They had met in a dance class. She had learned of the program from a flyer tucked into her morning paper. It looked like a wholesome activity and she was tired of her routine of meeting men in bars and nightclubs, too many of whom she slept with after getting shitfaced on margaritas, and none of whom ever stayed in her life for more than a few months. She obsessed over her clothes and make-up, and then drove up Aviation Boulevard to a dark, World War II era ballroom that had colored lights built into its floor. She was younger than the overall demographic, but there were still enough men and women in her dating range to make things interesting. It didn’t bother her that a number of them arrived as couples. On the contrary, the constant, forced rotation of partners created a stimulating tension of heat, awkwardness, embarrassment and jealousy. And she always enjoyed drama. The instructor was a self-aggrandizing blowhard who organized his beginners’ class into military rows. Listening to his bleat grew tiresome, but the dance steps were easy and repetitive, so she soon was able to tune him out and focus instead on the parade of men who took her in their arms and stepped on her toes. You could learn a lot about a man, she discovered, by how he learns to dance. You could tell who was shy or nervous, and who was comfortable in their skin. You could tell by how they looked at you, or didn’t. Smiled at you, or didn’t. Spoke to you, or didn’t. You could tell by how they looked at their feet or down your blouse or in your eyes. The way each stranger held you was a gauge of attraction. How much control he assumed or accommodation allowed was a measure of compatibility. How they felt as they moved against your body was a precursor of things to come. Or not. “Hi, Lisa,” he said upon glancing at her nametag. “Hi, Johnny,” she replied, by now accustomed to the drill. His eyes were an interesting shade of amber that flickered as he held her gaze. Lisa smiled and Johnny smiled back. He pulled her a bit closer and was still, waiting for the music to begin. His cheek was pressed against her ear, his nose nestled in the tangle of her hair. His chest rose and fell. She wasn’t sure whose heart she felt beating. ***** After class he followed her to The Proud Bird restaurant on Aviation. They drank margaritas in the bar and got shitfaced while jets touched down outside the panoramic window. They both had kids at home so they checked into a motel. He made her glad she had broken her routine.
Posted on: Sun, 28 Dec 2014 03:42:49 +0000
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