Perfect (39 page)

Turn. Turn. Pause. I think

I used to be better at this.

Where the hell did Duvall

go? He can’t be more talented

at something than I am, can he?

Because that just isn’t right.

Of course, if I didn’t have

to be so cautious, I could kick

his ass, on or off skis. Since

I don’t want broken bones

right now, however, I’ll pick

my way to the bottom of

this pine tree slalom course.

Finally it intersects a long

beginner run where I can pick

up enough speed to catch Duvall.

It isn’t hard, considering he’s

waiting for me at the fringe of

a small stand of cedars. He waves

rather frantically for me to join

him.
Check it out,
he says,

pointing into the trees.
Jesus,

O’Connell, you turned her, like,

gay.
What’s he talking about?

I lift my goggles, look hard

at where his finger is aimed.

Two girls on snowboards…

wait. What the fuck? It’s Cara,

for sure. She’s with that girl, the one

with spiky hair, now frosted

blue. They are chest to chest,

and they are kissing. Not just

kissing like friends do. Kissing

like people who are in love do.

Andre

People Who Are In Love

Expect certain things.

Time together, to learn

all there is to know about

each other. Falling in

love

can happen to complete

strangers. Staying in love

requires being best friends

and

that means accepting the person

beneath the veneer. What

complicates things is

sex.

Loveless, it’s easy. Insert

Tab A into Slot B. Enjoy what

happens naturally. But under

love’s influence, the directions

aren’t

quite so straightforward.

It is then, striving for perfection,

you realize that all Slot Bs are not

interchangeable.

When It Comes To Sex

I was kind of a late bloomer. Not that

I didn’t know what it

was, or think about maybe having it one

day. At eleven or twelve, I started having

all the problems young

guys do, waking up sticky and sometimes

turning into walking wood, wrong place,

wrong time. Embarrassing

stuff. My first actual encounter was with

an Oakland girl—one of Gramps’s neighbors.

She was a couple of years

older than me. Every guy should have an older

woman for his first. She taught me every

move in the Big Book

of Sex. Guess she liked playing teacher.

I was fifteen. After that, I kind of got a taste

for it, and let me just say,

private school girls aren’t exactly all prudes.

But none of them can come close to Jenna

when it comes to

doing the dirty. Part of it is because I love

her, and love really does put a whole

different spin on getting

naked together. But Jenna knows more

than that Oakland girl and my preppie

lays all rolled up into one.

Without carrying a single iota of shame.

I have no idea where she learned what

she knows. To tell

the truth, I really don’t want the details.

Enough to have her for my own, doing

those things to me.

Hopefully, we’ll be doing them tonight.

This Afternoon, Though

I’m helping Liana teach a dance workshop

for a bunch of underprivileged

kids. Some of them are really young—like four.

First, I want you to see how the body

is meant to move,

Liana tells the group, who are sitting

on the floor beneath the barre.
Andre,

will you please dance

the jazz routine—the one to Coltrane.

She fires up “While My Lady Sleeps,” superb

classic sax from one

of the greatest jazz musicians of all time.

Beat comes first, and it remains steady under

the sad song of the saxophone.

The music closes around me, and I draw

it inside, a flowing current that my muscles

float upon. Contract. Release.

I am the music, and the music is my body.

And when it stops, I come out of the trance

that is jazz dance. If there

is a God, he listens to John Coltrane.

The sound of clapping hands pulls me back

into the studio. Lots of

little hands. And some bigger ones too.

Shantell has appeared, like a backlit cloud

reflected on still

water. The look on her face is hard to read.

But then she smiles as Liana says,
Okay,

kids. Let’s break up into

groups. Shantell, Andre, help divide them

up, and each of you take a group of ten or so.

Today is all about movement.

Let the music tell you what to do, like Andre did.

Awesome Day

The kids are amazing, so eager to learn.

I never thought about

teaching before, but I really love working

with them. It makes me feel like I’ve got

something to give, and

I’m sorry it has to end. Guess we all have

places to go, though. There’s a chorus of

thank yous as they leave,

and when the studio has emptied, Shantell

comes over.
I really hate to say this, and

have it go to your head

and all, but you are an incredible dancer.

How long have you been training?
She

waits for an answer

she probably doesn’t want to hear.

“A little over a year. I started after we

moved here to Reno.”

As I suspected, she reacts with a scowl.

That’s
it
? What made you decide to take

lessons, then? Did you,

like, wake up from a dream, doing pliés?

God she’s funny. “Not exactly. Actually,

it was that TV show—

So You Think You Can Dance.
I’ve always

liked street dancing. Used to do it some

when we lived in the Bay

Area. I saw this b-boy picking up ballroom

and thought maybe if he could, I could.

I found Liana online,

and that was straight from heaven.

She tapped something inside me I might

not ever have found

without her. That’s my story. The end.”

But She’s Not Quite Finished

With me.
So what are you going to do

with all that talent?

Go pro? You could, you know. There are—

I stop her with a shake of my head. “No

way my parents are

going to let their only son make a living

onstage some place. It was always just for

fun. Dancers don’t make

the kind of money I need to be comfortable.”

Now she looks totally disgusted.
Money?

You can’t be serious.

Dance isn’t about money. It’s about heart.

If it isn’t, you damn well don’t deserve

the gift God gave you.

I can’t believe you’d let it go to waste!

She jumps up, stomps across the hardwood

floor. “Lots of talent goes

to waste.” My voice is lost in her footsteps.

Every Time

I’m around her, I like her more. Not

sure she could say

the same thing about me. In fact, pretty

sure not. Oh well. She doesn’t know

my parents, or that I’m

already a major disappointment to them.

Wonder how they’d feel about me teaching.

Other than the money thing.

Because teaching isn’t about money either.

As I start to head out, Liana gestures to

me to come closer.

Uh… I happened to overhear your

conversation. Shantell is right, you know.

You were destined to

dance. If you try to ignore that, you’ll be

completely miserable. A new TV dance show

is holding auditions in L.A.

next month. I hope you’ll consider trying out.

Me? On TV?

On the
Jeopardy! College Championship,

maybe. If I go to college,

that is. But on a dance show? That would

require letting the world know I dance. Which

means letting my parents

know I dance. Putting all that aside, however,

that kind of competition is for
real
dancers,

not a novice like me.

I tell Liana, “I’ll think about it, okay?”

Not for too long. We’ll want to come up

with something really

special for your audition. Call me tomorrow.

Tomorrow? No problem. I already know

what I’m going to say.

The Quattro takes me home. It must, because

I’m not thinking much about where to turn it.

I’m thinking about Shantell.

Dance isn’t about money. It’s about heart.

Is Dance My Heart?

I can’t say that it is. The only thing

that feels that way

right now is Jenna. She is an obsession,

really. Not sure why. She says she’s not

in love with me. Can never

be. Does soul-splitting love have to be

returned to make it real? If I had to give

her up, it would open

a black hole inside of me. But what about

dance? If I had to give it up… what? I park

my car, go inside to shower.

Run the water hot, make the bathroom steam.

Soap. Shampoo. Routine. Dance, I realize,

is my escape from ordinary.

If I had to give it up, I would lose something

integral. Why am I afraid to confess that?

I dance. Train. Work hard

to improve. Doesn’t that mean I’m a dancer?

Believing I Am

Should mean being proud that I am, which

means telling the world.

I’ll start with Jenna, work my way up.

We’re going to a party tonight. Always

an adventure with Jenna.

When she gets in the car, it’s obvious

her personal party has begun. “You drinking

already?” I think her condition

must be due to more than alcohol. But I’m not

stupid enough to say so.
Only a little.

I don’t want to pass

out before we even get there, you know?

I won’t comment on that. “So, hey. I want

to tell you something.…”

Tell her, quick, before the fire goes out.

Okay, but I have to tell you something first.

Your mom thinks Kendra

is anorexic.…
The flame extinguishes.

Cara

Fire

Some people say love is fire—

flame fanned into inferno. A

raging

that all too predictably burns

through the years, fades into

smoldering,

burns down into ash, soot

that cannot be rekindled.