MYSTERY OF THE TEXAS TWOSTEP

CHAPTER EIGHTY:

EVICTION

Written by Rick Archer 

LIMBO MONTH FIFTEEN
SEPTEMBER 1980

CLASS FACTORY AND LEISURE LEARNING
 

As I feared, one week after my trip to Acapulco, I received a letter from Class Factory.  I had a bad feeling about this.  Sure enough, it was the new owners of the Class Factory writing to announce Deborah had sold the Class Factory to them and moved to another city.  They wanted my dates for the next catalogue.  The letter was a surprise, but not a complete surprise.  I could tell from the dwindling enrollments over the summer that Class Factory was on the rocks.  In fact, my fears regarding the imminent collapse of the Class Factory was a major reason why I had been reluctant to explore leaving Stevens of Hollywood. 

One of the best things to ever happen to my career was meeting Deborah Gordon in July 1978.  Over the past two years, Deborah's Class Factory had sent me an unbelievable number of new students.  Splitting the proceeds, it was Win-Win for both of us.  Deborah made a lot of money from one simple paragraph in her catalogue while I gained a source of new students.

However, after a promising start in January 1980 with 100 new Western dance students, the number of new students had diminished each month.  I knew was something was wrong.  If anything the mid-year debut of Urban Cowboy should have guaranteed the numbers stay strong.  Even more ominous, the numbers for September were anemic. 

So who do I blame for the Class Factory downturn?  Was it the strength of their competitor, Leisure Learning?  Or was it the obvious fading interest in Country-Western?  Or both?

When I say 'fading interest', the Western dance floors were back to 70% full as opposed to 100% in June and July.  And my classes were jam-packed.  So I may have been over-reacting.  One would imagine with Western doing as well as it was, I would be confident.  Not so.  The Death of Disco was always on my mind.  If Disco could die, then so could Western.  In fact, the Death of Western seemed like a real possibility given the negative attitude of my Disco friends.  The Monday Night 'Pioneers' were unhappy.  This was the small but tight-knit group of former Disco students who dated all the way back to my first Western class last November.  They were the canary in the coal mine.  Their continued yawns and complaints filled me with increasing dread that Western could be gone by the end of the year.  The threat of their departure made it even more aggravating that I could not solve the Double Turn Riddle.  You know how superstitious I am.  My total inability to solve what seemed on the surface to be an easy problem was really starting to upset me.  This felt like a very bad omen.  The last time I faced a bad omen this serious were the three dance accidents in a row with Victoria at this time last year.  Those accidents had warned me that my relationship with Victoria was doomed to failure.  We all know how that turned out.  Now I felt the same way about Lance Stevens, the Riddle and the death of Class Factory.

Should I stay with Stevens or should I go?  Lance Stevens was a ticking time bomb.  I was reminded of the dilemma faced by every German Jew in the years before the outbreak of World War II.  However, faced with the Riddle and Class Factory bad omens, this was a shaky time to make my move.  I wanted to leave Stevens of Hollywood, but as always, I procrastinated.  I did not think it wise to commit to the extraordinary burden of rent, insurance, utilities, new dance floor, mirrors et al, at a time when the future of Western dancing was uncertain and Class Factory, my traditional source of new students, was unlikely to succeed under new owners.  Deeply worried, I continued to cling to my existing situation at Stevens despite my constant worry of eviction.

What should I do about Class Factory?  I blamed Ted Weisgal for the downfall of the Class Factory.  During my 'Fool on the Hill' meeting with Ted a year ago, I had come to the uncomfortable conclusion that Ted was a serious threat to Deborah's business.  I briefly changed my mind after Deborah sent me 100 western students in January.  Her assistance not only resuscitated my dance career, I assumed my fears about the threat posed by Ted Weisgal were unfounded.  Gloating that Deborah was too talented to let a determined opponent overtake her, I was overjoyed to see I was wrong.

But I wasn't wrong, was I?  My doomsday hunch had been correct all along.   January-February was the last hurrah for the Class Factory.  Starting in March, the Class Factory numbers began a steady decline.  I assumed the most likely explanation for the precipitous drop had to be Leisure Learning cutting into enrollments. 

I had worried about this problem all year long.  Deborah seemed helpless to stem the tide.  Sometime during the Spring of 1979 Ted Weisgal had left Class Factory due to a major grievance.  With enrollments plummeting, in May 1980 I finally worked up the courage to ask Deborah about Ted's accusation that she had reneged on their deal. 

A flash of anger crossed Deborah's face when I told her what Ted had said at Miller Theater back in October.  She was hurt.  In her mind, she felt like I getting ready to betray her like all the other instructors.  The tight-lipped Deborah was reluctant to share her side of the story.  However, she did make one thing clear... Ted was wrong. 

"Rick, the paperwork from the Class Factory is safely tucked away in a safe deposit box.  I do not feel the need to show you what it says.  However, I promise you these documents will refute most of what you have said about your conversation with Ted.  This paperwork includes the agreement Ted signed to work for a percentage -- until I could afford to pay him a salary."

Deborah never said another word about it.  Therefore, let it be known I don't know who was telling the truth.  What I do know is my inquiry cost me my friendship with Deborah.  This was the woman who had given me one of the biggest breaks of my entire life and now she felt like I had betrayed her.  

Our relationship was never the same.  Deborah became short and sullen with me after the confrontation.  Gone was the flair of this vibrant woman I had met two years earlier.  We never had another conversation past ten words.  I resented Deborah's cold shoulder.  I had not betrayed her.  Quite the contrary.  I stayed true blue to Deborah until the bitter end.  Considering she left town without saying goodbye, my conscience was clear. 

I was pretty sure I knew why Class Factory had fallen.  The first blow, of course, had been the loss of several key Class Factory teachers.  However, to my way of thinking, it was Ted's relentless approach to catalogue distribution that was missed the most.  Wherever I went in Houston, I saw Leisure Learning catalogues on display.  Sometimes there were Class Factory catalogues as well, but more often than not the only catalogue on display was Leisure Learning.  It was clear to me that Ted seriously out-worked whomever Deborah had hired to handle catalogue distribution. 

Deborah had once made fun of Ted's beat-up station wagon.  She said to take a look at Ted's car on my way out of the office.  Just look for the oldest, most beat-up car.  Curious, I did just that and discovered Ted's car was full of stacks of catalogues.  Front seat, middle seat, back seat, Class Factory catalogues were stacked to the roof.  Deborah was trying to make fun of Ted, but I saw things from a different perspective.  This man was relentless.  She should have been grateful, not mocking. 

After Ted quit, he knew the very survival of his business depended on his ability to get customers.  The fastest, surest way to do this was to distribute catalogues 24 hours a day, seven days a week.  There was no doubt in my mind that Ted did just that.

I seriously doubted Deborah could find someone to match Ted's distribution tenacity.  Deborah could pay someone to do the job, but she could not pay the person to care like Ted did.  Distribution was a thankless task.  It was boring and unsatisfying.  A minimum wage guy was no match for a beast like Ted who distributed catalogues as if his life depended on it... which it did.

To me, that old station wagon became the symbol of Ted's single-minded focus.  Back in the days when it was stuffed with Class Factory catalogues, Class Factory ruled.  Now Leisure Learning catalogues dominated.  Sometimes there is an advantage to being the underdog.  For all Deborah's considerable flair and sophistication, she was no match for Ted's immense drive.  His life depended on it, hers did not.  Ted went after Deborah with the same ruthless intensity as Lenin hunting down the Russian Tsar.  Class Factory was important to Deborah while Leisure Learning was an obsession to Ted.  He was willing to do the dirty work like catalogue distribution.  That was his secret weapon.

Knowing full well the Class Factory ship was sinking, the first thought to cross my mind was wishing I had joined Ted when he invited me a year ago.  I remembered the regret I felt when I resisted Ted's initial recruitment.  It upset me no end that my initial hunch had been correct.  

I smiled ruefully as I remembered how Deborah once described Ted as someone who just plodded along.  That description made sense.  Ted was indeed deliberate.  But her put-down overlooked the fact he would never quit.  Like an anaconda, Ted had slowly strangled Deborah to death.  

As I stared at the Class Factory letter from the new owners, I was very tempted to bypass them and contact Ted instead.  However, I could not make myself do it.  The thought of switching to Ted violated my sense of loyalty.  I liked Deborah a lot.  Deborah was not only my friend, she had given me the huge break that galvanized my dance career.  Due to my gratitude, I stuck with Deborah in much the same way I stayed by Victoria's side.  Due to my loyalty to Deborah, Ted had been the enemy for the past year and a half.  Even now I had a hard time not seeing him as the villain.

On the other hand, I would be the first to admit I had long admired Ted in a begrudging way.  I believed we were kindred spirits.  We both saw ourselves as underdogs.  No stranger to hard work myself, I appreciated the magnitude of his accomplishment.  Ted's old-fashioned work ethic had vanquished the flash and dash of the very privileged and quite sophisticated Deborah Gordon.  The triumph of Leisure Learning was a perfect example of a time when hard work beats natural ability.

If Ted was a plodder, then what was I?  Lance Stevens considered me a plodder as well.   Now that I thought of it, that described the difference between Lance Stevens and me as well.  Underdogs do not have the luxury of taking a day off.  Acknowledging the respect I felt for Ted, I finally accepted that I could work for him.  However, there was one big problem.

What if Ted already had a Western instructor? 

Now that I had decided Leisure Learning was the superior choice to the shaky Class Factory situation, my next step was to find out if LLU already had a Western teacher.  I had no reason to be optimistic.  I assumed Leisure Learning had a thriving Western program. After all, we were nine months into the Urban Cowboy Western Era. 

On Thursday, September 4, I drove to the same nearby coffee shop where I had seen the first Leisure Learning catalogue a year earlier and picked up a recent copy.  My heart was thumping as I tore open the catalogue.  Although there was a Ballroom instructor listed who taught for the Jewish Community Center, there was no Western teacher.

Aha!  I smiled.  This might just be my lucky day.  Since Deborah had left town, I was no longer honor-bound to continue the struggle on her behalf.  So I crossed my fingers and dialed the Leisure Learning business number.  To my profound relief, Ted was pleased to hear from me.  I was astonished when Ted welcomed me aboard with open arms, no grudges.  I never asked, but I think Ted respected my loyalty to Deborah.  If I could be loyal to Deborah, then I could be loyal to him. 

There was one catch however.  Ted said my first set of Leisure Learning students would not arrive till January.  Ted published six catalogues per year.  The September-October issue was already out and the November-December issue was at the printer's office.  I told Ted that would be fine.  January seemed like a good start date to me.  We ended the phone call on a warm note.  As I hung up the phone, I marveled at my latest stroke of good fortune.  Thank goodness I had not burned this bridge.  Out of the blue, I had just secured an invaluable source of new students to replace the loss of Class Factory. 

When it came to my dance career, I truly did lead a charmed life. 

THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 4, 1980

PINNING MY HOPES ON THE DOUBLE TURN

On Thursday, September 4, the TGIS program sent over another 80 students to Stevens of Hollywood for a Beginning Western class.  As always, this group of crazy singles mobbed the main dance floor and began an immediate search for the love of their life.   My relationship with this organization was going strong.  This was my sixth new TGIS class in six months.  I loved this monthly infusion of new TGIS students.  By my estimate, my program had grown to 600, half of whom were sent here by TGIS. 

Over a period of four years, the month of September had been unusually significant during my Magic Carpet Ride. 

In September 1977, I began taking classes at Stevens of Hollywood.  This led to being hired to teach for Lance Stevens.  In September 1978, my first Class Factory students arrived.  In addition, Victoria appeared to accelerate the growth of my Disco program.  In September 1979, the opportunity to teach at the Meyerland Club marked the start of my Western career.  Now for the fourth year in a row, September was again pivotal in my fortunes thanks to the surprising addition of Leisure Learning as a business ally.  When seen a certain way, my career resembled a staircase with each Lucky Break taking my program one step higher.

At the moment the Meyerland Club was on my mind.  This time a year ago Joanne and I were struggling to decipher the footwork of Twostep and Polka.  Thanks to my Meyerland gamble, pretty much against my will I ended up teaching a style of dance I did not like.  I was so disgusted with Western, I was ready to stop teaching altogether.  Fortunately I changed my mind thanks to Ted Weisgal and my 'Fool on the Hill' epiphany.  What a difference a year makes.  I owned the largest Western dance program in the city and I was working for Ted.  Indeed, I had gone from Rock Bottom to the Pinnacle.  I was the best known Western teacher in Houston and attendance was at an all-time peak, way bigger than Disco had ever been.  By signing on with Leisure Learning, I had just guaranteed a sure-fire source of new students to augment TGIS.  In addition, my studio's growing reputation as Houston's Happy Hunting Ground for Romance attracted a steady stream of word of mouth referrals. 

I was on top of the world.  Or was I?  It certainly did not feel that way.  Although I had solved a major problem by swapping Class Factory for Leisure Learning, I was still worried that the 'C&W Boredom' problem could bring the curtain crashing down.  Despite the fact that I had more students than I knew what to do with, Western dancing would have to develop more complexity if it had any hope of sustaining the energy into the new year.  To my great relief, a new development promised to solve my problem. 

In August Bob and I first noticed the appearance of Double Turns on the Western dance floors.  It was a rare phenomenon to be sure.  Only a small handful of dancers knew how it worked.  Bob and I were fascinated.  We both knew how to double turn women to Disco music.  However these couples were using double turns as they moved around the floor.  They somehow kept the rhythm of the Twostep in the process.  Unfortunately neither Bob nor I could figure out how to Double Turn a woman and keep the 'Slow Slow Quick Quick' timing intact.  Frustrated by our dead end, we gave the problem a name, 'The Riddle'.  Despite our lack of progress, we were convinced Double Turns were the solution we needed to spice up the dancing.  The Double Turn had once been the go-to move of every Disco dancer on the planet.  Now I wanted to make the dramatic Double Turns the go-to move of every Western dancer as well. 

Bob and I were hardly the only people to notice the fancy spins.  Starting in August, my students saw the turns as well.  They pestered me non-stop to teach them how to do it.  The pressure continued into September.  Everyone agreed the addition of Double Turns would make 'Boring Western dancing' a whole lot more exciting.  Since I assumed the Riddle would not be too tough to unravel, I opened my big mouth and promised to begin teaching a Double Turn class starting in October.

SEPTEMBER 1980

THE BOSS FROM HELL

The tension had been building ever since all those new Western students rolled in back in January.  Lance Stevens absolutely flipped out.  Just when Stevens thought I was kaput due to the Death of Disco, I was given a second chance that came as a complete shock to Stevens (and me too!)

Thanks to a deluge of New Year resolutions, practically overnight Class Factory and my mailing list materialized 200 C&W students out of thin air.  Incredible.  Three months later, the TGIS Era began when 125 new students came waltzing in.  The June debut of Urban Cowboy led to yet another surge over the summer. 

Here in September, my program had reached its highest attendance mark in history.  I had at least 500 students, maybe even 600, while Stevens had 100 if that many.  The difference in our two programs could not have been more pronounced.  Lance Stevens had been reduced to a specter in his own castle.  Bristling with hostility, his hair turned whiter and his frown grew deeper day by day.

Who could have foreseen this weird development back in July 1978 when Deborah Gordon gave me an incredible Lucky Break thanks to a chance meeting?  Deborah's Class Factory presented me with a source of students I could call my own.  However, I still needed a place to teach them.  I assumed if I taught them here at Stevens of Hollywood, Stevens would claim these students as his own and insist on paying me a salary.  I did not want that.  I wanted these students to belong to me.  On a hunch, I asked for permission to teach classes for myself and pay Stevens rent in return.  At the time, I could not imagine why Stevens would agree to that, but he did so without any hesitation.  Once he said yes, I instantly knew his permission combined with my Class Factory deal was the Break of a Lifetime.  As for Stevens, his snap decision had to be the worst mistake of his life.

There were three reasons Stevens cooperated.  One, I made sure not to tell him about my brand new Class Factory connection.  Two, Stevens never imagined I could ever be a threat.  His contempt for me was so great he did not bother to ask a single question.  Three, in his mind he thought I was talking about a class of ten students or so, certainly no threat.  A case of Cosmic Blindness? 

Many years later I would learn this kind of rental arrangement is not that unusual in the dance world.  Dance Studio owners often rent out floor space to independent instructors.  For example, at the start of her career Patsy Swayze rented a room at Dance City USA to teach her jazz classes.  This is a common practice that helps pay the bills.  However, I exploited the opening to an extent Stevens could never have anticipated. 

My hunch paid off beyond my wildest dreams.  This bargain allowed me to set up shop as an independent instructor under the same roof.  One reason the arrangement worked is because we did not compete for students.  I taught Disco and Country-Western while Stevens taught Whip and Ballroom.  So in that sense we were okay.  However, my shocking success was without a doubt a huge affront to his ego. 

During the dreary Fall months of last year, Stevens gloated as the whippersnapper mourned the inevitable loss of his beloved Disco program.  Following the death throes of the Disco Era in December, Stevens assumed I would be deader than a doornail in January and probably quit.  Not so.  Instead my program began a remarkable, totally unexpected Western surge.  Stevens completely freaked out (and who could blame him?) 

On a personal note, I saw the miraculous revival of my dance career as Divine Intervention.  I had received too many lucky breaks not to feel this way.  However, what crossed Stevens' mind as he stared at the mob walking through his doors?  He had to be perplexed.  I never took Stevens for a religious man, so I doubt he reached the same conclusion as me.  If Stevens had a superstitious side, he probably blamed my shocking rise from the dead as Voodoo or the work of the Devil.

Throughout the Urban Cowboy year of 1980, my program kept growing.  200 in January.  400 in April thanks to TGIS.  600 in July-August thanks to the Urban Cowboy debut.  Watching Stevens seethe with resentment every time I handed him my rent check, by the time September rolled around, I could see this situation had become intolerable to him.  Stevens shook his head in consternation as 500-600 Western students merrily streamed through his studio on a weekly basis.  Meanwhile Stevens was relegated to teaching small group classes of 10 students or so in a back room.  It was never supposed to happen this way.  Although Stevens' pocketbook was doing just fine, he was having a tough time dealing with his damaged ego.  I could see how uncomfortable he was, but it was his own fault.  Lance Stevens had opened the door of his own volition.  

Here in September I understood my presence was increasingly precarious.  If the tables had been turned, it would have driven me out of my mind.  It was an insult of the highest magnitude to be outnumbered 6 to 1 in one's own domain.  Quite frankly this turn of events was so weird I had to wonder if it was Karmic.  Considering Stevens had spent 40 years in the business to my 3 years, what crazy thoughts passed through his mind?  Stevens had to be incredulous to see the dance teacher who couldn't dance get wealthy on his dime. 

Look how strange this was.  Once upon a time I had made Stevens rich with Disco Dollars while he paid me a meager salary.  Now that the tables were turned, I was making a Midas fortune while Stevens received crumbs as compensation.  Understandably, Stevens had to feel taken advantage of.  Although his original decision to let me rent a room from him was not as unusual as I first thought, why didn't he say something once the consequences of his decision tilted out of balance?  Since there was nothing in writing, Stevens had every right to seek a new bargain.  For crying out loud, Renegotiate!  If I was in his shoes, that's what I would have done.

I will never know what kept Stevens from attempting to iron out our differences.  I was more than willing to pay a higher rent in return for greater security.  All Stevens had to do was ask.  However, 'Communication' was not part of Stevens' skill set.  Stevens was an arrogant bully who had a bad habit of letting his pride get in the way of common sense.  Over the past three years, Stevens had insulted and intimidated me time and again.  The absolute worst moment came when he forced me to perform at the Ritz at a time when I was not ready.  After my abject failure, Stevens was so disgusted the next two years passed without a single conversation beyond 20 words.

Stevens had another reason to be dissatisfied.  He lived for Ballroom dancing.  However, the pickings had been slim for three long years.  Few people were interested in Ballroom during the Disco Era.  Even fewer people were interested in Ballroom dancing during the Western era.  Nor was anyone interested in the Whip, Stevens' favorite dance.  It did not help that I rode the winning hand of Disco and Western while when Stevens was stuck with Whip and Ballroom in decline.  That was the problem in a nutshell.  The two Travolta dance fads explained why attendance in his Ballroom and Whip classes kept shrinking.  Stevens was a Ballroom champion many times over.  In addition Stevens called himself 'King of the Whip'.   Stevens was in no mood to be shoved into the background at his own studio. 

Nor did it help that his nasty sarcasm drove students away.  The madder Stevens got, the more he took it out on other people.  Stevens was his own worst enemy.  Stevens loved to insult his students with sarcastic comments over their mistakes.  I watched him alienate many students with his sharp tongue.  My friend Dorothy reported Stevens blew a fuse one night.  Stevens had insulted a female student over some silly footwork mistake.  Furious at being humiliated, the woman glared at Stevens and snapped.  "Stevens, have you ever considered trying to be nice to your students?"  The woman grabbed her purse and stomped out.  Stevens was outraged over her remark. 

Most of all, Stevens was perplexed.  How on earth did such a miserable excuse for a dance teacher ever achieve a phenomenal level of success?  To him, I was a disgrace to the profession.  Here was this smart-ass kid half his age who was a lousy dancer and woefully inexperienced as a teacher.  I did not have one-tenth his knowledge and none of his natural grace. 

Stevens had immense knowledge gained from 40 years in the business.  He was a superior dancer and a very good teacher.  So it made absolutely no sense that he, a Master with awards and plaques, was being dwarfed by a pretender who lacked professional credentials.  By all rights, Stevens deserved to be on top.  So why was the world upside down?  It was absurd to see these countless Western students run amok all over the main floor while he was forced to retreat to a back room night after night.  It was so unfair.  If there was any justice in the world, that should be him out on the main floor sharing his greatness with the masses.

As Fate would have it, my failures at Colorado State had prepared me to deal with Stevens.  He was very similar to the caustic Dr. Fujimoto, the man who had thrown me out of graduate school.  I had failed Politics 101 when it came to dealing with my hyper-critical professor.  However, thanks to Fujimoto's painful barbs, I had learned my lesson.  Show respect, keep my mouth shut, don't argue when criticized, flatter, cajole, agree, kowtow.

Back in the old days, whenever Stevens was grouchy, he would chew me out just for the heck of it.  After every tongue-lashing, he would remind me of my inferiority with his pet phrase... "Sonny boy, the name on the door doesn't say Archer of Hollywood."

Do you think I burned when Stevens talked to me like that?  Oh, absolutely.  Steam came out of my ears.  I wanted to talk back in the worst way.  But I held my tongue.  By keeping my mouth shut, I allowed Stevens to save face.  Where did I learn to do this?  I wondered if that terrible experience at Colorado State had been part of 'The Plan'.  Without Fujimoto, I would have never developed the self-control necessary to deal with this ill-tempered bully.  So maybe there was a silver lining in that brutal year after all.

For three years I had managed to co-exist with Stevens by 'Playing the Game'.  Taking advantage of this golden opportunity to build my career, I allowed myself to be his favorite whipping boy.  I let Stevens pick on me whenever he was a bad mood.  That was the price I had to pay.  However, now that I was established, I was tired of the abuse.  Enough was enough.  This change in my attitude was partly responsible for the growing tension.  I had spent the first eight months 1980 groveling at his feet, but as my status rose during the Urban Cowboy Hayride, in September I refused to take his insults any more.  My newest trick was to surround myself with students so Stevens could not talk ugly to my face.  Flanked by friends, how was Stevens supposed to give me the comeuppance he felt I deserved? 

Over the past summer, things had reached a breaking point.  I suspected Stevens wanted to fire me in the worst way.  Fortunately I had an insurance policy... my rent check to him was bigger than his rent check to the owner of the building.  In addition, every student of mine would leave if he fired me.  I knew I was crowding the man, but I didn't feel guilty.  Why should I?  I had done nothing unethical.  There was no law against hustling as hard as I could to expand my business.  I had a perfect right to take advantage of the permission he had granted me.

Unwilling to take his abuse any longer, I unwittingly made things worse.  I did not realize my bodyguards had shut off the all-important safety valve.  Deprived of a way to put me down and release pressure, his anger over the preposterous situation kept building.  The only thing that kept this arrangement from rupturing sooner was the enormous amount of cash I generated for Stevens.  Although I was definitely getting the better end of the bargain, Stevens' bank account wasn't hurting, that's for sure.  Stevens experienced his greatest era of affluence thanks to me.  I may have hurt the man's pride, but never his bottom line.  I am sure that is the only reason he hesitated dropping the axe.  However, now I was the one who made the mistake.  I figured he needed my money so much, why should I continue tolerating the abuse?  That is when I started keeping students around as witnesses to his rudeness.  Unwilling to make an ass of himself in front of my friends, all Stevens could do was fume.  In retrospect, maybe I should have let Stevens continue to verbally punch me out. 

Well aware of Stevens' resentment, I knew he might explode at any moment.  What I did not understand was why he failed to rectify the situation in a business-like manner.  If ever there was a potential for Win-Win, this was it.  He had the space, I had the students.  Live long and prosper.  All the man had to do was clear the air.  I wanted to stay here.  Even at a steeper rent, this was still a favorable situation for me.  So what kept the man from seeking a solution?  Well, if you know me by now, you can guess what I am about to say.

I think Stevens was blinded by Cosmic Stupidity.

The psychologists blame dumb decisions on self-destructive tendencies.  Maybe so.  But when 'Dumb' exceeds the limits of credulity, I ask if it is possible the Universe has placed blinders on someone's mind.  In other words, I think some of our worst mistakes are caused by Supernatural-induced Stupidity.  Seriously, if Stevens could have seen one inch past the end of his nose, he would realize he had it made.  Look at it this way... with me around, his studio was being fully utilized.  Stevens would never have to worry again about paying the bills.  Stevens was 60 years old with a painful arthritic hip.  As he closed in on retirement, I was a prime candidate to buy his studio and I had the money to do it.  Those should have been strong incentives to seek harmony, but Stevens was far too blinded by his giant ego.  As far as Stevens was concerned, he would rather send me packing rather than allow the sign on the door to read 'Rick of Hollywood'.  That alone should indicate how low his opinion was.  No fool like Rick Archer would ever own his studio.

Some say Pride is at the bottom of all great mistakes.  If so, then Lance Stevens was the poster boy.  Throughout the steady Countdown to Disaster, I regretted that Stevens felt so taken advantage of.  Personally, I wished there was a way to solve our differences.  This place was good for my career and I liked the financial security.  But what was I supposed to do about his hurt feelings?  Mr. Stevens was never an easy person to approach.  I tried several times to start a conversation, but never got to First Base.  Stevens was far too gruff and closed-minded to sit down and seek compromise.  Stevens would just brush me off with his usual 'hmmpf' and walk away.  His stubborn refusal to embrace the opportunity I presented made so little sense that I had to wonder if the Cosmos had deliberately clouded his mind from seeking the obvious solution.

I have never met a more bitter man in my life.  No matter how much I bent over backwards to appease Stevens, there was nothing I could do to make this awkward situation palatable.  It wasn't about the money, it was the damage to his ego.  There was no way I could ever repair that.  Stevens had an ego the size of a blimp and it was deflating at an alarming rate.  Furthermore, Stevens wasn't my only problem.  His wife Cliann appeared to hate me even more than her husband did.  She was not one to hold her tongue, so it seems likely her sharp words contributed to Stevens' misery. 

For three solid years, the hostility emanating from Stevens and his wife had made working here a constant nightmare.  Neither of them could understand how an amateurish Imposter could possibly achieve so much success. 

The hate in their eyes told the story.  Oh how they yearned to cut me down to size.  Their hostility sent a clear message I was living on borrowed time.  How long would the money I generated be enough to keep me here?  I kept telling myself I was too valuable to get thrown out.  Famous last words.   Sure enough, when Vesuvius finally did erupt, I was caught flat-footed. 

THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 11, 1980

SHOWDOWN

It was Thursday, September 11, 1980, a date which shall live in infamy.  This was the night Lance Stevens evicted me from his studio. 

At 7 pm my TGIS class of 80 students arrived for their second lesson of the month.  The evening started well enough.  As always, everyone was bubbling with enthusiasm.  Amidst the hustle and bustle, I grinned whenever I noticed the students covertly scan the crowd for potential paramours.  I knew exactly what they were up to.  These people had their radar equipment on full blast.  As well they should!  Every person in this room had heard from their TGIS friends that my class was the easiest place in town to find love.  As marketing hooks go, this one was irresistible.  Indeed, tonight's pheromone level was so high everyone was dizzy with love fever.  Cupid's arrows had a field day with these helpless romantics.

With all these energetic new students, I had a smile as wide as Texas itself.  I was in a good mood.  TGIS was going full blast and my new partnership with Leisure Learning promised even further growth in the near future. 

 However, my good mood was short-lived.  Ten minutes after class began, I looked up and saw Lance Stevens staring daggers at me from the edge of the main dance floor.  What was he doing there?  Apparently Stevens was waiting for Cliann to join him.  Soon she was at his side with an equally hostile expression.  This was alarming enough, but I went into shock when Lance and Cliann proceeded to walk out onto the middle of the floor.  The room parted like the Red Sea.

I was confused.  What are they doing out here and why are they so upset?  I had not done anything to justify this mysterious intrusion.  Whatever the problem, this looked serious.  As Stevens and Cliann crossed the floor, they had such an angry demeanor that everyone reflexively stepped aside.  Previously noisy as a beehive, the room fell to total silence.  Everyone could tell something out of the ordinary was taking place.  Stevens stopped in the middle.  With nary a glance at me, he introduced himself. 

"I am Lance Stevens.  You may have noticed the sign on the door says Stevens of Hollywood.  That is me.  I am the owner of this studio.  Here in Houston, I am known as the 'King of the Whip'.  I am the best Whip dancer in the city and I am also considered the best teacher.  Next week, I will be starting a new Whip class.  Here is a flyer with the information."

Cliann had been carrying a large stack of flyers advertising the class.  Stevens took the flyers from her, separated the stacks into four piles and handed them to the four nearest students with instructions to pass them around.  Now Stevens resumed speaking.

"The Whip is not a well-known dance.  It is used to Rhythm and Blues music.  No doubt most of you have never heard of the Whip nor do you have any idea what it looks like.  So my wife and I will give you a demonstration.  After you see us dance, I want you to consider joining my new class next week."

I said nothing.  I just stood there seething with rage.  I was incredulous at being shoved aside in my own class.  Why was I given no warning?  I was used to rudeness from Stevens, but nothing like this.  In three years, Stevens had never once interrupted my class.  Consequently this bold move took me totally off guard.  I could not believe this man was publicly displaying the kind of petty arrogance that had characterized our relationship from the start.  It was one thing to pick on me out of sight, but I could not believe he would embarrass me in front of my students.  Stevens was obviously itching to pick a fight.  If so, this would do it.  I was boiling mad at his deliberate provocation.

Stevens put on a recording of Brick House, then proceeded to perform a three minute Whip exhibition with Cliann.  Other than the fact that neither one smiled, they looked good.  Despite the tension between us, I had always appreciated their talent.  Lance Stevens was a terrific Whip dancer while Cliann with her awesome figure and mouth-watering hip motion was a sight to behold.  The crowd was mesmerized.  Although I was angry at being upstaged, I completely understood the enthusiasm of my students.  Stevens was a serious jerk, but give the man some credit... he and his sexy wife could really dance.  However I was bitter when my students began to clap along enthusiastically.  That I could have done without.  When they started to clap, Stevens actually smiled at me, sort of an 'in your face' moment. 

His ploy worked.  I was seething with anger.  Stevens had gone too far.  He clearly wanted a showdown.  Well, guess what?  This time I was ready to give him one.

There is a right way and a wrong way.  If Stevens had 'asked', I would have introduced him and supported his effort.  But asking permission was not his way.  I was so mad at the deliberate provocation I was shaking.  When class resumed, I barely maintained my self-control.  Fortunately, I had been teaching long enough that I could do this class on automatic pilot.  I managed to conduct class, but they were spared my usual good humor.  I could not get Stevens' rudeness out of my mind. 

At the end of class I walked straight over to confront Stevens.  He was waiting for me.  In retrospect, I should have bitten my tongue and walked away like I had so many times before.  Kowtow, Cajole, Flatter, Look the other way.  But not tonight.  Stevens had crossed the line.  Sometimes the best way to deal with a bully is to punch back.  Stevens had no business treating me that way and I was fed up.  Sick and tired of cowering, I decided the time had come to stand up to the man.  I proceeded to give him a piece of my mind.

"Mr. Stevens, I did not appreciate having you interrupt my class tonight.  All you had to do was let me know what you wanted and I would have been happy to help.  But instead you just barged in.  What exactly are you trying to prove?"

Stevens actually smiled... no doubt because I took his bait... and then promptly lost his temper.  In an angry voice, he replied.

"Who the hell do you think you are, sonny boy?  No one talks to me like that.  This is my studio.  I guess you forgot that, didn't you?  Looks like you've grown a little too big for your britches.  You know what?  I think the time has come for you to find your own place and get the hell out of here.  I want you gone.  You have till the end of the month.  Now get lost."  

Stevens did not give me a chance to respond.  He turned and walked away.  I stood there in shock.  Oh shit!  I did not see that one coming.  I felt like I had been hit in the head by a two by four.  I felt sick over this stunning development.  I did not want to leave the studio.  Where would I go?  How on earth would I find a place in just two lousy weeks?

It was a shame I didn't know my rights.  Stevens was off-base with his end of the month threat.  Due to my month to month rent cycle, Texas law gave me a month minimum, possibly even longer than that.  Since I had paid for September, I had till the end of October.  That would have been sufficient time to find a new place.  However, as it stood, two weeks was impossible.  It was a major mistake to confront him.  I had given Stevens just the excuse he wanted to send me packing.

I began to suspect a trap.  Stevens' eviction speech sounded rehearsed.  It was his smirk that gave him away.  It had not crossed my mind that Stevens might have snubbed me for a reason.  He expected I would flip out and give him the face-saving excuse he needed to send me packing.   Damn it, Stevens had deliberately provoked me and it worked.  To anyone who asked, Stevens would say I was impertinent and got what I deserved.

I was furious at myself.  I should have known better.  Six years earlier, I had gotten myself thrown out of graduate school by opening my big mouth.  One would think I had learned my lesson, but obviously not.  Obviously my political instincts had not as improved as much as I believed.  Provoked by this inexplicable rudeness, telling Stevens what I really thought had been a serious error in judgment. 

Do not argue with Authority!  Why had I failed to heed this dictate?  Well, too late now.  My heart sunk in dismay.  I did not want to leave.  I was making good money here, well over $5,000 per month.  My $1,200 rent was nothing compared to the likely cost of renting my own studio.  Paying rent and overhead for my own place would cut my salary at least in half, maybe more.  Why was I such an idiot?  I knew the answer.  This time my own ego had caused my downfall.  My growing sense of importance had made me so over-confident that I violated my decision to placate the man at all times. 

Now what?  The thought of finding a new place in just two weeks was mind-boggling.  After talking it over with Victoria on the phone that night, I decided to apologize.  On Friday before class I tried as hard as I could to grovel my way back into his good graces.  I brought Stevens an expensive bottle of whiskey and handed it to him.  To my relief, he accepted it.  Maybe there was some hope after all.

"Mr. Stevens, I am sorry I spoke to you that way yesterday.  I was wrong to say the things I said.  I understand very clearly that this is your studio and that you have every right to promote your own classes whenever you wish."

Stevens looked at me funny.  I could not read his mind, but I think he was tempted to forgive me.  But when his expression abruptly changed back to a frown, I had my answer.

"I accept your apology.  However, when I said the time has come for you to go, I meant it.  I want you gone at the end of September.  You have two weeks."

Stevens did not say another word.  The time had come.  This is what Stevens wanted.  Now that I realized how deeply he resented my presence, there was no point in begging.  I had embarrassed him with my success and Stevens was in no mood to tolerate the umbrage any longer.  This place wasn't big enough for the two of us.  I got that loud and clear.  It was time to go. 

But where?