Page 27 of Love's a Script
“The class requires a partner.”
The instinct that had Ruben offering Mary his spare bed moved him to now say, “Tell me when and where.”
Mary laughed.
“I’m serious,” he said. There was far worse company to keep than his lovely matchmaker’s. “Let’s do the polka.”
“No, that’s okay. You don’t have to.”
“What will I do instead? Ski?”
After consideration, Mary said, “All right, but promise me you’ll tell me if you’re not enjoying yourself so we can bail.”
He agreed, and an hour later, he was standing in a bare conference hall with Mary and eight other couples for Gisela’s Polka Dance 101. It had been easy to commit to the class when it had just been a concept, but now he was uncertain if the year of tap lessons in elementary school would carry him through.
“Today you will learn the polka,” Gisela said. “And by the end, you should be able to hold your own on any dance floor.”
They began the class out of hold, practicing the basic steps. Half jumps up and down, half jumps side to side. Over and over again, working up to the tempo of the zippy, brass-instrument filled music playing from a small portable speaker.
“We’re kinda killing this,” he whispered to Mary who, like him, had picked up the choreography relatively quickly.
When it was time for them to get into hold, Gisela said, “The polka requires you and your partner leave enough space between your bodies to pass a melon.”
“What type of melon?” one man asked.
“A sensible golden honeydew,” Giselle replied automatically.
As Ruben turned to get into position, he was met with Mary in a tank top. When the hell had she removed her sweater? The tops of her breasts were visible with the new neckline, and he stalled as if it were the first time seeing cleavage.
“Do you wanna try?” Mary asked, dragging him out of his stupor.
“Yeah, let’s do it.” He closed the distance between them, placing one hand high on her back while she rested hers on his shoulder. They completed the setup by loosely joining their free outstretched hands. Gisela went around the room, adjusting people’s forms, and when she made it to them, she pressed Ruben’s hand more firmly between Mary’s shoulder blades. “Support her. And no slouching, both of you.”
As Mary fixed her posture, her breasts pushed into the space between them, and Ruben pretended not to notice as he kept his eyes on the center of Mary’s forehead. He was so focused on not looking down, in fact, that he missed the violins that cued the first step of the dance and was out of sync with Mary for the remainder of the routine. The second attempt didn’t go much better. All the moves he’d nailed on his own had become clumsy with a partner.
“I think I might’ve spoken too soon,” he said, frustrated.
“No, we’ve got this,” Mary said, her hands tightening where they held him. “I think the problem is you’re leaping like a gazelle, but my legs are much shorter than yours.”
So on their next trial, while their instructor shouted reminders about posture, foot articulation, and leaving space for the honeydew, Ruben focused on shortening his steps. And for the first time, he didn’t completely mess up their flow. They continued to improve, prancing, albeit stiffly, across the floor.
“You having fun?” Mary asked him during a brief water break. “It’s okay if you’re not.”
“No, yeah, I am,” he said. That wasn’t entirely true, but he was committed to finishing. During one run-through, Ruben, so intent on perfectly executing an element, tripped over his own feet and nearly toppled onto Mary.
“I’m so sorry,” he said when they’d straightened, but she was laughing, hard. The bright sound and her delightful eye crinkles sent goosebumps along his arms. Beautiful. Beautiful. Beautiful, was the sudden chant in his head that replaced all concern for choreography. His footsteps were lighter as they bounced and leaped and spun past other couples.
By the time Gisela shouted, “From the top for the last time!” the space between Ruben and Mary could fit a citrus at best, and the routine included a whole lot more intermediary steps not associated with the polka, and he imagined they looked far from refined reeling around the room. He wanted to remain suspended in the moment, force his lungs to accommodate, his legs to carry on, and the lively tune to play indefinitely.
But the final note did come, and they collapsed to the floor, breathless. Grinning.
Mary felt she’d lived several days by bedtime. She was freshly bathed and sitting against her headboard in a tightly cinched robe, half watching a wedding-planning reality show while Ruben was in the shower, whistling the polka tune they’d danced to earlier in the day.
She’d enjoyed the lesson with Ruben more than she’d wanted to, but through it, she’d realized she’d given her emotions too much power. She didn’t combust feeling the muscles in his shoulder, nor had she melted into a puddle while watching his full lips mouth the count of the dance. He was just a man she happened to find exceedingly handsome, and she’d survive however many days they were stuck in this hotel room together.
“Your calves feel like they’ve been run across a washboard, right?” Ruben said when he entered the room, along with the scent of the hotel-provided soap.
“A little,” she replied, averting her eyes after noticing how low his sweatpants rode on his hips.
