Chapter 29
Spring 1985
It was time for Frank to move on. That’s what Allison decided anyway, and what better way to move on than on his feet. He skipped down the stairs that Saturday morning in spring and this was an altogether new thing, a sign that he was coming back to life. The thoroughly depressed don’t skip down stairs, Allison thought. The thoroughly depressed have a hard time with stairs, both going up and coming down. They hang onto banisters, she thought, and are either overly deliberate in their every little movement or, if they’re the more self-destructive type, they’re not careful at all and trip going up or miscalculate and fall coming down. But only those not burdened by troubling thoughts are free enough to skip down the stairs. He wasn’t slouching anymore either. Of course, one can’t slouch and skip at the same time. The two simply don’t go together. His feet had become lighter and more agile, more able to take him places he’d never been. Ah yes, Allison thought, what better way to move on than on his feet.
She would ask him and she would ask him today. It was time. She would watch his reaction carefully and listen with more than just her ears to his answer. If he said no then she would be the one to move on. She would accept the job offer from Eli Lilly in Indianapolis. It was, after all, too good to pass up. That’s what she used to think. But if he said yes she would leave it all behind, decline the job offer, call off the job search entirely, give up the idea of moving, give up everything, all her hopes and plans for a more urbane and cosmopolitan life, and settle in Lamasco. Ah, but it wouldn’t be settling this time, like how it was with Kent. It would be like coming home, truly, for the first time. She would change her mindset and she would change it gladly. She would become a big fish in a small pond and that would be more than all right if she could be in the same pond with Frank.
Lamasco seemed different now because it’s where Frank lived. Lamasco is where his burgeoning business flourished and was beginning to get noticed. Lamasco is where he planned to stay. The budding trees and the old brick houses on all the old familiar streets that she passed every day on her way to work had been somehow transformed, enchanted, wrought with strange beauty and mystery because these were the same houses, trees, and streets that he passed. The same streetlights that lit her way home at night were the very same ones that guided his destination. And Camelot…Camelot had become a magical realm where everyday she might get a glimpse of the reclusive prince.
So when she happened to spy him skipping down the stairs of their apartment building that Saturday morning she knew it was time. Her future rested upon his answer.
“Frank, Frank,” she called out, skipping down the stairs after him. He turned around, greeted her, and smiled. This was an excellent sign. It was a natural smile, a sincere smile. His shoulders didn’t hunch in dread at the sound of her voice, he didn’t look at his watch or pretend he was in a terrible hurry, he didn’t cross his arms the way he so often did when he didn’t want to be bothered. His body posture was open. She almost thought she could greet him with a hug but then decided that might be pushing it.
“Remember all those albums I got you a few months back?” Allison said, feeling herself automatically slip into that coy flirtatious mode. Of course he remembered. She received a thank you note from him written on engraved stationary with his name on the top of the ivory note card. It was all very formal until the last line which read, “Thanks for making me smile again. I owe you one.”
“Of course I remember. I play them all the time. I hope they haven’t been keeping you up nights.”
“Not at all, not at all. I notice you’re not playing Bach anymore.”
“That’s right. I’m back to my old favorites–the Romantic composers.”
“That’s promising. Well, uh, remember how you said you owe me one for selflessly getting you all those wonderful albums which you yourself said were collectors items.”
“You mean that stack you paid three bucks for at a garage sale?”
“The very one.”
“Uh, oh! I knew I should’ve never said anything,” Frank said shaking his head with a mock look of exasperation. At that moment Allison was struck by his attractiveness; the deeply etched dimples in his cheeks, the fine angular jaw, the throat which can only belong to a man with its prominent Adam’s apple, and of course his eyes which gleamed with his own special brand of humor.
“So what do you need?” Frank asked in mocking playful annoyance.
“A dance partner.”
“Hmm,” he said tapping his index finger to his lips in a quizzical sort of manner.
“I signed up for ballroom dancing and I need a partner. It’s on Tuesday nights starting week after next, which I happen to know is a good night for you.”
“Oh, you do, do you?”
“Yeah, Monday night is Monday night football and Wednesdays are racquetball. You work late on Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday but the way I figure it won’t kill you to knock off one night. By the way, I’m glad to see you getting out of that apartment and playing racquetball again.”
“How do you know all this about me?”
“I’m your neighbor. I live right across the hall in case you hadn’t noticed. I got eyes and ears.”
“You’re getting to be like Sally. You’re the one who needs to get out of your apartment more, not me”
“Precisely, that’s why I thought I’d take up ballroom dancing. So are you in or are you out?”
“What makes you think I can dance?”
“Well, you’re musical. I hear you in there banging on that piano. You have to have some sense of rhythm. Doesn’t that come with the territory?”
“Not necessarily.”
“Not to worry, even those with two left feet excel in the Arthur Murray School of Dance; or so I’m told.”
“I don’t know, Allison. I need to think about it,” he said with a chuckle of merriment in his voice and a definite spark in his eye. This was all very promising. He just needed a little pushing.
“Oh, c’mon, Frank, this is the perfect pastime for you.”
“Oh, yeah? How do you figure?
“Because you’re the old fuddy duddy type. And I say that with the highest regard and admiration.” All the while Frank was chuckling and Allison delighted in his amusement. “See the average ‘80’s man is far too cool to even consider such a wholesome activity.”
“So what I hear you saying is I’m uncool.”
“Not at all. You were just born forty years too late. You’re before cool. You’re beyond cool actually. You’re…” She searched her mind for the right adjective but all she could think of was ‘sexy’ and ‘wonderful’ and words she wouldn’t dare say to him yet. “You’re timeless,” she said her mind stumbling upon the perfect word to describe Frank’s appeal.
“Well, thank you, what a relief. I was afraid there for a moment you were going to tell me I’m the cat’s pajamas or some such thing.”
“I’m serious, Frank, you’re a real gentleman, like Carey Grant or Gregory Peck. You’re dashing, debonair, perfect for ballroom dancing.”
“Buttering me up for the kill, I see.” He exhaled a sigh of resignation and Allison knew at that moment she had won. “All right, I’ll do it.”
Allison wanted to jump up in the air, do a rah-rah cheer, and cartwheel down the hall. She wanted to throw her arms around him and give him a big kiss. She didn’t however. She restrained herself and said rather coolly, “Thank you, Frank. That’s all I needed. Have a lovely day,” she turned quickly around and ran back upstairs.
“I’ll be seeing you, Allison,” he said in his old fashioned way, but she didn’t dare turn around and let him see how she was gushing for him.
Allison and Frank glided so beautifully, so effortlessly to the sound of Glenn Miller’s String of Pearls that Allison almost forgot they were at the American Legion dancing on an old squeaky wooden dance floor in a smoke filled room with circa 1950’s décor. Even the waitresses with their staunchly sprayed, piled
high hairdos and the old crony of a bartender with his toupee who actually said “What’ll it be?” seemed frozen in time from some bygone era. The band consisted of a five piece combo made up of WWII veterans. They called themselves the Buccaneers, which was inspired by a love of the adventuring spirit that the five musicians shared. Frank loved to make cracks about Errol Flynn, and swashbuckling, and needing Geritol to carry off a pillage or plunder job and Allison would laugh at the obvious irony of the band’s name; for here they were in their antiquated black tuxedos with American flag pins in their lapels, their graying thinning hair, their wrinkled freckled hands that still played those instruments so skillfully, and their serene smiles which bespoke a placid wisdom unique only to the aging. Allison enjoyed the music, dancing, and laughing so much that she almost forgot she and Frank were the only ones under sixty in the place.
They’d become quite good, the two of them together. They’d learned the basic waltz, the foxtrot, the rumba, the cha-cha, even the jitterbug. The American Legion was the only place you could go to dance to Big Band era music. It was their private little joke, the fact that they came here on Saturday nights. They laughed about it as much as they looked forward to it.
“Oh, good, here comes Peggy,” Allison said as the song ended and everyone applauded. Peggy was the vocalist for the Buccaneers. She was married to Jim the clarinet player. Jim loved to tell the story of how they met in Vegas shortly after the war. Peggy was a young showgirl of twenty-three with plenty of promise, and when Jim caught her solo song and dance act he fell for her right then and there. One got the impression that Peggy was one of those people who still saw herself as twenty-three and somehow tuned out all the evidence to the contrary each time she looked in a mirror. Was it vanity or absence of vanity, Allison often wondered, and would she be just like Peggy when she got older? But despite the bleach white blond hair scooped up in back, the tanned leathery skin which had seen far too much exposure to the sun, the false eyelashes, and full figure frame poured into a powder blue evening gown, Peggy still had the voice of a twenty-three year-old. Her voice rang out melodic, pure, and smooth when she sang the more sentimental pieces; but she could just as well belt out a more bluesy number, raw and drenched with youthful emotion without missing a beat of her ever moving shoulders.
“And now please welcome my lovely bride, Peggy,” Jim said stepping up to the microphone. Peggy thanked the applauding audience in a manner so modest she almost seemed to be blushing.
The lights went down low and Peggy said in a smooth, sexy, honey coated voice, “We’re going to slow down the pace here a little bit so grab hold of your sweetheart and squeeze tighter.” The band began playing and Peggy began crooning some long forgotten sentimental love song.
Frank had been making wise cracks most of the evening while he and Allison laughed and bantered with one another. Their focus had mostly been on their dance steps with Frank resorting to his annoying habit of counting–1-2-3, 1-2-3–as well as warning Allison before he did any tricky dance moves–“All right, I’m going to spin you around now,” he’d say and Allison would laugh and remind him that she could anticipate his moves and follow his lead without him having to warn her every time.
“All right, Al, I’m going to move you across the floor. Long strides back. That’s it!”
“You’re doing it again, Frank,” Allison said.
“Well, I don’t want to step on your toes.”
“You know what your problem is? You’re too afraid of making a mistake.”
“One-Two-Three. One-Two-Three.”
“And stop counting, for Pete’s sake. Just relax.”
“Relax and shut up!” Frank said, teasingly reproving himself.
“Well…yeah.” Allison said.
“Message received,” said Frank with a smile.
An older couple sidled up to the two of them, a short cheerful looking lady in a pearl necklace with penciled on eyebrows and her bespectacled husband who tried to disguise his baldness with a bad comb-over. “Excuse me honey, I couldn’t help overhearing.” Allison got a whiff of freshly done salon hair that had been over sprayed. It made her think of her mother and all ladies from that generation who got their hair done every week.
“We’ve been married almost forty years and he still gives instructions while we’re dancing. He’ll never change, so it’s no use trying,” the short, cheerful, older lady said.
“Thanks for the tip,” said Allison.
“It’s so nice to see young people here,” the lady said touching her arm and her charm bracelet jangled as she did so.
“It’s so nice to be here,” said Allison politely.
“Where else in town can you go to hear this kind of music and dance?” said Frank.
“There used to be lots of places,” said the bespectacled man with a look of sad nostalgia. “Lots of wonderful orchestras. It’s a different world now.”
“Remember the Trocadero?” his wife said and they gazed at each other dreamily.
“How could I forget the Troc? It’s where I proposed to you.”
“Oh, that’s so sweet,” said Allison.
“You have a wonderful thing together that the two of you can always share,” said the lady, her bracelet clinking as her hand patted Allison’s arm. Allison’s mind went over the words the lady had just spoken in an attempt to decipher their meaning.
“What’s that?” Allison asked.
“Dancing,” the lady said.
“That’s right,” said her husband. “Whatever problems you have in your marriage, you can work them out on the dance floor.”
“Well, thank you very much, sir. We’ll certainly remember that,” said Frank. Then turning to Allison he said out of the corner of his mouth so only she could hear, “To the side,” he instructed and together they waltzed away from the older couple.
“Enjoy your evening,” said the short lady as her husband whisked her away in the opposite direction with a knowing smile.
“Should we have told them we aren’t married?” asked Allison as soon as they were out of ear shot.
“Why? They would have been at our elbow all evening extolling the virtues of married life, you know, trying to get us together. I sometimes think older people believe it’s their responsibility to get young people married off,” said Frank.
“Now Frank, they were sweet,” said Allison.
“I know. I wasn’t trying to be unkind; it’s just that I didn’t come here to talk to them all evening.”
“Why did you come here Frank?”
“To be with you. To dance with you,” said Frank.
“To whisper verbal dance instructions in my ear all evening long.”
“That’s right,” said Frank with a smile. Just then the song ended and everyone applauded. Another song began and the melody captured Allison’s attention. It was familiar, but it wasn’t until Peggy began crooning in her honey smooth voice that Allison recognized it.
“At last my love has come along
My lonely days are over
And life is like a song…”
“I love this song,” said Allison.
“And no one can sing it quite like Peggy,” said Frank facetiously.
Allison was only half conscious until the song was halfway through that she was singing along in a low voice just barely above the audible range.
“My heart was wrapped in clover the night I looked at you.”
Embarrassed, Allison looked up at Frank to see his reaction. He smiled an awkward smile. She realized this was the longest she and Frank had gone all evening without saying a word to one other. She wondered if it was due to nervousness that they talked so much while dancing.
“It’s okay, keep singing. I like it,” Frank said. Allison continued and it seemed that Frank was tightening his embrace around her. She drew in closer to him until her chin was on his shoulder and her nose was against his neck.
“Now brace yourself,” he said suddenly, resuming his instructor stance.
“Uh, oh, here we go again! You’re not going to dip me, are you? I hate when you do that, Frank.”
“No, I’m going to kiss you.”
Frank kissed her smack on the lips. It didn’t last but a few seconds and it was far too quick and unexpected to do much of anything for Allison except cause her to lose her footing temporarily. She pulled back and looked into his eyes for a brief moment. She could see that he was falling in love with her and that the kiss was a test of sorts. She wasn’t really sure up until this point if his feelings for her were mutual or if he was just a friend. She thought she caught glimpses of some hidden fire at times, but she was never sure and she didn’t know how to broach the subject so she just kept avoiding it, hoping upon hope that somehow he would initiate it. He had.
Now it was her turn. She kissed him this time, only it wasn’t quick and unexpected. It was long, purposeful, ardent, filled with promise and declarations of love yet unspoken. This time Allison felt it. “I’m sorry,” she said after it was over, a part of her fearing she may have pushed too far.
“Why do you always apologize when you kiss me? If you recall this isn’t the first time you’ve kissed me. Remember the cookout a couple years ago?”
“That’s right. What was that? Sally was clowning around and pronounced us man and wife or something.”
“Yep. And you kissed me.”
“And Kent walked up right afterwards. I always wondered whether he saw us or not. I guess I don’t have to worry about that now.”
“No. you don’t have to worry about that now,” Frank said and they kissed again. He has moved on, Allison thought in her bliss. But then maybe it’s too soon. It’s what I’ve hoped for but maybe there hasn’t been enough time for him. It’s June, let’s see, only six months since Vicky left. It’s been over a year for me, but what about Frank? Is he really ready so soon? It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. It was meant to be this way right from the start. Oh, my God, what bliss, what joy! I’m so happy I could just die. Allison cast all doubt aside at that moment and forgot everything, including the fact that she was in a room surrounded by people. She and Frank kissed and danced and gazed into one another’s eyes and kissed and danced some more.
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