Chapter 9 Accidents #3
When he pulls away, he does not meet my gaze.
“Sorry.” The word sinks quietly into my shoulder. “I know we’re at work.”
“I’m not,” I say. I run one hand along his shoulder, and he takes it in his own, gently, and then places it at my side.
Ollie cuts me off. “Tell me when your ex is gone.”
He stands up straight and turns and opens the door for me.
I give him a last look and then go.
Jody made a good point about Nick being around to watch Hannah, so I decide to make the most of it: to go to an open West Coast Swing night at a different dance school on Wednesday night, my Friday night practice at Manhattan Swing, and my lesson on Sunday.
If I get nothing else out of Nick’s stay, I’m going to learn to dance better.
I’m not going to quit because Ollie is dancing again with Eliana.
I finally have a babysitter, though it bothers me that I’m mentally calling this babysitting. Nick is watching his own child. He is putting in his time as a father, like he is supposed to do all the time, not when he’s too injured to do something more important to him.
I put on a flowy sundress and leave Nick and Hannah on my sofa watching Moana.
“She practices dancing so much,” I hear Hannah say as the door closes behind me.
The event I’m attending is called Hot and West, and it is held at a smaller dance studio in Williamsburg, a little north of my place in Brooklyn.
When I arrive, I discover that the studio is located over a Greek restaurant and has more of a dance club vibe than Manhattan Swing Workshop.
Their dance space is a function room dimly lit with colored lights, the kind of place you might hire for a small wedding.
The thirty people on the floor all seem like they know more styles of dance than I do: I see elements of the hustle, of blues dancing and salsa.
I feel like the Jennifer Grey character in the movie Dirty Dancing—stumbling upon people engaged in something intimate and a little illicit.
Officially, this is a West Coast Swing event, but people are clearly making their own rules.
Part of me is wondering if I’ll see Ollie’s ex-wife again, but I don’t: running into her really was a fluke.
That whole night when we went back to his place feels like a fluke now, an almost-was, the start of something that may never happen.
Ollie hasn’t broken things off, but it feels like we are in a holding pattern, waiting to see which of us gets our heart broken first.
Standing against a wall, I briefly worry that no one will ask me to dance, but then a man approaches me after a few moments.
He is a blond-haired man in the kind of tight red shirt that Warren Beatty would have worn to a 1970s movie premiere.
I explain how new I am to the whole dance scene, but that doesn’t stop him from leading me through steps forcefully.
He’s very skilled and confident, but a little intimidating.
He doesn’t say much, just whips me around and occasionally gives a little frown when I entirely miss a step.
He dips me low enough that I get nervous he’ll drop me.
After our dance, he nods, smiles briefly, and then crosses the room to approach another partner.
I watch them dance. She is much better than I am, and he guides her through an elaborate series of dips and spins that would definitely have cracked my head open.
“That’s not safe,” mutters a woman beside me, watching my most recent partner.
“Are there unsafe dancers?” The thought hadn’t occurred to me.
“Oh, definitely. There are moves you should not try unless you have a very experienced partner and you’ve practiced a lot. No one is getting hurt right now, but I don’t trust that guy.”
This is new information to me, and it is reassuring to know that my intuition was correct.
Some leaders can be dangerous, which makes dancing not that far away from dating.
I watch for another few moments, wishing I’d brought Jody with me, and then decide to ask a different man to dance rather than waiting for the red-shirted guy to circle back.
The man I approach is much older, much more relaxed, and much more fun to dance with.
He explains that he’s recently retired from driving a subway train and does this to stay in shape.
I tell him about my widowed friend who is doing a different dance every month.
“Very impressive,” he says. “This is my only dance right now, although I guess I know the Electric Slide. You should bring her here,” he says.
“Maybe I will.” I grin, and he gently guides me through a brand-new step that I’ve never tried before, but that I somehow manage to keep up with.
At the end of our song, my partner sees a friend of his and I let him excuse himself to chat with her. I scan the room and conclude that the only other single person I could dance with is Mister Dangerous, and I decide to head home.
When I get back to my apartment, Hannah is in bed and Nick has muted the tv and is doing wrist exercises.
“How was the movie?” I ask.
He looks me over. “Fine. Can you uh…help with the shirt?”
I walk over and help him get his shirt off, then turn to go.
“I should shower,” I say. “I’m sticky.”
“I’ll bet.”
I spin around. “The guy I’m seeing wasn’t there, Nick. I do have the decency not to ask my ex-husband to watch my kid while I go to bed with someone.”
Nick leans back on my sofa. He looks good shirtless, and he certainly knows that. “Sorry, I was being an asshole.”
“I don’t want to fight with you.”
“You’re learning dance for him, though, aren’t you?”
I shrug. “Well, I got my motorcycle license for you.”
“That’s my point.” He frowns. “You’re serious about him.”
I can sense how embarrassing all this will be if Ollie dumps me. “If there’s ever anything to tell you, I will.”
“I watched some of his dances.” Nick smiles dryly. “You knew I would. You told me his name to make me jealous.”
I shrug, feeling called out. “Well, I didn’t like you insulting him. Because if you insult him, you’re insulting my judgment.”
“It’s the fact that you picked a guy who is the complete opposite of me.”
“It would be weirder if I picked someone exactly like you.”
“Not necessarily. Depends on who he was.” Nick gives me a charged smile. “I mean, don’t get me wrong. He can dance. He’s very…competent. He isn’t what you need, though.”
Competent. Of course Nick would pick that word.
We look at each other for a long moment.
This is what I used to call sexual chemistry, this tension between us.
Now I wonder if the feeling in my chest isn’t just Nick very successfully stringing me along, never letting me get comfortable with anyone else, convincing me that what we have is an eternal, irreplaceable passion.
I wonder how much of the sexual tension between us was always calculated, created on purpose from the first moment when we locked eyes.
My father figures growing up all abandoned me, and maybe Nick intuited that he could keep me hooked by always being on the verge of leaving.
I wonder why I never saw it before. And once I see that, I have another realization.
It isn’t just that Nick is hooking me in and then constantly leaving.
It is that he is hooking me in, now, at this particular moment, because he is leaving.
Because he knows he’s about to go, and this will keep me waiting for him.
He has always been at his most passionate, his sexiest, his most loving, right before he goes away.
“Goodnight, Nick.”
His eyes flicker with an expression I can’t read. “Goodnight, Laura.”
On Friday night, I go to our usual swing club practice at Manhattan Swing Workshop.
Ollie’s cute, blonde ex-girlfriend—and apparent current dance partner—Eliana is not there this time, which improves my mood a bit.
Instead, one of the other instructors does a quick run-through of five different variations on the tuck-turn.
A tuck-turn is a move in which a leader pulls the follower in and then spins them away again, and it feels like a reasonably good metaphor for my love life right now.
I practice the move with Jody as my partner, and I manage to keep up with the instructor for the first time ever, all the way through to the end of the lesson.
“Did I just follow that entire lesson without getting lost?”
“You’re getting better,” Jody agrees. “It’s really noticeable.”
Jody is not big on compliments, so this one, although made with her typical blunt candor, warms me inside.
“I hope Ben is okay,” I tell her. “The wedding is supposed to be tomorrow, right? I’m sure he’s fine, but…”
“Yeah. I have his cell phone because I was trying to connect him up with my friend who manages a restaurant, but I’m scared to text him.
His crazy fiancée probably checks his messages, and I don’t want her saying, ‘Who is Jody from swing class? Why didn’t you tell me you’re taking swing class?
Are you having an affair?’ She’ll probably think I’m a man named Jody and he’s hiding that he’s gay. ”
“There has to be a way to phrase it. Give me your phone.”
I compose a text to Ben. Hey Ben, it’s Jody and Laura who gave you that help with wedding planning, just wondering if everything is going well or if you two have decided to elope instead. Hope everything is coming together for your big day.
Jody considers the message. “Oh, that’s perfect.”
“You should see my passive-aggressive work emails. When I’m really mad, I sign them, Cordially yours, Laura.”
Hank, the co-teacher for our class, is helping to run the evening, and he surprises me by asking me to dance. Dancing with him feels like a pleasant mix of learning things and trying out my steps. I should enjoy myself, but instead I find myself asking the one question I don’t want the answer to.
“So, do you know if Ollie is back with his old partner Eliana?”
“Ollie MacCormack?” Hank considers. “I think they’re dancing together for the Garden State Swing Festival. You should sign up for that, by the way. It’s in Jersey City, and it’s a great experience for new dancers. It’s one of the best swing dancing festivals on the East Coast.”
“When is it?”
“July 12th weekend. You could even compete if you want. All the big names will be there, getting ready for the national competition in the fall. And Ollie and Eliana, if you want to see them. They’re really great together.”
“I’m sure,” I say with a forced smile.
“There’s a Newcomers category, for brand new dancers, and one step up is Novice, which you could also try if you want.
It’s very low-key at that level. Lots of people dipping their feet into competition.
On the last day, there’s a fun event where the top Novice competitors get to do a Jack I can’t tell if she feels nothing about Téa or feels a lot and is determined not to talk about it.
“I like her lavender hair,” Helen offers.
“She wanted to talk to me about gifts,” Jody says, a bit wearily.
“‘What do you think your gift is in life? Mine is being able to pick out people’s outfits.’ I told her mine was sarcasm and she said she wasn’t sure that counted.
” Jody sighed. “I don’t know if we really click, but we’re going on a date. ”
“That’s great!”
“Maybe.” Jody glances down. “Anyway, I just got more interesting news. Ben texted me back, and the wedding isn’t happening. They broke up.”
“What?” Helen and I look at each other, aghast.
“And he’s quitting dance,” Jody says. “Of course.”
“Can you text Ben and tell him to come with us to practice?” I say. “Or maybe to the Garden State Swing Festival in a couple of weeks?”
“You do it.” Jody gives me her phone, and I send the message.
“Nobody else should stop someone from dancing,” Helen says. Jody gives me a meaningful look.
When I get home, Nick has put Hannah to bed and is sitting in the living room, watching an action movie at a barely audible level.
He takes me in. “Black tank top, black jeans. There’s a look I haven’t seen in a while.”
“Wearing a cream blazer while dancing to Nelly Furtado is frowned upon.”
“You look good.”
“Thanks.”
He takes me in. “You’re different, Laur.”
“I hope so.” I walk back toward my room to take a shower.