Muller turns the steaks and licks his fingers. “I love to dance,” he says. “Judy and I are pretty good.”
“Keep that under your hat,” I say to him. “We need you in the beginner classes with us. Moral support, and all.”
“No problem,” Muller says.
Mary gets up and comes over to me. She puts her arms around my neck. “Nice one, Sam,” she says. “You’re quite something, you know that? I’m proud of you. What made you think of it?”
“Krupsky,” I say.
“Krupsky?”
“I saw him twist.”
Chapter 36
The dance studio is a low-slung affair tucked between a child’s shop and a Jiffy Lube. Posters sit on easels announcing dance contests and Salsa Nights. Rows of plastic palms separate the lobby from the main dance area. A man with silver hair and a silk shirt takes us through. Other couples are waiting. Everyone’s nervous, the women tossing the bottoms of their dresses.
Muller has on this old blazer Mary found at a rummage sale. She thought would fit me, but I was practically swimming in the thing. On Muller, it stretches at the seams, riding up his back. Mary and Judy both wear culottes and high heels. They look like a couple of gaucho twins ready to start a hat dance.
As soon as everyone arrives, the silver-haired man introduces himself as Silvio and, as he explains it, pressing his palms together, we’re going to be learning basic steps common to most Latin dances. “Stand in a line facing me, please,” he says. “I will show you each step. Place your feet like this to start. Your right foot now goes back here, the left here.”
He does it a few times. “Now you try,” he says and walks back and forth, watching each of us. “Very good,” he says. “Now, if you take these steps like this,”—moving his feet back and forth—“and put it together with this”—sliding one foot back from the other—“you have a Latin dance step.”
“Now,” he says, “I will play some music. You’ll see that you can dance many dances with these simple steps.” He presses a button on this big ghetto blaster and Latin strains fill the room.
“Now then,” Silvio says, standing in front of us with his hands clasped. “The emphasis here is on the first beat. DA, da, da, DA, da, da.”
He takes a step forward with his left foot, then rocks back with his right. “Follow me, please. Step into the beat like this. You do not count the beat. You feel it. DA, da, da, DA, da, da.”
We’re all pretty stiff off the top, except Muller, who despite my warnings, can’t help showing off in front of everybody. He attracts Silvio’s attention right away. “Good, my friend, Very nice rhythm. I think you’ve done this before. That’s all right. You’ll be an inspiration to the rest. You look Cuban. Are you Cuban?”
“Seattleite,” Muller replies.
Silvio cocks his head like he doesn’t understand. “Very nice, anyway,” he says, and moves on down the line, hands clasped, looking now at Mary and me. “DA-A-A, da, da,” he says to me. “Watch me, please,” taking Mary by the hand. He leads her out on the floor. “One hand here,”—holding one hand on her hip—“and one hand on her wrist. This is how you guide her.” He steps in and out between her feet. “You see?” he says to me. “Your wife follows very well. Now you come here.” He puts one of my hands on his hip and dances with me. “DA, da, da, DA, da, da,” he says. His hair smells kind of floral. “Okay,” he says, leading me back to Mary, “take your partners.”
“You two make a lovely couple,” Mary says to me.
“I think he tucks.”
We dance away, Silvio watching, straightening someone’s arm, moving a hand down another’s hip. Muller and Judy are dancing away, her eyes all glistening like a Sandra Dee movie.
Judy loves the dope and you can tell he loves her, too. I told Ruby yesterday, this crush business is giving me chest pains. “He’s already jumped off a roof and drank paint, Sam,” she said. “What else is he going to do?” I told her I feel I’ve let my daughter down. “You haven’t let anybody down,” she said. “The big lug will get over it. Let it be, Sam, or you’ll have heartache coming out the wazoo.”
Silvio comes over and takes Mary by the hand. “You guide her this way, Sam,” he says to me, moving Mary’s hips back and forth. “Let her know who’s boss. You must show her authority. Always guide. That is the secret.” He turns her left and right. “You try now,” he says. “Take her hand.” He gives Mary back to me.
“God, he’s good,” Mary says.
Silvio moves over beside Muller and Judy. His arms are crossed. He extends his first finger to his lips and nods. “Excellent,” he says, clapping his hands. “Everyone,” he says. “Watch him, please.”
Muller and Judy dance while Silvio smiles. They make the rest of us look like hillbillies.
“You’re very good, my friend,” Silvio tells Muller. “I like how you dance. All of you must learn to dance like him. Remember, always listen to the beat. It is not hard if you listen.”
We dance to three or four more songs, each of us forced out into the middle at some point. Silvio has an eye for detail. He catches every little thing, pulling a hand up higher, pushing a knee back.
An hour later, he slaps his hands together. “That is enough for one night,” he says. “Now go home and practice. I want you all to dance like this couple here,” pointing at Muller and Judy.
There’s coffee and biscuits in the corner. Muller goes over with some other people. Judy stands with us. “I’m so proud of Muller,” she says to us. “Wasn’t he fantastic?”
“He was swell, honey,” I say. “Let’s drink our coffee and go.”
“What’s the rush, Daddy,” Judy says. “We should mingle. It’s good to get to know people. You’ll have to dance with them at some point.”
“Why?”
“Because, Daddy, you have to be able to dance with different partners.”
I look around the room. There’s nobody I want to dance with. That’s why I never learned to dance in the first place. Sock hops scared the crap out of me. “We’ll mingle another time, sweetheart,” I say, seeing Muller talking to a couple. He’s a suave son-of-a-bitch when he wants to be. Judy goes over and joins him. Everyone’s singing Muller’s praises. They wouldn’t be if they saw him a few days ago, making green puddles.
Muller and Judy finally come back and we leave the studio. Out in the car, I can feel Muller right behind me, like a damp sheepdog breathing down my neck.
I try to adjust the seat to give him more room, but the seat ends up sliding back instead. His knees are digging into my back. I try again only making it worse. “Sorry,” I say. “Want me to get out and pull the seat forward?”
“It’s okay, Sam.”
“Wasn’t Muller amazing tonight?” Judy says. “He’s so mucho machismo. I’ll bet he could teach. That’s what you should do, Muller.”
We stop off for something to eat and Judy keeps going on about Muller’s dancing, calling him her Latin Stud Muffin. Back at the house, Judy goes straight to the computer, downloading Latin songs to her iPod. I get myself a drink and go outside. Standing in the dark, I hear familiar strains, the same beat. Mary and Judy are dancing away in the living room. Muller joins them. I feel a headache starting just behind my eyes as my head pounds to batucada rhythms and bongos.
“Sam,” Mary calls to me. “Join us. Muller knows how to salsa.”
“I’m fine,” I say.
“Don’t be a spoilsport, Daddy,” Judy says.
For all his faults, Muller does cut an impressive figure. I watch them dancing away and then slink off to the bedroom with The Road Less Traveled. I flip through the pages, reading about holes again. Muller’s a poster boy for this stuff. He’s all circles and holes. I know he’s not a bad person, but I can’t understand how he’s attached to an oxygen tank one minute, yet still manages cazas and flambés.
Mary’s all hands when she comes in the bedroom later.
“What the hell’s gotten into you?” I say, and the next thing I kn
ow, my pajama top is unbuttoned. “I’m reading here,” I say, but she’s pulling down the sheet.
I know this sort of thing happens in Latin countries all the time, with a population to prove it, but I’m not in a Latin country, and I’m too tired for even a half-hearted olé.
“I’m horny, Sam.”
“It’s the endorphins.”
“The what?”
“Endorphins. I read about them online. All that dancing is increasing your production of endorphins.”
“I don’t care what I’m producing, I’m horny.”
“Is this going to happen every time we go dancing?”
“You tell me. You’re the endorphin expert.”
“You could channel it into a hobby.”
“Put the book down, Sam.”
“I’m learning about holes.”
“You’ve been on that chapter for a week.”
She pulls the drawstring on my pajamas. “Lift up.”
“I’m lifting.”
“Higher, Sam, I want them off.”
“When did you start caring if they’re off?”
“Stop being difficult.”
“Okay, they’re off.”
Chapter 37
Mary lets me sleep while she helps Muller with breakfast. I hear skillets banging and Mary humming. The phone rings, I pick up, but Mary’s already on the extension. Otis is telling her he misses Muller’s baking. “We’d appreciate his attendance in our kitchen,” he says. The crazy fucker is too spaced out to care. All Mary can say is, “What? Who is this?” I tell her it’s Max clowning around and once she’s off the line, I explain to Otis that he needs to fuck off. “That’s a fine howdy-do,” he says and hangs up.
Out in the sunroom, I hear Otis back on the air: “That’s ‘It’s All Over Now’, by The Valentinos. You probably remember The Rolling Stones’ version. They were nothing special ‘til Bobby Womack pulled their nuts out of the wringer.”
The Rec Room of Sound is going constantly in this house, even when Otis is just sitting there, slack-jawed, sleeping through another album. Sometimes Margot just slides his chair back, does her show, then slides him in front of the screen again. Amazingly, the numbers are growing, especially for Otis Cries for You. The crazy bastard can cry on a dime and still be an insensitive asshole. Fortunately, Margot anticipates these critical moments, pushing Otis out of his chair before he gets into real trouble. As I make my breakfast now, I hear Otis, talking to some girl on line. Then I hear something crash, and Margot saying, “Listen, Susie, Otis is feeding you a line of bull. Contraception is your responsibility. Just because your boyfriend’s all thumbs doesn’t mean you stop protection. Practice makes perfect. Try putting it on a banana . . .”
I take my cereal over to the computer, watching Margot slipping a condom over a banana. “That’s my breakfast,” Otis is saying. Margot ignores him and keeps talking. “Practice your technique, Susie,” she says. “Craig isn’t going to lose his stiffy if you’re fast. I can’t believe I just said stiffy.”
“I can’t believe it, either,” Max says.
Ruby laughs in the background. Margot tosses Otis the banana. “Take your stupid banana, Otis.”
“I don’t want it now.”
“I’ll take it,” Max says.
“Get your own banana, Max.”
“Stop being a baby, old man. Look, you’ve got blogs.”
“Get out of my chair, Margot,” Otis says, pushing her aside. “Okay, here we go. A woman in Rockford just lost her son in a kayaking accident. That’s a tragic loss, ma’am. Hope he’s not your only kiddie—” Margot leans in to read the screen. “He’s not dead, you idiot,” she says. “He just hasn’t called.”
“Correction,” Otis says. “We don’t know if the kid’s alive or under a deadhead somewhere. Either way,”—fist to his mouth—“Otis is feeling your pain and your loss—”
“Read the next message, for God’s sake, Otis,” Margot says. Bisquick jumps on Otis’s head. Otis swats him away. Max is standing behind them, eating the banana.
“Okay, her kid just walked through the door,” Otis says. “Hallelujah for that. I’m happy for you, ma’am. Little Johnny came marching home, eh? Here’s a cry for the happy reunion of mother and son. You hold him in your arms. Hold him good and tight, ‘cause one day, things won’t be so rosy.”
“Just cry and shut your yap,” Margot says.
Bisquick pulls at a hair on Otis’ arm. “Ouch! Fuck off, Bisquick!”
“Shove over,” Margot says, pushing Otis out of the way. “Just a little perspective on that last story. Mrs. Klein, if your kid’s doing water sports, make sure he’s wearing a good life jacket. Better than sinking like a stone, honey.”
Ruby comes out of the laundry room, holding a monkey wrench. “Something’s clogging up the drain, Max,” she says. “You got any whites, Margot?” Margot disappears into the bedroom next to the laundry room. I guess she’s been crashing there since Ruby let Otis move back upstairs. “Otis, give me your shirt,” Ruby says.
“Why?”
“It’s filthy,” Ruby says, pulling the shirt over his head. “Anything else you want washed? Speak now or forever hold your peace.”
“I’m half-naked here, Ruby.”
“Nobody cares if you’re half-naked.”
Mrs. Klein is laughing her head off.
Chapter 38
The kitchen smells of peppers and Gorgonzola cheese. I come in and find Mary and Judy licking tabasco sauce off their fingers. The plates show the last remains of Muller’s cooking. “You want a tamale?” Muller asks me. He’s holding the pan like a tambourine.
“Just coffee for now, thanks,” I say.
“We’re getting proper dance outfits today,” Mary says.
“What’s wrong with what you wore last night?”
“We need Latin clothes, Sam. Get in the game.”
“What game?”
“I can get you something, too. Maybe a silk shirt like Silvio’s.”
“I don’t do silk.”
“Come on, Daddy,” Judy says. “Muller’s getting one.”
“If Muller jumped off a roof, would you expect me to follow him?”
“That’s not funny, Dad.”
“I’m making a point.”
“Why does it have to be at Muller’s expense? And he didn’t jump off the roof. He fainted.” I’d like to tell her his arms were spread like a dove. Judy gets behind Muller and gives him a hug. “My big bear,” she says.
“Your big bear put a dent in someone’s lawn,” I say.
“Sam,” Mary says, “Muller’s made us all a wonderful breakfast. Can’t you be nice and show some appreciation?”
“I appreciate the effort, Muller. Now let’s read the news and see how the world is doing. Any favorites? Simple assaults? Purse snatchings? Renegade Islamists?”
“You’re not funny,” Mary says. She puts her coffee mug in the sink.
“I’ll do the dishes,” Muller says.
“You’ve done enough,” she says. “Sam can take care of the dishes. Can’t you, Sam? Are you staying here or coming with us?”
“Staying here. I might take a dip in the pool next door.”
“You realize the Andersons don’t live there anymore?”
“Since when?”
“Since March.”
“We have new neighbors?”
“What do you think?”
“Have we introduced ourselves?”
“No, we haven’t,” Mary says. “And, just in case you decide to say hello, they’re nudists. At least I think they’re nudists. They like to swim naked, in any event.”
“How did you find that out?”
“I looked through that hole in the fence.”
“That’s illegal, Mary.”
“So’s flapping your package out in the open.”
I shake the newspaper. She takes it out of my hands. “Make yourself useful.”
“I really don’t mind doing the dishes,”
Muller says.
“Go with them,” I say. “I’ll clean up.”
“Let’s go, babykins,” Judy says. “We’re buying you a silk shirt.”
“With patches under the armpits,” I say.
“Ignore him,” Mary says. “He thinks he’s being funny.”
Judy and Muller go down the hall to the washroom. The giggling starts as soon as the door’s closed.
“Sam,” Mary says, snapping her fingers in my face. “Listen, I’ve put up with the drinking, the panic attacks, and the snide remarks. It’s time to stop feeling sorry for yourself. Everyone else is making the best of things. Look at Margot. She’s having the time of her life.”
“She just put a condom on a banana.”
“She’s helping people,” she says. “Which is more than I can say for you. Stop making fun of Muller. He has feelings, you know. Will everything be cleaned up when we get back?”
“Yes, it will.”
She goes out to start the car.
The toilet flushes. “Bye, Daddy,” Judy calls out.
“Bye, honey,” I say
“Bye, Sam.”
“Bye, Big Bear.”
I put my coffee cup in the sink and look out the window. A pool skimmer is going back and forth. I step out on the porch, then walk across the lawn. Looking through Mary’s spy hole, I see a whole family sitting there, wrapped in towels. I step back and call out, “Hello.”
A man’s head appears wearing a fishing hat. “Hello to you, too,” he says.
His face is bright red. I wonder if his wife is standing below him, making a stirrup with her hands. “Sam Bennett,” I say, extending my hand up.
“Riley,” he says. “You wanna come over for a swim?”
“I heard you’re nudists.”
“We’ll put something on if it makes you feel any better.”
“Can I bring you some whiskey?”
“At this hour?”
“Sorry, I keep thinking you’re the Andersons.”
I go in the house and put on my bathing suit. On my way out, I wake up the computer. Margot’s telling a woman she shouldn’t smoke in bed. Behind her, Max is sleeping on the couch. Otis is trying to get Bisquick to say, “Howdy doody.”
You Can Lead a Horse to Water (But You Can't Make It Scuba Dive) Page 12
