Walfred harped in with “I second that.
Everyone at the table nodded. Except Jake.
“We’ll make a wager, Bruiser,” Milton offered up, shuffling the cards. “High card says you don’t have to take the lessons. Low card says you’re in with us—right, boys?”
“Right,” came the collective agreement.
Milton tidied the deck, laid it facedown on the table, tapped the top, and cut the cards. He drew a six of spades.
Jake’s fingers tightened on Edwina’s stationery. Six. Not hard to beat. Not real easy either. It was all a matter of luck. He laid Edwina’s letter down and cut the deck once more.
“Five of diamonds!” Milt said, slapping his hands on the tabletop.
Jake lost the bet.
Cheers rounded the table and beers were raised.
“Yeah, okay,” Jake remarked sarcastically. “I lose. Fine.” He shoved Edwina’s folded note into his shirt pocket, then cracked his knuckles. “Now are we playing or what? Milt, deal the cards.”
Chapter
10
M errily humming, Truvy pulled open the curtains in the dance studio. But her cheerfulness quickly was dashed as she stared out the window.
There, on the other side of the alley, stood a building with a long row of windows just like those of the dance studio’s. And behind the windows, men punched, lifted, and strained at athletic equipment. They moved about, wearing insufficient shirts and loose-fitting trouser pants.
Truvy couldn’t believe what she was seeing: Bruiser’s Gymnasium in all its crudeness. How could that be? The gym wasn’t near Edwina’s dancing studio. Dogwood Place and Birch Avenue couldn’t back up to each other like this. The streets would have to be crooked for that to happen. Small towns were built with square block grids. This didn’t make sense.
Then, an exceedingly tall figure moved across the room. Jake—as sure as Apollo himself. Good heavens, her poor sense of direction hadn’t prepared her for this. Edwina Wolcott’s Dancing Academy shared the alleyway with Bruiser’s Gymnasium.
Just as the awful reality hit her, Jake came toward the window, flipped the sash lock, and lifted one of the three-on-three panes. As he did so, he stopped, then leaned closer to the glass as he caught her looking.
They measured each other for endless seconds, their gazes colliding, with Truvy pushing down the tension that kept her frozen to the spot. She was helpless to turn away. Her eyes remained on Jake.
A Turkish towel lay over his shoulders, but he wasn’t wearing that ripped-up shirt without the sleeves—just a simple blue one, collarless and buttoned halfway down the front. Sunlight glinted off his hair as it poured in through his window. He’d combed his hair back and away from his forehead; the style made his face seem more striking than usual. From the way his jaw moved, he chewed on a stick of gum. He licked his lips, then winked at her.
Her throat closed.
Uh-oh. If she could see all these details about him, he could see her just as plainly. Truvy could do nothing but stare back. Of all the rotten luck. Of all the . . . Edwina!
Well, Truvy wasn’t going to let geography ruin things for her. She had everything planned out to the letter. She would make a successful go of being a dancing instructor.
With a lift of her hand, she waved to Jake.
He didn’t wave back. Instead, he tilted his head as if he’d just thought of something. And whatever it was, he wasn’t too happy.
Truvy stepped away from the window as if it were electrically charged, then paused. If she closed the curtains, the implication would be obvious. But if she didn’t, Jake could watch her every move. She was nervous enough.
She went forward and hastily closed the curtains. She pulled the chains on the globe lamps, lit them, then raised the fixtures back up to the ceiling.
That done, her heartbeat still raced like crazy, but she willed herself to remain composed. He was there. She was here. There was nothing to get all flustered about. Why, then, did her cheeks burn with embarrassment over the remembrance of the kiss they’d shared?
It was futile to think about it. One kiss—and one only. Nothing more. Ever again. She’d been curious. Now she knew. That was the end of things between them.
On that thought, she reexamined the room. Its circumference was larger than she recalled. She did remember she needed to wax the floor, so she’d brought a canister of polishing compound with her. For now, she’d sweep, but between her eleven o’clock and two o’clock class, she’d start waxing the perimeters and work her way into the center. Before she left at the end of the day, the studio would be in shining order.
Truvy went to the Victrola and selected music by Richard Zimmerman. In her first class, she was going to teach the two-step. Edwina had noted that particular move be taught today. No matter what, Truvy couldn’t wear her butterflies on her sleeves. She had to have determination. And with that would come the confidence she needed.
As the notes blared through the trumpet and Truvy acclimated herself to the beat, she read Edwina’s schedule book. The members of the Amateur Ladies Avifauna Ornithologists made up the eleven o’clock class. The two o’clock class was simply entered as the B. Club.
Edwina must have meant the Bee Club. Beekeepers. Probably reserved gentlemen, men who would be more comfortable surrounded by a swarming hive than in a ballroom. They would be as self-conscious around her as she would be around them.
Slowly and deliberately inhaling, Truvy calmed herself with breathing calisthenics. She went through the moves of the two-step many times while putting her frame of mind into one proper for tutelage. And by the time her first pupils entered the classroom, she was ready to face them. Or so she thought.
The ladies were the same ones who argued about paper lanterns at Mrs. Plunkett’s house. The very same ladies she explained the beer bottle to. Mrs. Plunkett came, too, chirping about how Truvy was going to be with her for a while longer and how happy she was to have such a fine young woman in her home. Truvy was grateful for the support, because her accolades brought acceptance by Mrs. Treber, Mrs. Calhoon, Mrs. Kennison, Mrs. Elward, and Mrs. Brooks.
The hour-long class went by agonizingly slowly. The brief display of footwork Edwina had shown her wasn’t enough to fill the time, so they’d practiced the same left- and right-foot movements over and over. By doing such repetitions, Truvy felt as if she’d horribly botched things.
Oddly, nobody seemed to notice. Or perhaps they didn’t care. Most of the time, the women were jovial, talking about other topics aside from dancing and the recording playing on the Victrola. Their conversations went from the birds they watched, to the Snowflake Ball, to the new hat in Miss Taylor’s shop window, to the high price of sugar, to the upcoming spring when they would plant their gardens.
Dancing lessons for the bird watchers were purely social.
After they left, seemingly content with what they’d paid for, Truvy went to work on the floor. She ate a hasty lunch, resting her feet in the high heels she wore, then peeked out the alley window as two o’clock neared. Much to her relief, the gymnasium was empty.
Sighing, she threw back the curtains once more. The studio was rather dark without natural light. If the men returned to the gym, she’d close them out once more. For now, she concentrated on the beekeepers. They would be learning beginning waltz in their hour, so she fanned the pages in Dance Fundamentals to the right section and practiced.
Three-quarter meter with an accent on the first beat. She wasn’t sure what that meant. The diagram in the book had footprints taking a step to the left, a step to the right, a step to the side with the right, and then a close left-to-right by taking the weight off the left. She only knew how Edwina had shown her and how she’d done the dance with Moose. All these footprints made Truvy’s head swim with confusion. She snapped the book closed and hid it in the recording stand. There was no reason to panic.
But within minutes, her interpretation of Edwina’s schedule book was redefined and she panicked—j
ust as soon as Jake Brewster entered the studio and his appearance all but knocked the breath right out of her. He had four men with him who wore a mixture of fawn- and charcoal-colored suits with peg-top trousers. The “gentlemen” appeared well dressed—most likely with gold card cases in their breast coat pockets—until she looked at what was on their feet.
Roman sandals.
“Miss Valentine.” Jake was first to speak.
The arch of his brows and the relaxed expression on his face hinted at no surprise. She, on the other hand, grew instantly uncomfortable under a wave of stunned disbelief that made her feel faint. He didn’t have to say it. She knew why they were here.
Jake smiled at her with lips he knew how to use to his advantage. That lazy lift to the right corner. She knew now how velvety soft this mouth was. And just how arousing.
“Mr. Brewster,” Truvy said, greeting him in a stilted tone. Her voice was tight, her lips pressed together. “And . . . gentlemen.”
“Good afternoon, Miss Valentine,” the men answered in unison.
She initially didn’t recognize the four of them from the day she’d gone to the gymnasium to give Jake Crime and Punishment. Now their identities became clear. And although no one said it, a picturesque phrase hung suspended in the room, as tangible as if somebody had spoken it aloud: steer extract.
Truvy sensed the men were thinking about their last encounter with her, as she was—she with a sense of the unsavory, they with ill ease.
Jake made introductions, reacquainting her with Lou the porter as well as the other three, whose names she’d heard in conversation. After the proper salutations, Mr. Burditt gave an explanation.
“We’re the Barbell Club from the gymnasium, and Bruiser is making us take dancing lessons so we can be light on our feet for the Mr. Physique contest.”
When Mr. Burditt spoke, she couldn’t help lowering her gaze to his feet, and those of the others with their thin leather-strap shoes. She was expected to instruct men who displayed their bare toes? Did Edwina know this?
Certain cultures had fetishes about exposed toes. And along with that came something else. That one thing came to Truvy’s mind with the force of a gale—especially in light of the fact these very same men also favored animal skins. Biting on her inside lip, Truvy remembered the chapter in The Science of Life entitled “Primitive Peoples.”
Among very primitive people, the satisfaction of the sexual appetite of man seems like that of the animal. Openness of the sexual act is not shunned. Men and women are not ashamed to go naked. Even today, we see savages in this condition with open sexuality being a way of life.
Suddenly, Truvy needed a glass of water.
No doubt about it—these men were definitely not beekeepers.
When Jake had seen Truvy in the dance studio window hours before, it had taken him a moment to figure out what she was doing in the building. Then reality had sunk in: Truvy was the new teacher Edwina hired. The discovery had unhinged him, but he’d kept his expression neutral, giving no clue to his feelings. He was too surprised that he’d fallen into one of Edwina’s matchmaking schemes. At least in the past, she’d been pretty obvious.
“I’ve never heard of dancing in a bodybuilding con 184 test.” Truvy said, her forehead wrinkled by skepticism. “Then again, I’ve never been to one. But I’d assume partners would be limited. Unless you prefer to dance amongst yourselves.”
“They don’t need any dancing partners for Mr. Physique,” Jake said, intervening, not caring for her implication. “They’re here to learn some grace.”
“Yeah,” Walfred said. “We have no grace.”
“Speak for yourself.” Gig took offense.
“No, Gig, I’ll speak for all of you—clam up.” Jake ran a hand though his hair. He wanted to walk right out of the room, go over to Tom’s house, and tell Edwina to quit with her romantic schemes. Instead, he mumbled, “They need to learn some grace by learning how to dance.”
For a flicker of an instant, Jake thought he saw a look of self-doubt in her eyes. By outward appearances, she was collected now. She wore a dress the color of ashes. That incredible mass of rich brown hair was pinned up in a reserved twist. All that was missing was her ruler. Put together in shipshape order, a no-nonsense set to her lips, she faced them.
But what about her inner turmoil? Her being at odds with the situation came across in the nervous way she smoothed the cuffs of her sleeves. She did that sometimes. She did it now.
Sunlight reflected off the shining gold chatelaine watch pinned to her bodice. It drew his attention—rather, more than the bodice, the breasts themselves did. He’d spent a good hour looking up the word chatelaine in the dictionary. Not easy when he didn’t know how to spell it.
“You’re stating they’re here for dancing lessons,” Truvy went on, “but what are you doing here?”
Gritting his teeth, he looked at the Barbell Club, then at Truvy, and in a resigned tone, answered, “I lost a bet.”
“A bet?”
“Low card lost,” Milt explained, puffing out his barrel chest like a pigeon. Jake noticed that in the short amount of time he’d been in the room, Milt was gawking and smiling hugely at Truvy. “I got a six,” Milt boasted. “Bruiser got a five. And here we all are after one fateful cut of the cards. By the time the hour’s over, we’ll be sashaying the polka on the floorboards like a bunch of real swells.”
“The waltz,” Truvy said, correcting him, drawing in a breath. Jake’s eyes lowered to her mouth and thoughts of kissing her on Edwina’s porch came to him with clarity and a longing desire to do so again. Truvy pretended not to notice that he was staring, but the steadiness of her tone was tested. And it failed. “Y-you’ll be learning how to waltz. Mrs. Wolcott designated that particular dance in her schedule book.” Her gaze dropped, then snapped upward. “But . . . might I inquire as to the nature of your shoes? They’re not . . . regulation.”
“I made them wear the sandals,” Jake informed her, resting his weight on one leg. He acted casual about Truvy’s being in the room, but everything inside him was unsettled. “These men are going to be subjected to a series of compulsory poses designed to display every set of their muscles. When they’re up on that stage, they’ll be wearing Roman sandals, not shoes. They can’t get the right feel for flexibility and coordination by dancing in a pair of Congress oxfords.”
“Oh . . . then I suppose they’re acceptable,” Truvy remarked. This time, her gaze lowered to his feet. “But you’re exempt.”
“Right.”
“He’s not competing,” August explained. “We are.”
“That’s right. He’s here because he lost a bet. And one that I daresay must have been a gentleman’s.” Her eyes meeting Jake’s, Truvy folded her arms across her breasts. “That’s a very noble reason.”
“I can be noble,” Jake put in.
“I’m sure you have your moments, Mr. Brewster.” Straightening her shoulders, she said, “Well, then, let’s get started.” With reluctant footsteps, she went to the Victrola and selected a recording. After cranking the handle several times, she lowered the heavy needle onto the spinning black disc. A crackling noise came out of the horn. She turned toward them.
“This is the waltz. The music, that is.” Her cheeks turned bright pink, and for several seconds, she didn’t meet anyone’s expectant gaze. Jake didn’t take his eyes off her. She blushed once more, high on her cheekbones. Then she raised a hand to her throat as soon as the music came on.
“Now then.” She cleared her throat. “Since there aren’t female partners for you, you shall have to practice with one another. Pair up and I’ll instruct you on what you need to do.”
August and Walfred made a slap-happy to-do about it, sidling up to each other, bowing, and clicking their heels together. “May I?” Walfred asked.
“Most certainly,” August replied.
Lou came toward Jake, but he backed away. “Solo, Lou. I don’t dance with men.”
“But we’re
uneven and Milton has Miss Valentine.”
So he had.
Milton Burditt had a large “bay window,” but his thick-waisted body was considered gentlemanly. His girth meant robust good health as well as sturdy prosperity. Maybe Truvy went for that sort. She wasn’t protesting over his asking her to be his partner.
A knife of jealousy ripped through him. Jake didn’t like the feeling.
“Now then,” Truvy said once more, nervously taking Milton’s hands in hers and raising her arms. She paused, looked at Jake and Lou, then said, “Mr. Brewster, you aren’t paying your partner any attention. Take him into your arms.”
“Oh, sweetheart!” Milton teased.
Milton’s grin made Jake’s fists tighten into hard knots. He wanted to give him one in the jaw.
Calling the whole dancing lesson thing off was on the tip of his tongue. But he couldn’t. If he did, he’d never hear the end of it from the boys. He’d be called a welsher. Plus, Bruiser’s Gymnasium was sponsoring these contestants and their placement in the contest would be a reflection on his business know-how, on his influence on Lou, Milt, Gig, August, and Walfred. Men were coming in from as far away as Bozeman and Helena. The Barbell Club had to be prepared to take them on the best they could.
Even if their only fighting chance was August Gray.
If Jake didn’t dance, August and the rest of them would walk out.
Lou had a broad smile on his face, one Jake wanted to shove down his throat. “All right, Lou, I’ll dance with you. But I’m the man.”
“Never said you weren’t, Bruiser.”
Once in position with Lou’s clammy hand clasped in his, Jake fought the lurch in his stomach. Holy shit and for God’s sake, this was worse than the time he went fourteen rounds with The Rump Steak Slasher. A broken arm, cut lip, and bashed ear felt better than the sudden clamp of Lou Bernard’s hand on his waist.
“Get your damn hand off of there, Lou,” Jake growled, towering over Lou by a good twelve inches. “I said I was the man.”
Hearts Page 16
