't here tonight to see the shocked look on my face.  I owed her an apology.  Locked in my negative mind set, it did not seem possible a Western club could be more beautiful than a Disco.  But it was true!  Cowboy was élan with boots and Stetson hats.  I had no idea a western motif could be so attractive.  The decor was radically different from the Disco neon, but just as expensive and tasteful.  I was flabbergasted at what a fool I had been.

So far I had spent 1979 under the distinct impression that the coming Western Era was the worst thing to ever happen to me.  That closed-minded attitude was ripped to shreds the moment I visited Cowboy.  I shook my head at how stupid I had been.  All that anxiety and all that despair could have been effortlessly sidestepped long ago.  Based on my Doorstep Night theory of Cosmic Blindness, I could not help but wonder if there was a Supernatural explanation for such a colossal misunderstanding.  However, I was too busy facing a crisis, so I was forced to put that thought on hold. 

Obviously the country-western scene wasn't nearly as bad as I thought it was.  I was still bitter over losing my Disco career, but willing to swap it for a place as beautiful as this western palace.  However it might be too late.  How was I ever going to extricate myself from this mess?  Due to my catastrophic fears, I had allowed myself to be caught in a very serious trap. 

The good thing was that my bad attitude had just undergone a startling about-face.  Encouraged by how classy Cowboy had turned out to be, I became determined to pass tonight's litmus test.  Easier said than done.  I still had no idea what the 'new style' of Western dancing look like.  However, first I needed to calm down.  Acutely aware of the danger I was in, adrenaline was surging through my body.  It was one thing to be exposed with nothing to lose.  It was another thing entirely to fail now that I had changed my mind.  Given this amazing reprieve, I wanted to  rescue my dance career in the most acute way.  But how?  What should I do about this imminent threat? 

Given my need to calm down, my next stop was the bar.  Ordinarily I was not much of a drinker, but desperate times call for desperate measures.  After ordering a beer, my next decision was to postpone the showdown as long as possible.  So I began to explore the club.  I was awestruck by the beauty of the decor. 

Cowboy was definitely not Gilley's.  I had long wondered why McFaddin-Kendrick would put a Western club in the Galleria, the ritziest part of town.  Why would anybody put a dump in such an expensive area?  Keep in the mind the Galleria was home to Houston's wealthy elite.  Nothing came cheap here.  The rent had to be astronomical.  Now I understood.  Cowboy was not meant to be a dump.  Determined to create the world's first tasteful Western club, McFaddin-Kendrick had succeeded royally. 

I could not believe I had spent the previous 10 months dreading a visit to this place.  Cowboy could go Ritz to Ritz with any Disco in Houston.  I felt like I was the last person in Houston to realize how glamorous Cowboy was.  Why didn't someone tell me?  Probably because all my Disco friends had avoided the place for the same reason.  Like me, they thought it was a dump.  I sheepishly recalled Joanne had tried to explain, but I refused to listen.  Stupid me.

Who would have ever thought a Western club could have so much glamour?  There was genius at work.  Soft lighting, wooden floors, carefully crafted furniture, western murals.  Lovely multi-colored Navajo rugs hung like flags from the ceiling.  Expensive leather saddles were placed on smooth wooden railings meant to simulate actual corrals.  Luxurious couches complete with American Indian designs and leather upholstery.  Walls lined with western paintings of mesas, mountains, rivers, horses, and cattle drives.  I duly noted the Cowboys and Indians in these paintings were not killing each other.  Smart move.  Leave it to Cowboy to ignore ancient wounds.

There was even greenery.  I spotted soft-sculpted cacti as well as various desert plants in terra cotta pots.  The plants were fake, but they looked authentic.  I had to touch them to be sure.  Everything was warmly illuminated by soft indirect lighting.  The entire room glowed with beauty.  Looking around, I still could not believe what an idiot I had been.  I had been totally blinded by my gloomy mindset.  

Speaking of decorations, I marveled that Cowboy women were just as attractive as the women at élan.  I smiled as various women paraded by wearing fancy western outfits.  They must have spent a fortune on those clothes.  I was glad they did. 

Cowboy was testimony to McFaddin-Kendrick's tried and true marketing strategy.  They had spent a fortune making Cowboy stunning for a specific reason.  The club was designed as happy hunting ground for prosperous businessmen to court beautiful women.  This was a well-known McFaddin-Kendrick technique.  Having spent the past year visiting élan once a month, I knew how this company operated.  These lovely women would attract professional men who would come to drink and hustle.  Sure enough, the club was lined with the same well-dressed business types I used to see at élan.  Their roving eyes made it clear they were here to chase the beautiful women and vice versa. 

And beautiful they were!  Be still my beating heart.  I decided I could admire the women later, but now it was time to see what the dancing looked like.  However, before I did anything else, I headed to the bar to order a second beer.  Like I said, I was not much of a drinker.  I had thought one beer would do the trick, but not tonight.  Right now my nerves were going haywire, so back to the bar I went.  With a dark smile, I recalled how gunfighters in the movies made sure to have a stiff shot of whiskey before the gunfight.  Now I understood.  Never before had I needed alcohol like I did tonight.  The challenge of a lifetime awaited.

Judging from the expensive outfits, obviously America's Fashion industry had some kind of crystal ball.  No doubt McFaddin-Kendrick had stared into that same crystal ball.  This club had been designed specifically to attract people with deep pockets.  Noting how this place reeked of prosperity, the risky Three Million Dollar remodeling investment had worked like a charm.  Someone had orchestrated this phenomenon, I was sure of it.  Was it the Wizard of Oz?  Rather than despise this mysterious figure like I had in the past, maybe it was time to thank him instead.  Looking around at all this splendor, for the first time I realized there might be serious economic possibilities in this Western phenomenon.  These customers had money, but could they dance? 

Right now the club was full of ex-Disco dancers who had traded their groovy polyester shirts and mini skirts for boots, blue jeans, denim skirts, western shirts and cowboy hats.  These people were not rednecks or yahoos.  They were Fake Cowboys, Yuppies in disguise.  They had spent a fortune on clothing to hide the fact they were total tenderfoots.  I seriously doubted anyone in this club had ever milked a cow.

In a way, the scene was beyond pretentious.  But then I could say the same thing about Disco.  The important thing is that there were a lot of people on the dance floor.  That meant if I played my cards right, in the coming months there might be plenty of other people looking for someone to teach them how to Western dance.

With my second beer in hand for courage, I looked for a corner to survey the dance floor without being too obvious.  I needed to study the dancing before making any moves.  I tried to look nonchalant.  No doubt hidden eyes tracked my whereabouts lest I try to slip out the door.  Believe me, the idea had crossed my mind.

All sorts of thoughts and emotions competed for attention.  Despite my dilemma, the predominant emotion was relief.  Considering all my fret and worry during last week's Procrastination, I was glad to be here.  I was already feeling the immense relief that comes when one realizes his worst fears are not so bad after all.  In a sense, the doctor had just told me I was going to live.  Or maybe not.  First I had to survive the coming test of fire.  My heart continued to beat furiously.  Feeling incredibly anxious, I was angry that the second beer had failed to do its job.  Frustrated, I headed to the bar to order two beers at once.  A lady next to me stared wide-eyed as I guzzled the third beer on the spot.  Then I carried the fourth beer with me for companionship.  Those three beers had better do their job soon because I could not stall much longer.  People were watching, waiting in anticipation of my likely downfall.  How could I outwit them?

Despite my desperation, I felt a stirring of hope.  I did not have to be a Fraud.  I did not have to be an Imposter.  Imagine what I could accomplish if I actually studied this style of dancing like I once studied Disco.  If Cowboy was representative of the coming Western Era, I was ready to jump on the bandwagon and hopefully extend my dance career.  Feeling my ambition return in force, I salivated over the vast potential of what might become a new dance craze.  A switch had flipped on inside me.  In the words of Friedrich Nietzsche, once a man has a why, he can find a how. 

I had been given something to fight for!!  If I could survive tonight, my Magic Carpet Ride could continue.  I was prepared to tackle Western Dancing with the same enthusiasm I had once given to Disco.  And I meant it too.  No more sulking.  No more procrastination.  No more negativity.  No more apathy.  But first I had to pass this test.  With my career on the line, the pressure was overwhelming.

THE NOOSE TIGHTENS

My fear was intense as I stood at the railing.  Numb with anxiety, I had trouble making sense of the dancing before me.  I noticed several of my students emerge from the shadows to stare daggers at me.  This caused a new surge of panic.  How was I supposed to pull this off?  They expected me to look good the moment I got out there.  How was I supposed to look polished when I had never danced with anyone but Joanne or Glen, much less in public at a Western club?  Was there any way to practice my dancing without someone watching?  No, of course not.  Given that no one was going to cut me any slack, I had a serious case of cold feet.  My nerves alone guaranteed I was going to stumble.  There was no way I could just walk out there and look like I knew what I was doing.  Haunted by the nagging feeling that some of Joanne's instruction had been incorrect, at least some scouting was called for.  I wasn't going to move until I confirmed the dancing resembled what Joanne had taught me.  However, time was running out.  My jury was losing patience.

Just then one of the ladies in my class came over to ask me to dance.  It was Lynette, the best dancer.  I had the sinking feeling she was here to get the ball rolling.  Sure enough, Lynette stuck out her hand.  "C'mon, Rick, let's dance!"

I turned white at the thought.  Hopefully it was dark enough that Lynette would not see fear written all over my face. 

"Lynette, I would love to dance with you, but right now I am unwinding after teaching class.  I promise to catch up with you as soon as I finish my beer.  Just give me another minute." 

I held up my half-empty bottle as evidence.  Lame but effective.  Lynette gave me a very dirty look, but mercifully backed off.  "Okay, Rick, but don't keep me waiting." 

I took a deep breath.  I guess she decided to give me the benefit of the doubt yet again.  Thank goodness.  I had done the right thing.  Lynette was a very good dancer.  If anyone could spot a fake, it would be her.  As I nursed my fourth beer, I could tell my concerted drinking was finally taking effect.  Feeling kind of dreamy, I was able to calm down enough to study the feet of the dancers.  At first I did not recognize any of the footwork.  This worried me no end.  I was not even sure what a Polka was supposed to look like.  This was not good.  To make things worse, now Sylvia, Dave's girlfriend, came over to pester me.  Considering she barely knew me, I realized Dave had probably put her up to it.

"Uh, Sylvia, I'll be happy to dance with you in a song or two, but let me study the dancing just a bit longer."

Sylvia smiled sweetly.  "Oh sure.  Do you mind if I watch with you?"

Actually I did mind, but I could not say that.  Sylvia was a talker.  As she yapped away, Sylvia was obviously unaware that I was having an existential crisis.  Will this woman please shut up and let me concentrate?  The men in the group were watching.  I could feel their eyes bore holes in my back.  Obviously my reluctance to get on the floor was not helping things.  Were they taking bets at this very minute?  No doubt the men had sent Lynnette and Sylvia over to force my hand.  Now Jerry came and stood on the other side of me.  Considering Jerry had asked most of the questions in class tonight, I suspected he was one of the ringleaders.  Now he was moving in for the kill.  I was flanked by a chatterbox on one side, an assassin on the other.  Lynette stood right behind.  Theoretically she was waiting for the dance I promised her, but more likely she was there to intercept in case I made a run for it.  Feeling the jaws of the trap close in, I was running out of time.  Any minute now I expected a shove in the back followed by a command to get out there and dance. 

Just then another student joined us at the railing.  It felt like the entire class was creeping closer and closer.  My sense of claustrophobia was suffocating.  This was exactly what I feared would happen.  Forced to dance with everyone watching from Front Row, I was in quite a jam.  Boxed in with no escape possible, I could not put this off much longer.

I might be an expert at Disco, but this was a new arena.  My students expected me to be better than them, not worse.  How was I ever going to fool so many experienced dancers?  What if my footwork was all wrong to begin with?  Even if the footwork turned out to be correct, I knew my leads were not very good and my rhythm was suspect because I never listened to the music.  What if my timing was off?  What if I blew a lead and my partner lost her balance?  What if I mistook a Twostep for a Polka?  All these questions, all these fears.  It all boiled down to one thing.  I had to find some way to fake my way through this.

No one likes a cheater.  These students had paid hard-earned money to learn to dance.  So far all they had gotten in return was a mediocre effort.  That is why we were here tonight.  The time had come to find out if I actually knew what I was doing.  Some people would say this was frontier justice.  Give the fraud a taste of his own medicine. 

Meanwhile I stood there frozen with anxiety.  Fortunately, thanks to four beers, I was becoming a little braver.  I glanced into the crowd.  My entire class was staring like vultures.  If I made a fool of myself out there, my entire class would know. 

We have come to bury Caesar!   

The noose was getting tighter, but I wasn't dead yet.  I had one chance to get this right.  I swallowed the last of my bottle and slammed it down on the railing in front of me.  Time make my move.  This was it. 

Welcome to Fright Night.  My career hung in the balance.