MYSTERY OF THE TEXAS TWOSTEP

CHAPTER FIFTY FIVE:

ROLLERCOASTER

Written by Rick Archer 

LIMBO MONTH FOUR WEDNESDAY MORNING, JANUARY 02, 1980 AN UNEXPECTED RAY OF HOPE

It was Wednesday, January 2.  Yesterday it was Jennifer.  Today it was Glen.  As I drove home after my disastrous talk with Glen, I was very depressed and very worried.  Given my lifelong tendency towards depression, I expected to go into a horrible tailspin thanks to Jennifer and Glen's knockout blows.  With my career hanging in the balance, I could not afford to collapse now. 

Strangely enough, a timely phone call saved me from a rapid downfall.  The moment I opened the door, the phone rang in my office.  Without thinking, I hustled to catch the call.  A man named Ralph was calling to inquire about Beginning Twostep classes.  He had been one of my Disco students last summer.  Ralph had gotten my January schedule in the mail and wanted to ask a few questions.  Despite my despair, I mustered enough energy to talk to him anyway.  Considering I had five Beginning Western classes starting next week, it wasn't tough to find a night to fit Ralph's schedule. 

After Ralph hung up, to my surprise I realized the call had cheered me up a little.  That is when I noticed I had four messages on the answering machine.  The phone had been disappointingly quiet during the Holidays.  However, maybe potential students preferred to wait till the new year to begin calling.  Or at least that's what I hoped those messages meant. 

Before I could listen to the messages, the phone rang.  It was Deborah Gordon from the Class Factory.

"Where have you been, Rick?  I've been trying to call you all morning.  Don't you answer your phone messages?"

Taken aback, I replied, "I had an early morning dance lesson, Deborah.  I just walked in the door.  What's the matter?"

"I have good news and bad news.  You should ask for the good news first."

"I could use some good news.  What do you have for me?"

"I was out of town last week  This is my first day back in the office.  It looks like we have a ton of mail-in registrations for your Beginning Country-Western class next week."

I stopped breathing, then I crossed my fingers.  "How many?" I quickly asked. 

"I haven't counted, but at a glance 60 or so.  There's a huge pile here.  I think your class is going to be a big hit in the new year."

Suspicious

Lucky Break

Serious

Lucky Break
Coincidence
Act of Kindness

FRIDAY MORNING, JANUARY 04, 1980 TOO GOOD TO BE TRUE?

It was Friday morning, January 4, 1980.  The phone was ringing.  It was Deborah Gordon from Class Factory. 

"Rick, good grief, the phone is ringing off the hook.  These people have John Travolta on their brain.  Do you know any Western teachers out in The Woodlands?  I have a pastor from a church in Woodlands inquiring about western lessons.  He has a group of 50 people from a church who are begging for a teacher.  The man saw your class listed in my catalogue and called me. 

This guy says no one at his church has ever been western dancing, but they all want to learn.  The problem is that he can't find anyone in his area who knows how to teach western.  The pastor said he called a dance studio out there, but struck out.  The dance studio person told the pastor he didn't even know what country dancing looks like.

Doesn't anybody in this city besides you know how to teach this stuff?"

I shook my head in consternation. 

"Don't ask me why, Deborah, but all indications point to me as the only Western teacher in Houston.  I don't know the name of a single person in Houston who is teaching Western other than me."

"Well, that doesn't make any sense, Rick.  Why are you the only person in the city who teaches Country-Western?  Were you raised on a farm or something?"

I laughed out loud.  "No, Deborah, we've talked about this.  I'm a city slicker just like you."

"Would you like to teach the Woodlands class?  You would need to drive out there."

"I would like to help, but I can't be in two places at the same time. 

"Perhaps you know someone who can help?  Or maybe you can train someone."

"Let me check with my business associate Victoria to see if she would be willing to drive out there.  I will call you back if she shows some interest.  In the meantime, keep me posted if you need more space for the new western students." 

"Oh, I almost forgot to tell you.  You are up to 100 registrations spread out over all five days.  You are going to be very busy next week." 

And with that, Deborah said goodbye.  Although I had promised Deborah I would speak to Victoria, why bother?  To begin with, she was still out of town for the Holidays.  Furthermore, Victoria adamantly refused to have anything to do with Western.  I expected she would change her mind soon enough.  The threat of poverty has been known to change people's minds.  Take me for example.

Meanwhile two things Deborah said were still ringing in my mind.

"100 students."

"Why are you the only person in the city who teaches Country-Western??"

This situation made little sense.  After all, in a city this large, one would assume there would be other western teachers.  However, so far I had heard nothing to contradict the notion.  No one else had surfaced.   It seemed absurd, but I was beginning to wonder if it was true.  Was anyone else in Houston teaching Western dancing besides me?  If not, then this situation was utterly ridiculous!! 

Right now I was on top of the world.  I had 100 Western students prepared to take class from me next week.  I was the one in a million western teacher.  I had the entire city all to myself and I was in the best mood in ages.

And that is when the rollercoaster began its descent. 

People have told me I think too much.  I think they might be right.  No doubt the Reader agrees.  That said, there is little I can do about my bad habit.  It is in my nature to analyze everything.  And, sorry to say, my next mental conversation took me to a very dark location.  My depression started the moment I asked myself for the millionth time why I was the ONLY Western teacher.  It would have been one thing if I was one of the 'few' Western teachers.  I would have been okay with that.  But to be the only one?? 

The entire situation was weird.  A preppie who grew up hating Western should be the last person to occupy the point position for the coming explosion of Western students.  This was roughly akin to asking a city boy to teach Navajo Indians how to weave wicker baskets.  Seriously, Why me?  Why not some cowboy who had grown up dancing in the Texas farm country?  Why not somebody who had gone to Texas A&M and learned how to western dance up there?  Joanne had told me all the best western dancers in Houston were from Texas A&M.  Someone told her that A&M had regular kicker dances.  So why wasn't there some Aggie offering lessons at the moment?  To be honest, there probably was a smattering of Western teachers around town, but none of them operated in my sphere.  Out of all the people I asked, I stood alone. 

That is when a terrible thought crossed my mind, a truly wicked, evil terrible thought.  There might be a very unpleasant reason why there were no other western instructors hanging around.  What if I was a fool?   Instantly, the Rollercoaster started to plunge.  The next thing I knew, I was suddenly enveloped in a cold sweat panic.  What if I was the most, self-deceived delusional idiot that ever walked the earth? 

Serious

Lucky Break
Cosmic Blindness

Back when I first visited Cowboy during Fright Night, I had wondered if I was Cosmically Stupid for remaining oblivious to the club's splendor for ten months.  How can anyone stay in the dark for ten months?  If I could be THAT BLIND about Cowboy, what else could I be blind about?  I remembered how crowded the floor was at Cowboy.  If there are no teachers, where did they learn to dance?

That is when it hit.  No one taught them to dance.  It was so easy, they watched someone and figured it out on the spot.  That is when I began to wonder if I was the victim of an horribly cruel joke related to my 'one in a million' teacher status. 

Suddenly the ghost of Lance Stevens appeared before me. 

"Archer, you have to be out of mind to listen to kicker music!!  This is the worst music I have ever heard.  It is worse than Disco and I never thought I would hear myself say that.  I hate kicker music and I hate rednecks.  Plus the dancing is so easy even those dumb ass farm boys can do it.  Don't bother teaching any Western dancing.  There's nothing to it and there's no money in it."

I was so frightened by the memory of those words that a giant chill came over me.  I had to sit down on my bed because I could not stand up at the moment.  Stevens' negativity upset me so much I thought I would throw up.

If Stevens was right, then I had gone through all of this for nothing!

 What if every dance teacher in the city BUT ME understood that Western dancing was a complete waste of time? 

 What if Western dancing was so easy virtually anybody could pick it up out on the dance floor with little effort? 

 What if every dance teacher in Houston BUT ME understood that no one but someone who had no idea regarding the truth would sign up for lessons? 

That is when I thought of the Meyerland Club.  50 people 'who had no idea regarding the truth' had signed up my class under the assumption that Western dancing was complicated enough to require lessons.  What if 100 Class Factory students had signed up for the same reason, the assumption that that Western dancing was complicated enough to require lessons?  ? 

Right now I was so scared I could barely breathe.  I was having the panic attack of the century.  I tried to rally.  After all, on paper, interest in Western dancing was high.  I had 100 Class Factory registrations.  That seemed to contradict my worst fears.  But my rally faded quickly.  Fooled by all the media hype that 'Western dancing' was the NEXT BIG THING, what would they think when they realized their mistake?  What would my students think once they realized how pathetic Western dancing was?  

That thought gave me the chills.  What if the dumbest, most clueless 100 people who lived in Houston were coming to see me next week? 

I thought about all the people who had told me they had no idea what Western dancing even looked like.  These Class Factory people were probably signing up because they didn't know any better.  But once they found out, they would tell their friends.  In a matter of days, the rumor would spread far and wide that Western dancing was a scam.  It was so simple people did not need lessons.  Then what?  

Once the cat was out of the bag, everyone in Houston would realize they had been deceived into thinking Western dancing was the next great thing.  By the end of January I might be lucky to have five people sign up for my next Beginner class.  That horrifying thought completely took the wind out of my sails.  Just when I was feeling like Grand Master of the Texas Twostep, I realized I might have this mystifying head start simply because everyone in the Dance World already knew better. 

I was crestfallen.  The simplicity of the dancing had to be the answer.  I was so new to Western dancing it had never occurred to me that people with actual knowledge were too smart to bother.  There was nothing to it, was there?  I was wasting my time. 

I took a long, deep breath.  I was scared now, really scared, the kind of scared you get when the doctor says you might have colon cancer.  I had started the morning on top of the world, but the rollercoaster was plummeting and I was crashing to earth.

I could not help but wonder if I was about to be named the winner of some booby prize for Chump of the year.  If Western dancing had a flat tire, then I was doomed.