He whispered, “Whatever has filled you with fear, let it go.”
Feeling a little bit breathless, Joanna nodded.
“Come,” he said, and led her to the dance floor before the jazz musicians. They were in between songs, and Nick went up to the singer and said something in her ear. The woman winked at him and nodded. She whispered the next song back to the band.
The drummer through a few beats into the air and the woman began to sing in English a song that Joanna recognised.
“Is this ‘My Blue Heaven’ by Frank Sinatra?” she asked, delighted.
“Yes. And I’m going to give you a gift now I’ve not given anyone before. The gift of my horrible dancing!”
Nick began moving and jiving with the music in complete discord and disharmony to the beats established by the bass player and drummer. He locked his hands together and started doing a weird waving motion that he somehow, only god knew how, mirrored with his knees. He then followed this with a pecking motion in his chin that made him resemble a chicken walking to and fro.
“Nick!” she exclaimed laughing. “What are you doing?”
“I told you,” Nick said. “I’m dancing. Join me!”
She didn’t know how to compliment his particular … style, so instead tried to match the beat of the song.
“No, Joanna. I meant it - join me. Come on!” He kicked his legs out like they were made of rubber, dancing like some sort of cartoon character.
Joanna got a case of the giggles and started mimicking him as silly as she could, jerking her legs and waving her arms.
“Good. She can shoot, and she can dance. I’ve found a winner!” Nick hollered.
“Only a good dancer could dance as poorly as you,” she replied, over the crowd’s laughter.
He winked at her, then turned around to shake his butt, to which all of the older women hackled and screamed in delight.
Not to be outdone by his friend, Markos appeared beside them, and the two Greek men started having the worst dance off Joanna had ever seen.
She laughed so hard that tears streamed down her face and she had to walk away to the side, her cheeks aching from laughing and smiling.
Everyone clapped when the musicians struck and hit the last notes and Joanna couldn't tell if they were clapping for the band or Nick and Markos.
She highly suspected the latter.
Chapter Nineteen
The wedding couple arrived shortly after Nick and Markos had their dance off and then dinner began.
Nick had his arm resting on the back of Joanna’s chair and the two were listening to the jazz band drift the evening away. Joanna didn't recognize any more of the tunes and Nick informed her that what they were hearing was the band’s own music.
It was slow, but had an ethereal quality to it that was quite alien to Joanna’s ears. At times fast, at others ambling, it was like water drifting down the countryside.
“I talked the groom into hiring them,” Nick told her. “I heard them rehearsing one night a little way inland from my boat. I followed the music until I found their studio, and stayed outside until they came out just to meet them and get their names. They had no idea if what they were doing was going to be liked by the public. I told them, ‘To hell what people think! Keep doing what you’re doing.’ But I also convinced them to learn a few crowd favorites so they could start getting bookings at bars and weddings.”
“Are you their patron?” Joanna asked. It was a bit far fetched, but she’d believe anything about Nick at this point.
“I was for a time,” he admitted. “But they don’t need me anymore. They’re traveling to Athens in a week and will be there playing gigs for a few months.”
Someone tapped his or her wine glass and the crowd hushed across the lawn.
The best man stood up with a wine glass in his hand, and Nick whispered in Joanna’s ear, “We call him the koumbaro. The woman we call the koumbara.”
The man started to speak, and Joanna paid attention as she had at the church, but she had no idea what he was saying.
“Let me translate this one for you,” Nick said: “‘Timeo and I, as you all know, have known each other since we were little boys. When he told me he was marrying Maia, I was not surprised. When we were teenagers, trying to make a few bucks doing odd chores for Mr. Herod, he always used the money Mr. Herod gave him to go take Maia out. I remember what Mr. Herod used to pay us for. Refilling the napkin holders in the lobby. Sweeping the already clean sidewalks. And, my favorite, diving into his pool to pick up random leaves that had drifted to the bottom on hot summer days. Everything he paid us for he could have done in thirty seconds on his own. We knew it, and he knew it. Now, as a semi-adult— I don’t think I’ll ever feel grownup— I think I know what he was doing. He wasn’t just giving two miscreant boys something to do. He knew why we wanted the money. Timeo needed the money to take the love of his life out on dates and build the lifelong connection that we are celebrating today… whereas I needed the money to buy twenty year old American Playboy magazines from Darius across the street— is Darius here? Hi Darius. That’s not your wife is it?” The crowd laughed as did Joanna and the best man continued, touched by his these kind words about her father.
