If Madeleine had known exactly where the dance studio was, she would never have made the booking. The address was in the Valley, but she had hoped it would be in one of the gentrified pockets beginning to soften the Valley’s hard garish edge. She felt silly enough, booking in as a lone woman, and at her age. Now here she was in the edgy side of town in the lowering dusk, gingerly picking her way over rough pavements in unfamiliar high heels.
Brash neon and the roar of early evening traffic swamped her. Madeleine faltered. What was she doing here? She was a scientist for God’s sake. Her work world was rational, well lit, clean and fastidiously ordered. Home was safe and predictable, including dear non-dancing Gerry. Why try to recapture romance and grace long past?
Straining to see in a dimly lit alcove, and refusing to retrieve her reading glasses from her handbag, Madeleine made out a sign, “Valley Swing Studio” in flaking gold lettering. A bent arrow directed her to door on the left of the threshold. Hand on the doorknob, she paused again. Risk the inevitable indignity or totter home to safety and comfort? She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, summoning the near-forgotten joy of moving her body to music. Grace and elegance. Rhythm and movement. Glamour and shine. She steadied herself, smoothing her dress over her hips. She adjusted her weight on her heels, to throw her hips forward, and stepped inside.
She blinked as her eyes adjusted to the light flooding the room. Across an expanse of gleaming timber floor, a circle of dancers in pairs turned towards her. She flushed – it seemed there was no spare man for her.
A woman she hadn’t seen called from the centre of the circle, “Madeleine? Welcome. I’m your instructor. Just in time. Daniel was starting to think he’d be dancing by himself”. The woman leaned towards the back of the room. “Daniel! Come over and meet your partner.”
A young man rose from the bench against the wall behind the assembled couples. His shoe squeaked, as loud as the crack of a whip. He grimaced and inched towards Madeleine, eyes down.
“Madeleine, may I present Daniel, your partner for the evening.”, announced the instructor with a flourish.
Daniel took Madeleine’s proffered hand without enthusiasm. He gave the slightest of nods, and dropped his hand back his side. He was beautiful in the way boys are as their young beauty settles onto their soon-to-be man-frame. He had yet to fully occupy his lanky body and his movements were those of someone surprised by both length and power of his limbs.
“Hi Daniel, nice to meet you”. Madeleine could see that he wished himself anywhere but there. She felt a rush of tenderness at his discomfit and forgot her own. “It’s years since I danced Daniel. I hope I’m not too hopeless.”
He looked at her with a flicker of sympathy. “I’m pretty lame. We did a little bit at school.”
“You must have enjoyed it to come for lessons?
“Nah, my Mum made me. I have to dance at my brother’s wedding.”
“Gentlemen take your partners.” the instructor shouted over the swell of violins. “A simple waltz. Gentlemen, your hand on her waist. Ladies, your hand on his arm just below his shoulder. Remember it’s 1-2-3, 1-2-3. One forward, two side, three together”.
Daniel held her at the full length of his outstretched arm. He adjusted his hand on her back until he found an unthreatening spot just under her shoulder blade. She was as embarrassed as he at their proximity, and at the warmth she felt under his touch.
Their first circuit of the room was arrhythmic and leaden, as they struggled to move in unison while maintaining the greatest possible physical distance. He looked past her at a point in the distance. She lowered her eyes and concentrated on her feet.
As they rounded for the second circuit, Madeleine sensed a growing resistance in the boy’s stance. She could feel his hand beginning to retract from hers, as if to wrest himself from her grasp and flee. She glanced up into his face and saw humiliation and mounting panic.
He steered them out of the circle of dancers and propped. He dropped his hand from her back and began to wriggle his other hand out of hers.
“I can’t.” His voice was strangled. “I can’t, I’m sorry.”
She firmed her grasp on his hand and moved her head closer to his.
“It’s OK, it’s OK.” she soothed, “It always feels awkward at first. We just need to find our rhythm as if we’re one person. Let me guide you.”
Without waiting for assent, she took hold of his loose hand and placed it at her waist, in the hollow at the small of her back. She edged her toes in to touch his, then moved her right leg between his until their inside knees lightly touched. His eyes widened as her breasts brushed his chest and their hips came into alignment.
She pressed on, “OK, let’s go. You count and I’ll steer us till we get our rhythm. Then you’ll be able to lead, and I’ll follow you.”
She manoeuvred him with gentle pressure and the shifting weight of her body and felt the tension in his body loosen as he relaxed into her hold and smoothed his movements into sync with hers.
“1-2-3, 1-2-3”, Daniel chanted. He lifted his gaze over her shoulder. Madeleine turned her face to nestle her cheek lightly against his chest.
“Forward, side, together. Back, side, together.” With the change in his chant, he drew up his shoulders and pushed out his chest. His hand pressed into the small of her back, pulling her into him.
Madeleine yielded to his firm hold. She was awash with the music and intoxicated by the flow and rhythm of her body. They swept the floor as one, in a grand arc, dipping and gliding, swirling and turning, with one last elegant flourish as the music fell away.
His hand lingered in hers as he guided her from the floor. A slight bow. “Thank you.” he whispered, his mouth to her ear.
“You too” she murmured.
She was back. He was on his way.
