Dance, The (The Restoration Series Book #1): A Novel (19 page)

 36 

F
or the first ten minutes, Jim and Doug sat there eating on bar stools by the kitchen counter. Doug eating his sweet and sour chicken, Jim his Mongolian beef. It had a nice kick to it. Doug had kept his promise and tried a piece—one piece. He went right back to his favorite Chinese dish. “They’re just Chinese chicken nuggets,” Jim said, breaking the silence. “You know that, right? It’s not really even a Chinese dish.”

“Really, Dad? Are you going to keep hassling me about this? I tried your spicy beef. It wasn’t bad. I just like this better.”

“All right.” He chewed some more, looked at Doug, who dipped another nugget with the chopsticks in that sickeningly sweet red sauce. At least he knew how to use them, Jim thought. He could never get them to work right.

How was he going to break into this conversation they were supposed to be having?

“The way I see it, Dad, I’ve only got about five more minutes of food left. Are we going to do this, or what?”

Jim laughed. Do what, he thought. How does one “do this”? He envied Marilyn at this moment. All women, really. How did
they just open up and start talking at a heart level? It seemed effortless for them. A woman could sit on a bench next to another woman, a complete stranger. Five minutes later, they’re pouring out their hearts to each other, sharing things at a level men wouldn’t even begin to acknowledge after six months of “male bonding.” This felt like walking through thick woods without a trail.

Take responsibility for yourself, Jim thought. He was the adult here. He needed to be the one to initiate, try to make it easy for Doug to open up. “Well, guess I’ll just jump in then. Would you describe me as a control freak?”

“What?”

“A control freak. You know, someone who—”

“I know what a control freak is, Dad. I can’t believe you just said it. Took me off guard a little.”

“So . . . is that what I am?”

“Yeah, I guess. A little.”

“Just a little?”

“No.” Doug grinned. “More than a little. I’m sorry, this is a little intimidating for me.”

“So I intimidate you?”

“Well . . . yeah. You’re my dad.” He grabbed another fried chunk of chicken, dipped it in the sauce, and plopped it in his mouth.

“You mean, that’s what dads do? Intimidate their kids?”

Doug finished chewing. “I guess. You do, anyway.” He thought a moment. “Jason’s dad isn’t like that, though. He jokes around a lot with us. Kind of gets down on our level. At least he tries to. Sometimes he tries too hard. But he’s a really nice guy.”

Doug had just implied Jim wasn’t a nice guy. “How does Jason feel about me? Do you know?”

“What? Well . . . yeah, I know.”

It was clear he didn’t want to say. “Well . . .”

“Basically? You scare him.”

Jim couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He’d never given it much thought, why Jason never came over. He was just glad it was true; the kid really bugged him. “I don’t get how I scare him. We’ve hardly said two words to each other.”

“Yeah, well . . . that’s part of it. Jason’s dad always talks to me when I come over, if he’s there. Sometimes, he stops what he’s doing and watches us on the Xbox. Or he’ll ask me questions, like he’s trying to connect with us. At least makes the effort.”

“And I don’t do that?”

“Dad . . . c’mon. You and I don’t even connect. When was the last time we talked like this? Uh . . . how ’bout never? When was the last time you asked me anything about what’s going on in my life?”

“We talk sometimes.” Jim was sure they did.

“No,
you
talk sometimes. I listen. They call those lectures. Usually it’s about something I’m screwing up on, or some way I made you mad. Some chore I forgot to do. Lately, it’s about me getting a job. But I wouldn’t call that talking.”

Jim was starting to feel totally discouraged.

Doug set the chopsticks down on the counter. “Can you tell me even one struggle I’m having at school? Do you even know? I’m gonna be a senior this year. You have any idea what college I want to go to, or what major I might be thinking about? Or . . . if I even want to go to college at all?”

Jim didn’t have a clue.

“You know who
does
know those things? Jason’s dad. And you know why? Because he asked, and then he listened. Here’s
something . . . Tom tells me you’re having some financial problems, and that’s part of the reason you’re bugging me about starting to pay my own way around here. Is it?”

“Am I having financial problems?”

“Yeah.”

“I guess that’s fair to say.”

“Fair to say? Dad, can’t you just say it? I’m not a kid anymore. Why didn’t you tell me you were having money problems? I don’t need to know all the details, but something, anything would have been nice.”

“Would that have motivated you to get a job? If I told you?” Jim said.

“It would have motivated me to care about you. And by the way, since Tom told me, I’ve been looking a lot harder. I’ve probably filled out a dozen online applications.”

“I’m . . . I’m glad. I appreciate that.”

Doug looked down at the tile floor. That glazed look came over his face, the one he would get when he started to shut down.

“C’mon, Doug. Keep talking. I’m here now, and I want to hear what you’ve got to say.”

He looked up. “The point is, Dad . . . we never talk, not like this. We don’t relate on a personal level. I just live here, over the garage.” Doug picked up the chopsticks, poked them around in the little white box. “Do you remember when we met at Starbucks? The night you told us Mom left, and I said it didn’t surprise me? You never followed up with me on that. I just told you I wasn’t surprised Mom left you, and you don’t say anything? Don’t even ask me about it? I think you don’t ask us questions because you don’t want to hear what we might say if you did. You’d rather just think the little happy picture you’ve created in your mind is what’s really going on.”

Tears filled Doug’s eyes. “Did you know, I cried almost the whole drive home that night? Not because my parents were splitting up. I was feeling bad for Mom, for all the years she’s put up with you being like this. She and I aren’t even all that close anymore. But I bet you don’t know about that either, do you? How would you? But I still love her.” Tears rolled down his cheeks. He set the food down.

“You’re the reason she’s not in this house anymore, Dad. She’s left all this to hang out in some dinky little apartment. But I’ll bet she’s happier now than she’s been in years. And I’m guessing you don’t have a clue what’s really eating at her, what’s made her so unhappy. All you seem to be able to come up with is, maybe she’s seeing another man. That’s crap, Dad. You know? In your happy little world, everything is fine. Everyone is fine. Everybody’s doing things your way, so we’re all getting along. Right? But what’s really going on is, everyone’s struggling with all kinds of things, but we’re struggling all alone, because you’re too busy and self-absorbed to care. The few times I tried to talk with you about things, all I got was cut off, and then a bunch of Bible verses strung together in a little speech.”

Doug dropped his chopsticks, slid his stool away from the counter, and stood up. He wiped the tears from his eyes. “I’m sorry for saying all this. Really, I am. But . . . you asked. Look, I’ve gotta go. I can’t do this anymore.” He walked off toward the hall leading out to the garage.

“Wait, Doug. Please, come back.”

“Not now, Dad. I can’t.”

Jim heard the back door open and close.

He sat there in stunned silence. He felt like he’d just been run over by a truck. He’d had no idea Doug felt this way . . . about
anything. About him. About his mom. He had no idea what to do, what to say. How to fix this.

You can’t fix this, Jim
.

He heard Audrey Windsor’s voice in his head. She was right. All his efforts to control everything in his life were just illusions.

His happy little world.

 37 

O
n Friday, Marilyn had the day off. Michele didn’t have any classes that afternoon, so they’d scheduled to meet at 3:00 p.m. at a bridal shop in River Oaks to pick up Michele’s wedding dress. She’d already picked it out months ago, but today the alterations were supposed to be done. Since the bridal shop was just two blocks from Marilyn’s apartment, she’d decided to walk. It was a beautiful sunny day. The downtown area was always a little busier on Friday afternoons. But Marilyn hardly paid attention to anything or anyone as she walked through town. Her mind kept drifting back to her private dance lesson with Roberto on Tuesday night, to the events that happened after Angelina had left the studio.

For days, she had been telling herself she had no reason to feel guilty. She wasn’t doing anything wrong. It was just dancing. Dancing wasn’t wrong. It belonged in a separate category. Couples who had absolutely no romantic relationship, nor any intention of ever forming one, danced together all the time. The problem was, while they danced they often acted like they did, but that’s all it was—acting. That’s how Roberto had explained it to her after Angelina had left.

He’d turned off the music and sat her in a chair. “There’s something we need to discuss, my dear, before we begin,” he’d said. “Did you see how Angelina and I danced together? It is such a romantic song, don’t you agree? So when we dance, we must allow the meaning of the lyrics and the beauty of the melody to infuse our movements, our facial expressions, even the way we look at each other. We are like actors on a stage, pretending to live out the roles demanded by the song. So we must dance like two lovers in love. I must see her through new eyes, like she is the love of my life, and I’m seeing her in this amazing red dress, as if for the very first time. And I am undone by her beauty. Do you understand?”

“I think so,” Marilyn had replied.

“And did you see how Angelina looked at me, how she started off somewhat coy and aloof, as if I had neglected her for far too long, but then she begins to respond eagerly to my passion? She begins to feel the fire of the love we let drift away. Through the dance, it is returning. Not just for me, but for her as well. Could you see that?”

Marilyn remembered. It was incredibly romantic. She was swept away by the power of the song and the way they had interpreted it on the dance floor. And she tried not to think about how close the lyrics of the song hit home.

“So do you see, my dear, how important it is for you to not only learn the steps to the dance but to see yourself as an actress playing a role? The dance floor is your stage. The judges will not only be judging how well we dance together but how effectively we move their emotions. Can you see that? More importantly . . . can you
do
that?”

She didn’t know why, but Marilyn said she would try. And so she had. For nearly an hour after that. By the end of that hour,
she had almost learned all the steps Angelina had just modeled for her, and she’d completely given herself over to the role. It stirred things inside she hadn’t felt for years, if ever. Roberto’s presence throughout the dance—the role he was playing—was so powerful, the look on his face and in his eyes, so intense . . . He genuinely seemed to treat her—as the song said—as if she took his breath away.

But it wasn’t wrong, what they were doing. It was just acting. Dancing and acting. But the feelings it had stirred in her continued to linger long after. They seemed to stir again, even now, just recalling all this to mind.

She turned the corner. There was the bridal shop up ahead. And there was Michele just getting out of her car by the sidewalk. So if it wasn’t wrong—this dancing with Roberto—why didn’t she share any of these things with Charlotte the next day when they’d eaten breakfast together? Charlotte had asked her how the dance lesson went. Marilyn had only shared a few general things, then quickly changed the subject. Fortunately, Charlotte didn’t notice and seemed happy to go with the flow.

And now Marilyn was meeting with Michele, wrestling with the idea of even mentioning any of this to her. But that would be wrong, she decided. To
not
share it with Michele. She and Michele talked about everything. And really, she had nothing to be ashamed of. It was just dancing. That’s all this was.

Dancing and acting.

“So . . . what do you think?”

Marilyn looked up at Michele in her wedding dress. “Oh Michele, it’s perfect.”

“Does it look too tight?”

“No, not at all. Is it comfortable? Let me see all of it.” Marilyn moved around to catch every angle.

Michele stood on a pedestal with mirrors all around. “Feels a little snug, but I’m still losing weight. I hope to knock three or four more pounds off this last month. So I’d rather it be a little tight than a little loose. Can you believe it? Only a month to go?”

“No, I can’t. The time is moving way too fast. But Michele, it came out so nice. Allan is going to lose it when he sees you walk down the aisle in this.”

“You think?”

“Definitely. I wouldn’t be surprised to see your father shed a tear or two.”

“He is still walking me down the aisle, you know.” Michele took one more look in the mirror. “Did I tell you?”

“No, but I didn’t think he’d pull out.”

“And, like you said, he told us not to worry about the money. We can still use the budget figures he gave us when we met after we got engaged.”

“Your father was always good with money.”

“So you think the dress is ready? I can pay the balance and take it home?”

“I’m happy with it if you are,” Marilyn said.

Michele giggled. “I love it. It’s just what I wanted.”

“Really, Michele, it’s beautiful. Now . . . why don’t you go back in the dressing room and change? I’ll get the girl who was helping us and send her back to meet you, so she can put it in the hanger bag. If you want, we can stop off at Starbucks before you have to head back.”

“I’d love that.”

“Great,” Marilyn said. “It’ll give me a chance to update you on my dancing classes.”

“Oh, that’s right,” Michele said as she disappeared down the hall. “I want to hear all about it.”

All about it? Marilyn thought. Did she want to tell her
all
about it?

Twenty minutes later, they were sitting at a table under an outdoor umbrella, sipping their drinks. Marilyn got an iced coffee. They had driven here in Michele’s car, so she could drive back to school right after.

“So how are you and Allan doing with the wedding just one month away?” Marilyn asked. “Getting more excited or more nervous?”

“It depends what time of day you ask me,” Michele said. “Well, that’s me. Allan seems like he’s only ever excited. I don’t see him being nervous at all.”

“So what kind of things make you nervous?”

“Oh, you know . . . the wedding night for one. It’s been hard, but we’ve kept ourselves for that night. So, I’m worried what Allan will think. You know, when the time comes.”

Marilyn was so proud of Michele for keeping that conviction intact all this time. “Michele, you are a beautiful girl. And Allan loves you so much. He’s going to love being with you on your wedding night. Just remember all the things we talked about. Try not to put so much emphasis on
that night
. You’re getting married for life. It’s not like the movies. You have your whole lives to . . . well, improve things.” She smiled. “What else are you nervous about?”

“Oh no you don’t,” Michele said. She set her cappuccino down. “You’re going to use up all our time drawing me out. I want to hear about you. Tell me about your dance lessons.”

Marilyn took a deep breath. “I told you about the dance contest, right?”

“Dance contest? You certainly did not. You signed up for a dance contest? I guess you’re feeling pretty confident. Haven’t you only had a few lessons so far?”

“Yes, two lessons. Well, three really, counting the one with just me and the dance instructor.”

“What? You’re taking private lessons too?”

“Let me explain. It’s pretty amazing, actually. Apparently, all that dancing in the living room with you when you were little paid off. He says I’m a natural. And I didn’t sign up for the contest. Roberto selected me from the class to be his partner.”

“You’re dancing with the dance instructor? In the contest?”

Marilyn thought Michele sounded excited about this news, not concerned. That made her feel better. “I was shocked,” she said. “It’s a special contest for dance instructors throughout central Florida. They have to pick a beginner and can only teach them the dance over five lessons.”

“That’s so exciting, Mom. I’m so proud of you. When’s the contest?”

“It’s the Saturday before your wedding in September.”

“Oh, I hope I can come see it. Allan and I have so many things on our to-do list for that weekend, though.”

Marilyn was actually glad to hear this; she didn’t want anyone she knew there.

“So what song are you dancing to, do you know?”

“Yep. We already had our first practice Tuesday night. It’s an older song, not sure if you’ve heard of it. ‘Lady in Red’?”

“Oh Mom, I love that song. Heard it on an oldies station a while back. It’s so romantic. But it’s not a waltz, right? What kind of dance are you learning for it?”

How should Marilyn describe it? Over the next few minutes, she did her best to explain but left out all of Roberto’s instructions about them acting like a couple in love. Still, Michele’s reaction was a little alarming.

“Oh my, Mom. That sounds . . . interesting. How do you feel dancing that way with, you know. . . .”

“Another man?” Marilyn said.

Michele nodded. “I’ve seen pictures of Roberto on the studio website. He’s quite a—”

“He is handsome, but he’s been a total professional about this. He said couples who dance romantic songs like this in contests should see themselves as actors playing out a role.” She wanted to add that she just pretended Roberto was actually Jim, but that wasn’t true. Jim’s total hatred of dancing made that an impossible fantasy.

“Well,” Michele said, “I can see that. But still . . . seems like you better be careful on this. You know, since you and Dad are . . .”

Right, Marilyn thought. Since she and Jim were . . .