Page 19 of Dancing Fools and All That Jazz
I summon the music of Adele’s “Rolling in the Deep” and my feet twitch as I mentally run through the dance.
My toes point and lift.
I confess I am a little irritated Clarissa has barely complimented me on my steps, which I know to be accurate and in time to the music. The only comments she has ever made to me have been to suggest I feel the dance or put my soul into it.
‘Ladies, dance with your heart and your feet will follow.’
This is typical of the sort of sentimental advice Clarissa frequently dishes out. I rarely challenge her but when I pressed her to explain herself further, she merely smiled as if I should mind-read her answer.
I once plucked up courage to ask her if I was executing the dance correctly and was rewarded with only a perfunctory nod. I refuse to tell her I have overcome many issues regarding my brachymetatarsia to dance. I had to exercise relentlessly – I walk at least three miles every day – wear modified shoes and endure no small degree of pain to dance even the most basic steps. But I do not want Clarissa’s sympathy. I crave only a little of her praise. She tells Monica and Ingrida quite openly they are her best dancers. Of course, it is because they studiedballet in their childhood, so the movements have been instilled in them from an early age. However, most of our routines are not balletic and Clarissa’s praise for these two women is not always deserved.
I have seen Ingrida make many mistakes. In the North West Expression heats, she stepped into her fouetté turn on the wrong leg and furthermore her angle was not the correct arabesque position. That is what cost us the first place that day, without a doubt. It is as well Ingrida is only a reserve in Paris, we cannot afford any mistakes there.
My legs lift from the stool as I pantomime the balance steps and half leaps to the track in my head.
When I think of it, the winning group, led by that dreadful woman Sheila, had a ridiculously easy routine unworthy of their first place. Of course, I know all about Sheila Bold and the animosity between her and Clarissa. Hazel regaled me with the details.
‘Sheila was one of Clarissa’s dancers for years. Pretty good, too. But Clarissa and she had a blazing row about a jazz sequence they were doing to “Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This)” by the Eurythmics.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes. Sheila wanted to elaborate on Clarissa’s choreography, but Clarissa deemed her moves to becoarse and lewd. Sheila walked out taking three of her friends with her and then she set up an alternative dance group.’
‘What disgraceful behaviour.’
‘Now Bold as Brass are our bitter rivals and Clarissa is desperate we should beat them in the French competition, especially as they got a higher placing in the North West heats.’
‘I agree. I have only seen Sheila Bold once. Everything about her is tacky from her ridiculously short skirts to the dreadful name she has given her troupe.’
I reach for my sewing box and, in my head, I pause at the point in the routine where Monica dances her solo. Her performance tonight was, I have to say, dazzling. She did, however, make one error. I will perhaps have to tell her she is setting off with a toe lead in the opening phrase when it is in fact a heel lead that is required. I fear Clarissa has not noticed due to her bias, but I will be careful not to mention it to Monica within Clarissa’s hearing. Our dance teacher is an intelligent lady and extremely good at choreography. I would not like her to think I am undermining her teaching.
I finish the dance with an imaginary flourish and smile.
Since my divorce, dance has become one of the few activities I look forward to. The ladies are very friendly.
I am particularly fond of Hazel, Clarissa’s dear friend. I am sorry she is no longer attending class, as she is my kind of woman. She is well-read and has great poise and decorum, unlike Ruby who, to be quite honest, is whatsome would call trashy. Ruby swears continuously and is known to cavort with many men. I have heard her talking to Monica, not that they realise it. Working in the quiet of a library, I have developed a sharp ear.
I know Ruby has given some of our group supposedly comical names, like Batty Bonnie and Lady C. Dear, oh dear, the level of her sense of humour is not just juvenile but borders on the infantile. I suspect she has also given me some derogatory name. Well, I refuse to stoop to her level; she is not worth my contempt, especially after her rudeness towards me this evening. Up until that point, it had made a pleasant change to concentrate solely on the dance and not the disruptive undercurrent Ruby usually creates. She was clearly too wound-up with some disagreement she has had with Monica.
I start to sew my new badge onto my top. The top is not to my taste. It has been designed and made by Monica and errs on the side of being rather ornate in cut. However, I have to concede it does suit all sizes, which is just as well as Ingrida has become rather hefty in the last year or two.
I prick my finger on the needle and force down an automatic panic response. I have always hated needles. Had I not been sitting down, I might have fainted. As it is, I feel light-headed, and I take a couple of deep breaths. I shiver and pull my finger away from the patch so as not to stain it with blood. I place a folded tissue over the puncture and slowly recover. I must find my thimble before I finish the sewing.
I regard the insignia and shake my head. Clarissa has made a dreadful mistake renaming our group. How couldshe have chosen that awful font for the embossed letters under the figure’s raised leg. She has utterly botched Hazel’s lovely design. Anyone glancing at the badge will assume it says that vulgar slang word for the male appendage. Dear, oh dear. None of us had the heart to point this out to Clarrisa. After all, she is having such a hard time with Hazel only a few months out of chemotherapy. Poor, poor Hazel. I do hope the dear lady is able to join us in Paris.
5
Asha Gupta
My dental nurse quickly disinfects the room before my next patient. I am relieved to see it is a short slot for a simple check-up. It will make a pleasant change after a morning of emergency fillings and the most awful root canal procedure with an annoyingly jumpy patient. Anyone would think I was trying to torture him, not repair his rotten tooth. It took forever.
I remove my mask and disposable gloves and sip my herbal tea. Adele’s song, “Rolling in the Deep” is being piped through the speakers from the radio in reception and I smile as my feet start to tap out the dance moves. Clarissa’s choreography to this number is inspired.
Monica danced her solo part with such conviction at last night’s rehearsal. Her moves – one flowing into the next – were mesmerising. Her dancing embodied the spirit of the lyrics in what appeared to be a completely natural and unrehearsed manner.
Having a performer as good as Monica raises the standard of the entire class; I said as much to Janine who was watching her just as avidly.
‘I wish I could dance that well,’ Janine had whispered reverentially as we slowly extended our hands into jazz reaches behind Monica.
