Grease Monkey Jive (23 page)

“Hero complex,” said Fluke.

“He’s his own song,” said Mitch enigmatically.

Dan looked like he loved the girl. No one had to tell him to look up or to smile or invest his attention in his partner. He was doing all those things and making it look natural. And the girl looked like she loved him. The way Alex tossed her hair, arched her body, and trailed her hands down Dan’s arms was several pay grades above the job description of flirty.

“That’s what he looks like when he’s surfing,” said Mitch. “When he’s spotted a good ride, when he knows he can own it and it won’t churn him under and spit him out. He’s happy.”

“They’re ready,” said Trevor.

When Scott called a break, Dan joined the boys and Trevor on the bench seat. He said, “Well?”

“Less stupid than when you started,” said Mitch.

“But you still look stupid,” said Fluke.

“Harsh critics,” said Trevor. “Good practice for the official judging. They won’t use the word stupid, they’ll put a number on it. We need to score above a four to stay in the comp and we need to hope no other couple scores a ten.

Dan didn’t respond. He’d been watching Alex on her phone, saw her frown, clench her free fist, and close her eyes. The fact that he wasn’t the reason for her reaction made him glad; the fact that he didn’t know what was had him on his feet.

“You ok?” he said, walking towards her.

“Fine.” It was said with a tight jaw and a quick spiteful curl of her top lip.

“Just glad it’s not me put that expression on your face.”

Alex shook her head, “Must be your lucky day.”

“Want to vent.”

“No.”

“Ok then.”

“I do need a ride though. Would you mind dropping me to Phil’s?”

In the Valiant, Alex said, “What is it with men?” and Dan was smart enough to know that wasn’t the end of her sentence though she said nothing further and turned her head to look out the passenger side window. He waited for it. It came just as a P-plater in a beat up Commodore cut in front of them.

“Why is it that I’m supposed to be ok about coming second?” She said it to the passing street and the row of takeaway shops on Bondi Road and he responded by changing gears and braking at the Penkival Street lights.

“Why is it that my concerns are never serious enough or real enough or important enough to take precedent?”

Dan figured the best response would be to let the clutch out and flick the blinker on. He did that and turned right. Alex didn’t say anything through two more sets of lights and a roundabout. Then, in a far less strident and demanding voice, she said, “It must be me.”

Dan snuck a look across at her. She had her eyes to her hands in her lap and she was twisting a ring on her middle finger. “It’s not you.”

“How would you know?”

“You’re right, I don’t know. You might be a bitch on wheels.”

Alex kept twisting.

“Are you?”

She sighed, “I don’t think so. But it must be me. He’s a good man and he loves me. I must bring this on somehow.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing serious. Nothing you need to worry about. I think it must be a guy thing.”

Dan laughed. “You know that’s what guys say when we don’t want to explain ourselves.”

“No.” Alex shot him an open-mouthed look. “But that makes sense.”

“What happened?”

“It’s nothing. I don’t know why I’m upset.”

“But you are. You might as well tell me. I’ll buy you a milkshake.”

Alex squirmed a little in her seat. “That’s over the line.”

“This is over the line.” Dan took both hands off the wheel momentarily to indicate the fact they were together in his car.

“You’ll make me late.”

“Do you care?”

She grinned suddenly, “No.”

At Bronte Beach they sat on the lip of cement that separated the sand from the walkway still busy with joggers and walkers. They dangled their legs, sipping on chocolate malted milkshakes, and watched the sky turn pale pink.

Alex told Dan how on a good day Phil was disdainful of her dancing and almost entirely dismissive of the competition. He thought it demeaned her, wasn’t a serious occupation for someone who wanted a career in business, so he didn’t ever consider how much time she needed to put in to it or how tired she got.

She told him how she’d considered giving up after Scott’s accident, how annoyed Phil had been they’d started up again, and how tonight he’d cancelled on picking her up and suggested she might like to cook for them, the night before the heat. And as to the heat itself, well, Phil never went to competitions.

“Why didn’t you give it up?” Dan asked when she’d been silent for a few minutes.

Alex looked out at the horizon, blue on blue on pink. There were still some little kids in the bogey hole, splashing about, squealing in delight.

“Because I love it. What I don’t understand is why that’s not good enough for Phil. Why he feels he has to have control over what I like and what I do. Some days it feels like I have to fight him just to be myself. Why do men do that?”

Dan left his legs dangling, but lay back on the still warm cement and looked at the pinking sky. “Not sure I’m the best person to ask about that.”

“Why?”

He laughed, “It’s a guy thing.”

“That’s not funny. I’ve just spilled my heart out to you – I have no idea why I did that – and now you won’t play.”

“I’ll play. I’m just saying I don’t know the answer to that one.”

“Take a wild stab.”

He sighed, “Ego.”

“That’s it. That’s your whole answer?”

“Yep.”

Alex lay back beside Dan. “So, it’s about male pride and a whole bunch of other macho crap like that?”

“Yep.”

“Are you like that with women?”

Dan was glad the flush of sunset was fading. Long shadows were streaking up from the gully and crossing the park to where they lay. They didn’t bring with them the kind of bravery the cover of night did, but they put a softer focus on the unforgiving light of day, made a person feel just a little less defensive.

“This is not about me.”

“No, but I’m trying to understand.”

“I’m worse.”

“What’s worse than being controlling?”

“There’s worse, Alex.”

“Oh, yeah. Right.”

Shit. He sat up to look at her. “Hey, I’m not abusive or violent. I would never hurt a woman. You have to know that. A bloke who abuses a women is the lowest form of life.” He spoke way too loudly in his haste to convince her. Alex sat up and a couple of joggers made a wide circle around them.

She put her hand to his arm. “It’s ok. I don’t think you’d hurt anyone.”

He sighed, relieved. “I just mean that maybe it’s worse when you, what’s the word, ‘objectify’ women, and don’t see them for who they really are. It’s at least as bad as being controlling.”

“Is that what you do?”

“What do you think?”

“Why don’t you have a girlfriend?”

“I think you’ve just answered the first question.”

“Ah, you’re not getting away with it that easily. You could have just about any woman you want. I mean look at you.” She flicked him hard on the chest. “But I’ve never heard you mention a girlfriend. If you had one I’m sure she’d be around to watch with Mitch and Fluke.”

Dan groaned. “How did this become about me?”

“Clever, huh?”

“Ok, you want it straight? I did something stupid. I hurt a friend, so I’m taking a break.”

“Not following.”

“I got tired of the kind of life where women are disposable.”

“What, you’ve opted out?”

Dan heard Alex’s surprise. “I’m pretty sure it’s a temporary state.”

“Ok, so the abusive men aside, some men objectify and some men control.”

“And none of them are any good for you.”

They were quiet while the shadows stretched and the air cooled to balmy. Dan was thinking about what he’d like to do to Phil so Alex didn’t have this stress. “So what do you do about Phil?”

“I work a little harder to explain to him what’s important to me and I stop letting him decide what’s good for me.”

“Go girl!”

“Do you really believe that?”

“Sure. If a bloke loves you and you’re being clear about what’s important, there’s no way he won’t see things differently.” And if Phil didn’t and Alex confided in Dan again, then there’d be an entirely different answer to that question.

“Thanks Dan. I have no idea why I told you all this, but I feel better. What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Why don’t you just change the way you relate to women?”

Now the shadows were all the way across the cement walkway and the sandy shore and stretched towards the sea. Dan brushed the sand from his hands, wished it were night and he were braver. He said, “Haven’t found anyone worth changing for,” and that was his best lie yet.

“Jesus H Christ!” said Ant, as they entered the Wentworth Arena. “We’ve just crossed over into the Twilight Zone.”

Dan could just about hear the plucked guitar strings, saxophone, horn, and bongo drums of the old TV show’s signature tune and Mitch helped out by going, “Deedee, deedee, deedee, deedee.”

There were five hundred people in the tiered stadium seating and more pouring in the various entrances. There was a large, highly polished wooden floor, a raised judge’s dais, a sound and vision desk, and enough disco balls and coloured lights flaring and strobing to cause a fit. But it wasn’t so much the weirdness of the venue as the view they were getting of the competing dancers strutting their stuff.

The women’s costumes were brief, flashy, and fabulous, their makeup heavy and exaggerated. They glittered and shimmered, flicking hair and hands in hypnotic ‘look at me’ gestures that made the boys instinctively follow their movements.

Some of the men looked equally dramatic. There were lots of well-fitted trousers and bare chests on display. Some of them wore makeup too, eyeliner and lip gloss, and several were shirtless altogether, their muscles oiled.

Alesha Dixon sang about a man with two left feet who got a second chance and Dan felt like he’d missed every chance to back out. He was an ignorant tourist visiting a foreign land with odd social customs he’d volunteered to participate in without reading the brochure’s fine print.

He’d rather have walked though fire or had teeth pulled without anaesthetic. He stood, holding his comparatively plain, despite Gwen’s rule about the undone buttons, costume in a suit bag, with Ant, Mitch, and Fluke, and watched the whirl of colour and the twist of dancers and felt physically ill.

Trevor had explained that for a half hour before the competition began any of the couples could use the floor to rehearse. It was a psych-out tactic, useful if you wanted to show off a particularly difficult move to put the fear of failure into your opponents. Of course, there was no guarantee you’d use that risky move in your competition routine and this little piece of theatre was often responsible for couples hastily amending long finalised routines to add an extra piece of drama only to screw it up and realise it was a ruse anyway. Trevor didn’t want Alex and Dan having a bar of it and for that Dan was eternally grateful.

Ant brought him out of his stupefied state by slapping him across the back. “Your funeral, mate. It’s gonna be a hoot.”

They found Scott and Trevor with Gwen in the competitor’s area. No Alex and, Dan noted, there was no sign of Phil either. He left the boys to continue gawping around the stadium and followed Scott to the change rooms.

“Any last words?” he said, when he’d shed jeans and t-shirt for his black trousers and shirt and wore a look of what he hoped was contained terror on his face.

“Forget everyone else but Alex.”

“Forget everyone else but Alex,” Dan repeated and breathed out heavily. “I can do that.”

“And try not to barf out there.”

Back in the competitor’s area, Dan got his initial look at Alex. His first thought was a swear word, his second that Gwen was a genius.

Alex’s dress attached to her body with tiny transparent strings around her neck and a heroic amount of good luck. She was bare skin on her right side from the edge of her ribcage to the curve of her hip, where a longer spray of fabric trailed to her knee. Her skirt was otherwise cheerleader outfit short. The dress, if that’s what you could call it, was black and glittered with tiny silver stars inset in the fabric. Alex had glittery pins and feathers in her upswept hair and her makeup made her eyes look like two gold pearls riding storm clouds.

The last time Dan reacted to how Alex looked he’d gotten himself into trouble, but in his pre-event panic state, he was beyond high definition memory recall and his mouth was in gear before he’d engaged sufficient brain function to temper his vocalisation.

“Fuck me, you’re beautiful.”

It was Mitch who reacted first, jumping up and ramming his hand over Dan’s mouth. “He means you look great, Alex.” Mitch looked at Gwen. “Dan’s not a bad guy. He just needs to watch his mouth.” He gave Dan’s hair a ruffle and released him, laughing.

“Thank you, I think,” said Alex and her brows were frowny, but her smile was dazzling. “Come here,” she beckoned Dan closer with a curling finger. “Mitch has mussed you up.”

“Sorry!” called Mitch, but he didn’t look sorry. He watched while Alex finger combed Dan’s hair back, ready to jump up and mess with it all over again.

“Sorry,” Dan said, when he’d stepped clear of a laughing Mitch and was eyeballing Alex again. “You look incredible, but if I touch it, will it fall apart?”

She shook her head. “It’s very secure, don’t worry. There’s glue involved.”

“Really?”

“No, but I hoped it might make you feel better.”

“No fair. I’m worried enough without thinking I might rip that thing off you out there.”

“You won’t. We’ll be fine. Just keep looking at me.”

“That won’t be hard. You’re the only thing I can see anyway.”

Alex screwed one eye closed and squinted at him. She said, “Oooo-kay,” drawing the word out like you might with someone who was dense. “You might want to look at that now for a while.” She gestured to the floor where dancers of all ages and experience were congregating for the first heat of the open competition.