Naturally, Kenan refused right away. I can’t imagine Kenan on the dance floor really. He’s just not built for it. I, on the other hand, have a perfect body for dancing (or so I hear), but no experience doing so. I mean, I like to dance when I’m on my own and when nobody’s looking, but I never thought about dancing in public, let alone participating in a professional competition. That would require a skill that you only get with years of practice. But seeing as Melissa convinced me that her experience would be more than enough, taking into account that it’s extremely hard to say no to Melissa, I agreed, eventually. So yeah, turns out, not only am I a pretty decent dancer, I also enjoy it quite a bit.
I also had some pretty good motivation. The grand prize of the Dance-Off is no less than fifty-thousand dollars!
Of course, the winning couple would have to split the money between the two of them, but still 25,000 dollars is more than enough to pay for a year at the Film Academy, which in addition to helping me fulfill my dream, would also put me (potentially) in a dorm with Mitch!
It just sounds too good to be true.
Jake seems to think so too.
“But are you actually any good?” he asks with a grin.
“I’m am not a bad dancer!” I protest. He squints at me.
“Show me.”
4
We’re in Jake’s room now and I use the term “room” lightly. It’s actually more of a fancy loft; spacious, and dripping with expensive imported furniture. It makes my own accommodations seem like exactly what they are; servant’s quarters. Jake pushes the overpriced furniture out of the way and frees some space in the center for us to work with.
Almost immediately it becomes clear that I am outclassed.
“I didn’t know you danced,” I say, clicking my heels together nervously. He’s almost better than Melissa.
“I’ve done ballet since I was five. It was my mother’s idea,” he explains.
“Ballet, ah?” I say. bemused. I can’t believe his father let that happen. I thought sports were the ultimate priority.
“My dad was okay with it when I was younger. He wouldn’t be okay with it now, of course,” he spins gracefully, as if to emphasize the point. “But there’s a lot of stuff I do that he doesn’t have to know about,” he adds with a wink.
“Oh,” I manage. What does one say to such things?
“I’ve been practicing on my own a lot,” he continues. “and I still have a great relationship with my ballet teacher. She knows how my father is,so she keeps our lessons secret.”
“I see.” I watch as he chooses a cassette from his collection and inserts it into the boom box.
“Okay, now show me some of your moves,” he grins and turns the volume all the way up.
Oh my God, it’s that Solomon Burke song “Cry To Me.” I only know about it because my parents like it a lot; it’s like “their song” actually. I can’t believe Jake even has it.
“Go!” Jake commands with a little shove. Then, he casually leans against one of the walls and locks eyes on me, making me feel all sorts of uncomfortable.
Okay, alright, I can do this. I tell myself. Just listen to the music, Sam. Just concentrate on the music…
When your baby leaves you all alone
And nobody calls you on the phone
Ah, don't you feel like crying?
Don't you feel like crying?
Well here I am my honey
Oh, come on you cry to me.
I listen to the rhythm and start feeling the music. I try to forget about Jake watching me, to forget about the awkwardness, and just relax into the sweet familiar melody.
As my body starts moving, I am suddenly reminded of Melissa’s dance class from last week. She gives complimentary lessons to the Crest Hollows guests Saturday mornings at 11. It’s a good way to earn a few extra bucks. Kenan teaches guitar for that same reason, and Eric and I, we both help Melissa with her class whenever one of us is up for it. She’s great on her own but she still needs a male partner to make an especially dazzling impression.
That particular morning Eric was her partner and I was just watching them.
“One, two, three, four! Stomp those grapes and stomp some more!” Melissa commanded to the submissive crowd, a crowd of mostly elderly ladies.
“One, two, three, four! Listen to the music!”
The poor grannies tried to replicate her simple moves but even that was a task beyond their power.
“Move your caboose and shake it loose! One, two, three, four! Come on, ladies!” She hollered at them. (I’m not even exaggerating, those were her exact words)
At the end of the lesson, Melissa and Eric showed some master class moves to the wonder-struck audience, making them clap like crazy.
The two of them look good together. Eric is as good of a dancer as Melissa is. And he is so cute. He’s very cute actually. Watching him put his hands over Melissa’s waist made me want to be in her place suddenly.
It’s the touch of Jake’s hands that snaps me back into reality.
“You’re not bad,” he says and lays his hands down on my waist. I’m not sure if that is considered crossing the friendship line or not, so I just let him do it. “But you’re a little stiff in the hips,” he explains. “It’s ruining your performance.”
I look back and see him dancing behind me. He is doing the same moves I’m doing, but he is swinging his hips a lot more actively, or more passionately I should say, and his hands, still firmly planted on my hips, are trying to get me to do the same.
“Relax,” he says.
But I can’t relax.
I can feel the heat of his body against my skin. My heart starts pounding.
“Dance is the ultimate way of expressing yourself, your feelings, your passions, your fears. It’s all about what you feel inside,” he murmurs. “You've gotta dance like there's nobody watching.”
Yeah, right.
Also, dancing is a vertical expression of a horizontal desire. That’s what Robert Frost said anyway.
“I’m a little uptight in that area,” I admit briskly.
“I see that,” he smirks. “You are afraid of yourself. You are afraid of your body and it shows most when you’re dancing.”
I roll my eyes. “Okay, so what do I do?”
He gets closer to me and whispers in my ear, “Let go of your control, Sam. Relax…”
His breathing in my ear does nothing to help me relax though. If anything it gives me goosebumps. My mind is already on alert because of his body’s extreme closeness to mine.
I’m about to start analyzing it all again, but then I take a deep breath and do as Jake told me. I let go of control. I shut out my inner monologue and concentrate on the music instead. I let Jake’s hands lead me. I can practically feel the music in my bones, like a flower opening up all around me.
“Yes! That’s what I’m talking about,” he says gleefully.
When you're all alone in your lonely room
And there's nothing but the smell of her perfume
Ah don't you feel like crying
Don't you feel like crying?
We keep dancing. I begin to lose all sense of reality, and the more I do, the better the dancing gets. My muscles are driven not by my mind but by the passion I feel deep within my soul. The feeling, it’s almost euphoric.
You don't ever have to walk alone, oh you see
Oh come on, take my hand and baby won't you walk with me?
Oh ya
I feel Jake’s hands move up the sides of my body, enveloping me. For a moment, I let myself sink into the embrace. I feel Jake’s heartbeat thumping erratically against my skin.
That’s when the alarm bells start ringing.
“Okay, I think I got it,” I blurt out, pulling myself out of his grasp.
“I think you did,” he says evenly, turning the volume down. “I could still teach you a thing or two,” he says.
I won’t meet his gaze.
He coughs. “I mean if you wa
nt me to.”
I turn and give him a doubtful look. No, I’m not questioning his ability to teach me. He is a great dancer, I’m sure. It’s just that this kind of learning is unsafe, especially the letting-go-of-control part.
I need control. Control is the one thing that keeps me out of trouble; it keeps me from making mistakes.
“I mean, if anything could up your chances in the game, it’s this,” he adds, taking a bottle of water from the counter. He drinks some of it and then offers it to me.
I take a sip of the water and ponder my options. I think it’s pretty safe to say that Jake wants to “up his chances in the game” too, and I really don’t think I should let him.
But I do need help.
Also, it’s okay for one friend to help another one if he can. I mean I helped Jake with Algebra. Why can’t I allow him to help me with dancing? I’m sure Mitch would understand since I’m doing it partially so that I can be closer to him.
“Sure,” I say finally. I look pointedly at my watch and pretend to be surprised at how much time has passed.
“I gotta go,” I tell him. “My family is having a little get-together in the dining hall. We’re celebrating my birthday, sort of.”
“I thought your birthday was on Sunday.”
“Yeah, but it’s Janine’s wedding that day, so we had to reschedule.”
He nods. “So, just family?” he raises one eyebrow.
Actually no, we are having a get-together with my friends as well, after the family function. I invited Melissa and Kenan, of course. Also Eric… I didn’t expect having to invite Jake too. I didn’t even think I would see him this weekend. But he looks so damn hopeful….
“No, actually,” I blurt. “Melissa’s gonna be there, and Kenan,and another kid from the wait staff.”
Jake nods, looking at me expectantly.
“You can come if you want to,” I finish, eyes cast downward like a remorseful child.
“I’d love to,” he says brightly, his grin clearly announcing that he’s gotten his way.
5
I escape from Jake’s cabin just in time to take a quick cold shower before my birthday dinner. As the cold water touches my flushed skin, making me flinch, it helps clear my head. I know what game Jake is playing at, of course. And I know exactly what he wants from me. But as I told him before, I’m in a relationship with another boy. It doesn’t seem to bother him a bit though.
But it sure as hell bothers me.
I should never have allowed him to get so close, both physically and emotionally. It already feels like I’m cheating even though we’re just friends.
I’m not gonna let him get any closer though. Enough is enough. Jake has manipulated me in the past, but I’ve learned my lesson, or at least I hope I have, and the next time he crosses a line with me I’m gonna lay down the rules. I’m not gonna jeopardize my relationship just to spare his feelings.
I step out of the shower, dry myself with a towel, and take out a clean white shirt from the closet, slipping it over my head with a sigh. The shirt I was wearing before is all sweaty and gross now with Jake’s smell all over it. I shove it into the laundry basket with more force than is necessary. I wish whatever feelings I have for Jake could be washed away just as easily as the smell of him on that shirt, but, unfortunately, such a washing machine has yet to be invented.
I’m already late. I take one final glance at myself in the steam-clouded bathroom mirror before leaving our suite and hurrying towards the main complex.
6
Three hours into my celebratory feast and people are still eating. They are also mingling and chatting with each other and being just generally too cheerful for my liking. I sulk by myself in a corner, watching the interactions with contempt.
I greeted each and every one of my relatives when dinner started and got wished happy birthday numerous times, which is a bad thing. I also got told that there was a birthday gift left for me at the gifts table, which is a good thing. Then I apologized for my wearing the uniform and politely informed them that I was working here now and tonight wasn’t an exception. It was a little bit humiliating, but, mostly, people thought that it was a good thing, me trying to be independent, so they encouraged it. Then it was me, Melissa, Kenan, and Eric taking their orders, serving them, and waiting on tables the same way we always do. Birthday or no birthday, people are hungry. People are always hungry.
I wasn’t looking forward to this dinner at all and now, as it is happening around me, I just want to be done with it. But as it is not over yet, I’m just trying to make it go as smoothly as possible.
I am steering clear from my parents’ table though. I acknowledged them in the beginning of the evening, of course, and they wished me a happy birthday. They also told me that there was a birthday present waiting for me at the gift table and I thanked them. Then, I graciously and respectfully began to ignore them.
Whatever gift they have prepared for me, I’m sure that it’s not the tuition payment. I’m gonna have to get the money myself, meaning I have to win the competition, but I need a lot more practice. Plus, I have yet to master the jump-lift element and I only have two days left to do so. The thought of it practically suffocates me.
Somewhere along the line, the focus of the evening slides from me and my birthday to Janine and her fiance.
I almost don’t even recognize her when I go to take her order. She looks about ten years older than her nineteen years, and I have to refrain from calling her Ma’am.
But though she may have changed physically, on the inside she’s exactly as I remember; brash and loud-mouthed. Her tongue has no boundaries, I swear. I am forced to run through all of her standard questions: Do you have a girlfriend yet? and Why don’t you have a girlfriend yet? and Do you want me to set you up with one of my friends? It takes all of my willpower to not roll my eyes at her.
It actually takes me a solid ten minutes to convince her that Melissa is not my girlfriend and that I don’t “have the hots for her.” Bleh!
She is also quick to inform me that Melissa is a catch and I better snag her before one of those cute waiter-boys does. I glance over at the boys in question. I know for sure that Kenan is gay and I’m pretty sure Eric is too. So the joke is on you, dear cousin.
I hold my tongue though, filling her and her beloved’s orders as quickly as I can before retreating to the waiter’s station.
“Oh, come on, he is so gay!” Kenan says. He and Melissa are at it again. “Look at him!”
“Yes, look at him! He is obviously not gay! Stop saying that he is,” Melissa retorts. “Yes, he is a little shorter than other guys, but that doesn’t make him gay.”
Eric is short, somewhat petite really. Somehow it makes him even more attractive. I mean he would fit in my arms so nicely, not that I want him there, and his voice is a little high-pitched too. But Melissa is right, none of that makes him gay.
“Let’s confront him then,” Melissa suggests, snapping me out of my reverie. “Let’s just ask him.”
“Ask him if he’s gay?” Kenan asks, bewildered.
“Yeah! What’s the big deal?”
“Don’t you think it’s a little bit inappropriate to ask somebody that? It’s kinda personal,” Kenan sputters.
“You’re just scared!”
“I don’t want to embarrass the guy. You don’t know how difficult it is to talk about those things sometimes. You gotta be subtle,” Kenan responds, looking to me for support. I raise my hands into a neutral position and back away. I want no part in this.
I head away from them and make my way into the kitchen. The majority of orders have been served by now, even desserts and cups of coffee. I just want to make myself scarce.
And I think I know just the place.
7
There’s a distant secondary supply closet in the back of the main supply room. They keep spices in there, among other things the kitchen staff rarely uses. It’s a perfect little hiding spot, but when I open the door, hoping
for some solitude and seclusion, I practically stumble right into Eric.
His eyes are wide and frightened and his mouth is tense, as if ready to defend. The epitome of the term, busted.
The look is punctuated by a bottle of liquor in one hand and a lit cigarette in the other.
“Come in and close the door!” he whisper-shouts after he realizes that I’m not Chef Alan.
I do come in. He shuts the door behind me.
“I don’t think you’re supposed to be smoking in here,” I say blandly and sit down on one of the empty boxes. He takes another box and blocks the door with it before sitting down himself. I knew this space was small, but it seems even smaller now that there are two of us in here.
“Well, you’re not gonna tell anybody, are you?” he drawls.
“No,” I sniff. I’m not a snitch and he knows it.
“Nobody has to know then. I’ve been smoking here for the past four weeks anyway. And nobody has ever noticed. I don’t think people even remember that there’s a room here.”
I think he might be right about that. I only stumbled upon this place because I was asked to do some minor inventory for the kitchen (you know, like finding lost forks and counting the butter knives) and it was on the blue-prints.
“What is it?” I ask, pointing to the bottle in his lap, though I can guess the answer.
“Jack Daniel’s,” he answers, his words slurring just a touch.
“Where did you get it?” I think I know the answer to that question as well.
“Can you keep a secret?”
“Sure,” I say, reflecting on my time spent in the closet, the metaphorical one, not the one I’m in right now.
Sam Dorsey and His Dirty Dancing Page 3
