Page 70 of Wicked Dance
As we walk, I start to hear the sound of music. We pass a large leafy bush and there stands a lone violinist in rolled-up sleeves, giving us a charming smile as he plays a waltz.
“I believe he is playing our song,” Blitz says.
“I think every waltz is our song,” I say, then think, that’s a promo moment.
I’m right, because just as Blitz takes my hand to lead me in a few steps, we’re stopped and asked to repeat those lines several times in a row.
“I’m going to see a commercial with this on it, aren’t I?” I ask Blitz.
“I hope so,” he says.
Finally, we’re released to dance along the path. The lights whirl into a blur as Blitz turns me on the narrow sidewalk. It’s not easy to navigate the way in flimsy heels on concrete, but Blitz keeps the steps simple. Mostly we try to smile at each other, which isn’t hard. The setup is truly lovely.
“I think it’s time for kissing,” Blitz says.
“About time,” I say.
He makes the steps smaller and slower. The music has faded as the violinist stops following. But when Blitz leans in, we’re still dancing, turning. I have an inspiration and pick up the side of my dress, letting it sweep out as we turn, faces together, lips brushing lightly.
I can see the image onscreen, the blue dress lifted out, the soft grass, the lighted path.
I have to believe the audience will root for us.
