5
A GOOD FRAME
Occasionally,New York City—expensive, challenging, stressful New York City—offers up a bit of kismet, a reason for you to stay. It’s like anything else that’s not entirely healthy for you: just when you’re thinking about leaving, it shows up with flowers and an apology.
In my case, the flowers appear in the form of a piece of perfect synchronicity. The very night after my one-hour introductory lesson with Ollie, I go online and discover that there is a kids’ Taekwondo class on Sunday afternoons right down the block from Manhattan Swing Workshop, at almost exactly the same time as an introductory West Coast Swing class. In the next twelve hours, I manage to sign Hannah up for Taekwondo and arrange for one of Hannah’s babysitters to keep an eye on her for the next four weeks while I try out the dance class. It’s a bit of a financial outlay, but I can swing it, especially since Nick has started paying back some of his delayed child support. The Taekwondo serves another purpose, too: Hannah doesn’t do a lot of activities outside of her after-school program because I’ve rarely had the energy to take her back and forth to piano lessons, art classes, and tennis lessonswhile solo parenting the rest of the time. Now I can balance my own enrichment activity with one for Hannah, too.
The Four-Week West Coast Swing course is not one of the classes Ollie teaches, though. I tell myself that’s a good thing. I don’t know if I can handle a full month of staring into his hazel eyes while he teases me about me not having a partner.
When I arrive at Manhattan Swing, which is on the fourth floor of a building in the Flatiron district, I immediately spot Jody from our intro class waiting by the classroom door. Jody has long, light-brown hair that almost reaches her waist and an upturned nose that makes her look like the sarcastic younger sibling on a sitcom, even though she’s probably around thirty. Today she is wearing loose yoga pants and a t-shirt from the Sierra Club.
“Hey!” I say, approaching her. “You’re doing the whole one-month course?”
“That was always the plan.” Jody has a dry way of speaking that can seem a little hostile if it weren’t for the undercurrent of humor running constantly beneath it. She reminds me a little of my mother at her best: cynical, funny, a little tired of everything.
I lean against the empty stretch of wall next to her. “You think any of the engaged couples will be back again?”
“Probably not. Most of them have realized it’s going to be more efficient to just take a one-hour private lesson with someone who can help them choreograph their wedding dance, and then they don’t have to learn how to actually lead and follow.”
“I think improvisation is the fun part.”
“Because you’re not planning a hundred-thousand-dollar wedding with bridesmaids in matching taupe dresses.”
I laugh. “Oh, to be young and have disposable income.”
“It’s a stupid reason to learn to dance.” Jody gives me a once-over. “Speaking of, I’m noticing this is not one of the classes taught by Mr. MacCormack.”
“No,” I say. I decide not to mention that I’m only here because Ollie dared me to stick with it. “I like West Coast Swing, it turns out.”
“Very well,” says Jody. “I will postpone my decision to dislike you.”
“How kind,” I reply with a grin.
“I am always incredibly kind. It’s shocking that I’m single.”
A plump woman in her sixties walks over to us and dumps a large colorful bag on the floor beside her with a huffing sigh. She has iron grey hair cut in a bob and wears a long, flowing batik-dyed shirt and hot pink leggings.
“Beginner West Coast Swing?” she asks.
Jody nods.
“I’m Helen,” she says in a rush. “This is my third dance I’m learning. Last month it was salsa. Before that was tango. My husband died and I said fuck it, I’m going to do everything he wouldn’t let me do when he was alive.”
I think I’m going to like Helen.
As we line up inside the classroom a few minutes later, I am surprised by one other familiar face: the fiancé of the Rihanna-loving bride, with his sandy blond hair and apologetic expression. I find myself lined up opposite him when class starts.
“Is your fiancée sick today?”
“Oh, no…” He looks a little embarrassed. “She kept talking about how bad I was, so I wanted to surprise her by getting better for our wedding. We’re doing one of those private lessons to choreograph our dance, but I thought, you know, if I put a little extra time in, then I could actually impress her. She doesn’t know I’m here. I told her I’m training at the gym.”
“That’s really sweet.”
He shrugs. “I hope so. I’m sorry I kept stepping on your feet.”
“I’m sure I stepped on yours just as often. I’m Laura, by the way.” I put out a hand.
“Ben,” he says. “So this is definitely a beginner level class, right?”
