by Dale, Lindy
Sliding her glasses back onto her nose, Flora walked across the room and stopped next to a bench, placing her handbag on it. Turning to face the throng, she smoothed her hair and took a deep breath . So what if the men outnumbered the women by at least two to one? Men never looked at her. PJ said it was her glasses. Louise was convinced it was her ability to blend into the background of any occasion. But Flora knew the truth. At school she had been the shy girl who never got asked out. After her mother left, she had become so mistrusting of people her shyness had increased tenfold and when, on the off chance, she was asked to a party she sat by the wall all night too afraid to approach anyone and start a conversation. Mostly, she just helped the parents to tidy up. Teenage life had passed her by and adulthood didn’t appear to be causing any major transformations. But what did it matter if nobody spoke to her? It was far easier when they didn’t. At least then she didn’t stumble over what to say next.
As Flora stood waiting, a tall gangly girl appeared beside her. ‘I think I’ve died and gone to man heaven,’ she whispered. ‘Why didn’t somebody tell me this was where all the cute guys were hiding? All this time I’ve been hanging out in pubs when I should’ve been here.’ She made a face something similar to PJ’s when Taylor Lautner took his shirt off in New Moon.
‘Check out that one. He’s hot.’ Frantically, the girl waved her hands in front of her face, attempting to calm her breathing as a muscled, spangle shirted man approached them, his white toothed grin fluorescent against his spray tan. ‘I think I’m going to faint.’
Flora pressed her lips together, attempting to hide her mirth. The man looked as if he’d stepped off the set of Dancing with the Stars but he was not a reason to swoon.
‘Ladies,’ he purred, his teeth competing with his shirt for the brightest twinkle in the room. ‘Welcome, welcome, I’m Enrico. What a pleasure it is to have you here tonight. And what a treat for you….. Tonight the gentlemen of the HMAS Darwin have come for lessons in preparation for ceremonies next month.’ He flung out his arm dramatically towards the line of well-dressed young studs.
‘Oh God, Navy men…. now I know I’m in heaven,’ the girl tittered.
‘We also have the obligatory bridal party or two and a few regulars, who are just here because they love to dance,’ Enrico stated, ignoring the girl’s obvious rapture at having a captive audience of men. ‘Find a spot, enjoy!’ With an attention getting clap, he stepped into the centre of the floor to begin the lesson.
As the music blared from the speakers Flora crept into a somewhat disorganised line at the back of the class. She didn’t want to appear any more obvious than need be. She was sure her two left feet would do the talking for her. After all, she was there to learn. She just didn’t want it to be apparent to the entire room.
‘Let’s begin with a basic rumba….’ Enrico grinned into the mirror as he demonstrated the steps. Basic Rumba? Flora had no idea what a rumba was let alone the basic steps. Her eyes darting along the line, she watched the feet of the others as they tried to copy the steps. It was hopeless. They were no better at it than she was. In front of her the navy men were laughing at their own lack of coordination and the girl she had spoken to, looking more like a farmer at a hoedown than a dancer of any description, was clodhopping along the line. It was all Flora could do to avoid her stomping feet.
‘I love dancing,’ the girl panted at her. ‘Been doing Latin for three years now… my old studio closed down so I thought I’d come here.’
Gosh, and haven’t all those lessons paid off, Flora thought, instantly chiding herself for being bitchy. Another three years wasn’t going to make the slightest bit of difference either. That girl was more appalling than she was.
Turning her attention away, Flora took a peek at the others in the lesson. A woman in front of them was ducking and weaving in a manner that Flora was sure she thought was incredibly erotic but looked like a snake with a rat stuck in it’s belly and the balding man to her left had something stuck in his eye. Well, she hoped he did. He kept winking at her in a most presumptuous way. She looked in the other direction, only to be blinded by Enrico’s teeth glittering back at her in the reflection of the mirror. PJ was right, she realised as she tripped over her own feet and wobbled to right herself without being noticed. This dancing gig was not for sensible people. It was for losers and social misfits with no friends and there wasn’t so as much as a hint of Patrick Swayze amongst the navy guys. They all looked about as coordinated as a bunch of two year olds at a Wiggles concert.
Yet, never one to give up, Flora persevered and, after half an hour of careful tuition, Enrico declared them ready to take partners. ‘Now we shall see who has been listening,’ he added, with a delightful flick of his hand. ‘Choose a partner and take your positions for the Rumba. And don’t forget to hold your frame, a sloppy partner is nothing short of a nightmare.’
‘Ah, the dance of love.’ Farmer girl headed straight across the floor towards a tall guy she’d been checking out and asked him to dance.
Snake Lady, on the other hand, stood next to her tapping her foot impatiently, until, after some sort of altercation on the other side of the room, a very tall, very seafaring looking male made his way toward them.
‘Care to dance Ma’am,’ he drawled. Snake Lady grinned; a wide and toothless smile, which made her appear even more reptilian, and they ducked and weaved into the throng.
The remaining candidates paired off rapidly leaving Flora standing alone and feeling embarrassed. Okay. So she couldn’t move like everyone else but did she always have to be picked last? It was like being back at school. She thought perhaps it was time to leave, to spare herself the further embarrassment of having to dance alone. That was, until she looked in the mirror. And saw …. him.
He was standing still, his eyes fixed so intently on her in the mirrors, that she felt the oddest ripple. It began right under her left rib, near her heart causing her breath to quicken. Flora waited but he made no move. What was he doing? Undecided perhaps? Possibly he’d seen her dance and was weighing up whether his feet would stand up to the punishment. Or maybe not. Lips tight, he strode in her direction. Oh God. He was a vision, a tall, masterful looking vision with deep espresso eyes and a square jaw that made him appear strong and commanding, the type of man who did not accept ‘no’ for an answer or even consider ‘no’ to be an option. Exactly, her kind of man.
Flora swallowed. This could not be happening. Cute guys - well, any guys - never gave her the time of day. And the sensible ones headed straight in the opposite direction when they saw her glasses. He must be blind, or insane. Yes, that was it. He was insanely desperate for someone to dance with.
‘Hello.’
She gazed up into his face. His brow was smooth and broad leading to a nose, straight and thin but oh, so masculine. ‘Hello.’
I’m going to faint, she thought. I am truly going to keel over at the sight of him.
Her heart leaped into her throat. Her hands trembled and she fidgeted with her dress to still them. She was being reduced to a bumbling teenager by the intense stare of those eyes and there was nothing she could do. It was ludicrous. She hadn’t felt like anything like this since Robbie Markham… and when had that been? … Year Nine? Not that he’d ever spoken to her. He was merely a fantasy that knocked her out of the way as he swaggered to the bus stop every afternoon.
‘I gather we’re to be partners,’ the man said.
‘Guess so.’
He indicated a spot and she followed, walking with him into the centre of the floor. They faced each other. He did look rather sexy, she decided, in a surly, gruff sort of way.
‘It’s a lovely evening out,’ she said, shocked at the ease with which she had just begun a conversation.
‘Hmm.’ He frowned and gave a small snort as if, on closer scrutiny he couldn’t believe his misfortune at having ended up with the nerdy glasses girl and engaging in small talk was the last thing on his mind.
Fumbling, Flora p
laced her hand in his and they readied themselves to dance. Rude man, she thought. He could have at least waited until her head was turned before he groaned at his lot.
‘Do you live in the neighbourhood?’ she asked, for some reason determined to conquer his manners.
‘Not really.’
Flora watched his face studying something over her shoulder, and pulled herself straighter, affronted.
I know I’m not Kate Moss but, really, does he have to be so dismissive? she thought, as they waited for the music. It wasn’t as if they were going to jump into bed together. She was well aware he had only chosen her because she was the only girl left. Couldn’t he at least pretend to be interested?
The music started. Her partner let out a deep sigh and pulled his face back to hers. He twisted his lips in an even tighter fashion and then bit on the corner of the lower edge as if considering something. Suddenly, his gruff exterior softened and his mouth turned up in a crooked grin that caused his eyes to crinkle as he looked down into hers. When he spoke his voice was deep and husky. ‘I warn you, I’m no expert. In fact, you could say I’m a Rumba virgin,’ he added, pulling her closer and starting to move.
Maybe, I won’t go home yet, Flora thought, reminding herself of her vow to see the positive in everything. Maybe he deserves a second chance. Rude or not, the dark depths of those eyes were mesmerising.
They set off around the floor, quite competent for a duo who had never danced before and Flora could feel Rumba guy’s hand, firm and hot, blistering in the small of her back as his other seared the skin against her palm. The music set the pace and he swayed to the rhythm as they’d been taught, directing her this way and that, which lent no weight to his argument that he was a virgin at dancing. His face was serious as he concentrated on the steps but every now and again his thigh brushed against hers and Flora felt his hip pressing into her as he dipped and twisted in a way that could only be construed as suggestive. Now she knew why they called this the dance of love. After twenty minutes of the exquisite torture, Flora was about ready to whip her gear off. It was a strange sensation and not one she was accustomed to.
The room became unbearably hot. Flora’s head spun in delicious intoxication. Her knees had begun to quiver and her palms grew clammy. She tried to wipe them against her dress every time she had a free hand but it was not an easy thing to do without being noticed. People were beginning to stare at the sight of her cheeks. Added to that, her attention was nonexistent. She was trying to think about the steps and where her hands should go versus where they would like to go, really she was, but it was pointless. He kept staring at her and it was most off-putting. Something was having a profound effect on her brain and she didn’t think it was the music.
‘Bugger.’
Just when she thought she had the hang of it he spoke and from somewhere inside her body, Flora sprouted a third leg.
‘So you don’t dance here often, then?’ he asked, as her heel landed squarely on his foot. He gave it a shake to make the blood flow return and kept dancing.
‘No, this is my first time,’ she said, aware that she had stated the bleeding obvious and his poor bruised feet would be reliving every painful moment tomorrow. Not only did she dance like a moron but she sounded like one too. Flora could feel the flush deepening across her cheeks and spreading onto her neck. It was mortifying. She was dancing like one of her Year One students doing the Chicken Dance.
‘I’ve never been here before, either,’ he said, as he twisted her under his arm and pulled her quickly to his chest. ‘I don’t know many places in Perth at all. I’ve only been here a day or so.’
They stopped. Rumba man was holding her close, staring again. Waiting. Was that some sort of weird invitation? Flora supposed she could offer to show him around but if he hadn’t meant it that way she’d look like more of a fool than she did already. She decided to play it safe. Besides it was impossible to hold a conversation that made any sense while he was staring at her like that. It was making her feel all hot and bothered.
‘Um….. er….There are a number of lovely spots in the city you shouldn’t miss while you’re here then. King’s Park has views worth seeing.’
He tilted his head slightly but said nothing.
God, she groaned to herself, I am so inept. I sound more like a travel brochure than a person.
The time flew past and before Flora knew it the class was over.
‘Well done, people,’ Enrico enthused, ‘Good job. That is all for tonight. I shall see you all again next week.’
The other couples stepped apart and some who knew each other stood chatting but Rumba guy continued to hold her loosely at the waist, almost expectant. It was with reluctance that Flora stepped out of his arms.
‘Thanks … er, um …..you know…for the dance,’ she said. She wanted him to stay and talk but without the security of the music she had no idea what to say that wouldn’t come across as a desire to do unspeakable things to his body.
‘My pleasure,’ he smiled, turning to walk to the benches at the side of the room, where he gathered his jacket.
No. That couldn’t be it. A feeling of dismay washed over her and she suddenly she rushed after him. It couldn’t be over. She wasn’t going to let it.
‘It was nice to meet you,’ she added.
‘You, too,’ he replied, then, hesitating for a moment, he swung back. ‘How’re you getting home? Can I give you a lift?’
She looked up into his face. He was staring at her. Waiting for an answer. I should say yes, she thought. After all, what was the point of chasing him across the room if she intended to do nothing? Oh the pressure of it all. Anxious, her fingers knotted into the sides of her skirt. He was being so patient and …. God, what was she thinking? She couldn’t be going anywhere with a strange man she’d met in a dance class, even if he did look like a movie star.
Dejected at her own good sense, Flora glanced down at her watch. Nine-thirty five. She was meant to be at the pub singing bad versions of The Veronicas right about now. ‘I … well…. I was meant to be meeting my friends here at half past…’
‘I think they’re late….’
Flora looked to the door but, of course, PJ and Louise were not there. They were never around when she needed them to save her from possible impending seduction. Now she would have no choice at all. She would have to take him up on his offer simply because she didn’t want to walk to the pub by herself in the dark. Then again, she couldn’t walk home with a complete stranger either. That would be idiotic. Maybe if she found out his name she would feel better. Bugger it. This was their fault.
Enrico turned off the lights and the room was empty. Everyone else had disappeared. But not Rumba guy. He was still there, waiting, as she took up her bag and put it over her shoulder. And though excited that she was going out into the dark with a handsome man she didn’t know, Flora was cautious. This was not her. She was never unpredictable and flighty. Her glasses had always managed to save her from such tomfoolery. The lights went off behind them as they walked down the stairs. Enrico was locking up, whistling a little Latin tune to himself as he flicked each switch. It was a good night for him, she supposed, a full house and not too many left feet. Maybe even some love in the air. There couldn’t be too many nights like that in the ballroom dancing game.
At the bottom of the stairs, Flora stopped in the doorway and looked forlornly up the street. The streetlights were shining a path for her but she couldn’t move. She didn’t know which way to turn. ‘Well, I’d best be off.’
‘Do you have far to go?’ Rumba guy was beside her, the leather scent from his jacket filling her nostrils.
‘No, it’s only around the corner.’ She pointed in the direction of her house, three blocks away. I shouldn’t even be telling him that, she thought. He could be a rapist or anything.
‘Let me walk you, you never know what weirdos are out there.’
Her thoughts exactly.
****
It was a clear,
crisp night and the moon was shining onto the footpath as Flora and her mysterious friend walked silently along the street for a block or two, trapped that awkward state of knowing a person and yet not knowing, feeling as if they should speak but not knowing what to say. Eyes lowered to avoid his stare, her mind raced wondering just what it was that he found so fascinating. Probably her glasses. She knew people stared at them. Still, she wasn’t game enough to ask him. He might think she was rude or forward or something.
The jacaranda trees lining the footpath were bending to make a canopy and they ducked under them as they walked along Joseph Street and into Ruislip. It was pleasant enough as every now and again his hand brushed hers and Flora felt that tingle, the one that raced around her insides and landed somewhere near her heart. She kept thinking he was going to reach out and grab her hand but he didn’t, he merely gazed at the trees and the moon and commented on the scent from the flowers. It was all too weird. And a little depressing. She would have liked him to reach for her hand. She wouldn’t have pulled away. She wouldn’t have even felt the need to get out the HandsFree Sanitiser after he did it.
At last, they reached the entrance to Flora’s building. Somewhat disappointed, she turned to say goodnight….. to a wide expanse of chest.
‘Oops, sorry,’ she gasped, as he took her forearm to steady her. She could have sworn he was at least a metre away a moment ago and now he was so close she could feel the heat of him. In the dark, his eyes were too black to see but, boy, could she feel him.
‘This is me,’ she continued, quite stupidly, because it wasn’t her all at, it was a wrought iron gate and she was standing in front of it. ‘Thanks for walking me home.’
