Available now through my newsletter! Smitten, is a standalone, 80s dance novel. Here’s Chapter 2 of Cecilia and Jay story.

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Suddenly, the crowd parted like we were in the middle of a dance floor and a spotlight lit up the face of a woman in the crowd. But the first thing I had noticed was her red fuzzy cardigan. Her lengthy petite frame hidden in it as if she had yet to learn her worth. Or perhaps she did which is why she hid it. I kinda wished that I knew the number to a flower shop by hard. “You!”

“Me?” She breathed.

“Beautiful. Front and center.” All I wanted was her in my arms. “If there’s a guy you want to impress. Or maybe you’re just the worse dancer in your group of friends and you want to show them up the next time you go out. I can whip you into shape. You’ll be an expert in no time. This isn’t your mamma’s dance class, and you don’t have to be afraid.”

Her eyes grew fearful like a deer in headlights. Not sure if she should bite the hand that was reaching out to her or run. It made her even more intriguing. Her light brown eyes the color of rich mahogany wood.

“Everything that you want is on that dance floor. When you’re there, not only are you having fun, but you’re you. You’re more you than anywhere else because your guard is down and the world falls away. Try it.”

“I’m a little rusty. I’d probably end up stepping on your feet.”

A smile instantly played on my face at the sound of her voice. Which was as delicate as her person. The sound like wind chimes on a quiet evening. A somberness to it like she was hiding so much pain. Yet so inviting, because it seemed to call out to my own.

“I’m positive you will,” I replied, laughing. “But then I am the expert here. I can take it.”

Her wavy chestnut hair brushed her shoulders like a feathery touch. Jean shorts showed off a pair of perfectly toned legs paired with a simple white tee. All hidden behind this huge cardigan as if it was her intention to blend in with the sidewalk.

“Listen. I know someone as pretty as you doesn’t have a problem with a man giving them heartache. But I really want you to dance with me. You going to make me beg.”

“Dance. Dance.” The crowd began to chant.

I repressed a laugh at this sudden peer pressure. Her every movement was uncertain like a flighty bird. Truthfully, I was surprised that I had to do this much convincing. I was used to throwing on the charm and every woman I directed it towards throwing their panties back. She wasn’t being bashful, she was just genuinely unsure. “Okay.”

“You’re always in capable hands with me,” I explained, but it wasn’t for the crowd’s benefit. Just hers.

The next song came on, and it was Cruel Summer by Bananarama. The strong beat seeping through the large speaker that had been placed outside. The chord leading to somewhere in the dance studio.

“Go easy on me!” she said.

I placed one hand on her waist and the other above her breast bone. Inhaling the scent of lavender, rose, and moss upon her skin. She closed her eyes and I simply stared at her. Leading her gracefully across the cement as if we were still back in Paris. Twinkling lights as stars. The crowd falling away like old news.

The next time my eyes connected with hers there was a sadness there. I smiled and twirled her out and back to me. She lost her footing a bit, but I clung to her. The small giggle she gave me stole my heart. And just like that this became our moment, as we laughed, enjoying being in each other’s arms. The sadness in her eyes evaporating in the heat. I couldn’t focus on anything else.

The dance I did with her was dramatically different from the one with the fifty-year-old. Salsa was more fun, but it did take some time to get used too. She was rusty, but she knew what she was doing. Maybe that was because she was Latina. At least she could appreciate his skill. “I’m kind of an amazing dancer aren’t I, beautiful?”

She smirked. “You sometimes forget to maintain hold, and since I’m a step above a novice at this dance thing, your over correcting.”

Her words wiped the smile from my face and I hoped that she had been joking. Just as the ring my finger brushed against on her marriage hand was a joke. But her serious expression made it clear that she wasn’t.

I quickly recovered. “There is more left in those beautiful legs than even you give yourself credit for. You’re more than a step above a novice.”

She looked over to the crowd to see them all giving us sappy grins. It prompted me to release her, our deep connection severed. Replaced instead by the receptionist who came out passing out a red flyer with the dance companies information and classes on it. I grabbed one and handed it to her.

“You should bring your husband?”

Please don’t let there be a husband.

“Maybe.”

Of course, there was a husband. The small but adorable rock almost ensured that they were going to be hopelessly in love. But why did that thought spark a burning sensation in my chest? She had to be in her early thirties by now and wasn’t that typically when women tied the knot. I was still enjoying my twenties to worry about marriage.

Yet, I found myself glaring at her ring as if it were trying to convict me.

“I’m sure a beautiful woman like yourself has more than one trick up her sleeve to get what she wants.”

“After 14 years, the tricks all start to look the same.”

My eyes got wide. I could barely keep my goldfish alive for more than six months. “Think of dance as your newest trick. If anything you can try the class alone and surprise him with it.”

I was being helpful. But just thinking about her joining my class with her husband had me dying of thirst. As if I was lost in the desert.

It didn’t matter that we potentially had nine years between our ages. I had never been afraid of a more mature woman. In fact, because of my job, I probably understood them better than most men. They were focused on their careers, kids, and chaotic home life. Most just needed some time to focus on themselves.

If she wanted I could retrain her focus.

However, the ring glaring back at me might as well be a police baton. Screaming stay back.

“How much is it?” she asked after a moment. Staring down at the flier as if it would emerge from its red packaging a butterfly.

“First class is free,” I finally said, tearing my eyes away from her to the crowd. “But I’m not going to tell you the rest until I see in you in my class.”

“Don’t be so cocky. I might not show up.”

I laughed. “You don’t know me at all, but you will.”

***

The prospect of dancing again wiped all of the thoughts from my head. Bresler was the better ice cream shop and I had to pass the dance studio to get there. My original craving for an ice cream cone quite clear by the stain on my top.

Jay had to forgive me then, right?

Absentmindedly, I shoved the flier into a kitchen cabinet. Unpacking the fridge to take some of the items over to Mrs. Mollers. So it wouldn’t spoil during the outage.

My mind going back to Mr. Vaughn who was obsessively stiff, but only born out of being a child protege accustomed to standing with his shoulders back, and his head up. His body language screamed of several competition wins. He was obviously knowledgeable.

And he managed to transport me back to my college student days. Dancing on the quad with my then boyfriend, now husband. The noises of the crowd were similar to those of the students that had drifted over to watch us dance so long ago. But the smell of clover and figs reminded me that I wasn’t dancing with Jay, but Mr. Vaughn.

He exuded confidence and sex. I’m convinced that cologne was only pheromones to lure unsuspecting women into his lair. Where he would devour them. His boyish smile dazzling.

And the way he stared at me almost made me wish I was still that young girl next door. He wasn’t this mysterious bad boy like Jay had been. Mr. Vaughn appeared to be open and pleasant even.

Warmed by his embrace it awakened old feelings.

But he was the type of teacher that Jay would hate. He fought his whole life against people like him. Preppy, trust fund babies that always had the world handed to them. That looked down there nose at Jay’s artistry. Yet I was inexplicably drawn to the man’s eyes. Or maybe it was the way that his mouth formed words. Light and airy with this husky vibrato that offered up endless surprises.

Of course, he wasn’t what was important here. He held a sort of mesmerizing charisma, but I had to internally warn myself that the flutter in my stomach was just because of the dancing. There was something too the man’s advice. Perhaps dance was the only trick I had yet to pull out to save our weak and weary marriage. Dance would be my saving grace.

Either way, I had to talk to Jay when he returned from work.

After the groceries were put away. I managed to get in a little TV. Before going to bed early at 10 pm. So I could be fresh in the morning to talk to Jay when he returned home from work. But when the alarm clock sliced through my dream state at five am. My hands instinctively went to my side of the bed and Jay wasn’t in it.

Hitting the clock twice to stop its screeching. Jay’s absence set off alarm bells. “Where is my husband?”

I went into the empty living room and nodded off on the couch. Awakened by the sound of our ratty elevator. I got up and held the front door open. Aghast at the sight of Jay barely getting himself through the open elevator doors. “Where have you been?”

He just stared at me as if I were a creation from the planet Pluto for weirdos.

“Uh, what did you say? Where have you been?” The bite in his tone unmistakably harsh.

I wrapped my robe tighter around my waist, before moving aside for him to enter. His eyes were glued to my mouth before he bent down to kiss me sloppy. I pushed him away, wiping the taste of alcohol from my lips. Blinking back hot, gummy tears.

I didn’t know this Jay. Sure, I’d seen him before. When he was dismissing me, in a crowd of his friends that were all high school seniors. A crowd that looked down on me as nothing more than a baby. But that hadn’t been her Jay, and this one wasn’t either. I frowned disapprovingly at him, and said, “you smell like sweat and. . . perfume.”

He went over and leaned against the back of the couch for support. Nodding his head thoughtfully as if he were considering everything I said. “So no beer?”

“Look in the fridge if you want! But a mountain lion could totally smell the beer on your breath from Colorado,” I said, my pulse racing.

“You’re probably right,” he muttered lazily.

“Just tell me?” I asked, forcing him to stand and look at me. “Did you sleep with anyone?”

“Right away that’s where your mind goes! It can’t be just a little harmless fun and dancing with friends. I don’t even know what fun is anymore. No doubt you’re happy just seeing me work my butt off, but I need a break. And going to your parent’s dinner tomorrow doesn’t count.”

“I know that, and no, I don’t want you killing yourself. We just don’t have much time together before I’m due at work. I had hoped to maybe talk about how we could change that. It was just disappointing when you didn’t come home.” She paused. “Wait did you just say, dancing?”

“Dancing,” he said faintly. “I sometimes dance!”

“Not with me. Why don’t you dance with me?”

He ran his fingers through his hair looking lost for a moment. Finding his way in the darkened apartment to the kitchen. “We’re not even having sex anymore. If we’re going to fix anything. I’d start there or is that not a problem for you.”

“Its all a problem for me!”

“Really,” he gasped, trying to cut on the light switch to no avail.

“The lights went out. Just like you said they might,” I began. “So I went out for ice cream, at Bresler’s, and then I came back and realized that Mrs. Moller could probably salvage some of the food in the fridge. So that’s mostly what I was doing, but while I was out though, I crossed paths with the dance studio.”

The look I received made it clear that I was supposed to be staying away from that place.

“I know we’re tight on money now. But I thought we could try the introductory class. It’s totally free, and even for a moment we could go back to doing what we love.”

“There’s no way. I’m stepping foot in another dance studio. And it makes me uncomfortable that you would even ask after everything we’ve been through. And the fact that it never occurred to you that this was a problem means that there is only dancing bread crumbs in your head. You’re not that naive 21 years old anymore.”

My mouth dropped open at this. “We fell in love dancing. Excuse me for thinking that’s the bridge we need to reconnect. Or maybe I should just push you off it.”

“Did you meet the teacher?” he asked squinting at me suspiciously.

“Yes, I did get to meet the teacher! He’s quite a talented man,” I said, somewhat obscurely. I got up and reached for one of the kitchen drawers where I had placed the flier, only to be pushed off my axis.

“Don’t touch that.”

“I just wanted us to be normal again. I thought this would help,” I said, backing away from him. “It hurts more, being wrong.”

The expression on his face was clear that he knew he had messed up. “I’m sorry, Celia, I didn’t mean to do that.”

But it wasn’t enough. “You can just sleep out here,” I stammered. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but I’ve had enough of it. What happened to the money from my first check? I want the lights on before I get up in the morning.”

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Want to find out what happens? It’s easy – you just have to pick up a copy of Smitten.

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