MYSTERY OF THE TEXAS TWOSTEP

CHAPTER SEVENTY NINE:

STORM CLOUDS

Written by Rick Archer 

Following my visit to Acapulco over Labor Day weekend, I returned to Houston in a foul mood.  I was having a lot of trouble getting Isabella off my mind.

On Tuesday, September 2, I got my first look at Glen's new dance studio.  Dance Arts was located on Bissonnet Street in Bellaire, a city within a city.  Back in August, Glen told me he was moving his studio to a new location over the Labor Day weekend.  At first I was alarmed, but Glen said not to worry.  The new place would have a larger floor plus three unoccupied rooms for expansion at a later date.  I asked why he was moving. 

Glen replied, "The idea for the move is to attract school kids to my jazz and ballet classes.  The new location is in a more affluent part of town.  Due to the excellent school district, this area is popular for families with lots of children." 

When I arrived, there were boxes and clutter everywhere, but Glen did not mind.  He was in a very good mood.  Glen was quite pleased with his new location and I could see why.  It was spacious and convenient.  Since the new location was just one block from West Loop 610, a major Houston artery, this spot was very easy to reach.  I assumed the move was bound to increase his business.  As for me, my drive time had just been cut in half. 

Glen added he was going to be teaching morning jazz classes twice a week at the new location.  Now that his studio was so much closer to my home, why not join his morning class?  That made sense... anything to improve my dancing.  So I made the decision to take Glen's two morning jazz lessons.  That gave me another idea.  Rather than take one private lesson a week, why not take two?  That way I could bundle my jazz lessons and private lessons back to back.  Since I was committed to becoming as good a dancer as my limited talent would permit, these changes were a good idea. 

I had taken Jazz from Patsy Swayze three years ago and enjoyed it.  It was a beginner class for adults.  To my delight, I was the best in Patsy's class.  No surprise there.  Due to my dance background, I had a head start on everyone.  For that reason, I assumed I would dominate Glen's class as well.  What a great boost to my ego this will be!  Unfortunately, I was sadly mistaken.   

When I showed up the following Friday, several members of Glen's jazz dance company were present.  Glen had not bothered to tell me this morning class was specifically designed to attract his accelerated dancers.  Oh great, just what I need, surrounded by a bunch of hot shots.  Once I saw them in action, I felt sick.  These kids were so good that all my dance insecurities returned in a flash.

To be honest, I had no business being in this class.  I was by far the worst dancer.  I had gone from biggest duck in Patsy's small pond to a small duck who did not belong in Glen's big pond.  However I gamely continued to show up.  Every time I came to class I was painfully reminded what real dancers are supposed to look like.  The room was filled with high school and college age adults who hoped to someday perform for a living.  Some would head to Broadway as Patrick Swayze had.  Others would migrate to Vegas.  Plus there were always jobs as performing dancers on cruise ships.  And some might pursue careers as dance teachers like Glen and Patsy. 

As I struggled to keep up with the fast pace of these future professional dancers, I understood why Glen moved the class so fast.  Given that his goal was to challenge his advanced students, he rarely acknowledged me.  Which is just as well.  I was such a klutz, there was never any reason to offer praise.  And Glen knew I hated criticism, so he just left me to cope as best I could.  Due to my infernal need to analyze, I could not think fast enough to tell my feet what to do and still be able to keep up.  Meanwhile the hotshots did not require conversations with their feet.  They had the ability to see a move and copy it without any need to involve their brain. 

With the fast pace constantly exposing my slow learning curve, it was humiliating to face my limitations.  By far the worst dancer in the room, this class was an ordeal for my self-esteem.  I felt so ashamed of myself.  Here I was supposed to be a professional dance instructor, but I felt like a hippopotamus compared to these gazelles.  My dream was to eventually blossom into a beautiful dancer, but now I knew better.  I would never be exceptional.  I suppose there has to be someone in last place in every human endeavor, but considering this was my chosen profession, it really stung to be that person.  I had excellent partner dance skills, but I could not hold a candle to these hot shot jazz dancers.  As I struggled, I could not help but be reminded how ridiculous it was to become a dance teacher despite so little natural talent.  This was roughly akin to a stuttering dyslexic who aspires to become an English teacher.

I grimly recalled Lance Stevens' favorite nickname... "the dance teacher who couldn't dance."  In particular, I remembered the day when Stevens tried to teach me Latin hip motion.  Watching me struggle, his words would remain etched in my mind forever... "Archer, you aren't exactly cut out for this profession, are you?"

It was a cosmic absurdity that I had chosen to pursue a profession for which I was clearly so ill-suited.  Although my partner dancing had improved dramatically thanks to Glen's help, this jazz class definitely helped me retain my sense of humility.  I would NEVER be a star dancer except on the smallest of stages, the proverbial Small Pond.  On the bright side, my struggles made me a better teacher.  Not once in my career would I stare at a struggling student with contempt or impatience.  Due to my own difficulties, I had respect for anyone willing to try.  Extremely grateful for the chance to be a teacher, I tried to be the most gentle, sympathetic dance instructor imaginable.  I loved teaching dance more than anything else in the world.  At least this was something I was good at.

SEPTEMBER 1980

THE COUNTRY BACKLASH

Here at the start of September, the Country-Western fad had started to fade.  Many had quit due to frustration.  They didn't like the hostility nor did they want to bother with dance lessons.  Many others quit out of boredom.  However, the ones who stayed handled the boredom in a different way.  Now that the had floors emptied enough to permit experimentation, new patterns such as the Double Turns began to appear.  This development invited big trouble.

The Old Country devotees were getting really mad about all these changes in the dancing.  Who did they blame?  Those stupid ex-Disco dancers of course.  Those damn people had no business being here in the first place.  First they clogged up any remaining space on the floor.  Now they were experimenting with the very nature of Twostep itself.  The disgust felt by the veteran Twostep dancers resulted in non-stop hostility.  The Old Country dancers were not happy about these new dance moves popping up like ugly weeds.  Hey, some of these new moves look like 'Disco'!  Can't have that!  These Disco people need to go.  Only one problem... how do you get rid of them? 

The Western dance veterans had every right to be suspicious.  For the first six months of 1980, the Disco Dancers had been content to wait for the movie to show them something new.  However, once the lame dancing in the movie made it clear that there was nothing new to aspire to, Houston's former Disco dancers took matters into their own hands.  They began looking for ways to make Western dancing more challenging. 

In the eyes of the veterans, this was unacceptable.  Don't forget, the best dancers get the prettiest girls.  It was one thing for ex-Disco men to use these changes with ex-Disco ladies.  However, once the Disco men began showing off, women who had been dancing backwards their entire lives took notice.  Even though the Original Cowgirls had learned to dance in a different era, some of them were open-minded.  If a Disco guy could cut it on the dance floor, she might just give him a chance.  Seeing Old Country dancing with New Country was going too far.  Words cannot describe the expressions of outrage on the Old Timers' faces.  They were losing their women to Disco dancers! 

Now that Kicker Dancing had just received wide acceptance for the first time in Houston history, one would think the 'I was here First' Country Crowd was happy.  Nope.  The Original Country crowd felt very threatened, especially the men.  It was one thing to hate the Disco people, now they were angry at their own women for changing teams. 

Yup, leave it to the Cowgirls to shake things up.  They didn't mind these innovations one bit.  Anything that made the dancing more fun was okay by them.  Once the Cowgirls noticed this fancier style of dancing, they started to bug their men to copy it.  The men with brains did their best to adapt.  The ones who refused were fit to be tied.  They complained bitterly, but that did not solve the problem.  In the game called Survival of the Fittest, the dinosaurs will always be sure losers.  And sore losers.

The Disco dancers were not happy either.  They had just spent the past two years enjoying a highly complex form of partner dancing.  Now for reasons no one understood, Urban Cowboy had taken away their favorite dancing and replaced it with a primitive dance style.  Did anyone really expect them to put up with this? 

Unwilling to adapt to dancing so simple a child could learn it, it was time to either quit dancing or make some changes.  Much to the chagrin of the Old-Timers, the Disco Refugees wasted no time mastering the 'New Style' of Western dancing.  Once the Slow Slow Quick Quick version of the Twostep caught on, the Prairie style was gone for good. 

First the music, then the clothes, now the invasion.  But nothing angered the 'I was Country first' crowd more than changes in the dancing.  Watching men dance backwards was bad enough, but now these Johnny-come-latelys were adding 'Disco-like' underarm turns.  Practically overnight the Disco dancers were giving the Original Cowboys a serious run for their money out on the dance floor.  The moment the Original Cowboys realized they were getting beat at the own game, the shit hit the fan.  It was time to get nasty.

I think the unnecessary hostility actually served to accelerate the rate of change.  I believe the the Disco Dancers decided to change Western dancing as quickly as they did out of defiance.  They deeply resented the rude welcome and non-stop hostility.  Once they saw how much everyone disliked their rapid mastery of the New Style, what better way to piss off the Kickers than to try out-dancing them?  Once the Disco men started making the Original Cowboys look bad, this was a call to arms if there ever was one. 

Even worse, the Disco innovators refused to stop there.  Here in September there was a new phenomenon:  Double Turns.  For the Old Crowd, the Double Turns were the last straw.  The nerve!  With these smart-ass Fake Cowboys ruining everything, a persistent Redneck backlash surfaced on the nightly dance floor.  It was a shame in a way.  I attributed the decrease in attendance to the constant animosity.  Why should anyone tolerate this?  People were leaving because they were unwilling to put up with this treatment any longer.

SLOW DANCE AND ROMANCE
 

Despite the hostility in the clubs, my dance program was solid.  I estimate I had 500 students spread out over 20 classes.  Every night I was front and center amidst this thriving Dance Community.  As their Fearless Leader, I was lighting up the sex lives of countless grateful singles.  I recalled the day when I first saw the immense crowd of singles at TGIS.  I had the oddest feeling that I had the power to ignite the dating fortunes of every person in the room.  It was very eerie to see my vision come to pass.  Right now there was an explosion of romance taking place within this social group on a nightly basis.

Disco dancing was far sexier to watch, but Western dancing had proven to be unusually seductive.  Slow Dance leads to romance.  It had something to do with the feel of a man's arm around a lady's back.  Smiles, eye contact, perfume, and touching created an invisible magic known as Chemistry.   

Although I enjoyed watching the dating frenzy, I did not appreciate being left out.  As Leader of the Pack, I had a willing entourage of women who followed me around like I was Elvis.  Their interest frustrated me no end.  Women were everywhere, but I could not touch them.  That was all the evidence I needed to prove there was no justice in the Universe.

This 'Look but Don't Touch' strategy was growing old.  To be honest, I had not recovered from my adventure with Isabella.  It broke my heart to know Isabella had developed feelings similar to my own.  To think I could gain the affection of such a special young lady should have thrilled me, but all I felt was despair.  Right now I was on fire, but helpless to do anything about it.  I was ready to have fun again.  No matter where I went, I was besieged with requests by women to dance with them.  Women literally lined up for their turn. 

"I'm next!" 

"No, it's my turn!" 

"Wrong.  Rick said I was next." 

It did not help that I continued to catch Taylor glancing at me from afar.  I didn't bother sharing my frustration with Chuck because I doubted I would get much sympathy.  Knowing Chuck, any woman I mentioned would be added to his list as another prospect for his harem.

I was well aware my bizarre Limbo situation was terrific for business.  My students enjoyed accompanying me on my nightly forays.  The more they practiced, the more friends they made.  The more they improved, the more they enjoyed dancing with their friends.  The more friends they made, the more they wanted to continue taking lessons.  Constant activity swirled around me at all times.  Without actually applying for the job, I had become 'Leader of the Pack'.  That was a nice consolation prize, but what I really to do was hold one of these beauties in my arms.

SEPTEMBER 1980

THE RIDDLE OF THE DOUBLE TURNS
 

Following my return to Houston, my number one priority was to discover the secret of the Double Turn that Bob and I had noticed shortly before our trip to Acapulco. 

Thrilled to discover Double Turns could exist in Western dancing, I instinctively believed this fun move could save my career.  However, first I had to figure out the secret.

Over the past summer, the important new move had been Single Turns.  This is where the man's hand crosses the woman's head only once.  A woman would pass under the man's left hand once as she rotated 360 degrees using four steps. 

What exactly is a Double Turn?  In a Double Turn, the woman turns twice using four steps.  Her head passes under the man's left hand twice as she rotates 720 degrees using four consecutive half turns without stopping. 

I was already starting to worry.  Bob and I had fiddled with these turns several times down in Acapulco only to quit in frustration.  Considering my dance experience and Bob's reputation as the Mad Scientist, one would think we would solve this problem in a snap.  Not so.  We had no idea what we were doing wrong.  Compounding our problem, very few dancers actually used the Double Turns.  If we saw one couple per night, we counted ourselves fortunate.

Shortly after our return from Acapulco, Bob and I went dancing.  To our satisfaction, almost immediately we noticed a couple use the Double Turn.  It was hard to get a good look with all the other dancers in the way, but from a distance we could see the man spin his partner as they moved around the floor.  Noting the man and woman were traveling and doing the Double Turn at the same time, Bob commented, "Those turns remind me of Disco.  That looks like Disco on the Run!"

I smiled at the analogy.  Whatever they were doing, it definitely looked like fun.  Too bad neither Bob nor I could figure out the footwork that made these double turns travel and keep the 'Slow Slow Quick Quick' rhythm at the same time.  I was very frustrated.

Later that evening, Bob and I were joined at the railing by our friends John Montieth and Bill Sampson.  Bob pointed out the Double Turn, then said he was getting nowhere.  On the spot, both men watched carefully.  Bill said, "That doesn't look too hard.  I mean, how hard is it to turn a girl twice?  I used to do that in Disco all the time."

Bob and John nodded agreement, but I just frowned.  I could Double Turn a girl as well.  What I could not do, however, was figure out how to Double Turn a girl and keep the 'Slow Slow Quick Quick' rhythm of the Twostep at the same time. 

The Double Turns seemed to keep the beat as the couple traveled around the floor.  How did they do that?  It shouldn't be that difficult to figure out, but I was getting nowhere.  When I explained the problem to Bill and John, they experimented without success.  Now they were befuddled as well.  Both men decided to join Bob and me in pursuit of The Riddle.  We were now in a race to be the first to unlock the Mystery of the Double Turns. 

I was determined to solve the puzzle first.  I knew the most about dancing and I had the most powerful incentive.  Failure was unacceptable because it could cost me my job.  However, despite my intensity, success was elusive.  For the next week, several trips to the club were nightly exercises in futility.  It was rare to see someone who knew how to do the Double Turns correctly.  Like I said, there might be one good couple a night if I was lucky.  But what if the floor was crowded?  Then the best I could do was catch a fleeting glimpse of the move before the couple disappeared into the crowd.  These problems served to mask the Secret of the Double Turns.  I could see what their hands were doing, but not their feet.

One night I got up the nerve to ask a guy at the Rose how he led those turns.  The man ignored me and walked away without a word.  Bob said someone else had done the same thing to him.  No one was willing to explain it to us.  They realized the whole world was watching, so that is what made them special.  Why give the secret away?

I assumed the answer would intuitively appear out of nowhere and the search would be over.  Or some afternoon Bob and I would get together and concentrate so hard that The Riddle would be solved.  One way or the other, I needed these Double Turns soon in order to stave off the Boredom problem.  However, when two weeks went by without solving the Mystery, I began to panic a little.  It bothered me that all this time had passed without a solution.  After all, Bob and I had first noticed the turns back in August.  Why was this taking so long?   

SEPTEMBER 1980

AMMONIA
 

Is Popularity a blessing or a curse?  One of the reasons my Double Turn Scouting Project was going nowhere were constant distractions from my fan club.  Here in September I had a career-saving Riddle to solve, but at a time when I needed to concentrate more than ever before, a swarm of pesky women kept taking my eye off the ball.  Little did they guess my secret despair.  I was the only person who understood my success could be gone tomorrow unless I found some way to make Western dancing more interesting.  The more these women distracted me, the more frustrated I got. 

Will these women still love me after I lose my job? 

Another reason the ladies made me miserable was my inability to respond to their siren call.  Believe me, I wanted to.  The worst of the bunch was a tease named Mona (not the same Mona from the Ides of Waltz).  Mona was a major pain in the ass. 

Mona was what some men might refer to as a 'Bad Girl'.  Mona was attractive, but her main calling card was extreme sex appeal. Tall, dark-haired, slender and quite busty,  Mona had a body built for sin.  Based on rumors, virtue was not an obstacle.  Mona had a taste for variety in men.  She used her well-curved body and sassy personality to provoke men into paying attention to her. 

I could have cared less about Mona's reputation.  I just wanted her to leave me alone so I could watch for the Double Turn.  However, Mona refused to cooperate.  She was so irritating in her constant demands for attention that I called her 'Ammonia' behind her back.  I could not get rid of Mona Ammonia to save my soul.  That was a problem because the more she teased me, the more interested I got.  Ammonia had a way of getting past my defenses.  Nor was it difficult.  Ammonia wanted me and I wanted Ammonia.  But I couldn't have her! 

My lust was driving me crazy.  Well aware that she had my number, it amused Ammonia to see me in torment.  But it also confused her.  Why did I resist so hard when it was obvious she was willing solve the problem?  Why was I always so anxious whenever she came around?  Unsure what was stopping me, Ammonia was determined to have me anyway.  Curious to discover my secret, she became relentless in her pursuit. 

Ripping a page out of Victoria's Playbook, what Ammonia wants, Ammonia gets.  Refusing to give up, she began a campaign of intense female persuasion.  She teased me, she stalked me, she shamelessly flaunted her considerable charms.  Veni, Vidi, Vici.  She came, she saw, she conquered.  Well, no Vici so far, but Ammonia figured life is long.  Sensing I was weakening, Ammonia pressed on.  Ammonia did not play fair.  She used the oldest trick in the book by touching me at every opportunity.  Whenever we danced, she had an infuriating habit of brushing her ample chest against my arms or bumping them against my chest.  I swore if one of those forbidden breasts touched me one more time 'by accident', I was going to grab it, then refuse to let go until she apologized for tormenting me.  One can assume I never followed through on that desire, but the temptation was overwhelming. 

Who am I to explain women?  We have not spoken of the Epic Losing Streak in some time, but I was currently in Year Sixteen.  Sixteen years of abject futility around women.  But there was a difference now.  I was no longer 'Futile'.  In fact, I had finally reached the point where I was attractive.  So imagine the irony that at the exact moment I had finally come into my own, my controversial vow to Victoria prevented me from putting an end to the Epic Losing Streak with a giant Exclamation Point. 

Please forgive me if I am wrong.  When it comes to women, I have admitted my ignorance many times.  However, if there is one thing I have learned about women, they enjoy a good challenge.  For example, think of the British Royal Guards who are not allowed to blink, smile or speak when stationed at their post.  Female tourists think it is the greatest game to tease the poor devils and try to make them laugh, flinch, or wink.  That was Ammonia in a nutshell.  She loved forcing me to resist her.  She wanted to break me.  She wanted to make me admit I wanted her.  If she couldn't have me, then making me miserable was a great consolation prize.  

One night Ammonia saw me with Victoria for the first time.  As usual Victoria was busy marking her territory with lipstick.  Ammonia remained undaunted.  Unlike scaredy cat Jennifer, Ammonia was tough.  Thanks to vast experience at competing for men, she wasn't going to let Victoria run her off.  Through careful observation, Ammonia concluded Victoria had some sort of bogus control over me.  Trust me, I didn't tell her, but Ammonia had eyes and ears.  She also had a woman's instinct.  Ammonia knew something was wrong here.

Earlier I mentioned that Victoria had a bad habit of talking about her separated husband whenever she occasionally showed up at a dance event.  One of the world's great sympathy sucks, Victoria would get a group of women around her and start telling them just how great her husband Michael was.  Then she would tell the group that Michael was divorcing her. 

Huh?  The women's eyes would get wide as saucers at the disconnect.  Next Victoria would explain how conflicted she was about Michael and how she had not decided whether she should repair her marriage or not.  Next thing you know, the women's minds would be spinning over the crazy details of Victoria's twisted marriage.  Meanwhile I would be out on the dance floor.  These same women would see me pass by painted with lipstick on my cheek and wonder what my relationship was to this nutcase.  One night Ammonia casually stood near Victoria and listened in.  Not only was Ammonia one of the first to pick up on the fact that Victoria was just plain weird, she accurately concluded I was low hanging fruit ripe for the plucking.

Ammonia could tell she was rubbing off on me... literally and figuratively.  Whatever was holding me back would eventually wear thin.  Sensing my limited amount of resistance, she came after me every chance she got.  Overwhelm resistance with persistence.  Jennifer, Lynette, Taylor, Isabella.  They were all gone thanks to Limbo.  How many more times could I say no?  Of course I was on guard, but my defenses were crumbling.  It is one thing to behave when there are no inviting women in sight.  It is another thing entirely to be a good boy when Temptation is just begging for a weak moment. 

Ammonia cynically assumed all men give in eventually.  Ammonia could tell by my eyes that I wanted her, so that put her in the driver's seat.  At the rate she was going, Ammonia might just get her wish.  We all have our moments of weakness, yes?  One good push and I was headed over a cliff.  So much for my virtue.

SEPTEMBER 1980

STORM CLOUDS
 

The Summer of 1980 had been notable mainly for the massive confusion out on the Western dance floors following the June debut of Urban Cowboy.  Then came the intense dance floor hostility.  Although my personal life remained quiet due to my ongoing Limbo Captivity, there were several business issues that had me deeply worried.  One, of course, was The Riddle.  Another was my concern about the decline of the Class Factory.  However, the issue that worried me the most was the growing tension with Lance Stevens. 

September marked my three-year anniversary with Stevens.  This had been a stormy relationship from the start.  I spent the first year groveling at his feet and withering under his constant criticism.  Although I worked as hard as I could to please him, I spent the first half of 1978 fearing for my job due to his threats to replace me.  Then came the Ritz Fiasco in June 1978 when the DJ ruined my dance performance by turning out the lights.  Stevens had no sympathy.  Afterwards he was so full of contempt due to my lack of talent that he wanted nothing to do with me.  Ever since then, the less he spoke to me, the happier he was.  When we did speak, it was short and all business.  Stevens did not want me around, but as long as I made money for him and stayed out of his way, he was willing to tolerate my presence.  Stevens was thrilled when Disco began to fade badly towards the end of 1979.  Thanks to inevitable Death of Disco, Stevens had assumed he would be rid of me soon enough without having to wield the axe himself.

No such luck.  Stevens was in for a nasty surprise.  The third year, 1980, witnessed a remarkable change in my fortunes.  In January, Stevens had been incredulous to see my horde of western dancers invade the place.  Like a Vampire, I had miraculously risen from the dead.  Knowing how leery Stevens was regarding my inexplicable good fortune, he probably thought I was a vampire.  If Stevens thought January was bad, he had no idea.  February was bigger than January.  March was bigger than February.  Then came TGIS in April.  Unbelievable.  Then came the Urban Cowboy debut in June.  Unbelievable again.  Every month this year the numbers had increased.  Here at the start of September, I estimate I had five times as many students as he did in our respective group classes.  Our relative numbers made Stevens a non-entity in his own building.  As one can imagine, Stevens was seriously bent out of shape. 

Although Stevens and I continued to pretend that he was my boss, we both knew I didn't work for him anymore.  Shortly after the Class Factory began sending me students of my own, I ceased teaching classes for Stevens.  Now all I did was pay rent.  Stevens was not my boss, he was my landlord.  I was up and he was down, an intolerable situation.  There were two programs under one roof and his business was a distant second to mine.  Considering his wife Cliann and every student could see the Master had been eclipsed by the Dance teacher who couldn't Dance, I wondered how long his ego could abide this disturbing tilt of the seesaw.

The unbelievable number of students flocking in from Urban Cowboy served as a constant reminder to Stevens that I had cashed in on Country dancing and he had missed out.  Stevens was understandably bitter.  And who wouldn't be?  Stevens was forced to face his lack of foresight on a daily basis, a knowledge that had to aggravate no end.  This was sort of like the guy forced to watch his beautiful ex-wife surrounded by men at the dance hall while no one paid a bit of attention to him. 

As Stevens grew increasingly hostile, I was very worried he might tell me to go.  Considering how lucrative our financial arrangement was in my favor, I was reluctant to leave.  I liked the status quo because I was making a lot of money with low overhead.  In addition, since I was still very insecure about how long Western dancing would last, I was reluctant to take the risk of leaving.  Why commit to an expensive lease when it could all be over tomorrow?  Unless I could solve that Riddle, my demise as a Western teacher felt like a real possibility.  Consequently I was back to groveling at Stevens' feet.  I used every opportunity to ingratiate myself with him.  Since I was not ready to leave the security of his studio, I made myself as unctuous as possible.  It was humiliating to act in such a subservient way, but it worked.  By feigning weakness, I fed his arrogance.  It saved my job, but my phony 'You da Boss' act came with a price.  I grew increasingly angry at Stevens over the way he constantly put me down.  Every day it was taking more and more self-discipline to bite my tongue.  Do you think this was easy for me?  Don't forget I got thrown out of Graduate School because I could not keep my big mouth from responding to my professor's taunts.  Well aware of my intense desire to confront Stevens, serious storm clouds were forming.