by Sue Watson
I looked around for help, but Carole had gained so much momentum during the hip swaying thing she’d propelled herself across the room and Mandy and her friend were now way down at the front. There was nothing else for it, I put all my weight behind me (there was plenty) and using the pony-tailed woman in front to steady me I tried to raise myself to my feet. ) But just as I began to lift my body weight I felt the most awful ripping sensation between my legs. I couldn’t imagine what I’d done and almost fainted. Had I ruptured something vital? Would I soon be starring in the next series of ‘Embarrassing Fat Bodies,’ hoisting my bare legs into stirrups and telling my shocking story? I tried not to think too much about what was actually going on down there because I might vomit on the spot, and I’d already made a spectacle of myself without adding that to my zumba repertoire. I stayed very, very still and tried to gather my thoughts, feelings - and trembling thighs – together, but as I slowly moved my legs I sensed an unwelcome draught between them. To my horror it appeared that Carole’s leggings had completely ripped at the crotch. My inner thighs were now inelegantly displayed to the world as I squatted on my haunches still clawing at the tiny bottomed, pony-tailed blonde in front for counterbalance. God knows what she must have thought to have me coming up the rear in my crotchless leggings with a desperate look on my sweating face.
I’d hoped to make new friends here, I’d hoped to take on a new challenge by saying a big fat yes but it seemed the bloody universe (and my body) had responded with a big fat no. I thought it might be a laugh, it might be fun, but everyone was taking it seriously, including Carole who, still upright, was now ‘dropping it like it’s hot’, along with the rest of them. What a traitor she’d turned out to be, I thought, now back on my feet but keeping my knees together and my arse high, aware that any sudden movement could lead to major exposure.
The music was louder and faster and Martha was now screaming something about ‘... left, to the left.’ Suddenly, everyone lunged left and did complicated leg movements as they did so. In an effort to seriously injure myself and then be allowed to leave, I threw my whole body left, but as I couldn’t part my legs due to my wardrobe malfunction I was like a giant pogo stick. It was all so horrific and uncomfortable and painful and sweaty – and just as I got ‘to the left’, Martha shouted ‘to the right, to the right.’ Now the whole class was going in the opposite direction to me and I had to do a quick about-turn and jump weirdly. Don’t ask what happened, but somewhere in the midst of the madness I lost control and found myself pogo-ing full on into the crowd of women. It must have looked like a rugby scrum as I appeared to ‘take on’ the whole of the Zumba class – knocking over the skinny little things and winding the bigger ones. I desperately tried to stop but ended up sliding along the floor, as everyone screamed, then I started screaming and even Martha was screaming and suddenly the music stopped.
Shaken-up, and disappointed in myself, I sat by the side of the Zumba class with a paper cup of water. I hadn’t wanted to give up, but Martha suggested I ‘take five’, which I think was the zumba equivalent of ‘the naughty step’ and would be followed by immediate expulsion.
As I watched them ‘cooling down’ (which looked like another full-on workout to me), I noticed people coming into the hall for the next class. God help them, I thought to myself, glad it wasn’t me.
Then I spotted the most gorgeous hunk ever – classically tall dark and handsome, with skinny hips in tight black trousers. You don’t see men like that every day – he looked like a male model as he walked confidently through the throng of women, who were all eyeing him up openly. I spotted a couple of other men too, and they were a lot older – dear god they weren’t going to allow Martha to wage war on their pelvic floors too were they? Did men even have them? Not after a session with Martha.
I rested my head against the wall, put my glasses back on and was able to get a better look at the hunk. He was probably in his forties, he looked very physically fit and had a lovely smile... oh god he was smiling at me! This was so unexpected, no gorgeous men ever looked in my direction, in fact, no man ever looked in my direction, gorgeous or not. I didn’t look back, he might think I fancied him and be horrified, so I went back to watching the Zumba. Oh the horror. I was just contemplating how I would get up from my position on the floor without showing everyone my thighs when I looked up to see him wandering towards me.
‘Hi,’ he smiled. ‘Was it you in the Zumba class... lunging quite quickly across the floor?’
‘Yes – that was me,’ I sighed, crossing my legs casually in an attempt to keep my torn crotch out of his eyeline. He was being polite – I did a lot more than ‘lunge quite quickly,’ I was like a juggernaut mowing them all down. I had single-handedly devastated and destroyed Martha’s zumba class.
‘Well, Zumba’s not for everyone,’ he said, tactfully.
‘It’s certainly not for me,’ I was embarrassed, I hadn’t thought about the spectators dotted around the studio who must have witnessed the whole episode.
‘I’m Tony...’ he said, ‘Tony Hernandez... well it’s Griffiths really but no one wants a dance teacher called Tony Griffiths.’ He was slowly kneeling down next to me.
‘Ahhh... you’re a dance teacher? Hi,’ I smiled, my face burning up, my knees clamped together. One false move and all would be revealed and this sex God/male model dance teacher would be faced with the horror of unleashed, middle-aged cellulite. I doubted a man like that even knew it existed, his women were probably young, firm and cellulite-free.
‘I just wondered... if you would be interested in coming along to my class?’
‘You are joking? You saw what I just did over there?’ I said, pointing vaguely in Martha’s direction.
‘Yes, it was bloody hilarious... would you mind if I put it on YouTube?’
I opened my mouth but before I could speak he put up both hands in a surrendering gesture; ‘Ha, only joking...’
I rolled my eyes. ‘Good, I hope you didn’t film any of it.’
‘No... it all happened too quick, I couldn’t get my phone out in time,’ he smiled.
I was humiliated and disappointed and not really in the mood for his ‘joking’.
‘Look,’ he continued, clearly unable to take ‘no’ for an answer. ‘I don’t think you can come to much harm in my class, it’s far more sedate. A bit too sedate really,’ he smiled.
‘I don’t know, after all that I feel a bit stupid.’
‘I did Zumba once, nearly killed me. The only dip it low, pick it up slow I do is dipping my knife in Nutella and spreading it all over a big crust of bread.’
‘Did Mandy send you over?’ I said, rudely, suddenly realising this must be a wind-up.
‘No.’
‘Carole?’
‘I don’t know a Carole,’ he said, looking a little deflated.
‘Sorry, I thought someone was playing a joke on me,’ I smiled.
‘No... look I could see you were struggling in Zumba. But the good news is, you managed the footwork... almost. Yes you covered a lot of ground...very fast, but your footwork is quite dainty, it’s fairly tight for someone...’
‘For someone who’s chubby?’
‘No... for someone who hasn’t danced before.’
‘Mmmm well I haven’t danced since I was a kid, the dainty footwork might have more to do with the fact I can’t open my legs.’ He looked bemused, like I’d just imparted a sexual secret. I glanced away thinking to myself, ‘why would I say that? I have just told a good-looking stranger that I can’t open my legs?
‘I mean my leggings have ripped,’ I was about to illustrate the problem by opening my legs but fortunately stopped myself. He seemed unfazed and immediately stood up.
‘Here just wrap my jacket around your waist, that should keep you covered,’ he said, taking it off and handing it to me. ‘Look, I came over because I think you might be more suited to my class,’ he said, looking at the pony-tails’ wiggling bottoms as he spoke. ‘It’s not Zumba –
it’s Latin American... Salsa... the foxtrot - Ballroom with a bit of spice.’
‘Oh no, thanks... I think I’ll just stick to watching Strictly on a Saturday night.’ Despite being interested in his class the whole Zumba thing had knocked what little confidence I’d built up.
‘Yes I watch that too... and the US version, ‘Dancing with the Stars,’ I watch that online. I love it... come to my class and you’ll be dancing like the TV professionals in a few weeks,’ he teased.
‘No. Thanks.’
He looked slightly disappointed and I felt bad, and as he’d just loaned me his jacket I felt I should explain. ‘My mum and dad were ballroom champions actually. I never really got into it. I was too young and then it was too late... I just can’t.’
‘It’s never too late... and there’s no such thing as can’t,’ he looked at me. ‘Okay – no more clichés, but I’ll be honest, I was thinking... if you came along and perhaps convinced your friends to join us you might enjoy it and... well, if I don’t get enough pupils my class will close.’
I felt bad for him, but I just wanted to go home.
‘I don’t know – I’ve already shown myself up once tonight, I was ten when I last danced. I’m in my forties now.’
‘Oh that’s right, women over forty can’t dance,’ he was nodding, his eyes smiling. His skin was quite crinkly, close up he looked older than I’d first thought – still handsome but probably about the same age as me. ‘Give it a go, just stay for the first half hour, it’s much “calmer” than Zumba and I reckon you’d be good. Thing is, I only have about six students and, I’m not being rude but they are all... mature. I need young blood.’
‘You sound like Dracula, and it’s a long time since anyone called me “young blood”,’ I laughed, ‘but I just feel weird doing ballroom after all these years... too many memories.’
‘Your parents, you mean?’
‘Yeah... I just... I would probably end up blubbing all over the floor.’
‘Blubbing is fine... it’s emotion. I don’t think I’m going to get much emotion from my current class. Have you seen how old my students are?’ he laughed. I glanced over at the little group of pensioners and smiled, they looked sweet, but I knew what he meant and I felt a bit sorry for him. I also had his jacket wrapped around my waist and now felt obligated to say yes.
‘The first fifteen minutes?’ I said.
He nodded and, getting up, patted me on the knee. I thought that was quite an intimate thing for a man to do to a woman he didn’t know and as nice as it was I wasn’t quite sure how to take it.
Once Zumba finished, the girls wandered over and had a good laugh about the leggings ‘incident.’ Mandy said Tony was one of her clients and when I told them I’d volunteered us for his class she clapped her hands together, I assumed she must have fancied him – the way she talked she fancied anything male with a pulse. The others said they were exhausted but Mandy and I convinced them it would be fun and we joined the group of elderly couples waiting for the class, with Toyah threatening to ‘piss off to the pub’, if she got bored. As Tony drew everyone close to begin the class, Mandy complained loudly that her inner thighs were so sore she’d never have sex again.
The whole group, who seemed to be OAPs - looked at her in shock and she looked straight back; ‘What?’ she said. ‘Oh when I said I’d never have sex again... I didn’t mean never,’ she explained, rolling her eyes and looking at the rest of the class like they were mad.
‘Glad we cleared that up,’ Tony said. ‘Hello everyone, I’m Tony and for those new to the class I’m going to teach you all how to dance.’
I doubted it after my earlier ‘performance.’
Then the music came on and as someone brought up with music I couldn’t help but feel a little sway inside. I knew the tune, and I had an urge to dance like I did at home when no one was around, but I resisted. Tony was blocking out some steps and I could see he knew what he was doing – and he looked good doing it. Perhaps tonight I could learn a few dance steps in his class? It might make me feel less of an abject failure after my Zumba hell? Either way, I was going home to fresh cream sponge cake and Silent Witness... it was only a matter of time.
Tony moved centre stage and asked everyone to get into pairs and we all gathered together like you do at school, grabbing your best friend, in my case Carole. It was a mixed bunch of about ten people including us and though they didn’t look as fit as any of the Zumba girls the class seemed keen.
‘Now, I want to start with the basics,’ Tony started.
Carole nudged me. ‘Ahhh he’s a bit nervous isn’t he?’ she whispered, and I could see that his hand was a bit shaky, and my heart went out to him.
‘I’m going to show you some salsa steps,’ he was saying, ‘so wherever you are and whatever song comes on – you can dance!’ He started to sway his hips slowly. I hoped this gentle hip swaying wasn’t lulling me into a false sense of security… again. If he suddenly started whooping and lunging I was straight out of that door. I was still sporting his jacket around my waist but I wasn’t sure how many ‘outings’ the leggings could take.
‘I want you all to feel it, love that soft, gentle music and embrace the rhythm,’ he said, turning the music up. ‘Just go with the moment. Worrying about what comes next will block your mind, you have to open up, let the salsa in, the stress out – feel it, go with it.’
We were all mesmerised by his swaying torso and his glittering eyes and Mandy was now open-mouthed and winking at Toyah. Both girls’ heads were following his tight black trousers, while two older ladies were nudging each other and having a giggle. I suddenly wanted to giggle too and I thought ‘I like this. I like him.’ I didn’t feel any pressure, it felt like it might be fun and it certainly beat a vigorous session with Martha and her magic vagina.
Tony began by demonstrating a basic salsa step involving a move to the side and back, which we copied several times to his beat. ‘One two three,’ he was saying as we all did the steps, and I smiled because I remembered the moves so well, I’d watched my parents do them many times. Then the music picked up – a big band Latin sound building up to Ricky Martin singing Livin’ La Vida Loca, and I couldn’t keep still.
Tony held out his hand to me. I looked around, flattered but confused.
‘Lola... I mean Laura, step forward, I want you to demonstrate with me, you seem to be getting the hang of this.’
I walked towards him, our hands meeting mid-air we clasped them together as his other hand went swiftly through my other arm and placed it on the top of my shoulder. I put my arm up on his shoulder, our elbows now touching – he didn’t need to tell me anything else, it just felt right. He was tall and strong, very experienced and knew what he was doing which I found infectious. I felt like I could dance too – I was confident with him, like I used to be when I was little and I’d danced with my Dad.
It was a simple salsa step, but as the music picked up we were flying. This wasn’t like Zumba, for me it was so much deeper, the rhythm was somewhere in my chest and I was ready for more – so when Tony added another move, I did it too. My stomach was back on a rollercoaster, but it wasn’t that scary ride like before, it came from deep inside. I was elated, almost giddy, and so irrationally happy I thought I might burst. Tony’s legs were quick, his arms strong as he twirled me around and took my breath away. I tried not to think too much about what I was doing, my body abandoned my brain and I was in another world. I was vaguely aware of the open-mouthed surprise of my friends who were clearly as amazed as me at my fancy footwork.
We whizzed around as Ricky sang, keeping our feet tight, our legs firm and our hips loose and it was like I’d been dancing all my life. I let the music take me as we twirled around and the music swelled and we ended as the song ended, holding on to each other. I was breathless, my heart beating out of my chest with excursion, but also something else, an excitement and exhilaration I hadn’t felt for years. In that moment I understood what dancing had been to my parents
. I wanted to cry because only now did I realise what they’d lost... because I’d found it.
The rest of the class were clapping us and even the last of the Zumba girls were joining in the applause. I must have blushed because Carole shouted, ‘Don’t be shy Laura – you were bloody brilliant girl!’ Still holding me, Tony then asked everyone else to take hold of their partners and ‘just dance’.
‘What Lola and I did then was our dance – don’t be frightened to dance your own dance,’ he said over the music, ‘no one must ever be afraid to dance... don’t worry about how it looks and what other people think of you. Just feel how it feels.’
‘I’m not Lola... I’m Laura,’ I said as we whirled around some more. He pulled me closer, which felt good but very self-conscious.
‘You’re Lola on the dance floor,’ he said, quite seriously.
I tried not to look into his face – he was so handsome, with brown eyes like my father and the same dancer’s posture. I was transfixed and longed to let go and really dance for him. I wanted him to sweep me across the floor the way my father used to and felt just like that little girl wearing my mother’s too big dancing shoes. And I heard my dad’s voice; ‘You be Ginger Rodgers and I’ll be Fred Astaire!’
