It was pretty tedious, compared to the demonstration Laurie had given. Roll ups and dorsal stretches at the bar, prances around the room. Laurie explained as they worked that these were the foundations to dancing en pointe, and he wouldn’t allow them anywhere near a pair of shoes until they had mastered the basics. Tomás was glad when the lesson was over because his feet were killing him.
Not so Duon. He had an intense look about him at the end of the class, making it clear he was hungry for more. It was all the moments Tomás had seen the young man pine for more dance instruction magnified, focused, and concentrated. He didn’t appear to want to dance. His whole being telegraphed, with underscore, that he needed to. Needed this dance.
When Tomás took Duon home, he talked the whole way, plotting how they could have pointe lessons every week, vowing he’d practice every day. All night long. Indeed, when they arrived at Spenser’s apartment, Duon wolfed down his food, blew through his homework, then went to his room calling over his shoulder that he had pointe homework to do.
“Point homework?” Spenser repeated as he brought mugs of tea over for himself and Tomás.
“He’s talking about dancing en pointe. The toe shoes ballerinas wear so they can…well, stand on their toes.”
“Men dance that way too? Huh. I’ve never seen it.” His cheeks stained pink. “But I haven’t seen much ballet.”
“No, it’s not common. But Duon is really into it, so Laurie’s teaching him.”
Spenser brightened the way he did whenever they discussed Duon. “Oh? Does he need more dance gear? I can take him shopping Saturday. We already put up a stair rail for him to use as a barre. I’m sure I did a terrible job and ate up my rental deposit with my shoddy carpentry, but it makes him so happy.”
“You installed a barre for him? You’re awesome. But you should have told me. I’d have helped, or my dad would have. If you ever need anything handy done around here, ask him. He lives for that stuff.”
“Okay.”
The eagerness Tomás had nursed all day returned in a rush. “I’m so excited for tomorrow night. It’s going to be great.” He wanted to add a suggestion they go out to dinner afterward, or for tea somewhere other than Spenser’s table, but he chickened out.
The way Spenser’s expression dimmed didn’t help. “Oh. The dance lesson. Yes.”
Tomás faltered too. “It’s still okay, right? You can come?”
Spenser fiddled with the pen Duon had used for his homework. “Yes. Of course.”
It wasn’t a ringing endorsement, but it wasn’t a no. Tomás offered what he hoped was a reassuring smile, not one reflecting the nervousness and doubt he felt. “It’s going to be great. You’ll see.”
Smiling weakly, Spenser sipped at his tea and said nothing more.
Tomás excused himself soon after. He lay in bed a long time, imagining all the ways he could woo Spenser with dance. It would be like the last time, but better. They’d connect. Spenser would let go.
And Tomás would be there to catch him.
CHAPTER EIGHT
When Spenser woke on Thursday morning, he thought of his impending dance lesson with Tomás and had a panic attack.
It had been years since he’d had one, and it shocked him so much that for several minutes he didn’t realize what was going on. He was in the shower to boot, which meant to collect himself he had to sit on the edge of the tub with shampoo still in his hair as he pressed his face into the tile and took deep breaths until he could put himself together. By the time he was able to turn the water on and rinse off, he barely had time to get dressed and zero time to eat anything more than a granola bar.
He managed to bluff a cheerful mood as he dropped Duon off at the high school, but his anxiety returned as soon as he was alone in the car, and he made himself late as he sat in the teacher’s parking lot at St. Anthony’s, putting himself together.
Panic attacks had once been a regular part of his daily life, but years of therapy and stress management had made them by and large a thing of his past. He didn’t have a prescription for Xanax anymore, it had been so long. He would have guessed it would have been becoming a parent overnight that would bring his old ailment back, but no. He was laying this squarely at the feet of the threat of going dancing.
Obviously he needed to call the lesson off, but once he collected his mail and set up for the morning, the students arrived, so he told himself he’d send his regrets at lunch. Except he’d forgotten he had recess duty, so he wolfed down his food before huddling against the wall outside as the children played. He intended to text during his free period in the afternoon, but his cooperating teacher had a question for him, and he forgot. He had a staff meeting after school as well, so he didn’t get home until five.
Which meant it was too late to send a text, because Tomás was teaching already.
Spenser told himself he could give his regrets via message anyway, but every time he pulled out his phone, he felt the shadow of the panic that had followed him all day threaten to rise. At this point he knew he was feeding it, but he was tired and overwhelmed and didn’t know how to shut it off.
Tomás hadn’t asked him out, which he could have handled. Would have welcomed. But he’d asked him for a dancing lesson instead. Why did he have to go and do such a thing? Was this some kind of test? If so, Spenser would fail. He wanted this to be step one toward having a relationship with the neighbor he was more and more infatuated with by the day. But if this was how Tomás insisted they start, it was going to be over before it began. He’d make a fool of himself.
As the hour of seven grew closer, Spenser paced his apartment, trying to outrun his anxiety and failing miserably. At six he acknowledged he had to let Tomás know somehow that he wouldn’t be there for the lesson, so he left his apartment and drove to the studio to give his regrets in person. Except when he arrived, Tomás was teaching a class, which Spenser should have thought of. A class that included Duon, who waved eagerly at Spenser as he spied him.
Spenser waved back, but his hand shook and his smile wavered. Oh God, he was going to have another panic attack, this time with an audience.
He tried to put himself in an out-of-the-way spot, but the waiting area was full. A foam core wall hung from the ceiling, obstructing the view of the instruction area, but the few available chairs were occupied by parents and children. Others leaned against the solid wall by the windows or sat on the floor, crowding into every last inch of space. There were seats on the other side of the wall—on the long bench placed so people could observe the active dance class. This of course was the last place Spenser wanted to be, so he did his best to hunker by the door, wishing more than anything he could go back out of it and apologize to Tomás later. When it became clear his panic wasn’t going to subside, he fumbled with his coat with full intent to return to his car.
“Spenser?” Laurie stepped into the space between Spenser and the door, regarding him with concern. “Are you all right?”
God, no, he wasn’t anything close to all right. He could barely look Laurie in the eye. “I should be going.”
But he couldn’t make his legs work. Laurie put a hand on his arm, a light, gentle touch. “Let’s go into my office.”
Spenser didn’t want to go anywhere, but he let Laurie lead him. He felt dizzy and foolish and ready to throw up. “I’m not feeling well is all.” It wasn’t a lie.
Laurie helped him into a chair, a padded, stuffed thing that looked like it was a good place to read a book or take a nap, curled up. “Do you need me to call someone for you?” When Spenser stared at him blankly, he went on. “Sweetheart, it’s all right. Just breathe for me, okay?”
Spenser didn’t know what to say, how to get out of this situation, what to say to make it end. He began to babble. “Tomás wanted me to come by for a dance lesson at seven. But I can’t. I can’t dance with him.”
“Because you’re sick? You could have called and left a message.”
“I can’t dance with him becaus
e thinking about dancing makes me sick.”
A little late it occurred to him perhaps that wasn’t the thing to say to a professional dancer who owned his own studio, but if Laurie was offended, he hid it well. He regarded Spenser carefully before altering his line of questioning. “I’m sorry to hear that. Would it be all right for me to ask why? Or would you prefer I invented an excuse for you for Tomás and urged him to keep from bothering you about it in the future?”
The offer was tailor-made for Spenser to get out of this situation, so it was a mystery why he didn’t take Laurie up on it. He slumped in the chair. “I’m no good at dancing. I never have been.” He shut his eyes briefly on a long blink. “But I’m attracted to Tomás and couldn’t bring myself to tell him no when he coaxed me into coming by for another dance lesson. Which is ridiculous. He’s probably not interested in me that way.”
“I’m fairly certain he is. But tell me more about why you hate dancing. Why is it a nightmare?”
Spenser considered how to best edit his past. “I moved around a lot when I was young. I’ve never made friends easily, but in middle and high school things were especially grim, and being gay didn’t help. I wanted to go to dances, but when I did, even dancing with girls wasn’t pleasant. I was self-conscious about my body, aware I didn’t have as nice of clothes as the other kids, that I was different from them in every way. When I was older and went to gay bars, though, the differences were still there. I was still self-conscious too, and trying to dance with other men was, disappointingly, as bad as those high school dances.” He sighed. “I’ve developed a kind of phobia around the issue, I think. It’s never been a problem until now, though I admit this is true largely because I avoided it. I thought I could override it with common sense, but that technique doesn’t seem to be working.”
Laurie didn’t reply right away, and Spenser appreciated the chance to recover from his confession. When Laurie finally did speak, his tone was careful, gentle. “Do you want to dance? I’m asking sincerely.”
Spenser didn’t know how to unpack the question, so he leapt onto the tail end of it. “I can’t dance. I mean, I danced the one night with Tomás, but I was terrified the whole time.”
“Surely you’ve danced by yourself. In the kitchen when a good song came on, or in your bedroom as you got yourself ready for something.”
“I listen to MPR. And no, I don’t dance by myself.”
Laurie tapped his finger on his cheek. “So is what you’re telling me no, you don’t want to dance at all?”
Spenser was starting to get a headache. “Obviously I would like to dance. Everyone would. What I’m trying to tell you is I can’t.”
Laurie’s smile was enigmatic, making Spenser feel both comforted and nervous at once. “Ah. I see. All right, I have a few questions for you. First: Spenser, do you trust me? That I have your best interests at heart, and I’d never do anything to hurt or embarrass you?”
Spenser blushed. “Yes, I trust you. Why?”
“You teach kindergarten, yes? Does your school allow guest classroom speakers?”
“Yes, we have to fill out a few forms is all.”
“Good. I want to come to your classroom and do a dance demonstration for your students. With them.”
Spenser frowned. “Why? I mean—that would be lovely, thank you. The students would love it. So would my principal, in fact. But why are you telling me you want to do this?”
“Because once we’re done here, I’m going to go talk to Tomás. I’m going to send you home and give him your regrets for this lesson tonight. And if you decide you’re willing to take dancing lessons, I will be your instructor.” Spenser’s jaw fell open, but Laurie only rose and patted Spenser’s shoulder. “Not now, though. First I’m going to come to your class. Then we’ll see what happens.”
Laurie ushered Spenser out of his office, sending him out of the studio and to his car, bearing Laurie’s business card and a promise he would be at St. Anthony as soon as Spenser told him it was acceptable to come by. He also reiterated his promise to speak to Tomás.
Spenser went home calmer but still agitated. Mostly he felt confused and uneasy, not entirely understanding what had happened, or why, or what he should do in response. He felt a deep, hollow ache, thinking he’d killed his relationship with Tomás before it started, even if it was for the best. He moved listlessly around the apartment, until shortly after seven, Duon returned home.
Tomás was with him.
Embarrassed at his behavior, Spenser tried to stay out of the way and hoped Tomás would leave him alone, but Tomás found him in the living room and came to sit beside him on the sofa. “Hey there.”
Spenser gave him a weak smile and rubbed his arms self-consciously. “Sorry about the lesson. I…wasn’t feeling well.”
“No worries.” Tomás’s tone was gentle, soothing.
He sat close to Spenser, but he also tilted in so he made the couch cushion cave toward him, inviting Spenser to tip into him. Spenser noted Duon had gone straight to his room. “Is Duon okay?”
“He’s fine.” Tomás rested his hand on Spenser’s thigh. “I’m sorry if I was pushy about the lesson. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
Spenser’s cheeks heated. “It’s my fault. I have some kind of complex about dancing, I guess. I’m sorry.”
“You don’t need to apologize. I do.” His grin was sheepish. “I’ll be honest—that was all a cover. I’d meant to ask you out, but I got nervous and asked you to let me give you another dance lesson instead, because it felt safer.”
Embarrassment faded as waves of tenderness, hope, and desire took its place. Spenser glanced sidelong at Tomás. “You could have asked me out. That would have been safer.”
“I know that now.” He held Spenser’s hand, laced their fingers together. Leaned closer. “So.”
Spenser leaned in too.
The kiss was slow and sweet, their lips coming together on the softest of sighs as they backed into the sofa, hands sliding over shoulders. Spenser’s skin felt charged with electricity, sending jolts along his nerve endings every time Tomás brushed his fingers along it. Spenser couldn’t help thinking this was the kind of kiss he’d dreamed of in high school, from the kind of boy he’d wished he knew how to talk to. Tomás was a solid, safe space, and Spenser sank into him, forgetting his shame over the abandoned lesson. Steeped himself in the dizzy wonder of Tomás’s slick, wet mouth, his teasing tongue. His strong, gentle hands.
The promise of what kisses would come next time. Because this was absolutely a kiss that whispered of a next time.
“Saturday night,” Tomás whispered when they came up for air. “Go out with me Saturday night.”
Spenser ran fingers down Tomás’s cheek, ducking his head because his grin was so wide. “Saturday night it is.”
All day long on Friday, Tomás obsessed about where to take Spenser on their date.
“Go to a bookstore,” Duon suggested the next evening on the way home from the studio. “The man loves his books. If we go to the mall, I gotta get ready to put in at least an hour at Barnes & Noble. Don’t get me started on used bookstores. You’d think every aisle was a possible path to a big pile of money.”
Tomás wasn’t sure a bookstore was fancy enough, but he liked the mall idea. “I could take him to the Mall of America. Unless that’s too cheesy.”
“The man would stand in the rain beside a row of stinking garbage cans if he knew you’d be standing with him.” Duon put his feet up on the dash and slumped lower in his seat. “He’s gonna tell you it’s fine, whatever you say.”
Tomás scoured potential date sites across the Twin Cities, trying to find the perfect venue. Restaurants. Art shows. Bars. Ice skating. IMAX at the zoo. He asked for advice from everyone—Laurie, Ed, one of the other Starbucks assistant managers. He had a million ideas, but none of them made him think this was it, he’d found the right opening date.
On Saturday morning as he got ready for work, he asked his mom. Which meant
he had to first explain he had a date in the first place.
She gasped and beamed, looking across the room at the door and Spenser’s apartment. “Oh, mijo, how wonderful. You must take him somewhere special.”
“That’s just it, Mom. I don’t know where the special place is.”
“Somewhere romantic. Somewhere you can show him what a wonderful partner you could be.”
This didn’t help, either. So, out of ideas, Tomás cried uncle and knocked on Spenser’s door. “Where would you like to go tonight?”
Spenser didn’t hesitate. “I was thinking Bryant-Lake Bowl could be nice.”
Tomás blinked. “The what?”
“Bryant-Lake Bowl. It’s in Lyn-Lake. It’s a restaurant, bowling alley, and theater built into one space.”
Bowling. But Spenser seemed excited about it. “Do we need a reservation?”
“No. I could see what was playing at the theater, though. Unless it’s something really popular, I doubt we’ll need to buy our tickets in advance. We went all the time while I was in college.” He paused, enthusiasm waning as he bit his lip. “But maybe this isn’t your kind of thing. We can do something else.”
Spenser was the kind of thing Tomás was interested in, and if he had to wear stupid shoes to be with him, so be it. “Bryant-Lake Bowl sounds great.”
Once alone, though, Tomás doubted whether or not agreeing to go bowling was such a good idea. He’d gone only a handful of times, once in elementary school for a party, and then for a short unit in middle school for PE class. He’d been okay for the class, but somehow he doubted the skill had remained dormant inside him.
What made him nervous was his perception of bowling alleys was that they were for white people. Older white people, usually men, wearing ugly shirts and shitty shoes, laughing loudly and patting each other on the back between chugging pints of beer. Blue-collar guys, but white blue-collar guys. White, straight, blue-collar guys in organized gangs.
Enjoy the Dance Page 11
