MYSTERY OF THE TEXAS TWOSTEP

CHAPTER FIFTY FOUR:

ROCK BOTTOM

Written by Rick Archer 

LIMBO MONTH FOUR WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 02, 1980 DEAD END

It was Wednesday, January 2.  Yesterday Jennifer had called to announce she was leaving Houston for good.  Too depressed to move, I laid in bed and watched 12 hours of college football bowl games.  I wasn't really watching.  Lonely, depressed, miserable, I was little better than a zombie. 

I was still depressed when I awoke on Wednesday.  I refused to get out of bed until the World told me it was sorry.  Unfortunately no apology was forthcoming.  Stuck in another one of those "I wanna quit" moods, I was too miserable to move.  So I laid in bed tossing a baseball in the air and catching it on the way down.  I would have stayed there the entire day, but I suddenly realized I had an appointment to see Glen.  Ordinarily our private lesson was on Tuesday, but since yesterday had been New Year's Day, we had rescheduled for today. 

Glancing at the clock, I groaned.  I had barely enough time to get there.  Feeling like I did, I did not want to go.  I was tempted to cancel in the worst possible way.  However, I could not do that.  I was committed to teach my brand new Intermediate Western class and, as usual, I had procrastinated.  I had not lifted a finger to prepare since my awkward encounter with Sally three weeks ago.  I winced as I thought of Sally.  I was still angry at myself for passing on a promising new friend out of loyalty to Jennifer.  'Loyalty to Jennifer.'  Hmm.  Now that's a catchy phrase.  What about her loyalty?

As they say, the show must go on.  Despite my depression, the crisis caused by my latest Western gamble forced me to get moving.  Needing today's private lesson in the worst way, I dragged myself to the car.  I was bitter over how Jennifer had treated me.  I could count a half-dozen times when she gave me hope only to pull the rug out.  Today I was facing yet another crisis and all I could think about was my broken heart. 

I briefly cheered up when I saw Glen.  I had not seen him in a month.  December was slow in the jazz dance business, so Glen had taken the month off from teaching to visit friends in other cities.  "It is good to see you again, Glen.  I hope your Holidays went well."

"Thank you.  I had a great time.  I went to New York, saw some shows and worked with choreographers on new material for my dance company.  But you seem kind of down.  What's wrong?"

I pushed Jennifer out of my mind and told Glen about my pressing need to learn the Twostep Circle Turn and Reverse Circle Turn.  We started with the Circle Turn.  To my relief, Glen immediately spotted my problem.

"We talked about this last year.  Your first mistake is your failure to put your right foot in the gap between my feet at the key moment.  You have to be closer to the woman in order to move past her.  Your other problem is that you won't let me put my right foot in the gap between your feet at the second key moment."

This made me frown because it reminded me of Sally.  If it was Sally, she could get close any time she wanted.  Right now I was facing a serious problem, so I decided to put my fear of gay men aside once and for all.  If it would save my career, Glen was welcome to get close.  As it turned out, Glen was correct.  Using the 'gap technique' worked like a charm.  I was surprised at how effective that tip proved to be.  I had worked on this problem with Sally for an hour with minimal success.  Now I had it fixed after five minutes with Glen.  What a difference a teacher makes.  Well, at least that problem was solved.  The Circle Turn plus a big review would be enough to get me through Monday.  After that, who knows?  We could work on reverse circle turns another time.  Taking a long, painful breath, I laid my cards on the table. 

"Glen, I have a serious problem.  I have committed to teaching an 8-week Intermediate Western class starting on Monday.  However, I have at best one class worth of moves, maybe two with these Circle Turns.  What am I going to do about the other six classes?  I badly need some new Western moves.  Do you by chance have any ideas?"

Glen frowned.  "I wish I could help, but you fished that pond empty back in November.  There's nothing left in there.  I am completely out of Foxtrot moves that would fit what you do.  If you want my help learning more Western material, you need to come up with ideas on your own and bring them to me for polishing like you did today."

I groaned.  I did not want to hear that.  That meant I would have to scout the clubs for new patterns and find something we could work on together.  During the three visits I made to Cowboy last December, I had not seen a single new move other than Circle Turns.  If Glen was out of Foxtrot moves, then I had quite possibly had hit the bottom of the barrel.  Was the lack of material the reason no one else seemed interested in teaching Western?  Every indication suggested I was the only person currently teaching C&W.  Why was that?  If I were to believe Lance Stevens, that was because every dance teacher in Houston BUT ME already knew there was so little to learn that teaching Western was a waste of time.  Sick to my stomach, this thought was Kryptonite to any hope of saving my dance career.

"Glen, why is it that Disco patterns are limitless while Western patterns are more scarce than water in the Sahara?  How am I ever going to teach this Intermediate class if I can't find more patterns?  And how am I ever going to create an Advanced western class?"

Glen gave me the funniest look.  "What Intermediate class?  What Advanced class?  You may be out of luck, Rick.  I seriously doubt there is more to this dancing than you already know."

My blood chilled.  It was uncharacteristic of Glen to talk this way.  I had never heard him sound so negative.  I had a sinking feeling that Glen was hiding something he did not want to tell me.

"What are you talking about, Glen?  You know something, don't you?"

When Glen nodded confirmation, I braced myself.  I expected the worse and that's what I got.

"I have something I need to tell you.  When I returned to Houston last week, my boyfriend said he wanted to visit a gay kicker club just to see what all the fuss was about.  The club was packed which surprised me.  But the dancing surprised me even more.  The dancing was abominable!  It was no more complicated than walking to your car.  All night long I watched men who danced their partners backwards for an entire song.  This required the knowledge of only one move, that Prairie Twostep you showed me.  Based on what I saw, you are insane to consider an Intermediate course.  I know you hope Western will replace Disco, but given its limitations, I cannot imagine how you will ever make a living as a Western teacher.  Knowing how much you are counting on this, I am sorry to break the bad news."

Like a doctor unhappy about revealing disturbing test results, Glen hesitated for a moment, then decided to tell it like it is.

"I am sorry to tell you this, but I did not see a single thing that you and I haven't covered already.  Rick, there is nothing to this kind of dancing.  That is the bottom line.  It is time you accept there is nothing else out there."

I nodded with a sinking feeling.  Glen had just confirmed what I had long feared.  However I wasn't strong enough to take this bad news in stride.  In the space of two days, first Jennifer, now this.  Wounded by two devastating gut punches, I was reeling like a boxer on the ropes.  One more blow was all it would take.  In a barely audible whisper, I tried to rally.

"Well, I agree with much of what you have said.  I agree that Western dancing in its existing form is very limited.  But there must be something I can do.  There has to be.  Surely there is some sort of super-duper Foxtrot move we could try."

Noting my despair, Glen said in a very soft voice, "I have to be honest with you, I would be careful not to depend too much on Western dancing."

I frowned in frustration.  "But Glen, now that Disco is dead, what else is there for me to teach?  I'm not like you.  I can't teach jazz dancing.  I don't have a single back-up option besides Western."

"Sure you do.  Learn Ballroom dancing.  I will teach it to you."

At the mention of Ballroom, my nausea increased.  I hated Ballroom music with a passion.  In fact, I hated Ballroom music more than I hated Outlaw Western.  Ballroom music was drippy, saccharine schmaltz.  Even worse were the inane, syrupy-sweet lyrics.  Glen's favorite Foxtrot song was Cherry Pink and Apple Blossom White.  If I heard that song one more time, I might develop diabetes. 

Nor could I forget that two of the worst failures of my dance career were related to Ballroom dancing.  First there was Phony Baloney Dance Studio with that nutcase Celeste.  Then there was the Melody Lane debacle where I lost Katie to Jack, our Ballroom dance instructor.  Furthermore, Ballroom dancing reminded me of those nasty River Oaks women from five years ago.

I had another reason to avoid Ballroom Dancing.  To me, the realm of Ballroom dancing belonged to effeminate gay men like Disco Dave and the gay gauntlet I had seen at Melody Lane.  It was one thing for cute little Dave to wiggle his hips to the Cha Cha, but that was not me.

I could not see a big, lumbering guy like myself doing all those dainty Ballroom dance moves.  My idea of dancing was throw girls in the air or spin them till they were dizzy.  I do not want to offend anyone, so let me be clear that I have no problem if someone is gay.  But I draw the line at wearing hip-hugging pants and open-chest shirts.  Let's leave the twinkle toe footwork and sensual hip rolls to preening gay dance instructors.  I would prefer to dance in blue jeans than extravagant Ballroom costumes.

"I'm sorry, Glen, but I don't think I have the right personality for Ballroom.  I don't like the music and I don't like the tight-fitting pants and open-chest shirts they use for exhibitions.  Nor do I care for the phoniness of the Ballroom studios with their stupid contracts and emphasis on dance competitions.  Disco was perfect for me, but it's gone.  It's Western or nothing at all."

"If that's the case, then you are in real trouble.  After I visited the gay bar, I was worried about you so I did some asking around.  Every instructor I spoke to has the same reaction to Western replacing Disco that I did.  They all turned their noses up in disgust.  Disco was the best thing to happen to dance teachers in ages.  Now that the Disco Era is over, my friends say they feel like they are returning to the Dark Ages.  Everyone in the Dance Biz is depressed.  I admit these guys are elitist snobs who love to tell jokes about dumb cowboys.  But you don't want to know what my friends really think about kicker dancing.  A lot of these men grew up being picked on and bullied by the same kind of jerks who hang out at Gilley's.  If you think I have a bad attitude towards Country, you should listen to these guys."

I got the message.  Apparently most Ballroom teachers shared the same bad attitude towards this moronic country movement as Glen.  What self-respecting Ballroom instructor would want to trade the sophistication of Disco dancing for ugly clothes, awful music, and mediocre dancing?   There was no style, no complexity, just a lot of slow motion shuffling.  Who needs dance lessons for that?  Four beers would accomplish the same thing.  Just ask me.

"So what are your friends going to do now that Disco is gone?"

"Same thing as me, start teaching Ballroom again.  In my case, I also intend to concentrate on developing my jazz shows with the company.  That's why I visited New York and Chicago over the Holidays.  I figure it's time to put my energy there."

I got the picture.  I did not want Glen to see how upset I was, so I said I would see him next Tuesday and walked out ten minutes early.  This whole Western thing had never before seemed so utterly futile.  Why had I even bothered to learn it?

I was devastated.  Any enthusiasm I once had for Western was completely gone.  First Jennifer, now Glen's recommendation to quit.  Overwhelmed with bad news, I could feel the walls of my depression close in.  My Intermediate Western class was starting in four days and I was not prepared.  As it stood, I had enough steps to finish a one hour class.  Where was I going to find patterns for seven remaining hours?  I seriously doubted I could fake my way through another western class.  Not with these students.  More likely my decision to teach Intermediate C&W would be another Conspiracy. 

Right now I could just hear my ex-girlfriend Patricia laughing at me.  About this time a year ago during our ugly 'Rock Star Rick' argument, Patricia had called me an idiot for putting all my eggs in one basket instead of considering law school.

"Rick, why won't you listen to me?  I am telling you Disco won't last.  You should go to law school like I suggest.  You can teach part-time if you wish, but you are crazy to think you can make a career out of Disco dancing."

She who laughs last, laughs best.  What would Patricia say if she could see me now?

"Rick, I always knew you were a damn fool.  Look at you.  Disco is gone for good and you have no fall-back plan.  You have wasted a perfectly good college education and for what?  All you ever do is bury your head in the sand and pretend God has a mission for you.  Pathetic.  Now you know why I ditched you.  I gave on up on you because you are a total loser."

Ouch.  Patricia's Prophecy of Doom had come true.  For that matter, Jennifer's Prophecy that Victoria would ruin my life had come true as well.  1979 had been the worst year of my life and 1980 was looking like a carbon copy.  I thought I had hit Rock Bottom when Jennifer called, but I could not have been more wrong.  I could live without Jennifer, but not without my dance career.  Rock Bottom is like a plummeting stock market.  Just when you think prices cannot possibly go lower, they go lower.  I did not have a friend, I did not know where to turn, and I was paralyzed with overwhelming depression.  Facing a Dead End, I felt like a total failure. 

After listening to Glen's voice of doom, I was so upset it was a struggle to make it home without an accident.  Glen's negativity about Country-Western had sent me spiraling to a startling new low.  This was more than I could handle.  Reeling from the powerful one-two punch, I had just hit Rock Bottom. 

Right now I was on the verge of collapse.  My biggest fear was a complete emotional breakdown.  When I had hit Rock Bottom in the past, it had taken months, even years (Vanessa), to recover from moments as bad as this.  I was scared because I could not afford to be paralyzed with depression at this critical time in my dance career. 

But what career?  There was no career!  Glen had made it painfully clear there was nothing to look forward to.  His pessimism had stripped me of all hope.  Without hope, how long would it take me to bounce back?  In five days I had an Intermediate Western class with almost nothing to teach.  Making matters worse, I was too depressed to look for a solution.  I honestly did not know what to do or where to turn.