“Hah! Good one! So, if you’re so wrapped up in it, what do you like about it?”
“The dancing?” Marty asked. “Oh, you know, the exercise, the flow of two partners together, the ………” She really wanted to check out and really wanted to end the conversation.
“Why don’t you see for yourself? The group dancing lessons are Friday, seven to eight. Only costs five bucks!” She waved as she maneuvered her cart up to the check out line.
No surprise that Marty watched Nate walk through the Moose Lodge door that Friday evening. She took in his attire and decided he didn’t look half bad in his polo shirt and Dockers. The sneakers would never work. He’ll be stuck to the floor like a lizard skimming over fly paper, she thought. People were pairing up to form a circle to follow the line of dance: those who came as a couple, smilers standing in anticipation of being chosen, twosomes who usually partnered up. Marty joined her other half of a twosome and observed Nate craning his neck for her. She gaily waved in relief, momentarily forgetting that the instructor rotated partners like socks on a circular clothesline in the wind. He acknowledged her and strode up to the only woman left: seventy-five year old Millie.
The Dancemeister asked everyone to take positions for the tango. This was the last night for tango, which meant it was the fourth night, which meant it was not the beginning night. Nate wouldn’t have a clue.
