Here Comes the Bride, page 20
The goal of gift-opening was to get through them as fast as she possibly could. She’d never been superstitious. For the sake of everyone’s sanity, she decided to hell with the old wives’ tale that for every ribbon the bride cut with the scissors a child would result. She knew what it felt like to be a spectator. She could think of fifty million better things to do than watch someone open boxes that held wooden spoons and cutting boards. Everyone would be dying of sheer boredom, and she kept a very sharp pair of scissors next to her chair.
She breezed through a few cookie pans, some muffin tins, and her dish towels. She was glad to see that some of the guests were chatting amongst themselves and not paying any attention to her. She didn’t blame them.
“Rita, don’t you love that she’s using the scissors?” Connie asked.
“Yes! We’re going to have lots of grandchildren!” As of right now, it looked like they would get seven.
About four gifts in, she opened a gift from Beth and Jill. They’d gone in on it together. It was three of her place settings, and she held them up for all to see. “We registered for stuff we could dress up and dress down. It could be everyday stuff or—” She was just about to repeat exactly what the woman at Macy’s had told them when she was interrupted by Nana. “Stop! Stop that talking. Your incessant squwaking is driving me crazy. We’re trying to have a conversation over here. And you! You’re so loud! All you ever do is talk!”
Cate felt her cheeks grow warm as the room erupted in laughter. Nana looked around to see what was so funny. She had no idea that everyone was laughing at her. No one had spoken to her since they’d sat down to open gifts, so if Cate had interrupted her, it had been a conversation with herself.
“Sorry, Nana. I’ll try to keep my voice down.” She moved on to the next gift.
She plowed through beer mugs, a chip and dip platter, a wine bucket, and a cheese plate. Jill passed her the gifts while Emily recorded them on a pad of paper.
After she handed Leslie her trash, Jill passed her the next gift. It was from Denise—their towels. Only they weren’t in the olive green they’d registered for. They were periwinkle blue. Was there a mistake on the registry? She’d have to secretly exchange them. But what would she do when Denise came over and noticed the towels were green? Would her feelings be hurt?
“Thank you!” Cate said. How does one really rave about towels, especially when they’re in the wrong color? Pointing out the mistake might embarrass Denise, and she didn’t want to make it obvious that something was wrong, so she began to pour it on thick. “I love them. They’re so soft, and cuddly.” She pressed a hand towel to her cheek just like a fabric softener commercial. “And, oh, they smell good too! I love towels!”
Denise smiled. “I know you registered for them in green.”
“You do?” She tried to conceal her astonishment.
“Yeah, but I just liked this color better. I thought it would go better with your house.”
The girl was truly insane. Ethan’s grandmother laughed. “Spoken like a true Blakely. One with style and class. When you see something good, you just have to take matters into your hands. I mean, olive green! That sounds awful. Who decorates anything except a marine base and prison barracks in olive green?”
Oma was against her too? Cate hoped her mouth hadn’t dropped as far as Emily’s and Jill’s had. It was Leslie who spoke first.
“I love olive green,” she said, poking a pointy toed olive green Stella McCartney pump in front of her. “It’s the color of the season. But I suppose if you’re still living in 1984 you wouldn’t know that.” She lifted the garbage bag she’d been collecting all the trash with and reached her long fingers toward Cate. “Why don’t you hand me all that trash, sweetie.”
Cate closed her mouth as she gave her the wrapping paper. “Here,” she said blindly handing her everything.
Denise spoke up. “Didn’t Ethan mention he wanted to paint the bathroom cream? I thought blue might go better.”
No, he’d never mentioned anything about cream, and he hated pastels, so he definitely wouldn’t want these towels. Before Cate could respond, Nana interrupted.
“You!” She turned to Denise. Her voice was so loud that everyone stared, even the few stragglers who hadn’t been paying attention stopped their chatting and watched Nana. She stared at Denise as if she’d just shot someone. Her eyes were wide, and even from where Cate sat she could see that Nana’s lips were as sharp as the steak knives she’d opened a few minutes earlier. Oh dear Lord, what was she going to do? She aimed a bony finger at Denise’s face. “Your breath! I mean, God help us! It’s like a dragon. And your nonstop squawking. Please just stop. Stop! Stop spraying me with that dragon breath!”
It was impossible not to laugh. Everyone did, except Oma and Denise, who both looked mortified. Denise immediately reached for a pillow mint from the coffee table. Cate tried hard to hide her smile and covered her lips with her fingers. Even Connie, who never laughed when someone was insulted, had to remove her glasses to wipe away tears that had collected on her eyelids.
“Oh Nana,” Cate said as soon as the laughter had died a little. She tried to think of something to remedy the situation. She wanted to wrap Denise up and put her in a UPS truck headed for Egypt, but she also didn’t want World War III erupting between the Blakelys and the Padgetts. Bad breath or not, she had to live with these people—for the rest of her life. “Nana, why don’t you come sit over here next to me?”
“That’s a great idea,” Connie said, jumping into action. “Let’s move Nana. She can sit by me.”
Cate looked at the crowd. “Nana says things sometimes that she doesn’t mean. I did notice a funny odor over in that part of the room earlier today when I was looking out the window. I think maybe it was that gouda cheese that was sitting on the coffee table. That’s probably what she smelled.” Where this had come from, she had no idea.
She mouthed sorry to Denise, who was actually doing a pretty good job of hiding her embarrassment. Her cheeks were a little pink, and she seemed less confident. If the tables had been turned and she were in Denise’s shoes she probably would’ve grabbed the bowl of pillow mints, run from the room, and moved to another country so she would never have to see any of these people again.
• 25 •
Dancing Away
Waking up in the middle of the night had become routine in her world, and it wasn’t because of Oscar or school anxiety. It usually involved some kind of wedding nightmare. She’d wake up sweaty and haunted with visions of Denise holding a pitchfork designed like the flatware they had registered for, or Janet dressed in solid white, crashing their wedding. Going back to sleep after these kinds of dreams was difficult. Her mind would reel out of control with all kinds of wedding disasters that kept her tossing and turning. Tripping down the aisle. Spilling something dark and ugly on her dress minutes before the ceremony, or having a hairdo similar to a poodle on crack were all things that often made her restless. So when she was startled from a dream by Ethan’s tossing and turning, she felt an immediate surge of irritation. Sleep had become a precious commodity, and any interruptions could send her spiraling into insomnia.
Upon opening her eyes, she was immediately assaulted with the most toxic Oscar gas she’d ever been exposed to. He slept in his crate on a bed made of Denise’s towels. At least they’d gotten some use out of the gift. It was dim in their room, but she could see the tower of shower gifts that stood on her Louis XIV chair. She still hadn’t found places for everything in their tiny house. As of right now the waffle maker was in their bedroom closet.
“Ethan, quit moving around,” she snapped despite her fatigue. “Just lie still and say the ‘Our Father’ over and over.” Someone help her, she sounded like her mother. Grease jumped from the bed and ran to the other room.
“Sorry,” he said.
She glanced at the clock. It was four thirty, and her alarm would go off in a little over an hour. She’d never fall asleep now. The day would be spent dragging her feet, struggling through story time and recess to keep her eyes open.
“Something has really been bothering me.” His voice was thick with worry.
Had something happened with one his clients? Did he feel guilty about taking the nail gun from Denise and Janet? And for a fleeting moment, she felt a flicker of guilt over the hottie from the beach. Had he found out that she’d been flirting? That she’d found someone else attractive? She immediately dismissed it. There was no way he could possibly know about him, and anyway, she hadn’t done anything wrong. She’d just been nice to someone—personable and friendly to a stranger on the beach. Anyone would have done the same thing.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, rolling over to face him. She could see his long eyelashes resting on his cheek in the dark. Knowing he was worried made her anxious too.
“It’s just that . . . well . . . I really . . .”
The way he was talking reminded her of the way her ex-boyfriend sounded when he’d dumped her. For a moment she wondered if there was something he wasn’t telling her. Did he want to postpone? Had Janet finally had an impact on him? She’d never heard him sound so tormented. Her heart pounded in her chest. “What is it?” she asked, sitting up now.
“It’s just that I hate dancing.”
“Huh?”
“It’s the first dance,” he said. “I’m really nervous.”
“The first dance? At our wedding?”
“Yes, all these weddings I’ve been catering . . . I never realized what a big deal the first dance is. I’m dreading it more than anything.” He was talking rapidly now, and she’d never heard him sound more worried, as if he were being forced to apply for a job that he hated. “I can’t ballroom dance. And everyone’s going to be watching us, and I just don’t want to look like an idiot. Can we please . . . I don’t know. Practice or something?”
“Of course. But listen to me, it’s not a big deal at all. No one cares or remembers the first dance.” She rubbed his arm. “I don’t know how to dance either, and it’s not like a bunch of strangers are going to be watching us. It’s going to be all of our closest friends.”
“I know. But I still don’t want everyone watching us.”
“What if we take dance lessons? From a professional? Do you think that will make you feel better?”
He sighed. “I guess.”
“Okay. I’ll call this afternoon and sign us up for lessons.”
“Do it as soon as possible. I really need to practice.”
She kissed him on the cheek. “Don’t worry. It will be fine.” She spooned into his warm body and managed to catch another hour of sleep.
At lunchtime, she borrowed the phone book from the office. She realized after just a few conversations that most of the dance studios had skilled salesman who lured people into signing up for dance packages that would result in so many lessons they could qualify for Dancing with the Stars. She didn’t have five hundred dollars to blow on dance lessons, and with the wedding only a month and a half away there wouldn’t be time to master the fox trot and Viennese waltz. She just wanted a few lessons that would provide them a simple routine to get through their first song.
She finally stumbled upon a woman who agreed to give them one lesson for the bargain price of fifty dollars. They’d see how it went from there. If they liked it they could sign up for more.
The following Saturday they headed to the dance studio. It was raining, and when they arrived their shoes were soaked and the bottoms of Ethan’s jeans were heavy with water.
The studio, a garage in a residential neighborhood, stood behind several puddles. A woman who appeared to be in her sixties answered the door. Her eyes immediately wandered to their feet and lingered there for a moment. Her dark hair was pulled into a French twist, and a solid inch of gray roots sprouted from her scalp. It was hard not to wonder how someone who taught dance lessons every single day could be shaped like a Butterball turkey. When Cate had spoken to her on the phone she could tell that Madeline was older than the other instructors she’d called. Cate had expected a svelte Shirley MacLaine type of instructor. Someone with leg warmers, high-heeled tap shoes, and snazzy tights. Not this rotund little grandmother wearing sweatpants and jazz shoes.
“You have to wipe your shoes off before you come in,” she said. The remark was followed with a terse smile.
They wiped their feet off as best they could, then Cate extended her hand. “You must be Madeline. I’m Cate, and this is Ethan.”
She nodded. “Yes, it’s nice to meet both of you.” When Cate shook her hand it felt fleshy and cold. She immediately noticed a wall covered in pictures of happy-looking couples dressed in wedding clothes. Some were doing dips while others waltzed. There were even a few letters and notes that accompanied the photos. “Thank you, Madeline!” wrote Jenny and Steve. “You really taught us to trot!” declared a beaming and obese Melody and George. “Madeline is the best thing that ever happened to us!!” swore Karen and Todd who had the brightest and most bleached teeth Cate had ever seen in her life. She made a mental note not to overdo it with the Crest whitening strips before the wedding.
Seeing all the testimonials brought some relief. The woman must be skilled, and knowing that she’d saved many other couples made Cate a little excited for dance lessons. All these couples looked truly delighted, thanks to the wonderful lessons they’d received from this dance genius. She was glad that they were receiving lessons from an older woman, a real expert. Madeline would be better than any young instructor out there. It was just like Rocky. Burgess Meredith was their coach. They didn’t need some young buck.
“We have a CD,” Cate said, handing her the disc.
“Good. That’s good. I’ll definitely need to hear the music.”
She watched as Madeline pushed aside several cassette tapes so she could clear the way to the CD player. It was hard not to stare at Madeline as the CD played. Her lips became tight again, only there was no smile. Rather her brows furrowed as she did a few little dance moves by herself. A few seconds into the music she turned it off. “Do you have to have this song?”
“Well, um.” How was she supposed to answer this? It was “their song,” and the woman was basically telling them to pick something else. She didn’t want to dance to their second or third choice at their wedding. She bet Karen and Todd didn’t have to pick a new song. “I mean, I guess—”
“It’s just a really hard song. It’s fast, and since the two of you have had no experience, I’m wondering if you have your heart set on this song.”
“Well, we hadn’t really considered any other songs. I mean, can’t you just teach us something simple and basic to get us through it?”
Ethan had been quiet ever since they’d arrived, and she wondered what he was thinking.
She tilted her head. “Let me hear the song again.” She tapped her foot this time, but her lips were still pursed as she listened to the music. “Ah yes. East Coast Swing. Or maybe a fox trot.” She did a quick little jig by herself to the music. “Definitely an East Coast Swing.”
“Great.” Cate said. She had no idea why she was saying “great” when she didn’t even know what either dance entailed, let alone the difference between the two. She caught a glimpse of Ethan. The terrified expression on his face reminded her of a cat let out of its cage in the vet’s office, searching for the nearest route of escape.
“Okay, let’s get started,” Madeline said, leading them to the middle of the dance floor. Mirrors surrounded them, and Cate noticed that her hair was frizzy and damp, and she had this weird wavy style going on around her face. She looked like a man from the Civil War era.
“Okay, first I’m going to teach you how to lead.” She looked at Ethan. “The man always leads, so you’ll be doing most of the work. Are you good at math?”
He didn’t answer right away. “Yeah. Sure.”
“Good. Because you’re going to do all the counting. It’s easy for the woman. She just follows your lead. Okay?”
He nodded. His silence made Cate feel as if she had to be smiling and bubbly so she could maintain a good mood.
“The first thing you both need to know is how to position your arms and hands. “Eric, I want you to put your hand like so.” Neither one of them corrected the mistake. Instead they watched while she lifted her arms and demonstrated how they were supposed to stand. She looked as if she were dancing with a ghost. “I call it the loaded-pistol position. Your hand sort of looks like an upside-down gun, with your thumb being the handle and your hand being the barrel.” She reached for Cate’s hand. “Now you, Cate, are going to have the same loaded pistol, but you’re just going to slide your hand into his, flat. Okay?”
Cate moved her hand into Ethan’s. “Good, Cate. Your arms are perfect. Not too high, but very firm and nice and smooth. Eric, you, however, need to move your arms.” She demonstrated the first step Ethan would do, then she looked at Cate.
“Now give me your hand. I’m going to use you to demonstrate what I want Eric to do.”
“It’s Ethan,” Cate said. “His name is Ethan.”
She looked puzzled. “Oh? What did I say?”
“You were calling him Eric.”
“Sorry. All right, moving on.” Madeline’s hands were still cold when Cate slipped hers in. “Okay, now while I’m leading Cate, watch my feet, Eri—I mean, what is it? Ethan?”
They nodded.
When she said lead, she wasn’t kidding. Cate felt as if she were being whisked around like a blow-up doll while Madeline did all the work. After they were finished dancing she instructed Ethan and Cate to assume the same position.
She taught them several steps, one at a time. Cate couldn’t believe how complicated one turn could be. It was all a bit confusing, but Cate felt confident that it would come together eventually. They weren’t going to become Fred and Ginger overnight. She was teaching them how to turn when she paused. “Now Cate, you’re doing great. Ethan, you on the other hand, need some work.”
“I do?” He looked nervous.
She breezed through a few cookie pans, some muffin tins, and her dish towels. She was glad to see that some of the guests were chatting amongst themselves and not paying any attention to her. She didn’t blame them.
“Rita, don’t you love that she’s using the scissors?” Connie asked.
“Yes! We’re going to have lots of grandchildren!” As of right now, it looked like they would get seven.
About four gifts in, she opened a gift from Beth and Jill. They’d gone in on it together. It was three of her place settings, and she held them up for all to see. “We registered for stuff we could dress up and dress down. It could be everyday stuff or—” She was just about to repeat exactly what the woman at Macy’s had told them when she was interrupted by Nana. “Stop! Stop that talking. Your incessant squwaking is driving me crazy. We’re trying to have a conversation over here. And you! You’re so loud! All you ever do is talk!”
Cate felt her cheeks grow warm as the room erupted in laughter. Nana looked around to see what was so funny. She had no idea that everyone was laughing at her. No one had spoken to her since they’d sat down to open gifts, so if Cate had interrupted her, it had been a conversation with herself.
“Sorry, Nana. I’ll try to keep my voice down.” She moved on to the next gift.
She plowed through beer mugs, a chip and dip platter, a wine bucket, and a cheese plate. Jill passed her the gifts while Emily recorded them on a pad of paper.
After she handed Leslie her trash, Jill passed her the next gift. It was from Denise—their towels. Only they weren’t in the olive green they’d registered for. They were periwinkle blue. Was there a mistake on the registry? She’d have to secretly exchange them. But what would she do when Denise came over and noticed the towels were green? Would her feelings be hurt?
“Thank you!” Cate said. How does one really rave about towels, especially when they’re in the wrong color? Pointing out the mistake might embarrass Denise, and she didn’t want to make it obvious that something was wrong, so she began to pour it on thick. “I love them. They’re so soft, and cuddly.” She pressed a hand towel to her cheek just like a fabric softener commercial. “And, oh, they smell good too! I love towels!”
Denise smiled. “I know you registered for them in green.”
“You do?” She tried to conceal her astonishment.
“Yeah, but I just liked this color better. I thought it would go better with your house.”
The girl was truly insane. Ethan’s grandmother laughed. “Spoken like a true Blakely. One with style and class. When you see something good, you just have to take matters into your hands. I mean, olive green! That sounds awful. Who decorates anything except a marine base and prison barracks in olive green?”
Oma was against her too? Cate hoped her mouth hadn’t dropped as far as Emily’s and Jill’s had. It was Leslie who spoke first.
“I love olive green,” she said, poking a pointy toed olive green Stella McCartney pump in front of her. “It’s the color of the season. But I suppose if you’re still living in 1984 you wouldn’t know that.” She lifted the garbage bag she’d been collecting all the trash with and reached her long fingers toward Cate. “Why don’t you hand me all that trash, sweetie.”
Cate closed her mouth as she gave her the wrapping paper. “Here,” she said blindly handing her everything.
Denise spoke up. “Didn’t Ethan mention he wanted to paint the bathroom cream? I thought blue might go better.”
No, he’d never mentioned anything about cream, and he hated pastels, so he definitely wouldn’t want these towels. Before Cate could respond, Nana interrupted.
“You!” She turned to Denise. Her voice was so loud that everyone stared, even the few stragglers who hadn’t been paying attention stopped their chatting and watched Nana. She stared at Denise as if she’d just shot someone. Her eyes were wide, and even from where Cate sat she could see that Nana’s lips were as sharp as the steak knives she’d opened a few minutes earlier. Oh dear Lord, what was she going to do? She aimed a bony finger at Denise’s face. “Your breath! I mean, God help us! It’s like a dragon. And your nonstop squawking. Please just stop. Stop! Stop spraying me with that dragon breath!”
It was impossible not to laugh. Everyone did, except Oma and Denise, who both looked mortified. Denise immediately reached for a pillow mint from the coffee table. Cate tried hard to hide her smile and covered her lips with her fingers. Even Connie, who never laughed when someone was insulted, had to remove her glasses to wipe away tears that had collected on her eyelids.
“Oh Nana,” Cate said as soon as the laughter had died a little. She tried to think of something to remedy the situation. She wanted to wrap Denise up and put her in a UPS truck headed for Egypt, but she also didn’t want World War III erupting between the Blakelys and the Padgetts. Bad breath or not, she had to live with these people—for the rest of her life. “Nana, why don’t you come sit over here next to me?”
“That’s a great idea,” Connie said, jumping into action. “Let’s move Nana. She can sit by me.”
Cate looked at the crowd. “Nana says things sometimes that she doesn’t mean. I did notice a funny odor over in that part of the room earlier today when I was looking out the window. I think maybe it was that gouda cheese that was sitting on the coffee table. That’s probably what she smelled.” Where this had come from, she had no idea.
She mouthed sorry to Denise, who was actually doing a pretty good job of hiding her embarrassment. Her cheeks were a little pink, and she seemed less confident. If the tables had been turned and she were in Denise’s shoes she probably would’ve grabbed the bowl of pillow mints, run from the room, and moved to another country so she would never have to see any of these people again.
• 25 •
Dancing Away
Waking up in the middle of the night had become routine in her world, and it wasn’t because of Oscar or school anxiety. It usually involved some kind of wedding nightmare. She’d wake up sweaty and haunted with visions of Denise holding a pitchfork designed like the flatware they had registered for, or Janet dressed in solid white, crashing their wedding. Going back to sleep after these kinds of dreams was difficult. Her mind would reel out of control with all kinds of wedding disasters that kept her tossing and turning. Tripping down the aisle. Spilling something dark and ugly on her dress minutes before the ceremony, or having a hairdo similar to a poodle on crack were all things that often made her restless. So when she was startled from a dream by Ethan’s tossing and turning, she felt an immediate surge of irritation. Sleep had become a precious commodity, and any interruptions could send her spiraling into insomnia.
Upon opening her eyes, she was immediately assaulted with the most toxic Oscar gas she’d ever been exposed to. He slept in his crate on a bed made of Denise’s towels. At least they’d gotten some use out of the gift. It was dim in their room, but she could see the tower of shower gifts that stood on her Louis XIV chair. She still hadn’t found places for everything in their tiny house. As of right now the waffle maker was in their bedroom closet.
“Ethan, quit moving around,” she snapped despite her fatigue. “Just lie still and say the ‘Our Father’ over and over.” Someone help her, she sounded like her mother. Grease jumped from the bed and ran to the other room.
“Sorry,” he said.
She glanced at the clock. It was four thirty, and her alarm would go off in a little over an hour. She’d never fall asleep now. The day would be spent dragging her feet, struggling through story time and recess to keep her eyes open.
“Something has really been bothering me.” His voice was thick with worry.
Had something happened with one his clients? Did he feel guilty about taking the nail gun from Denise and Janet? And for a fleeting moment, she felt a flicker of guilt over the hottie from the beach. Had he found out that she’d been flirting? That she’d found someone else attractive? She immediately dismissed it. There was no way he could possibly know about him, and anyway, she hadn’t done anything wrong. She’d just been nice to someone—personable and friendly to a stranger on the beach. Anyone would have done the same thing.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, rolling over to face him. She could see his long eyelashes resting on his cheek in the dark. Knowing he was worried made her anxious too.
“It’s just that . . . well . . . I really . . .”
The way he was talking reminded her of the way her ex-boyfriend sounded when he’d dumped her. For a moment she wondered if there was something he wasn’t telling her. Did he want to postpone? Had Janet finally had an impact on him? She’d never heard him sound so tormented. Her heart pounded in her chest. “What is it?” she asked, sitting up now.
“It’s just that I hate dancing.”
“Huh?”
“It’s the first dance,” he said. “I’m really nervous.”
“The first dance? At our wedding?”
“Yes, all these weddings I’ve been catering . . . I never realized what a big deal the first dance is. I’m dreading it more than anything.” He was talking rapidly now, and she’d never heard him sound more worried, as if he were being forced to apply for a job that he hated. “I can’t ballroom dance. And everyone’s going to be watching us, and I just don’t want to look like an idiot. Can we please . . . I don’t know. Practice or something?”
“Of course. But listen to me, it’s not a big deal at all. No one cares or remembers the first dance.” She rubbed his arm. “I don’t know how to dance either, and it’s not like a bunch of strangers are going to be watching us. It’s going to be all of our closest friends.”
“I know. But I still don’t want everyone watching us.”
“What if we take dance lessons? From a professional? Do you think that will make you feel better?”
He sighed. “I guess.”
“Okay. I’ll call this afternoon and sign us up for lessons.”
“Do it as soon as possible. I really need to practice.”
She kissed him on the cheek. “Don’t worry. It will be fine.” She spooned into his warm body and managed to catch another hour of sleep.
At lunchtime, she borrowed the phone book from the office. She realized after just a few conversations that most of the dance studios had skilled salesman who lured people into signing up for dance packages that would result in so many lessons they could qualify for Dancing with the Stars. She didn’t have five hundred dollars to blow on dance lessons, and with the wedding only a month and a half away there wouldn’t be time to master the fox trot and Viennese waltz. She just wanted a few lessons that would provide them a simple routine to get through their first song.
She finally stumbled upon a woman who agreed to give them one lesson for the bargain price of fifty dollars. They’d see how it went from there. If they liked it they could sign up for more.
The following Saturday they headed to the dance studio. It was raining, and when they arrived their shoes were soaked and the bottoms of Ethan’s jeans were heavy with water.
The studio, a garage in a residential neighborhood, stood behind several puddles. A woman who appeared to be in her sixties answered the door. Her eyes immediately wandered to their feet and lingered there for a moment. Her dark hair was pulled into a French twist, and a solid inch of gray roots sprouted from her scalp. It was hard not to wonder how someone who taught dance lessons every single day could be shaped like a Butterball turkey. When Cate had spoken to her on the phone she could tell that Madeline was older than the other instructors she’d called. Cate had expected a svelte Shirley MacLaine type of instructor. Someone with leg warmers, high-heeled tap shoes, and snazzy tights. Not this rotund little grandmother wearing sweatpants and jazz shoes.
“You have to wipe your shoes off before you come in,” she said. The remark was followed with a terse smile.
They wiped their feet off as best they could, then Cate extended her hand. “You must be Madeline. I’m Cate, and this is Ethan.”
She nodded. “Yes, it’s nice to meet both of you.” When Cate shook her hand it felt fleshy and cold. She immediately noticed a wall covered in pictures of happy-looking couples dressed in wedding clothes. Some were doing dips while others waltzed. There were even a few letters and notes that accompanied the photos. “Thank you, Madeline!” wrote Jenny and Steve. “You really taught us to trot!” declared a beaming and obese Melody and George. “Madeline is the best thing that ever happened to us!!” swore Karen and Todd who had the brightest and most bleached teeth Cate had ever seen in her life. She made a mental note not to overdo it with the Crest whitening strips before the wedding.
Seeing all the testimonials brought some relief. The woman must be skilled, and knowing that she’d saved many other couples made Cate a little excited for dance lessons. All these couples looked truly delighted, thanks to the wonderful lessons they’d received from this dance genius. She was glad that they were receiving lessons from an older woman, a real expert. Madeline would be better than any young instructor out there. It was just like Rocky. Burgess Meredith was their coach. They didn’t need some young buck.
“We have a CD,” Cate said, handing her the disc.
“Good. That’s good. I’ll definitely need to hear the music.”
She watched as Madeline pushed aside several cassette tapes so she could clear the way to the CD player. It was hard not to stare at Madeline as the CD played. Her lips became tight again, only there was no smile. Rather her brows furrowed as she did a few little dance moves by herself. A few seconds into the music she turned it off. “Do you have to have this song?”
“Well, um.” How was she supposed to answer this? It was “their song,” and the woman was basically telling them to pick something else. She didn’t want to dance to their second or third choice at their wedding. She bet Karen and Todd didn’t have to pick a new song. “I mean, I guess—”
“It’s just a really hard song. It’s fast, and since the two of you have had no experience, I’m wondering if you have your heart set on this song.”
“Well, we hadn’t really considered any other songs. I mean, can’t you just teach us something simple and basic to get us through it?”
Ethan had been quiet ever since they’d arrived, and she wondered what he was thinking.
She tilted her head. “Let me hear the song again.” She tapped her foot this time, but her lips were still pursed as she listened to the music. “Ah yes. East Coast Swing. Or maybe a fox trot.” She did a quick little jig by herself to the music. “Definitely an East Coast Swing.”
“Great.” Cate said. She had no idea why she was saying “great” when she didn’t even know what either dance entailed, let alone the difference between the two. She caught a glimpse of Ethan. The terrified expression on his face reminded her of a cat let out of its cage in the vet’s office, searching for the nearest route of escape.
“Okay, let’s get started,” Madeline said, leading them to the middle of the dance floor. Mirrors surrounded them, and Cate noticed that her hair was frizzy and damp, and she had this weird wavy style going on around her face. She looked like a man from the Civil War era.
“Okay, first I’m going to teach you how to lead.” She looked at Ethan. “The man always leads, so you’ll be doing most of the work. Are you good at math?”
He didn’t answer right away. “Yeah. Sure.”
“Good. Because you’re going to do all the counting. It’s easy for the woman. She just follows your lead. Okay?”
He nodded. His silence made Cate feel as if she had to be smiling and bubbly so she could maintain a good mood.
“The first thing you both need to know is how to position your arms and hands. “Eric, I want you to put your hand like so.” Neither one of them corrected the mistake. Instead they watched while she lifted her arms and demonstrated how they were supposed to stand. She looked as if she were dancing with a ghost. “I call it the loaded-pistol position. Your hand sort of looks like an upside-down gun, with your thumb being the handle and your hand being the barrel.” She reached for Cate’s hand. “Now you, Cate, are going to have the same loaded pistol, but you’re just going to slide your hand into his, flat. Okay?”
Cate moved her hand into Ethan’s. “Good, Cate. Your arms are perfect. Not too high, but very firm and nice and smooth. Eric, you, however, need to move your arms.” She demonstrated the first step Ethan would do, then she looked at Cate.
“Now give me your hand. I’m going to use you to demonstrate what I want Eric to do.”
“It’s Ethan,” Cate said. “His name is Ethan.”
She looked puzzled. “Oh? What did I say?”
“You were calling him Eric.”
“Sorry. All right, moving on.” Madeline’s hands were still cold when Cate slipped hers in. “Okay, now while I’m leading Cate, watch my feet, Eri—I mean, what is it? Ethan?”
They nodded.
When she said lead, she wasn’t kidding. Cate felt as if she were being whisked around like a blow-up doll while Madeline did all the work. After they were finished dancing she instructed Ethan and Cate to assume the same position.
She taught them several steps, one at a time. Cate couldn’t believe how complicated one turn could be. It was all a bit confusing, but Cate felt confident that it would come together eventually. They weren’t going to become Fred and Ginger overnight. She was teaching them how to turn when she paused. “Now Cate, you’re doing great. Ethan, you on the other hand, need some work.”
“I do?” He looked nervous.
