Rick Archer's Note:
There are moments in every man's life when the
ability to dance gracefully to romantic music is mighty
important. You could be on a cruise, you could be on a
date, you could be at a party, or the moment could come as a
complete surprise. Will you be ready?
Dancing is not a skill that can
acquired with the snap of a man's fingers. It takes
practice, it requires instruction. For that reason, the smart ones learn how to Dance
AHEAD OF TIME. Be prepared. You never know when you
will need to know how to Dance. If you don't have that skill
when your opportunity comes, then you
are out of luck.
THE STROKE OF MIDNIGHT
AUGUST
2001
I can attest
that Dance Magic is powerful stuff. Perhaps this story will
make my point. I was on a dance cruise in 2001. There was
a woman on that trip whom I was very interested in. To my
chagrin, despite my efforts, this lady had not paid a bit of
attention to me for seven months. She had good reason to
ignore me. She had informed me on more than one occasion
that she had a boyfriend of six years.
I can take a
hint, so I backed off. However, my instinct insisted that
this lady was not telling me something. What kind of
boyfriend takes six years to make up his mind? What kind of
boyfriend allows his girlfriend to go on a dance cruise all
by herself? Determined to get a straight answer to those
questions, I penciled in this trip as my last chance to make
a play for her.
As the trip
grew near, one day I suddenly got my hopes up. The lady
called me at home to ask for a private lesson. My heart
nearly jumped out of my skin. Finally! The cruise trip was
two weeks away. This was my perfect chance to get to know
her better.
“What do you
wish to learn?” I asked
“Oh, the
lesson is not for me. My boyfriend just won a three-day
weekend in Miami as a reward at his job. We will be in
Miami one week before my upcoming cruise trip. He has
promised to take me Salsa dancing. You do know how to teach
Salsa, don’t you?”
Yes, I knew
enough Salsa to get by. But there was no way I was going to
teach this lesson, not with my heart broken.
Consumed with jealousy, the utter
cruelty of the moment was more than I could handle.
So I referred her to another
teacher.
In the
meantime, now that my hopes were permanently dashed, I fell
into a very deep downward spiral. Irony of irony, I had
organized a trip for 100 dance students. There were 10 more
women than men. What difference did it make? I was only
interested in one woman. By coincidence, I walked past that
particular woman at dinner on the first night of the trip.
She was so dark I did not even recognize her at first. Then
it dawned on me. This was her Miami suntan from five days
ago. I was so upset I left immediately and went to my
cabin.
Unable to
sleep or settle down, I noticed
there was a ship-sponsored dance party in the Disco at
Midnight. Given my recent divorce and my
bad luck with the only woman who
had truly interested me, what was the point?
However, loneliness is a powerful motivator. With a deep
sigh, I got dressed and took the elevator.
I walked into
the Disco at the Stroke of Midnight. There in the doorway
on the opposite side of the room, I saw the woman of my
dreams. I raced across the floor and caught her just as she
was leaving. I asked her to dance... she said yes. We have
never been apart since. For you romantics, the
tale of how I met Marla is quite a love story.
But what if I
had not taken that first dance lesson many years earlier?
Someday, somewhere, more than likely at a time no one can
predict, a man will have the opportunity to ask a woman to
dance he already loves or would like to get to know better.
Will you be ready?
Or will you miss the boat like Marla’s six-year boyfriend?
Jane Austen's Elizabeth Bennett had it
right. "Dancing...
Even if one's partner is
barely tolerable."
If there is music involved, then
the most powerful and direct way to the lady's heart is
through dance.
In Jane Austen's day, Dance was a
preeminent invitation to Romance. Back then, Dance played a major role in
courtship rituals. Currently some people assume the importance of Dance has taken
a backseat to the Internet here in our modern age. I disagree.
If utilized properly, Dancing remains a direct path to a lady's heart
even today. The Art of
Romantic Dancing is a skill that could come in very handy
for some lucky guy.
In
this day and age, very few men take the time to learn to dance
gracefully with a woman in their arms. Consequently few
men understand just how intimately Slow Dance and Romance are linked in
the minds of the women they care about.
Women like to be held. They enjoy having a
man's arms guide them around the dance floor, especially if it is a
guy who is gentle, smiles, and shows respect. They love the
floating feeling of the dance, especially if by some stroke of
fortune the man can capture the rhythm of the music.
Ultimately it is the music that opens a woman's heart. Music
evokes memories and emotions. Music softens a woman and makes
her receptive. It also makes her feel a little vulnerable.
If a man can make a woman feel safe on the dance floor, then she can
let go and open herself to the music.
Ladies can literally be swept off their feet by a man who can dance.
It is no accident that Dance is more effective than chocolate,
flowers, and poetry as a way to make a lady smile. The ability to dance
indicates to a woman that this particular man has taken the time to
develop a talent specifically designed to please her. Trust
me, your lady will appreciate your effort.
Dance
and Romance are connected in
a woman's mind more closely than most men realize. I cannot begin
to explain the sway that stories like Cinderella or
Beauty and the Beast hold over a woman's imagination.
Don't laugh. Fairy tales abound about how a girl can fall in
love with a gentleman on the dance floor. These stories make a
huge impression on a young girl's mind. Any man who can take a lady through a graceful Waltz
or a gentle Foxtrot to a beautiful
song will step right into the Prince's role somewhere in her mind.
As long as the song lasts, you will have the power to
fulfill a lifetime of her romantic fantasies. And if
you know what you are doing, she may just reward you with
legendary happy ending.
Due to my 50 years of dance experience, I modestly suggest I am well
qualified to discuss the importance of Slow
Dancing. I imagine there are quite a few
unenlightened men out there who could use the tip. When it comes to Dancing, some dances
reach a lady's heart better than others. The fast
dances like Salsa, Twostep, East Coast and West Coast Swing
all have value, but the dances that work to the Romantic
music are the 'Closers' if you know what I mean. The
problem with Slow Dance - be it Waltz, Foxtrot, Rumba,
Nightclub
- is that it requires time and effort
to master this largely forgotten Art. Furthermore the payoff may not be
immediate.
Slow Dancing and Spare Tires
have a lot in common. Spare Tires are largely ignored until
that critical moment when a Spare Tire becomes the single most
important object in the world. You better have that tire ready
or else... The same can be said for Slow Dancing.
The problem with dancing cheek to
cheek to a song like Sinatra's The Way You Look Tonight
is that modern life doesn't offer frequent chances to employ
this secret weapon. Therefore some patience and
optimism may be required.
In the
hustle and bustle of everyday life, opportunities to dance come
infrequently and unpredictably. However, when that special
opportunity does occur, the ability to sweep a lady off her feet
might just lead to one of the finest memories of a man's life... and
her life too. She will remember you.
So let me repeat myself... will you be
ready? If so, you might have a Magic Moment
of your own. If not...
With
this in mind, I would like to tell the story of another dramatic moment when
Dance played a major role in my life. This incident
took place in November 2015 on a
Mediterranean island known
Malta. First I need to tell a background story.
THE
WAY YOU LOOK TONIGHT
Mastering
the Lost Art of Formal Dance
Written by Rick Archer
Egypt
2010
In the Stroke of Midnight story I explained how the ability
to dance successfully turned Marla's in my direction.
But about men who are married or in a committed
relationship? I have learned that Dancing continues to
be the perfect way keep a Marla's heart warm and bring a
smile to her face.
With this thought in mind, I would like to tell the story of
a dramatic moment when Dance played a major role in my life.
This story begins with an ill-fated cruise trip to Egypt.
This is the story of my own personal Poseidon Adventure.
In December 2010, Marla
and I were hired as the Ballroom instructors on a cruise trip to
Egypt.
When Marla's brother Neil heard we were going to visit the Great
Pyramid of Egypt on this trip, he immediately asked Marla if he and
his wife Ellen could join us. Well, of course!
One of
the happiest moments on the trip was having Neil and Ellen in our
dance classes. Like many men, this was the first time Neil had
danced with Ellen in years. Neil ended up having so much fun
that he said he needed to give this dancing idea a try when he headed back home to San
Diego.
Believe it or not, none of us made it to Egypt. A terrible
storm developed that included hurricane winds and huge waves.
When our ship reached Alexandria, our port in Egypt, the waves were so high that
our ship could not possibly dock. In addition, there was a nasty
surprise. At the last moment, the captain discovered there were a dozen or so unanchored ships in the harbor
unable to dock because they too were being tossed around in the
waves.
In
these conditions, the
captain realized it was nearly impossible for his giant cruise ship to
negotiate a safe path through all these random obstacles. So he
ordered an instant turnabout. In so
doing, our ship nearly capsized while making the sudden U-turn. It was a terrible moment that
I will never forget. In the process Marla and I were both
flung from our bed onto the cabin floor. Then we heard a huge
crash; it was the sound of the 30-foot high Christmas tree falling
to the floor. (full
story)
A valuable
chandelier came crashing down. A beautiful piano broke through a thick
glass window. All the ship's glass plates were destroyed.
One woman was killed by a flying television that struck her
head. The ship sustained a million dollars in damages. The ship lost most of its power.
Due to a terrible mistake on the captain's part, the trip
was ruined.
Malta 2010
From
this point, our ship limped from Egypt over to Malta to lick its
wounds.
Malta is located
in the Mediterranean Sea about
50
miles south of Sicily and 200 miles north of Libya.
When
our ship landed in Malta, we were given two days to explore the
place. As one might gather, the mood on the ship was very
depressed. The trip was completely ruined for
everyone. Trying to cheer up, Marla, Neil, Ellen and I embarked
on a long walk through the downtown part of Valletta, the island's
capital.
Marla's older brother Neil is what is
known as an Unsung American hero. Neil served on the
first nuclear submarines in the Fifties. Neil was a
star from the get-go. From there he moved onto
military intelligence in the Navy. One promotion after
another, Neil found himself in charge of supervising the
AWACS planes that played a major role in helping the U.S.
win the first Gulf War against Saddam Hussein, aka 'Desert
Storm'. The AWACS did not do the fighting, but
rather directed fighter planes on 32,000 strike missions.
Crucial to asserting total air dominance, only one allied
aircraft was lost in air-to-air combat throughout the
operation. Neil was later awarded a medal by President
Clinton.
Neil and his wife Ellen joined us on a Mediterranean cruise
trip in 2010. One of the happiest moments on the trip
was having Neil and Ellen join our dance classes.
Marla and I were hired as the Ballroom dance instructors.
For those who recall my goofy jokes about the Docking
Signal… 'no woman can resist the power of the docking
signal'… this trip was where I came up with that phrase.
Guess who never missed a class?
Neil. He may not have been the best dancer, but he
clearly had the most fun. Like many men, this was the
first time Neil had danced with Ellen in years. Neil ended
up having so much fun that he said he needed to give this
dancing idea a try when he headed back home to San Diego.
Marla and I loved having Neil and Ellen with us. When we
docked in Malta, we embarked on a long walk through downtown
Valletta, the capital. Malta is a small island located
50 miles south of Sicily. Given its central location smack
dab in the middle of the Mediterranean, every cruise ship
makes it a point to dock there. Modern Malta is very
'British'. In 1814, Malta officially became a part of the
British Empire. It was used as a shipping way-station and
fleet headquarters during World War II.
About an hour into our walk, we stumbled onto a very
impressive hotel overlooking the harbor. I soon learned this
was a British hotel known as 'Hotel Phoenicia'. Neil
insisted we go in. Neil said that he loved British
architecture and that this vintage war-era building was
right up his alley. Inside the building, there was a large
Foyer. To the right and to the left, the Foyer led to wide
hallways. Directly ahead was a luxurious Main Lounge.
Considering we were very tired, Neil suggested we go inside
and relax. The Main Lounge was spectacular. In the middle of
this circular room was a bar. Dominating the room was a
lovely sculpture of a swan-like woman. The floors were
marble with a lovely design in the center. The room itself
had giant support columns surrounded by comfortable antique
furniture. The spacious room was well lit and very cozy.
Neil ordered the ladies some coffee. Then Neil and I ordered
two beers. Once Ellen and Marla got involved in
conversation, Neil swapped seats with Marla and sat next to
me. We had a great conversation. The next thing I knew, Neil
was giving me the military history of Malta during World War
II. Neil explained that Malta had been the key to winning
the campaign for North Africa during World War II. Without
Malta, a British colony at the time, the nearest British
port to Cairo would have been Gibraltar, 2,000 miles away.
Due to its unique position, the British were able to use
Malta to resupply their troops in Egypt and North Africa.
This vital service came at a great
cost. General Erwin Rommel, German commander of Axis forces
in North Africa, recognized Malta's importance. In 1941,
Rommel warned that "Unless we subdue Malta, Germany will
lose control of North Africa".
Malta underwent a brutal bombing campaign by the Axis. The
tonnage dropped by the combined Italian and German air force
was actually greater than the bombing of London. In a manner
very similar to the Battle of Britain, the Royal Air Force
put up quite a fight and helped Malta survive the intense
bombing. Finally after two years of bombing, the Axis gave
up the siege of Malta the end of 1942.
As Neil related this story to me, I was astounded by the
breadth of his knowledge. I knew Neil had served in Naval
Intelligence, but his grasp of details was ridiculous.
Finally I said something.
"Good grief, Neil, I knew you were smart and that you
studied military history, but how do you remember so much
about Malta? Most people have never heard of this place."
Neil laughed. "Oh, it isn't that difficult. I am reading a
book about Malta. In fact, I have it with me." Neil showed
me his book, then began to chuckle. I frowned at him in mock
protest. He really got me on that one.
The next thing I knew, Neil and I were
talking about Winston Churchill, the invasion of Normandy
and William the Conqueror. Neil loved English history and I
loved listening to him. That was the best talk Neil
and I had on the entire trip. My only regret is that
Neil was forced to clam up when I asked about his role in
Desert Storm. Oh well. What can you expect from
a spy?
I wish this story had a happy ending, but it didn't.
One year after our cruise trip, Neil was diagnosed with
cancer. Six months later Neil passed away.
Unfortunately Neil and his comrades paid a heavy price for
their service during Desert Storm. There is said to be
a tremendous amount of ambient radiation on the AWACS
planes. Or at least there was during the Gulf War.
Every man in Neil's unit died of cancer. Neil was the
last to go.
Neil was a heck of a guy. Marla still
cries about him all the time. As for me, I admired Neil a
lot. He was decent, gentle, intelligent, and loyal.
Neil was a great husband, a great father, and a great
brother to Marla. What a shame it was to lose him.
Malta 2015
Five years later, 2015, Marla and I took our 34th cruise
trip. Our trip stretched from Istanbul to Rome with
stops in Greece and Malta. We stopped in Valletta on a
Sunday morning. Marla and I tried to see the island
with a morning bus tour. Unfortunately about halfway
in, the tour was ruined by torrential rains. At one
point we got caught out in the open under heavy rainfall.
The strong wind blew the rain sideways and got us soaking
wet despite our umbrellas. Shivering and miserable, we
spent the remainder of our time in wet clothes driving
around the island. As we stared blankly through the
rain-covered bus windows, we kept wishing they would just
take us back to the ship and get it over with. By the
time we finally returned to our cabin, Marla was beyond
disgusted and grouchy. After changing to dry clothes,
we went upstairs to eat lunch.
To our surprise, during lunch the weather cleared. Now
the sun came out. Now that I was back in Malta, Neil
had been on my mind all morning. Noting that our ship
wasn't going to leave until 9 pm, I wanted to return to
Hotel Phoenicia. That hotel had been the location of
the happiest moment I had shared with Neil back in 2010.
I wanted to return to that hotel in Neil's memory.
Considering her terrible mood, Marla looked at me like I was
nuts. However Marla changed her mind when I told her
my reason. I reminded Marla of how special our visit
had been to Hotel Phoenicia five years earlier and how taken
Neil had been with this fabulous old-time British hotel.
So off we went.
When World War II broke out, the Hotel Phoenicia had not
officially opened. No matter. It was almost
finished and that was good enough for the British. The
accommodations were top-flight and the location near the
harbor was perfect. The hotel was quickly annexed by
the top brass as their command post. The hotel proved
to be perfect spot for running the Malta resistance campaign
against the Germans and Italians.
The Germans were determined to subdue
Malta. Due to its strategic position in the center of
the Mediterranean, the island suffered worse bombing than
London itself. The hotel was not spared. The
entire left wing was destroyed by bombs. Fortunately
the center of the hotel remained intact and continued to
serve as headquarters.
After the war, the damage was repaired. Now it was
time. The Hotel Phoenicia was officially opened to the
public in 1947. The Phoenicia quickly became the
center of Maltese society. This is where Malta's
British elite went to mingle in style. They were
joined by many vacationing British citizens desperate to
escape the fog-bound, bone-chilling British Isles.
During our 2010 visit, Neil had been very impressed by the
Hotel Phoenicia. To him, it was like being transported
back in time to the World War II era. I agreed with
him. This was the coolest old-time hotel I had ever
visited. As Marla and I trudged back to the hotel in
2015, I felt an odd combination of joy and regret. My
regret was that Neil was no longer with us. My joy was
that I could re-capture the memory of our fond moment from
2010.
It took us an hour of wandering to
find our way back to Hotel Phoenicia. We were pretty
tired from our long walk, but pleased nonetheless to reach
our destination. At the front entrance to Hotel
Phoenicia, Marla and I took a photo selfie and dedicated it
to Neil. Marla immediately began to cry. Bless
her heart, Neil was always so special to her. It broke
Marla's heart to think about Neil's passing. Once
Marla was able to compose herself, I was ready to leave.
However, just as we took a step, we heard dance music coming
from inside the hotel. It sounded like a Waltz, 'Greensleeves',
one of my favorites.
"Come on, Marla, let's go check it
out!"
Marla immediately paled. She exclaimed, "Rick, we can't go
in there looking like this!"
Marla had a point. She was dressed in brown Capri's
along with her favorite beat-up brown corduroy jacket.
Marla used this jacket for walking in the woods. Her
outfit was good enough for squirrels and turtles, but it was
hardly the right attire for British high society. Have
I mentioned how stuffy this hotel was?
And what about me? I looked even worse. I had on
hiking boots, blue jeans, plus my beloved red and black
Houston Rockets pullover complete with hood. I'm sure
the stuffed shirts at Phoenicia's front desk would grab
their smelling salts if they saw me. Since all I had
underneath the pullover was a tee-shirt, I could not take it
off. I looked like a cross between a hobo and an aging
drug dealer. Comfortable, but not a pretty sight
That is when Marla added further embarrassment. "Oh my gosh,
Rick, look at your hair. It's sticking out in a dozen
different directions. Did you bring a comb
perchance??"
I frowned. No. I didn't think of that. "So
what, Marla? I want to go inside and see the lounge
again and think of Neil."
Marla raised more objections. Thanks to the problems of the
rainy morning, she was still feeling very tense.
Looking like we did, Marla had serious reservations about
the wisdom of barging into this bastion of British
propriety. No doubt each and every high society member
in attendance would reflexively turn up his or her nose in
contempt at our bedraggled appearance. As we stood
outside the hotel, I was definitely losing this argument.
That is when we were both distracted by the start of the
classic song 'As Time Goes By' from the movie
Casablanca.
I noticed Marla was intrigued by the music. She loves
this song, so I suggested we hurry inside and perhaps catch
the second half of the song. Marla was tempted, but
she still had trouble with our appearance.
I persisted. "Marla, will you
please come inside and dance with me? How many times
in life do we get a chance like this?"
That worked. Marla began to soften. Finally she
agreed to check it out. Curious, the two of us moved
closer to the unguarded front door and peered into the
Foyer. On the other side of the Foyer was the Main Lounge.
It was 20 feet away. From the Front Door, we could see
a three-man band inside the Main Lounge playing the music.
We were just about to enter when Marla and I noticed a man,
age 75, sitting in a booth in the Foyer nearby the lounge.
I assumed this man was a guard of some sort.
Unfortunately, the guard frowned mightily at us. This
guy was clearly astonished to see two homeless people
standing at the threshold of this exquisite hotel. Sad
to say, I think he concluded we were looking for a free
meal. There was definitely the aroma of warm food
coming from the Lounge.
"Don't you dare come in!"
No, the guard did not say that, but he
didn't have to. I knew what that look meant.
Practically crinkling his nose in disgust, the man gave us
the dirtiest look imaginable. He had a lot of
confidence in his intimidating mean look. The guard
seemed convinced he could run us off with his stare alone.
However, he misjudged his power over me.
If you have read 'A Simple Act of Kindness', my
childhood memoir, you will know that I carry considerable
defiance towards the Upper Class. Thanks to many years
of growing up poor while attending an expensive prep school
on scholarship, I turned into a rebel. My time at the
prep school had taught me contempt for certain social graces
I had little respect for. It was during these years
that I learned it was better to act and ask forgiveness
later than ask for permission. Therefore, once I heard
that music, I was determined to ignore the guard and go
inside to dance.
Could I get away with it?
Probably. For one thing, the man's watch post did not
block the entrance to the Main Lounge. Nor did the
elderly man appear especially mobile. Plus he was
sitting down and would be slow to react. In fact, we
were closer to the entrance to the Main Lounge than he was.
Realizing it was impossible for the guard to physically stop
us, those tempting words flashed across my mind's eye...
Act now, ask forgiveness later.
From experience, I assumed it would be much tougher to
refuse admission once we were inside the bar. So I
took Marla's hand and walked straight into the Main Lounge.
Rolling her eyes, Marla reluctantly came along. If
memory serves, I overcame her reservations by dragging her
somewhat. That way, if something went wrong, she could
always blame me.
The guard was too astonished to say a word. I think
our boldness surprised him. He simply gaped in dismay
as we blew by. Of all the nerve! Americans no
doubt. Who else could it be? The guard was
appalled at our boorish behavior. I knew exactly what
he was thinking. "Those Yanks are the worst!"
Now that we were in the Main Lounge, I gambled it wouldn't
be easy for this elderly man to come inside and confront us.
I believed it would risky for him to make a scene. If
he wanted to enforce the dress code, that was his business,
but I intended to make him work up his courage and come get
me.
Poor Marla. She was not used to
breaking social prohibitions. Unlike me, she lacks an inner
barbarian. Sorry to say, I am afraid I have been a bad
influence on her. Each year Marla has gotten better at
breaking the rules for better or worse. I have noticed
that stuffy, upturned noses don't have nearly the same
effect on Marla as they once did.
I looked around. Seated at the giant bar in the center
were several well-dressed people sipping martinis. To
my relief, they didn't sniff up their drink when they saw
us. Otherwise I think Marla might have lost her
courage. Instead they seemed amused at our
impertinence. Obviously their blue blood was tainted
with a few red blood cells. No doubt somewhere in
their family tree lurked an ill-advised intermarriage with
the Middle Class.
The room wasn't crowded. The assortment of comfortable
couches and chairs were about 33% full. Forty people
were spread out in every direction. I saw a huge
steaming buffet complete with all sorts of trays and chafer
kits used to keep the food warm. Yum. However,
there was an invisible sign that said 'Danger'.
I assumed the guard would hurt me, maybe even shoot me if I
went anywhere near the food. Hence I chose not to
investigate. Instead I led Marla to the same couch we
had shared with Neil and Ellen five years ago.
Then I went to the bar to order us
both a drink. I figured the faster we invested in the
economy of this place, the more chance the grouchy guard
could be persuaded to look the other way. As I stood
there, I watched a trio of three men play the music.
There was a drummer, a pianist, and a saxophone player.
Like the guard, the three men were in their seventies.
To my delight, I realized we had stumbled upon a wonderful
English tradition... High Tea. What a pleasant
surprise! This was the Sunday afternoon High Tea
Reception at the hotel. I had read about these events
in books, but had never seen one. Very elegant.
At this moment the three men began to
play 'The Way You Look Tonight', a Foxtrot standard
made famous by Frank Sinatra among others. 'The
Way You Look Tonight' was written by Jerome Kern and
Dorothy Fields. The song was featured in the 1936 film
Swing Time. However, Sinatra did not
sing the movie version. It was performed with considerable
skill by Fred Astaire. Not only could Astaire dance,
he played the piano and could sing beautifully as well!
Incredibly talented man.
Thanks to the movie, 'The Way You Look Tonight'
became an immediate hit. It went on to win the 1937
Academy Award for Best Original Song. Although I
enjoyed the Astaire version, to me no one has ever performed
this song better than Frank Sinatra.
I guess I should confess something.
When it comes to reaching a girl's heart, the ability to
sing works as well if not better than dancing. But how
many guys can sing well? One word of caution to all
men... learn not to be jealous on the dance floor when a
Sinatra song comes on. When a gifted singer like Frank
Sinatra begins to hum those lullabies, there will be times
when your lady's mind drifts in Frank's direction.
However, if you are patient, she will return to you when the
song is over and be grateful for allowing her to indulge her
fantasies.
'The Way You Look Tonight' has always been one of
Marla's favorite Foxtrot songs. Seeing that dreamy
look in her eyes, I immediately put down my camera and asked
Marla to dance, barbarian attire be damned.
Marla had a great line. Under her breath, she
muttered, "Just my luck, the Way I Look Tonight is
terrible!" I was impressed. Now Marla was
telling the jokes.
Sensing we might be tossed out at any moment, it was time to
establish our credentials. If we could get in at least
a couple fancy dance moves, people might conclude we weren't
complete riffraff. If we impressed someone, perhaps we
could stay. After all, how many homeless people can
dance a Foxtrot??
So right there on the elegant marble floor, I rolled out my
Box Step followed in quick order by the Diva Walk, the
Inside Turn, Twinkle and Crossover. Instantly all eyes
were drawn to us. And why not? After all, we
were clearly the best dancers in the room. Hmm.
Maybe I should add we were the only dancers in the room, a
fact that greatly enhanced our superiority.
I noticed the three band members were casually dressed.
No, they weren't wearing hoodies, but they weren't wearing
tuxes or ties either. Instead they were dressed like
regular middle class blokes. Once I saw that they
didn't seem to mind our disheveled appearance, I was very
relieved. In fact, they liked us. The saxophone
player thought we were great. When he finished his
part of the song, the gentleman put down his instrument and
watched us dance with undisguised appreciation. At the
end of the song, he beckoned for me to come over. The
sax player smiled and said, "Young man, I want to say you
are a very good dancer! We don't get dancers like you
and your wife very often."
I smiled and said, "Well, sir, you are a very good musician.
Thank you for playing for us. My wife and I love your
music."
The other two musicians appreciated the compliment as well.
My show of respect cemented an instant bond. Good.
Now I had some allies. I knew if that frowning guard
came in for me, I might be able to appeal to the sax player
and his friends to intercede. Speak of the devil,
there he was. The guard was standing in the doorway
watching us with a disapproving frown. Uh oh. We
weren't out of the woods yet. This arbiter of social
grace was oblivious to our beautiful display of dance.
All he cared about was that we looked like a pair of
vagrants desperate to rob the complimentary buffet. If
I took just one step towards the crumpets, he would beat me
with his cane. As I lay on the floor, no doubt I would
also receive a well-rehearsed lecture informing me this fine
food was reserved for proper guests. Or perhaps he was
more worried I might steal one of the precious silver trays
and stick it under my Rockets pullover.
We were definitely not welcome. Sensing his
disapproval, I decided to ignore him. I turned my back
to the guard and walked in the other direction to fetch our
drinks at the bar. The guard watched every step I
took. He was totally dedicated to preserving the
integrity of the hotel's sacred High Tea reception.
Marla had to use the restroom. This took her outside
the Lounge back to the hallway patrolled by the guard.
Upon her return to the Lounge, the guard stopped Marla.
He demanded to know why she was here. From what Marla
said, he was pretty rude about it.
Marla replied that she and her husband had heard the music
from outside as we passed by and came inside to check.
She added how wonderful the band was and that we love to
dance. Then she pointed out that she had purchased a
coffee. Would he kindly permit her to reenter and
finish? Marla stared at the man to study his reaction.
Sure enough, he hesitated. Marla had just informed him
she was a paying customer. Would he have the nerve to
deny her reentry??
The old grouch got the message. It would be risky to
evict a paying customer. Rolling his eyes, he stepped
aside. But he wasn't happy about it. After Marla
told me what had happened, I concluded he wasn't finished
with us yet. Sure enough, as Marla and I danced a
Rumba to 'Besame Mucho', I saw the guard reappear in
the doorway. This time he had company. He was
accompanied by a middle-aged woman wearing a business suit
and a no-nonsense business skirt. Judging by her
conservative heels, pulled back hair, and crossed arms, this
lady was the hotel manager. The guard had a very smug
'gotcha' look on his face. I assumed that since
we were paying customers, he didn't have the courage to
bounce us on his own authority. So he had done the
next best thing... he sent the decision up the line.
This was a matter for the manager!
Whatever the guard had told the woman was effective.
At first, the lady was not pleased. As she stood there
watching with frowns and folded arms, I could see our fate
hung in the balance. So I played my trump card... I led
Marla into a lunging dip. Holding her carefully in this
elegant dance pose, I looked up and smiled in the lady's
direction. My conspicuous display of charm did the
trick. The manager liked what she saw. Not only did
she uncross her arms, I noticed she was trying hard not to
smile.
After I brought Marla back to her feet, I looked at the
manager and quietly mouthed the word 'Please?'
That did the trick... with a smile the manager nodded.
I imagined what she was thinking, "Hmm, pretty good
dancers for a couple of tourists. Americans no less.
I didn't realize Americans even knew how to dance."
With a wave of her hand, the manager told the Grouch to go
back to his watch post. Then she walked away.
Aha! We were in the clear. Isn't it amazing what being
polite can do? With the manager's departure, Marla was
finally able to relax a bit. Still nervous from her
hallway encounter with the guard, she was pleased to know
there would be no public spectacle. And so we began to
dance in earnest. The pen is mightier than the sword, Paper
beats Rock, and a lovely Rumba beats their dress code.
Marla's dancing helped charm the
onlookers immeasurably. Never underestimate the
persuasive power of a woman who moves her hips gracefully to
music. For the next hour the band stuck to American
Songbook standards. We danced a Swing to 'Mack the
Knife'. Then came a Waltz to 'Moon River'.
After that the band played 'Unforgettable', a classic
slow dance tune made famous by Nat King Cole. The song
would have been perfect, but the piano player decided to
sing. Not a good idea. Definitely unforgettable,
but not in the way I would have preferred.
Fortunately the Piano Man didn't have a microphone, so the
instruments drowned out most of his singing. At that
moment, we were joined on the dance floor by another couple.
Curious, I watched them dance. The man definitely
lacked polish. However he made up for his shortcomings
with enthusiasm. Bouncing the woman from side to side, he
was clearly under the influence of several cocktails.
The lady held him tight. I wasn't sure if it was love
on her part or simply an attempt to hold on for dear life.
Although she managed to remain erect, I noticed her feet
barely touched the floor. Good grief, this guy was
practically lifting her off her feet. Given her
weight, it was no surprise that the man tired quickly.
To the obvious relief of the woman, they both sat back down
when the song was over.
This man did not dance well, but you know what? The
lady was beaming with delight. This man was hardly a
pro, but he made her happy by trying anyway. I say
that counts for something. I grinned as a funny thought
crossed my mind. I was reminded of Elizabeth Bennet's
immortal comment...
"Dancing... even if one's
partner is barely tolerable..."
Now we had the floor to ourselves
again. I could see our dancing pleased our audience.
We had become part of the show along with the musicians.
I saw many smiles. Our afternoon of dancing to such
lovely music had turned the reception into a special moment
for several of the guests as well as for ourselves.
They enjoyed watching us have fun. Marla had been a
good sport. Between the off-key singing, the stuffy guard,
my ugly pullover and messy hair, I suppose the moment wasn't
quite as romantic as I might have hoped. Nor was Marla
comfortable with her appearance. "Where are my
heels and pretty dress?" However, wonderful wife
that she is, Marla preserved the ambiance with a bemused
smile. Even better, she gave me a nice smooch at the
end of our last dance. Life is good.
After 'Unforgettable' was over, we could see through
the window that it had turned dark. Time to go.
As I paid the bill, I asked for a favor. Would the
bartender mind taking our picture? Placing Marla in a
signature dip, we smiled for the camera. What a
perfect afternoon this had turned into.
Just as we were about to leave, two
ladies seated near the door summoned us over. As we
approached, the ladies grinned broadly. One of the
ladies thanked us for performing for them. She said,
"I have been coming to these Sunday brunches for years now
and I have never seen anyone dance like you two.
Please come back!"
I explained that we were on a cruise ship, but look for us
again in five years. The lady smiled and said, "Well,
I certainly hope you will return. You and your wife
make the music come to life." With that nice
compliment, we waved goodbye to the ladies and headed back
to the cruise ship.
