MYSTERY OF THE TEXAS TWOSTEP

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED EIGHTEEN:

THE WALTZ PERFORMANCE

Written by Rick Archer 

1983

CRASH COURSES

 

It was now 1983.  To my amazement, Western dancing continued to flourish.  Disco had lasted in Houston for only two years, but Western had just entered its fifth year with no signs of abating.  I thought back to those days when I was convinced there was not enough C&W dance material to interest people beyond the fad stage.  Which in hindsight was true.  If I hadn't invented all those new moves, where would I be now?  Thank goodness for Ballroom Dancing.  If it had not been for Foxtrot and German Polka, I would have been forced to fold the tent.  However, it was Disco that offered the finishing touch: Western Swing.  My decision to integrate Disco-style Double Turn patterns to Twostep and Polka paid off brilliantly.  The Double Turns made Western dancing so challenging that students could take two years of lessons and not get bored.  Which is exactly what happened.  Out of a student base of 600, I estimated 100 had started in 1981 and were still with us.  It looked to me like Western dancing was here to stay.  I certainly hoped so. 

However, for whatever reason, Waltz.... the third Western dance... retained its primitive state.  Even if a man could be persuaded to dance a Waltz, typically the women still had to settle for going backwards the entire song.  Lacking competition from other men when it came to Waltz, Jim and Bill had kept this tiny corner of the Western dance universe to themselves for two years.  

Jann's idea to throw a monthly party at the studio had turned out well.  Over the previous year, 1982, I discovered these monthly dance parties were a gold mine.  They were so popular with the students, in 1983 I came up with another good idea.  I decided to offer two-hour Crash Courses prior to the Saturday night party.  

This idea was a winner for several reasons.  By offering inexpensive lessons before the party, Crash Courses increased attendance at the monthly party.  As an added inducement, I promised to play music later on that would allow students to practice what they had learned from 7-9 pm.  As I guessed, Crash Courses were an instant hit. 

Crash Courses gave me the luxury of trying out classes in different types of dancing.  Western dancing was still as strong as ever.  However, many of my experienced dancers were clamoring for something new.  As a result in 1983 I had begun to offer Whip classes, a form of West Coast Swing that was popular in Texas.  I also offered classes in East Coast Swing, better known as 'Swing Dancing'. 

The success of these additions were gratifying.  They made me feel less dependent on Western dancing.  Quite frankly, the bitter demise of Disco had wounded me the same way the Depression Era once left its mark.  Once people learn that prosperity cannot be taken for granted, they become paranoid.  Well aware that Dance fads come and Dance fads go, I developed a habit of looking over my shoulder for possible threats.  I suppose my insecurity is why I felt a need to diversify for the future 'just in case'. 

As things stood, Ballroom Dancing... Waltz in particular... was the last great unexplored frontier.  This is why I was proud of myself for having the foresight to take two private Ballroom lessons a week from Glen Hunsucker.  We covered everything under the sun.  Waltz, Foxtrot, Cha-Cha, Rumba, Tango, Whip, East Coast Swing and Samba. 

As Readers may recall, I made this decision back in January 1980 after agreeing to remain Victoria's boyfriend while she tried to put her life back together.  Blessed with untold amounts of free time during the day, these Ballroom lessons were an investment in the future.  Unfortunately, I soon discovered that I was not very good at the Waltz.  In fact, I was downright awful.  However, persistence is my virtue, so I stuck with it.  As I am fond of saying, even a turtle can get somewhere if you give it enough time.  Thanks to three years of two private lessons per week, I had become a fairly good Ballroom dancer.  But did anyone know this?  No.  Why not?  Because interest in Ballroom Dancing was almost non-existent here in Houston.  There was a reason for this.  People like to dance to the music they like to listen to.  How many Texans listened to Ballroom music?  No one.  How many Texans listened to Western music?  The entire state.  In other words, Western Dancing was so much fun that few people had a compelling reason to learn to Ballroom dance. 

This lack of interest affected me in an odd way.  Since I had yet to find a reason to use my training in public, none of my students had any idea I knew Ballroom dancing.  There was another consequence.  1983 marked the seventh year of my dance career.  Other than East Coast Swing, I had never offered a Ballroom course.  However, maybe the time had come.  The introduction of Crash Courses prior to each monthly party allowed me to experiment with classes on  the beaten path.  If there was interest, I would consider offering a full month of classes.  If it flopped, no great loss.  I loved Crash Courses... low risk, big potential pay-off.

JUNE 1983

THE GREAT WALTZ EXPERIMENT

 

Last year John Cowen had struck a chord with his suggestion to offer a Waltz dance class.  At the time I told him I was not ready to commit to full month of Waltz classes.  However, now that I had this Crash Course option, I was willing to schedule a one-night class in Ballroom Waltz for the upcoming June party.  Let's see what kind of turnout I get.  As incentive, I promised to play two Waltzes per hour at the ensuing party as opposed to my usual one per hour. 

Six Waltzes in one night, a record number.  Would this incentive work?  I was reasonably optimistic.  My experienced dancers seemed open to change.  They still loved Western dancing, but they were willing to branch out.  Earlier in the year, I had offered Crash Courses in Whip and East Coast Swing.  Both classes were huge hits, so I quickly scheduled month-long Beginner classes.  To my surprise, the students wanted more.  Pleased by their reaction, I added Intermediate and Advanced levels. 

Why were these classes so successful?  Because the Western clubs continued to play rock music in addition to its C&W format.  Songs like 'Thriller' were perfect for Whip.  Songs like 'Born to Boogie' were perfect for East Coast Swing.  In addition, the DJ played two Waltzes per night, sometimes three.  These were the moments the Waltz Kings lived for.  Given the enduring success of the Waltz Kings, perhaps other students would be interested in learning to Waltz. 

At the time I was nursing a giant secret.  No one knew I had been steadily working with Glen on my Ballroom skills for three years.  Despite my turtle's pace, persistence had allowed me to become a fairly good Waltz dancer in my own right.  Not only could I do the Western Waltz which traveled around the floor, I knew how to perform stationary Ballroom Waltz as well.  There had been a moment in September 1981 when I let down my guard.  One night after everyone had left Texas, Jann begged me to Waltz with her.  Not only that, she cheated by persuading the DJ to play 'Send Me Down to Tucson', my favorite song.

As we returned to our table after the dance was over, Jann had exclaimed, "I see my guess was correct.  You do know how to Waltz, you stinker.  You should Waltz more often.  You are an excellent Waltz dancer.  What are you ashamed of?"

"I'm not ashamed at all."

"Okay, then why do you sit the Waltzes out?"

"For crying out loud, Jann, this is my only chance to rest!  Every time a girl asks me to Waltz, I just tell her I don't know how.  Since no one has ever seen me Waltz, the women leave me alone when the Waltz music comes on.  Please don't tell anyone."

Jann was kind enough to keep her lips sealed.  When she left for Los Angeles last year, my Waltz secret was safe.  However, if I taught the Waltz Crash Course in June, my secret would be blown.  So I asked John and Debbie to teach the class instead.  Sorry to say, their Waltz class failed miserably.  Only three men and nine women signed up.  With six extra women, poor Debbie had to figure out how to dance the boy's part to help balance the boy-girl ratio.  Afterwards I tried to console John and Debbie. 

"Don't worry about it.  It was just an experiment.  I don't think my studio is ready for Ballroom dancing yet."

So why didn't the Crash Course do better?  I decided it must be a macho thing.  The Waltz was too graceful, too prissy, not manly enough.  I hated to admit it, but to the Western crowd, the word 'Ballroom' was synonymous with 'Gay'.  However, this attitude was stupid and short-sighted.  I wasn't gay and I liked to Waltz.  Our Waltz Kings were not gay.  Far from it.  Watching Jim and Bill in action, any man with a brain should figure out Waltz was one of the great babe magnets of all time.  It was a mystery to me why the Waltz Crash Course had failed.  Obviously a month-long course in Waltz would have wait.  I would try again next year.  Or so I thought... 

JUNE 1983

THE JUNE PARTY BEGINS

 

It was time for the June dance party to begin.  To my surprise, Jim and Bill showed up in tuxedos.  That was my first clue that these guys were serious.  My second clue came when the Waltz Kings marched straight up to me with cocky swagger. 

Jim said, "We expect you to stick to your promise to play six Waltzes." 

As an incentive for students to take the Crash Course, I had promised to play six Waltzes tonight.  However, now that the Waltz Crash Course had bombed, the Waltz Kings were worried I would renege on my promise. 

I told the men not to worry.  They would get their Waltz music.  I knew why this was important to Bill and Jim.  They intended to use these extra Waltzes to pursue women.  Sure enough, a slew of women were after the Waltz Kings right from the start.  There were so many women to pick from the two men should have sold lottery tickets. 

The two men were on their game.  Whenever I saw Jim or Bill talking animatedly to some lady, I knew what was coming next.  Sure enough, any time Bill or Jim felt he was making progress, he would promptly come over ask me to play the next Waltz soon.  Good grief, these guys were using Waltz as a weapon.  They reminded me of Black Jack, the evil dance instructor who had used the Waltz to steal my beloved Katie eight years ago.  I frowned as that sad memory put me in a bad mood.  There were other sad Waltz stories in my past as well.  No wonder I had serious energy on the Waltz. 

I spent the night watching women orbit around the Waltz Kings as if they were Sun Gods.  Each man had his choice of countless ladies.  Meanwhile there were thirty men who refused to Waltz.  I was incredulous.  What is wrong with these men?  Whenever I played a Waltz, they just sat there staring in confusion as the Waltz Kings kept all the women to themselves.  This had to be the stupidest thing I had ever seen.  I assumed these men had to sense to realize the magic of the Waltz would give them the same advantage as the Waltz Kings.  But for some strange reason, they just didn't get it.  Their blind spot reinforced my fear that the Waltz carried a stigma.

To my immense irritation, my promise to play six Waltzes turned out to be a serious party pooper.  Each time I played a Waltz, the floor cleared.  Typically 40 couples danced every Twostep and Polka song.  However, we were lucky to get 6 couples to Waltz.  Each time I played a Waltz, the empty floor drained the momentum out of the party.  Nor did the headaches stop there.  Jim and Bill's Left Behinds would come to me and beg me to Waltz with them.  I was forced to lie to each woman that I did not know how to Waltz.  Since no one had ever seen me Waltz, they gave me the benefit of the doubt.  However, I had one heck of a guilty conscience.  Knowing how much rejection stings, I do not like to turn women down.

However, I also needed these breaks.  Since this was my only chance to relax, I used the time to watch Jim and Bill in action.  They winked at me as they sailed past with their deliriously happy partners.  Since I was the DJ, they wanted to stay on my good side.  I wasn't exactly their pimp, but I was definitely aiding and abetting their love life with my music.  I shook my head in exasperation.  These guys didn't play fair.  It was not illegal to Waltz, but it should have been!  The bottom line is the Waltz Kings had way too much power over women.  They were using the Waltz as license to seduce.  There should be a Law. 

For my sixth and last Waltz, I played one of favorites, The Last Waltz (... the last Waltz will last Forever...).  Immediately Bill and Jim were besieged by admirers.  "Pick me, Pick me!" 

After making their choices, Jim and Bill paraded in triumph around the floor with their happy partners laughing giddily.  Both women seemed helpless in their arms.  The flowing motion and beautiful music elevated their mood.  Based on their dreamy looks, I assumed women had a soft spot for any man who could make them feel this good.  If anyone ever doubted the power of dance as a premier skill for attracting women, one look at the Waltz Kings was sufficient.  Any man with eyes could see how attractive women were going gaga over guys who ordinarily would not rate a second glance.  Can you spell 'M-O-N-O-P-O-L-Y'?  This 'Waltz King' racket had been going on for two years.  By this time, Jim and Bill should have had competition... but they didn't.  I shook my head.  This did not make a lot of sense. 

Meanwhile Jim and Bill had huge smiles.  They had every woman to themselves.  John Cowen was no threat since he was hopelessly devoted to Debbie Oswald.  There were a few other men willing to try, but all they did was make their partners go backwards.  While the Waltz Kings dominated the floor, I counted 30 Twostep and Polka experts who were sitting this one out.  As they twiddled their thumbs, these cowards watched the Waltz Supermen with awe and envy.  I felt nothing but contempt.  How could these doofusses tolerate letting two obvious nerds clean up right under their stubborn noses? 

This party did not have a happy ending.  There's an old saying, 'don't bite the hand that feeds you'.  We had a half hour left and I had already played my six Waltzes.  Hearing loud voices, I came out of the windowless DJ booth to see three women arguing adamantly about who got the next Waltz.  I frowned.  Why argue?  There were no more Waltzes scheduled.  Bill knew, so why didn't tell them?  Instead he stood there watching with glee as women fought over him.  When Bill saw me, turned and pointed to me. 

"If you girls are that upset, why don't you go ask Rick to play another Waltz?"

That made me mad.  My contempt for this Waltz racket increased the moment Bill encouraged the quarrelling women to take their argument over to me.  Bill knew the rules.  Six Waltzes was the pre-established limit, so DON'T involve me in your female problems.  Too late now.  Sure enough, the women wasted no time.  I paled as they rushed over to me.

"Come on, Rick, play another Waltz so we can dance with Jim and Bill!"

"Hold your horses, ladies, I have played six Waltzes already.  Enough is enough."

"So what?  Play another one!"

"Here is my objection.  I do not like empty dance floors.  Every time I play a Waltz, 5 men dance while 30 men sit on their hands.  We've hit our limit of six.  However, if you will be patient, I will play another Waltz as our last song."

"We don't want to wait that long!  What if Bill leaves early?  Play it now!"

Their insistence really got under my skin.  These women could have cared less about tying up the floor.  Me me me.  Their personal enjoyment came first.  I was sick and tired of watching an empty floor for four minutes while the two lady killers bolstered their love life at the expense of 30 men who sat on their hands.  If six Waltzes wasn't enough to get the job done, then tough.  Both men had been given ample chances to bait the hook, so I stuck to my guns.

"Listen, ladies, enough is enough.  You are just going to have to wait till the last song."

It didn't work.  At first, the girls asked politely, but when I said no, they became demanding.  The low point came when one of the women said in a loud voice, "I don't care if the entire damn studio sits.  Just play another Waltz!"  With time running out, they were behaving like junkies who needed their fix.  Finally I gave in.  I found the shortest Waltz I owned and put it on.  To my dismay, another problem popped up.  Three women, two men, do the math.  A lady named Mary Anne was infuriated as Bill chose one woman and Jim chose another instead of her. 

Fuming, Mary Anne turned to me.  "Rick, get over here and Waltz with me.  I bet you know how."

I groaned.  The last thing I wanted to do was let these aggressive women know I could Waltz.  I would never get a moment of peace.  So I lied and said my Waltz was rudimentary at best.  Mary Anne looked at me skeptically.  Fortunately it was Bill she wanted, not me, so she relented.  Thanks to my reprieve, I was free to watch as Mary Anne turned to stare longingly at Bill.  Forlorn and abandoned, Mary Anne looked ready to cry each Bill circled by with his lucky partner.  

Frustrated, Mary Anne asked a question.  "Rick, how many Waltzes have you played tonight?"

"I promised six, but this Waltz makes seven."

"Seven Waltzes and only two men to choose from.  I haven't danced a single one of those songs and now you turned me down too.  I have been rejected 15 times tonight.  Do you have any idea how that feels?"

"I get your point, Mary Anne."

"Actually, no, you don't," she lamented. "Because if you knew how I felt, you would do something about it.  Why aren't there more men who know how to Waltz?"

I nodded sympathetically.  "You know what, Mary Anne?  That's a very good question." 

Mary Anne had a point.  Other than Jim, Bill, and John, there were only two other men out there.  Neither of them could dance a Waltz beyond the rudimentary level.  Meanwhile, 40 or so women who wanted to Waltz had to pine away because the 30 men refused to try.  Confronted by evidence that Jim and Bill had used the Waltz to acquire virtual harems, you would think the other men would catch on.  However they were so unbelievably retarded, they continued to avoid the Waltz like the plague.  Clearly something needed to be done, but given the level of male apathy, I saw no reason why I should waste a valuable classroom on a month-long Waltz course.

Maybe I would try another Crash Course later in the Fall, but a regular Waltz course would have to be postponed till next year.  Perhaps this attitude sounds callous, but I had rent to pay.  In the meantime countless pining women would have to suffer.  However, the Universe did not agree with my decision.  As Fate would have it, something very curious happened to persuade me otherwise.

JIM BARRETT

Readers may recall my friend Jim Barrett.  Jim was an older gentleman who used me as his dance partner during the first year of his private lessons, 1981.

Jim was an outlier who stuck out like a sore thumb.  Somewhere in his 60's, Jim was the oldest man in his dance class.  There a few men close to his age who came with their wives.  However Jim always came alone and rarely spoke a word.  Making matters worse, poor Jim could not dance a lick.  He had no interest in the single women and he was very frustrated, so what was he doing here?  Most men in his situation would have quit.   

I will say one thing.  Jim tried hard.  For that reason, my heart went out to him.  Recalling my own struggles at learning to dance, anyone who tried as hard as Jim had my admiration.  So one day I suggested he try private lessons in addition to his group class.  Jim liked my suggestion, but only if I would agree to dance with him.  Hmm.  That would be a first.  No man had ever asked to dance with me before, so I asked him to explain.

Embarrassed by his ineptitude, Jim did not want a woman to see how bad he was.  To spare his pride, Jim preferred to dance with me.  Maybe later he would invite one of the ladies from his western class to join our lesson.  However, for the time being, Jim wanted to keep his dance problems a secret between us.

All told, Jim took private lessons from me for nearly three years.  However, there was one change.  Starting in 1982, Jim ditched me as his partner and replaced me with a pretty girl named Gloria Wright.  Was I mad at being replaced?  No, not at all.  Jim's decision reflected his growing confidence as a dancer. 

RETURN OF THE INFAMOUS BOB JOB

Bob Job needs no introduction.  As we recall, every story I write about Bob begins with the same question. 

"Why do I like Bob Job?  After all the trouble Bob has caused me, why do I keep him around?"

Bob became my 'friend' (for lack of a better term) during the crazy days surrounding the June 1980 debut of Urban Cowboy.  One night in August Bob and I visited a dance club called the San Antone Rose.  To our surprise we saw a man double turn a lady as they traveled around the floor while dancing the Twostep.  Bob and I quickly turned to each other. 

"Did you see what I saw?" 

"Yes! But how did they do it??"

Our inability to determine how the rhythm of the Twostep fit the Double Turns turned into the disastrous 'Riddle of the Double Turns'.  Bob and I were not the only people to notice when Double Turns first began to appear on Houston's Western dance floors.  Immediately my students began to harass me to teach them how the Double Turns worked.  Several students even had the nerve to threaten to call other dance studios if I did not schedule a class soon.  So I talked to Bob about it.

"Nothing to worry about, Rick.  Go ahead and schedule the class for November.  I am sure we will have it solved by then.  You can count on me."

"You can count on me..."  Yeah, right.  Famous last words.

As we recall, Mr. Genius came up empty.  So did I.  For three months... August, September, October... Bob and I experimented in vain trying to solve the Mystery of the Texas Twostep.  In the end I was forced to apologize to my class for promising to teach something I was unable to deliver.  This was one of the most humiliating moments of my life.  Fortunately, I got the answer a week later, but the damage was done. 

One year later, here we go again.  I trusted Bob's promise to liven up my Halloween Party with his amazing Wicked Wizard Punch.  We all know how poorly that promise turned out.  Thanks to Bob, I passed out at my own party!  I still blamed Bob for costing me Liz.  Losing her nearly broke my heart. 

Bob did better with the punch at the 1982 Halloween Party.  After Bob atoned for causing the Halloween Party from Hell, I suppose I forgave him.  What a dumb thing to do.  I have only been seriously drunk twice in my life.  Both times Bob was responsible.  Get ready for the second story. 

FRIDAY, JULY 15, 1983

STAYING ALIVE... JUST BARELY

Two weeks after the frustrating Waltz Party in June, the phone rang.  It was Friday, July 15, 1983.  It is Bob calling, so instantly I am on guard.  Oh no, not him again.  With friends like Bob, who needs enemies?  What does Bob want?  He wants to see a movie.   

As we recall, in 1980 Clay Felker took advantage of Robert Stigwood's failure to create a timely sequel to Saturday Night Fever.  Smart move.  Urban Cowboy, Felker's brainchild, delivered a nice $40 million box office plus a number one western music soundtrack. 

Three years later, it is now 1983.  Robert Stigwood has finally finally gotten around to making a legitimate sequel starring none other than John Travolta.  On the day Staying Alive made its Houston debut, Bob wanted me to join him.  Since I owe my entire dance career to John Travolta, of course I am curious.   Who knows, maybe this new movie will have the same magic as his previous movies.

"Sure," I replied, "but when?"

"Today."

"But I have a private lesson with Jim Barrett at 6 pm."

"So let's go to the 3 pm show. The movie will be over long before that."

I agree to go.  Huge mistake.  I should have known by now never to listen to anything Bob suggests.  However, Fate had plans for me.  Fate already knew that whenever I needed to do something stupid, Bob was the right guy to set me up.  Sure enough, history was about to repeat itself. 

So how did the movie turn out?  Funny you should ask.  Here is what famous film critic Roger Ebert had to say: 
 

Staying Alive is a big disappointment.  This sequel to the gutsy, electric “Saturday Night Fever” is a slick, commercial cinematic waste of time.  The movie has an extremely simple plot.  Underline  'Extremely'.  Six years have passed since Tony Manero gazed longingly at the lights of Manhattan at the end of Saturday Night Fever.  Tony lives in a fleabag Manhattan hotel, works as a waiter and dance instructor.  He meets Laura, a long-haired British dancer.  Laura is a queen bitch who takes him to bed, then jilts him.  Meanwhile, Tony gets a job as a dancer in Laura's new Broadway show.  When Laura's lead dancer falters, Tony gets promoted. 

Co-authored and directed by Sylvester Stallone, this is the first bad movie Sly has made.  At Stallone's suggestion, Travolta has buffed up to preposterous proportions.  Why was this necessary for a dance movie?  Stallone remembers all the moves from his Rocky plots, but he leaves out the heart.  Even worse, he leaves out the characters.  The characters are little better than clichés and so is their dialogue.  There is little attempt to approximate human speech.

Like all Rocky movies, Staying Alive ends with a big, visually explosive climax.  Stallone makes little effort to convince us we’re watching a real stage presentation.  There are camera effects the audience could never see, montages that create impossible physical moves and — most inexplicable of all — a vocal track, even though nobody on stage is singing.

The dance performance is so ludicrous it has to be seen to be believed.  Opening night on Broadway.  Tony Manero not only dances like an action hero, he survives a production number of fire, ice, smoke, flashing lights and laser beams.  For good measure, Tony throws in a bizarre improvised jungle solo.  At the end he triumphantly holds Laura above his head with one arm like a quarry he has tracked and killed, then bellows Tarzan-style.  What a mess.

I agreed with everything Roger Ebert said.  In particular, Travolta’s big dance number in the final scene was so bad it made me nauseas.  The only good thing about this movie is that it finally ended.  As we walked out, Bob looked at his watch. 

"Aha," Bob said, "it's only 5 pm.  Look, there's Todd's right over there.  It's Happy Hour.  Let's get a drink." 

I said no, reminding Bob of my standing 6 pm appointment with Jim Barrett.

Bob immediately objected.  "Oh, come on, Rick, I'm in so much pain, I cannot bear to be alone.  That has to be the worst sequel in the history of mankind.  I need a drink to help me recover from how bad that movie was."

Hmm.  Good point.  I felt the same way.  "All right, Bob, if you need me to cheer you up, one quick drink and then I gotta go."

Due to my odd lifestyle of working evenings, I had a rule against drinking beforehand.  If I wanted to drink, I would do it at a dance club after classes ended.  Consequently I had not been to Happy Hour in ages.  However, I had an hour to kill, the studio was close by and here we were.  Why not?  Quick drink, shoot some BS, lament the stupid movie, then head to my private lesson with Jim.  So Bob and I walked all of 30 feet over to Todd's, a busy singles bar located next to the theater.  We both ordered a margarita.

To my surprise, when the waitress reappeared, she placed three giant margaritas in front of me.  Then she placed three more in front of Bob.  Oh my, what do we have here?

My eyes lit up with delight.  "But, ma'am, I only ordered one!"

The waitress explained today was a special 'start the weekend' Happy Hour.  Todd's was offering three margaritas for the price of one.  This, of course, was back in the days when bars were unconcerned about the dangers of sending drunk drivers onto highways. 

Bob raised his glass and we celebrated our friendship.  Together we would do our best to survive Staying Alive.  The first thing I noticed was that my drink was not watered down.  One would think I would remember the Halloween Party from Hell, but no, not me.  Not only does everything have to be learned the hard way, usually it takes several applications for the lesson to sink in.  In particular, I knew little about the power of Tequila.  Unaware of the dangers ahead, I took another sip.  Kind of strong, but Yum! 

Hey, this is a really good drink!  When I finished, it was 5:25.  Unable to resist temptation, there was no way I was walking away from the second margarita.  I have already confessed I was not much of a drinker, so I had no idea what the consequences would be.  By the time I finished my second margarita, I was spinning.  Whoa, baby, those drinks threw me for a serious loop.  Hopelessly smashed, I lost my grip as to the time.  Without thinking I started the third drink. 

Just then Bob looked up.  "Don't you have a lesson at 6?"

Glancing at my watch, I panicked when I saw that it said 5:52 pm.  Damn!  With no time left, I belted down the third margarita muí rápido, then began my Sound of Music ritual. 

"So long, farewell, auf Wiedersehen, goodbye.  Adieu, Adieu, goodbye from me to you!" 

Then I paused.  "By the way, Bob, that was the worst movie I've ever seen!  I will never forgive you.  Adios, muchacho, arrivaderci."

I was so drunk!  This was all Bob's fault!  Of course it was not Bob's fault, but I felt like blaming him anyway.  That guy is nothing but trouble.  Certain to be late, I raced to my car.  I estimate the drive to the studio would normally take 12 minutes, but I did it in 7.  Trust me, I am not proud of my behavior.  I could easily have had an accident.  Or I could have been caught by the observant Bellaire police who are notoriously unforgiving towards drunk drivers, especially the speeding ones.  Fortunately, I got lucky and made it to the studio safely.  I staggered out of my car and stumbled into the room a couple minutes late. 

MY PRIVATE LESSON WITH JIM

Reeling from the effects of three margaritas, I staggered into the studio drunk as a skunk.  Jim was waiting for me, but to my dismay there was no Gloria Wright, Jim's steady dance partner. 

"Uh, Jim, where's Gloria?"

"Oh, Gloria called last night to say she's going out of town this weekend to visit her mother.  I couldn't find a replacement on short notice, so I guess it's just you and me today."

"Not a problem, Jim.  So it's back to me and you.  What do you want to work on?"

"Waltz," Jim replied.  That's Gloria's favorite dance and I want to improve."

"Excellent! [hick]  Waltz is my favorite dance too [fib] .  Even better, I am a gifted follower [a complete lie].  Women everywhere are envious of my grace [another complete lie]."

Jim knew I was fibbing, but he let it pass.  Did he know I was drunk?  I hoped not.  Gosh, I wished Gloria was here.  Of all days to miss, why did it have to be today?  I did not mind dancing with Jim.  Having danced with my private instructor Glen on many occasions, long ago I had gotten over my reluctance for dancing with men.  Women dance with women all the time and think nothing of it, so why can't men do the same?  That said, Jim was the only man other than Glen who didn't seem to mind dancing with me.  So was I any good at the woman's part?   Although I was unfamiliar with dancing the woman's part, I suppose I was okay.  Thanks to dancing with Glen, my Waltz had improved to the point where I was competent at the lady's part.  Besides, Jim was not a challenge.  Since his repertoire of Waltz moves was limited, even in my drunken stupor, I could handle anything Jim could throw at me. 

However, I became rattled when I realized I had slurred my words badly.  Unable to put more than five words together coherently, I was in real trouble.  What should I do?  I was too wasted to teach anything new.  In fact, I really did not want to talk at all.  So I suggested today was the perfect day to practice to music. 

"Hey, Jim," [hick], "let's practice waltz for the entire hour!"

Which is what we did.  I walked over to record player, put on a long-play record with Ballroom Waltz music, then shamelessly threw myself into Jim's arms.

"Okay, buddy, let's Waltz!"

Thanks to Gloria, Jim loved to Waltz, so he was all for it.  I let him sail me around the floor.  At first Jim was off the beat.  No surprise there.  To my great amusement, I listened as Jim counted the music out loud.  I was even more amused when I realize the speed of his counting and the speed of the music had no relation.  So I gently nudged him back on the beat whenever he strayed.   There is something called 'back-leading'.   I think dancing with me made a difference.  After 15 minutes nudging, Jim didn't need my help anymore.   Apparently by practicing 'on the beat' with me, Jim had started to 'feel it'.  I could not decide who I was more proud of, me for helping him or Jim for catching on.  I could tell Jim was aware of his progress.  He didn't say a word, but he was smiling.  I think Jim was glad to turn this corner.  Of course Jim could have been smiling for another reason... my inebriation.  However I preferred not to discuss that sore subject.  The less said, the better.

And so we danced.  And then we danced some more, nothing but Waltz for an entire hour.  To my delight, once Jim locked into the correct speed of the music, I really began to enjoy myself.  How do I put this?  Once I no longer had to worry about Jim's erratic rhythm, my mind was free to concentrate on the music.  Listening intently to the music, I entered some sort of hypnotic state.  The most wonderful thing happened... I began to float!!  Seriously!  I was so high I could not even feel my feet touch the floor.  As a rule I could barely tolerate Ballroom Waltz music.  Too much schmaltz.  However I had discovered a beautiful album with Celtic Waltz music that I loved dearly.  Flutes, harps, fiddles, violins and lovely vocals in Gaelic.  So wonderful!  In my altered state, I decided Irish Waltz music had to be the prettiest music I had ever heard.  The Waltz tempo flowed so beautifully that my feet flowed right along with it.  1-2-3, 1-2-3!  Being drunk out of my mind had its advantages.  It opened up my senses to the joy a woman must feel when she is having fun dancing.  Until now, I had no idea how pleasurable dancing could be for a woman.  I never expected this, but I was actually having fun.  This was such a delightful feeling I wished it would never end. 

As footnote to this story, after Jim left, I was sober enough to teach my 7-9 pm Western class.  The following week Gloria returned and everything was back to normal.  Jim and I never discussed what took place that day.  However the subject did come up again further down the road.  Let's save that story for later. 

A CONVERSATION WITH JUDY

When I saw Judy Price later that night, I told her about my crazy experience with Bob Job and Jim Barrett. 

Judy was not particularly sympathetic.  She was more the tough love type.  She wasted no time scolding me.  "I don't feel one bit sorry for you.  You should have learned your lesson at the Halloween Party from Hell."

Knowing Judy, what did I expect?  Judy didn't let me get away with anything.  She had an elephantine memory.  This woman remembered everything I said and used it to call me on my foibles.  She also had a strange fatalistic streak.  Whenever I complained about her harsh treatment, Judy would say, "It is my job to make you better for the next woman."

I hated it when Judy said that.  "What makes you say that?  What if there isn't another woman?"

"My philosophy is that love comes and love goes.  I don't worry about it too much.  There's always another fish in the sea.  But I will say one thing.  You have turned out a lot better than I expected considering your lousy track record with Victoria."

Ouch!  Do you see what I mean?  Fortunately, Judy's dark moods were few and far between.  The majority of the time we got along very well.  And I do have to say Judy's training was definitely turning me into a better man.  Once I realized her criticism was meant to be constructive, I began to trust her.

"I am sorry I got drunk, but I learned something."

"What was that?"

"Do you promise not to tell anyone?  You can't breathe a word of this V-Ann.  I will never hear the end of it."

"I won't say anything.  What is your secret?" Judy inquired.

"I had a great time dancing with Jim!  I had no idea dancing the woman's part could be so much fun.  What about you?  Do you enjoy partner dancing?"

"Most of the time, yes.  It depends on the man.  Some men hurt me, so then it is terrible.  However, if they are gentle, can lead and stay on the beat like you, then dancing is the most wonderful thing in the world.  I can turn off my mind and listen to the music.  Music, movement, and being held by a man I like are a pretty wonderful combination." 

"Here's another a question.  How much do you enjoy the Waltz?"

"I love to Waltz.  That's a really pretty dance.  I just wish more men knew how to lead it."

"You're not the first woman to say that.  What do you think I should do to encourage more men to dance Waltz?"

"I think you and I should put on a performance at your next party.  You are the leader of the dance studio.  You set the tone.  If we dance well, I think your male students would be inspired to try it is as well."

"But I have told you about the dance curse.  That is why I am afraid to perform."

"Oh, stop it.  You and your dance curse.  I have never heard anything more silly.  You are just using that as an excuse to avoid facing your fears.  Stop being such a sissy."

I was not in an arguing mood.  Yes, I was scared, but deep down I agreed with Judy.  A dance performance might solve the problem. 

 "Okay, Judy, tell you what.  Let me talk it over with Glen next Tuesday.  If he is willing to train us, then I will strongly consider it." 

SEPTEMBER 1983

DO I DARE DEFY THE DANCE CURSE?

 

I had the oddest feeling.  Lately it seemed like every time I turned around, Waltz was on my mind. 

It started with Mary Anne at the June Waltz party. 

"Seven Waltzes and only two men to choose from.  I haven't danced a single one of those songs and now you turned me down too.  I have been rejected 15 times tonight.  Why aren't there more men who know how to Waltz?"

A mere two weeks later, my hour of dancing Waltz with Jim Barrett had helped me to understand why women like Mary Anne enjoyed the Waltz so much.  Jim helped me realize how much fun dancing the girl's part can be.  Was it Fate that had created this eye-opening experience?  There is no way to know.  What I can say is that I suddenly felt an obligation to do something about the acute shortage of male Waltz dancers.

Yes, Waltz is a difficult dance for men to learn, but look at the benefits!  Any man who learned to Waltz would double his popularity overnight.  Plus I thought it was time for someone to put the Waltz Kings in their place.  There was something vaguely underhanded in their methods.  Irritated by their greed to create a vast harem, I decided Jim and Bill deserved some competition. 

To do this, I needed a way to popularize the dance.  That is why Judy's suggestion to perform a Waltz at one of my monthly parties struck home.  If I were to dance a lovely Waltz in front of my students, surely this would go a long way towards promoting my latest pet project. 

Unfortunately, there was an element of risk involved.  The thought of performing sent chills of fear through my body.  Do I dare defy the Dance Curse?  Back in 1978-1979, over a period of one year I had five accidents in a row during dance performances.  Assuming these accidents had been an omen warning me to skip the glory and concentrate on teaching dance, I swore off all performing. 

Four years had passed since my last accident.  Oddly enough, that accident had led to Doorstep Night which in turn led to Limbo Captivity.  One of the by-products of Limbo had been three years of Private Ballroom lessons.  That thought resonated strongly.  Maybe there was a purpose to these Ballroom lessons I had failed to notice until now.  Perhaps the purpose of Limbo was to prepare me for the next stage of my teaching career.  Was Ballroom dancing the next step?  At the moment, it felt that way. 

Except that I was afraid to defy the Dance Curse.  Why?  All sorts of memories flooded my mind.  In particular I recalled how much I hated Western music when the Meyerland Club opportunity fell into my lap four years ago.  No matter how much I resisted the thought of teaching Western, I felt compelled against my will to cooperate.  I also thought of Doorstep Night.  No matter how much I resisted the thought of having an affair with Victoria, here again I felt compelled against my will to cooperate.

Given the recent events regarding Waltz, I felt the same kind of fateful manipulation similar to 'against my will' situations in the past.  To be honest, I was not opposed to performing the Waltz.  It was defying the Dance Curse that worried me.