Grease Monkey Jive (17 page)

When Scott called, “Again,” and clapped his hands for attention it was all Dan could do not to stride across the floor, grab the supercilious twerp by the neck, and punch his lights out. Couldn’t Scott see that there was no way he could do it again? That he’d burn to a crisp as soon as Alex so much as brushed against him?

He looked down at Mitch and Fluke, still sprawled on the floor, still wearing their circus clown grins, and that propelled him forward. This piece of stupidity ended right now. They’d only just started and it wasn’t like it was part of the bet, so it couldn’t impact Mitch or Fluke. If Ant made an issue of it, screw the bet and screw Ant.

“Look, I don’t think this is going to work.” He addressed Scott, avoided even looking at Alex.

“Because?” said Scott, his ‘I’m talking to a five year old’ tone making Mitch laugh.

“Because you need a professional and that’s not me.”

“We do need a professional, but we can’t get one. The rules let us have you and all you need to do for the moment is look the part. The rest we can get to.”

“No.”

“Is this your first tanty, Dan? Are you going to stamp your size fifteens?”

“Call it what you want. This is me saying no.”

Dan scooped his towel off a bench where he’d tossed it earlier and dragged it over his face. As he turned, Alex was there. He might have collided with her and burst into flames she was standing so close. She titled her head to the side, so he could see the curve of her neck and her lovely face in profile. She was nailing him with an expression that was part disbelief, part resignation.

“I didn’t take you for a quitter, Dan.”

So she didn’t want him to quit. The notion that he might put an edge in her voice. He dragged a hand through his hair and frowned at her. Why couldn’t she see this was a bad idea, beyond his lack of ability, mucking with his sanity?

She titled her head, a serious expression on her face. “I know it must be strange. If we could think of any other way, believe me, we would. If it’s about the money, we can...” She looked up and met his eyes and another of Mitch’s fucking love darts slammed into his chest. He was terminally wounded.

“It’s not the money. I don’t want the money.”

“Oh,” she said and he heard defeat and a sprinkling of disappointment in that one exhalation. As much as he wanted to tear every muscle in his body running away from the insane shock of electricity he felt standing next to her, he wouldn’t do it. Couldn’t. “I don’t want to let you down.”

Alex’s smile suffused her face, chasing away the shadow of frustration and regret. “I’m sure you won’t.”

“How are we going to do this, then?” He meant build a life together, because that seemed like the right question to ask, and he laughed when she said, “With lots of practice,” because that felt like the right answer, even though he knew she meant lessons and rehearsals.

Somehow the layers in the language were fitting.

He had no precedent for this and no room for it in his life. It made him feel unearthed, slightly out of control, and there was everything wrong with that. This was some karmic test, on his resolve to change and payback for all the times he’d been careless with someone else’s heart, better than anything Fluke or even Ant at his most demonic might have designed. He had to find a way to get through it, learn from it, and survive it, without hurting Alex, without losing the self he was trying to become.

“If you’re ready, children,” said Scott, again with the hand clap and they took their places.

From across the room, Alex squinted at Dan. She could see his unease, his head down, eyes to the floor. She blocked it out. She needed to focus on doing her job and getting through this lesson, and it would be better if he never saw how he’d affected her or understood that she’d read his desire for her. The more clinical and purely professional she was, the easier this would be.

Scott said, “Dan, follow Trevor. We’ll add your part in now. Forget about Alex for the moment.”

Dan looked up. Forget about Alex. That was the most sensible thing Scott had said yet, but like pretty much all of his other instructions, he wouldn’t remember it. Alex was watching him from across the room. Was she impatient, pissed off? He couldn’t tell. Earlier she’d been conciliatory, a little wistful, now she was frowning at him. He tried what he hoped was a wry smile in her direction, but she stared through it, frosting his attempt to connect with her with the upward arch of one eyebrow.

Scott fired the stereo up, Jack Johnson’s
Rodeo Clown
, the beat slow enough for Dan to cope with the steps he’d just been taught. Trevor was in front of him and calling out the steps by name as he danced them.

“Four basics, four whisks, turn now, here’s the maypole, then the bota fogoa.”

It was nonsense to Dan, but he glued his eyes to Trevor’s body and made it through the sequence, aware that Alex had danced her part as well, but this time not conscious of her rearranging his senses as she came close.

They did it again and again and on the fourth time, Trevor only called the steps and prompted and Dan made it through by himself. He was bathed in sweat, his head full of counts and words that had more meaning in the kitchen or the village green than to his feet.

“Ok, now we add the hip pop and lock,” said Scott.

“I’ve just been whisked and now you’re going to do what to my hips?” said Dan, sucking in oxygen, wiping his hand over his brow and brushing sweat into his hair line.

“Pop and lock,” said Trevor and moved in front of Dan. “Like this.”

Dan tried following, but knew he wasn’t getting the fluid weight shift and hip lift that Trevor did. He growled with frustration and they tried again. And again. He was no closer to getting it. He was stiff, awkward, and off balance.

“Shift your weight, use your knees, rock your hips, tilt your pelvis. I’m sure you know how,” Scott said, and even Trevor looked puzzled by his inability to grasp the movement.

“No. I don’t know how!”

“Think about it,” Scott fired back and made an exaggerated hip roll movement that looked like something a pole dancer in a strip club might do.

Dan looked blankly at him and then reeled back. “Fuck, Scott!”

“Yes, exactly! Exactly how you’d move in the bedroom. Well, maybe not exactly, but I think you get the point now. Loosen up, move your hips!”

From his position at the side of the room, Fluke felt warmly bathed in Dan’s discomfort. Dan was hot, unsure, and stumbling, and he’d never seen him like that. Now Scott had added embarrassment to the pile of humiliation stacked in Dan’s out-of-comfort zone. Fluke was feeling pretty damn vindicated. This was going to go on for some time: days, weeks, if Dan was ever going to make it to an actual competition event.

And then there was his reaction to Alex. Something happened out there. When Alex danced around Dan, the air had just about crackled around them. Dan looked like he’d been hit by a train and even Alex, normally so cool, was rattled.

Fluke didn’t get it, but he’d seen it and so had Mitch – seen Dan knocked for six by a woman who right now was looking at him as though he was an energy sucking, waste of space, try-hard, dumbass nerd.

Dan and Trevor were trying the thing with the hips again and Dan had it. Down pat. The pop, the lock, the lift, the swing. He was mirroring Trevor, a firm frown of concentration on his face, but his knees, feet, hips, and arms were obedient to the beat.

Fluke saw Scott and Alex exchange a look of surprise and when Mitch said, “Hah, he’s got it,” in amazement, answered him with, “Bastard,” making Mitch laugh.

The two of them watched Dan fit the steps together with Alex and there was more stumbling, a bucket full of faltering and tripping, and a salting of frustration. Scott’s attempt at patience was almost comic, Trevor’s movements, flush up behind Dan, his hands on Dan’s hips, guiding him, almost pornographic. It was an orgy of ineptitude and inelegance. A train wreck had more natural symmetry and, like a train wreck, this was so fascinating neither of them could look away.

But slowly the hard shell of the wreckage was peeled back. Scott stopped yelling, Trevor let go of Dan and backed away, and it was just the survivors, Dan and Alex, blinking hard in the shocking daylight, holding on to each other and dancing together, one fresh born minute of a samba routine.

And like two people who never expected to stay alive they were laughing.

“Are you wearing that?”

Two pairs of eyes turned on Phil.

“What’s wrong with it?” Alex said.

“It’s a Vogue pattern, this year’s,” said Gwen and her tea cup rattled on its saucer as her hand shook.

“It’s sleeveless. You might get cold.”

“It’s summer, Phil. The chances of getting cold aren’t exactly high. We’re eating locally right?”

“Yes. Lucio’s. I just thought you might wear something nicer that’s all.”

“Nicer! You wouldn’t know nicer in women’s fashion if it slapped you around.”

“Alex!” said Gwen.

“Well, he wouldn’t, Gran.”

“I suppose not,” said Phil. “We’re only eating locally anyway.”

When Gwen shut the front door behind Alex and Phil, she let it bang just a little bit in a show of annoyance. Alex’s silent agreement lasted til they were seated at Lucio’s. She tried to shake the mood, not that Phil noticed, he was telling a long involved story she struggled to see the significance of.

There was certainly a villain and Phil was the hero; she just couldn’t work out what they were battling for. It didn’t seem like honour or truth, and it certainly wasn’t justice.

“You know what that means?” said Phil, leaning over to top up her wine glass.

Alex knew she was supposed to know, supposed to care. But it had been a very long story, with selected highlights accompanying the entree and a full exposition, including various back stories, during dinner. She’d tried hard to hold on to the details, to remember what people she’d never met said and did, and how that had impacted on Phil, but it was all too hard. Around the time when the quest looked to be won, she’d drifted off, thinking about another quest and another hero and how this other hero had looked at her as she’d danced around him, like he’d slay dragons for her pleasure, ride tournaments for her amusement, and be her champion for life.

“Have you been listening to me?” said Phil.

“Yes, but I got lost where you said the budget committee wanted to cancel the product development program and Bruce had to step in.”

“Right, well you should have said. You see...”

Alex heard the first part of Phil’s sentence and when it became obvious he was going to repeat the details, she cut him off. “Phil, would you mind if we talked about something else?”

“Oh, am I boring you? I thought you’d be interested. Office politics is critically important. It can make or break your career you know.”

He’d talked non-stop since they’d got to the restaurant and, while it was interesting to hear about his work, maybe he could have given her the abridged version? “I am interested. It was just a very long story.”

Phil laughed and reached for Alex’s hand. “You’re right, it was. I could have left out some of the detail. I guess I was telling it more for me than for you.”

“How do you mean?”

“Talking about it helps me think it through. Now I can see Bruce was right to do what he did. He’d have made too many enemies otherwise. You see...”

And Phil was off again. He barely noticed when Alex waved a waiter over and ordered dessert, something she rarely did. When it arrived, Phil used his coffee spoon to take a bite of her lemon-lime pie and finally changed the topic. “I thought you might like to come over tomorrow night.”

“I can’t. I have another rehearsal with Dan.”

Phil closed his eyes and breathed out. Only last night they’d argued about how much time Alex was putting into this – the search for a new partner, ideas for costumes, fabric shopping with Gwen, how unsuitable it was for her to care so much about a silly dance competition in the first place – but Alex knew he wouldn’t want to fight, not in public. He said simply, “He’s the new partner?”

“Yes.”

“A friend of Scott’s?”

“No. Why would you think that?”

“Oh, you know, the gay mafia.”

“No. Dan didn’t know Scott til he came for lessons and he’s not gay.”

“He’s not?” Phil sounded sceptical. “You’re sure?”

“Yes I’m sure, but what does it matter anyway?”

“I’d be happier if he was gay.”

Alex laughed. “You’re not jealous are you?”

“Of Scott, no.”

“Of Dan?”

Phil said, “I don’t know him. How could I be jealous of him?” but he managed to look put out all the same.

“He’s very handsome. Quite dashing really. Rescues damsels in distress.”

“He’s not the bloke who had your car towed?”

“He is.”

“He’s the mechanic? The grease monkey?”

“Yes.”

“Then I have nothing to worry about, no matter how good looking he is.”

“Oh really. What makes you so sure of yourself?” Alex teased, rubbing her bare foot under Phil’s trouser leg.

Phil leaned forward and captured her hand, squeezing it in his own. “Because you, my darling, are far too smart to ever look at a man who scratches a living fixing beat up cars.”

Alex looked down at their joined hands lying on the butcher paper that stood in for a tablecloth at Lucio’s. It was true, she would never consider getting mixed up with a man who didn’t wear a suit to work, who didn’t have a degree and career prospects. She would never get involved with Dan outside of the competition and their preparation. Phil was right – he had nothing to worry about. There was nothing wrong with having standards and knowing what you wanted to get from life.

Lucio’s soft, off-white, butcher paper tablecloth had served them just fine as a covering instead of starched linen, so why did wanting linen instead of paper suddenly feel like paying attention to the wrong things?

“You’ll come tomorrow night?” said Phil.

She shook her head. “No, I can’t. I’m not sure how long we’ll rehearse for. There’s so much to do before the next heat. Dan is such a novice.”