Helen shakes her head. “Eliana is a sugar cookie. You’re fire. I would dance with you over her, ten times out of ten.”
“Oh, come on.”
“She’s very sweet and very bland. There’s a reason she hasn’t won a major competition.”
“Can I have you announce me next time I step onto a dance floor? This is Laura Marceau. She’s fire.”
“That’s the reason I’ve come, darling.”
I take her hand and squeeze it.
Helen shrugs. “You and Ben and Jody are why I stuck with this for so long. I was supposed to be learning merengue this month.”
When we arrive at registration, I ask if I can switch my sign up from the Newcomer to the Novice Jack & Jill competition, which is technically one step up. As a brand-new attendee, I’m allowed to attempt the Novice level, but I’m unlikely to win. The levels are based on a points system; anyone can try Newcomer or Novice, but after you earn a certain number of points in competition, you are generally required to go to the next step up, from Intermediate to Advanced all the way up to Champions. There are also a handful of competitions for age ranges like youth and seniors. Ollie and Eliana, with their competition history, are automatically competing at the top level.
While I wait for Helen to finish picking up her badge, I scan the lobby nervously for Ollie’s auburn hair or Eliana’s sunny ponytail. What I see instead is a sandy-haired, awkward figure hovering just inside the door.
“Ben!” I call, and Ben’s smile widens when he sees us. “You came!”
“I came,” he says. “And guess what? Paige called me last night.”
“Are you serious? Did she want to get back together?”
Ben nods, slowly. “You were one hundred percent right, Laura.”
“Tell us everything,” Helen says.
“Is it okay if I don’t?” He grimaces. “I basically told her off.”
“I told you she would!” I say. “You’re marvelous, and she’s realizing what she lost. And if you wanted to try again with her, no one would judge you.”
He shakes his head slowly. “Maybe the day after the wedding I would have, but now, no thank you. I realized that I always felt like I wasn’t good enough for her, and it hit me that shewas the one making me feel that way. She was playing hard to get, telling me I had to be serious enough to get married, telling me she expected to be treated well. It was a game, and I was tired of playing. I don’t want to have to prove myself constantly anymore.”
Helen pats his arm. “Good for you. I wish I’d avoided my first marriage.”
“Wasn’t that your only marriage?”
“Exactly,” Helen says with a smile. “Now come join us. We’ll find some lovely young woman and get you laid.”
Ben looks amused in spite of himself as he heads to the social dance. I’m starting to hope this could be fun.
As soon as we enter the large ballroom space for the opening night dance, though, I start feeling less confident. The room is whirling with light and color and the faint scent of sweat. While the music is technically slow enough for West Coast swing, there are a bunch of styles to be seen, from the more bouncy, circular styles of East Coast to the sexier Blues dancers. I find myself scanning the room for Ollie, but he is not here. That feels like more of a relief than a disappointment, but only just.
Ben asks Helen to dance, which leaves me standing alone at the edge of the crowd. Almost everyone I’m watching is terrifyingly good, even compared to the events that I’ve been to in New York. After a while, I start to feel nervous that someone will approach me and ask me to dance and be disappointed by my lack of skill. I keep my eyes on Ben and Helen, reminding myself that there is joy in seeing how much better Ben has gotten and how much fun Helen’s having. Then I notice a large man standing beside me with dark brown skin and startlingly attractive light-brown eyes. He is easily six feet tall and built like an athlete, but he has a warm, easygoing smile when he meets my eyes.
“Do you want to dance?” I ask him, just as a slower Leon Bridges song starts up. “I am completely new to this, and I only know West Coast, but I feel like if I don’t get out there now, I never will. I’m a follower, if you know how to lead.”
He tilts his head to one side like I’ve said something very funny, then puts out a hand to me. “I’d be happy to,” he replies.
Within about three seconds, I realize my mistake. He is astonishingly good—better than Ollie, even. His dance moves are witty and polished, and he leaves me space to attempt my awkward but enthusiastic newcomer moves.
“You’re doing great!” he says warmly.
It’s a lie, but it helps me relax and start having fun. I manage to pull off three moves that I only just learned: a variation on a whip, a rock and go, and a new pop-out move that I picked up from my lesson with Eliana.
“How long have you been dancing?” the man asks, his hand warm in mine.
“About two months.”
