by Cain Hopwood
Despite her enthusiasm for the dance however, once the students had had their wedding, or ball, or whatever they needed to tango for, their desire to tango evaporated. Leaving Jade once again the only tango aficionado in town. Neither Simon, Wendy or for that matter Fay had been bitten by the tango bug like Jade had been. It had always made Simon curious exactly why she was so passionate about it.
Everyone sat in silence, watching Jade watching the screen, and watching her become more and more irritated.
Finally she broke with a strangled cry. “Arg! I don’t know what’s worse. Not being able to see them properly, or seeing what they’re doing.”
It was Wendy who dared to chip in. “He doesn’t really look like he’s leading very well.”
Jade threw her hands up in frustration. “Not well? Not at all. The whole thing is choreographed. That’s no more an argentine tango than I am a…” she trailed off with more hand waving.
Simon smiled, Jade often failed to finish what she was saying when frustration or excitement got the better of her. “Argentinian?” he asked with as straight a face as he could muster.
Jade just scowled at him and returned to watching the screen.
A short while later the couple finished their routine with a very non tango lift, had the requisite banter with the host, and were led off to the green room.
“Well that’s that,” Wendy said. “Which of this week’s crop will get the axe?”
“That tango pair,” Jade said.
Wendy frowned. “I’m not so sure, the judges really liked them. At least they sounded like they liked them, I couldn’t read the scores.”
“They were all equally atrocious,” Fay said.
“Fay’s right, it’ll come down to the audience votes,” Wendy said. “I would say that—“
An almighty thunderclap cut off whatever she was going to say. The lights flickered for a second, and then a familiar electric groan started up.
“The antenna!” several of them said at once.
All eyes snapped to the television screen just in time to see the main presenter, complete with vapid smile, fade into the static.
“What’s happening?” asked Wendy with a hysterical edge in her voice.
The antenna motor continued grinding away. Afraid it might twist off it’s pole and come crashing down Simon rushed to the control box, picked it up and frantically flicked the control knob back and forth.
“I don’t know. The wiring must have shorted out from the lightning or something,” Simon said over the grinding noise of the antenna, which had now begun to increase in pitch.
“It’s getting worse!” yelled Wendy.
Simon took a deep breath “Calm down everyone. I’ll take a look.”
Simon strode to the front door in what he hoped was a purposeful, not hurried, way. But once outside he dashed around the side of the house and took a look at the antenna.
It only took him a second to realise how pointless the idea was. The pool of light from the verandah only extended out into the sodden yard a short way, and the antenna was forty feet up. Just as he was about to return to the house and search for a torch, a long lightning bolt snaked across the sky and lit up the whole antenna and pole assembly, making it look like some kind of backlit, twisted, hundred-year-old dead tree.
The antenna atop the pole was not in a happy state.
It had snapped off its mount, and was dangling by its feed cable.
Worse still, Simon could hear the antenna bashing against the pole with every revolution of the motor. It wouldn’t be long before the line snapped, and the whole antenna fell forty feet to the yard.
Better stop that motor, Simon thought to himself turning around. He was just about to head back inside when there, right in front of him, was the answer.
The fuse box.
He yanked open the access panel and scanned the cabinet. A large switch labelled ‘master’ jumped out at him and without a second thought he flicked it off. The motor stopped, and the whole house was plunged into darkness.
Four blood-curdling screams rent the night.
He grimaced. “Not the best choice methinks,” he muttered, so he flicked the switch back again.
The lights returned, and the grinding resumed.
Taking his time, he looked over the switches in the cabinet a little more closely this time. He muttered to himself as his finger hunted. “Lights, better leave that, stove nope, hot water nope. Ah, power.” He hesitated for a moment before the thought of Bruce’s expensive antenna crashing to the ground moved his finger.
And the grinding noise stopped.
Feeling quite pleased with himself he made his way back into the house. Four sets of piercing eyes greeted him.
“What happened to the lights?”
“Are you OK?”
“Was that some kind of joke?”
“Where’s the picture?”
The last one was Wendy, more concerned with the result of the show than anything else.
“No more picture ladies,” he said. And then to try and lighten the mood a bit he switched to a bad Spanish accent like Manuel from Faulty Towers. “Mister antenna, he see lightning, he go crazy.”
This drew another four unamused stares.
Wendy broke the silence, “Well go outside and fix it, what are you afraid of? The rain?”
“The antenna is forty foot up a rickety pole, it can’t be climbed, and there’s lightning out there!”
Wendy folded her arms and tapped her foot, “So, what kind of man are you?”
At this Simon took a deep breath and sighed, “Not a suicidal one.”
But Wendy was not to be deterred, “How are we supposed to know what the result is?”
At this Simon just shrugged, and the room fell into silence.
It was Fay who broke the silence. “Don’t take it so hard Wendy dear, it’s not as if the dancing was all that good. I mean really, any of us here could do a much better job.”
“Too right,” Jade said. “I bet you I could take anyone in Galah and do a better tango with them at the end of eight weeks than that pair of plonkers did earlier in the show.”
“Anyone?” asked Simon.
Jade thought for a minute. “Yes, probably anyone. As long as they weren’t completely unco,” she added with a grin.
Simon nodded. “You’re right you know. That tap dancing footballer last week was particularly lame. I’ve seen beginners with six weeks under their belt do a better routine.”
Everyone nodded in agreement.
“You know, it is a shame that we’re the only ones in Galah who get to watch this show, apart from Bruce and Betty that is,” Fay said.
“The town knows what it’s missing,” Jade said. “If you could hear the number of questions I get on Sunday at the pub, you would be amazed. And not all chicks either, dairy farmers, council workers, they’re all into it. Or they would be, if the TVs in town could pick up that channel.”
“Imagine what it would do to my enrolments if they could watch the show,” mused Fay.
They all lapsed into silence then. Just the thrumming of the rain on the roof and the rolling thunder marked the passing of time. Simon listened for a while to the familiar sounds of the storm. It sounded as if the thunderstorm was moving on, and the rain was settling in. It wouldn’t be long before he’d be unable to get across the creek. So he really should leave soon if he was going to make it home at all.
But there seemed to be an idea hanging in the air. It wasn’t anything he could pin down, but something compelled him to just stay, standing there, trying not to break the mood.
It was Fay who eventually broke the spell. “I wonder if we could do something like that in Galah?” she asked.
“What?” Jade said.
“How?” Wendy said.
“Wouldn’t it be good if we could,” he said.
Chapter Three
It was only three days later when the subject came up. Fay had called him earlier that day to say th
at she was unable to teach her Tuesday night beginner tap class. So she asked Simon to cover for her.
Simon didn’t teach a regular class at Fay’s studio, like Jade did, but he helped out occasionally so the request wasn’t unusual. The class was called ‘codger tap’, not officially of course, the students themselves had come up with the name. It was a small class, three middle aged men and a teenager. And he had a fair idea which of them had named the class. He was only acquainted with one of the ‘codgers’, Duke. Duke’s young son was one of Fay’s few boy students, and quite a promising one too.
Simon’s own father had never understood what made his only son want to dance. Seeing this man try so hard to learn something as unnatural as tap dancing, just to be able to make a connection with his son, made Simon just a little bit misty.
Normally when Simon covered a class, he’d lock up the studio afterwards. This time though Fay was waiting for him at the door, key in hand.
“Simon, a moment of your time if I may?” she asked.
“Of course, what’s up?”
Fay seemed unsure. “I was... wondering if you’d put any more thought into what we discussed on Saturday?”
Simon frowned. “Discussed?”
“Yes. Remember how we said we could do a better job of that Celebrity Dance telly show. Well, the idea has been stuck in my head since then, and the more I think about it the more I think it’s a really good idea.”
“Do you mean with Galah residents?” he asked.
“Yes, exactly! We have more than enough really good dancers in town to provide a professional dancer for eight or so couples. If we had enough interesting local...”
“Identities?”
“Yes, like... I don’t know, the Mayor maybe, or one of the sportsmen.”
Simon thought about what she was saying for a moment. “You should grab someone from one of the churches as well. Between them, the footy team, and the pub you’d have something for just about everyone,” he said.
Fay held up her hand. “Let’s not get bogged down in the details just yet.”
“Just yet? Are you actually planning to do this?”
Fay smiled a guilty little smile. “Not me... as such.”
Simon cocked his head and raised an eyebrow.
Fay continued. “Look, I overheard Betty and one of the CWA ladies talking in the coffee shop yesterday. They were saying how they were sick of raffles and balls and wanted their big fundraiser this year to be something different.”
“And you think that a version of Celebrity Dance with Galah... characters would be something people would pay to see.”
“I think it would,” Fay said. “The buzz in the town around the TV show is already high, and most people can’t even watch it. I think they would go just for the possibility of seeing what it’s all about.”
Simon grinned. “Or to watch the mayor make a complete fool of himself.”
“Sure, it’s why we watch it isn’t it. It’s so we can see a famous cricket player do a really bad job of a tango.”
Simon smiled. “When you put it like that it makes sense. So, did you suggest it to them?”
Fay’s eyes widened. “Oh lord no. No I couldn’t do that. They’d think I had some kind of hidden agenda to sell a heap of private dance lessons or something.”
“Yes, I could see them thinking that. Probably because there’s an element of truth to it,” he said giving Fay a wink.
Fay looked genuinely hurt. “No that’s not it at all. It is a good idea, and I’d hate for it to fail because of town politics.”
“Ah,” Simon said, drawing the word out. “I see it now. You want me to sell them on the idea instead of you.”
“Well, suggest it maybe, see where it goes,” she said with a shrug.
Simon shook his head and smiled. “Sometimes Fay, it would be simpler if you just told people what you want.”
She smiled and he could have sworn that he saw a cheeky expression flit across her face. “Maybe, but then you’d miss out on the fun of working things out for yourself. It’s a learning experience.”
Simon chuckled, thinking about how Fay was always teaching something to someone. This reminded him of the class he’d just taught. “Hey, Fay.”
“Yes.”
“That class this evening, do you know what they call themselves?”
Fay smiled. “Yes. Codger tap”
“They’re good value, if you ever need someone to teach them again, don’t hesitate ok?”
Chapter Four
True to form the very next morning Simon got his chance to plant the idea of a dance competition. It was while he and Betty were putting the finishing touches on that week’s issue of the Galah Gazette, which was due at the printers at noon.
They had spread the proofs over the large table in the centre of the office. Betty felt, and Simon agreed, that when doing a final proof there was just no substitute for seeing the text on paper.
Occasionally one or the other of them would call out a correction. They’d both find it, confirm it, and mark it. Then Simon, who had the master document on his computer, would correct it.
It was slow, painstaking work. But even so, Simon enjoyed the methodical way he and Betty worked through the print proofs together. Only the occasional rustle of paper broke the silence.
“Betty, is there supposed to be something in this gap on page six?”
Betty looked up and peered over her reading glasses at him. “What gap?”
“It’s in the CWA news column. I can’t imagine that there’d be a shortage of gossip from them.”
Betty straightened up. “The CWA is not just for gossip young man. We do a lot of good work for the town.”
Simon grinned, grabbed an imaginary fishing rod, and pretended to cast and reel in a fish.
Betty, arms folded, was tapping her foot. “You scallywag,” she said. But she was still smiling.
The joke over, Simon turned back to his copy. “So, what’s supposed to be in this gap?”
Betty looked puzzled. “Hmmm, the CWA news... Oh, I remember now, that was supposed to have the details about this year’s big fund raiser.”
Simon smiled inwardly but tried to keep his face bland. “OK, What’s it going to be? I’ll fill the gap now,” he said shuffling across to his computer and sitting down at the keyboard.
“Well, that’s the problem,” Betty said, sighing. “They haven’t decided what to do.”
“Really?”
“Well, there’s been plenty of ideas, but the committee wants to do something different this year.”
“And all they’ve come up with is the same old, same old?”
Betty shrugged. “Yes. It’s all just balls, raffles and picnic races.”
“Hmmm,” Simon said nearly exploding with the desire to blurt out Fay’s idea for the fundraiser. But he had to make it seem like a natural part of the conversation, or even better yet, get Betty to think that she’d come up with it herself. He let the silence draw out then shook his head. “I’m stumped Betty, all I know is writing and dancing.”
He held his breath, but tried not to look like he was holding his breath. He could have sworn he saw something flash across her face. But then she turned back to the proofs, found the gap in the paper and marked it.
“Put a filler in there. The usual ‘advertise in this space’ will do,” she said. And the moment was lost.
Simon tried not to show any frustration. He should have just suggested it outright, it would have been less subtle, but at least it would have been done. But then he thought back to the wide-eyed expression on Fay’s face when he had suggested that she mention the idea directly to the CWA. If he could get Betty to think that she’d come up with the idea herself, then it would be even better than him suggesting it. After all, he worked for Fay occasionally, so they might figure that the idea came from her originally.
Then he saw his chance.
“Betty, why is Celebrity Dance recommended viewing in the TV guide for Sat
urday night? I mean, there’s a blurb and everything.”
“We just copy that text as is from what the network give us,” she said.
“But you see what I mean, right?”
“Not really.”
“Isn’t putting it down as recommended viewing a bit like pouring salt in the townspeople’s wounds. Especially considering none of them can pick up the show on their TVs?”
“Of course I keep forgetting,” she said.
Simon scooted over to his computer to make the correction. He picked a movie repeat to replace it, all the while listening for the penny to drop with Betty. But when he looked up she was head down again in the proofs.
He decided that subtle wasn’t going to work.
“There done,” he said and sniffed. “I don’t know why they recommended it, it’s not like it’s all that good really.”
Betty’s head snapped up. “What do you mean? It’s a great show.”
Bait taken, thought Simon. Now to make sure she’s hooked. “Sure, it’s entertaining enough I guess. But really, the dancing?” he drawled.
“What about the dancing?”
“Some of it’s a bit basic,” he said, shrugging in a non-committal way. Don’t reel her in too fast, he thought.
“Basic? With all those lifts, it looks pretty professional to me,” she said.
“It’s showy, I’ll give you that. But not what I’d consider professional. Anyone in Galah could be taught to dance like that.”
“Really,” Betty said, a suspicious tone creeping into her voice.
Simon decided that he’d better close this fast before she thought he was winding her up again.
“Absolutely,” he said, purring like a used car salesman. “In fact we were discussing it last Saturday when the power went out. It was just after the tango. Did you watch the recording?”
“Yes, on Sunday, the tango was the last dance.”
“Yes, well I don’t think it was the end of the show but after that the antenna went mad. It was the last straw for Jade. She’d just seen her beloved tango sliced up into little bits and reassembled into a franken-dance by that couple.”
Betty looked concerned. “Was it really that bad?”
