Grease Monkey Jive (2 page)

Except where Dan was concerned, her shelf life was likely to be a night or two, a week maybe, a month tops. Anything more would be some kind of a personal best and Dan would’ve gone freaking soft.

Mitch was in awe and frustrated by it. He elbowed Ant, who nudged Fluke, so the three of them could have the pleasure of watching her approach and the gut grinding annoyance of seeing Dan do it again.

It was hard to credit it. The power of that finger. That microscopic bend. It wasn’t even a proper movement, you’d think barely visible in this dungeon lighting. It had to be more about the extension of his arm than the actual working of the knuckle, but maybe it was more to do with the intention in his eyes than any obvious joint action.

He had bedroom eyes, or so chicks told him, way too many times. Mitch had made a study of Dan’s eyes, trying to see what it was that Dan had that he and Ant and Fluke didn’t. Well, maybe not Fluke. Fluke wasn’t in the same league.

They were just plain old dark blue peepers as far as Mitch could tell, set deep in Dan’s fat head, under dark brows with almost girly-thick black eyelashes, but Dan had a way of looking at women that made them come undone. Fucked if Mitch could work out what it was, but it was a Class-A secret weapon that was for sure.

‘Cause the chicks, they just kept coming and coming undone. And it wasn’t like Dan did that much to inspire them. He never broke a sweat over them, either before they arrived or after he’d finished with them.

He was a freaking legend where it came to pulling birds. And what he knew about cars. And that’s what made him an acceptable human being – otherwise it was just too painful to be mates with him.

“Fuck!” mouthed Ant, shaking his head at his beer. He was another fifty bucks down. He glued his eyes to the wet dream. She was now almost on top of them, looking real dangerous up this close. Not that she was sparing any of her mega-wattage for anyone but Dan. Not that Dan noticed. He just expected her to sidle up next to him and whisper in his ear and stuffed if that’s not exactly what she did.

She pressed herself against Dan’s side and made a show of having to talk directly into his ear on account of the music being so loud and how it let Dan get a real good handle on her wares.

Mitch watched Dan’s arm slide around her waist, like it was natural, like that’s what a chick who came across a crowded room at the crook of a finger and whispered in your ear expected, and next thing he knew, she had both her arms around Dan’s neck and their fronts were plastered together like wallpaper and wall.

“Shit!” said Fluke. “There goes my ride home.”

“Why’d you bother?” Mitch shouted at Ant. He meant bother making a bet Dan couldn’t pull a chick from half way across the room in less time than it took for another shout to come around.

“Law of averages. The bastard has to lose his mojo sometime,” growled Ant, his baritone not hard to hear above the thump of the dance music.

“He never bloody looks like losing it,” yelled Mitch.

“What?” shouted Fluke.

“Dan. Bastard. Magic touch. Ant. Idiot. Soft touch,” yelled Mitch in Fluke’s ear.

“That’s way too familiar,” said Ant, as they watched Dan wrap the girl in a proper two-hander, one hand where a bra strap would’ve been and one spread on her butt. “Cheat already knows her.”

“Maybe,” nodded Mitch. It was a pornographic hug for two people who probably hadn’t exchanged names and were now exchanging saliva.

“Nah,” said Fluke. “You’re just fucked off he pulled her and you didn’t think to get to her first.”

“Isn’t it your shout?” responded Ant. He was an idiot to bet against Dan and a woman. Unless he could find a woman who was the female equivalent of Dan in the ‘treat ‘em mean, keep ‘em keen, love ‘em and leave ‘em’ school, then he was just chucking good money after bad. That was something to think about. That would be worth betting on and it was about time Dan Maddox coped a bit of his own back. Yeah, that was definitely worth thinking about.

“Great legs,” said Mitch, focusing on the lack of distance between Dan’s hand and the end of the chick’s dress. In theory, he could have pulled Shrink-wrap himself if Ant hadn’t got Dan all up on the bet. Dan didn’t like to lose and Ant had more money than sense and the sole purpose of this dive was to come in alone and go out with someone to keep you warm. So it wasn’t a miracle Dan was standing there, not a decent spit away, playing tonsil hockey with some wannabe swimsuit model.

Except it was. Mitch knew he could’ve crooked his finger, his hand, his whole body in a brightly light room where there was only this chick and himself and she’d still have looked right through him. He seriously had no idea how this whole thing worked.

He’d known Dan since primary school. They were the same height, both of them nudging past 6ft, had the same colour eyes and brown hair, though Dan’s always needed a cut. They were so physically similar that people took them for brothers, but in the eyes of the female population Dan was a premium parking spot and Mitch was a kind of dodgy off ramp to the back of nowhere.

That’s not to say he didn’t do all right with the birds. They all did, except Fluke. And he and Ant were just as likely to go the roundabout with a chick for a few days and then break the speed limit to hit the exit as Dan was, but Dan never thought about it. Bastard never cared whether they were into him or not.

Maybe that was the secret, not to care. Maybe that was the difference between them, because Mitch did care. And he was getting kinda tired of being roadkill when yet another girl he liked left him bleeding, and he was sure tired of standing pit crew while Dan drove another effortless victory lap.

When Fluke came back with the shout, Dan broke off from the girl and came to claim his beer and his fifty bucks, which he transferred from Ant’s hand to Fluke’s saying, “Taxi home, mate, and keep the change.”

See, Dan was alright. Would never dump a mate. Could’ve had a huge ego, he was built, he was smart, he had money, and he had his head screwed on right. He could hold his drink and was a good mate. He was pretty much Fluke’s opposite.

Fluke was a short, wiry, freckled ranga, who became a math and science teacher because he couldn’t think what else to do after school finished. Dan pulled glamours and had instant hot sex with them. Fluke pulled chicks too drunk to know their own names and, when his car wasn’t in Dan’s workshop, drove them home and, when it was, paid for their taxis. He was on a winner tonight; he hadn’t yet had to hold some chick’s hair while she threw up, he had the fifty, and he could walk home.

Mitch looked at Ant, now chatting up some bird in tight black pants and a little top with spaghetti straps that did nothing to hide her implants. Yeah, they were implants, real chicks didn’t look like that, not that Ant would care. He preferred them artificial.

Seeing Ant settle in with the busty bird, he thought about Belinda. He’d been on a losing streak since she’d kicked him to the curb. He had no trouble attracting chicks, but then if he liked them, even a little bit, he somehow got all cop with a radar and stunned the life out of them and even Fluke could see that.

He looked at Dan again. He was holding the babe’s hand and stroking her hair and she was loving it. He wondered what she’d think if she knew she was just a bet between mates, if she knew Dan might neglect to ask her name and would almost certainly have forgotten it by the end of the month.

He sipped his beer. The night was still young and there was time yet to find Cinderella, in fact the sooner Dan took off the better it would be. Some nights Dan was so bright he attracted enough moths that there were leftovers to split among the three of them, but tonight he’d scored the Queen Bee and she was keeping all the other female bees out of her zone.

Birds and bees. That’s what it was all about.

After Dan gave them a mock salute and steered Ms Shrink-wrap to the door, Mitch breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank Christ. I was getting a crick in my neck from watching that.”

Fluke laughed. “He’s charmed.”

“He’s a lucky bastard.”

Fluke angled his glass. “See that blonde over there in the red dress?”

“Yeah.”

“Been checking you out.”

“Yeah?”

Ant had disappeared somewhere and the night was still young, so if Fluke was right about the red dress, there was still half a chance to have a conversation with a girl before things got really sloppy.

He’d go over, check her out, make eye contact, see if eye contact could become a contact sport, knowing that with Dan gone he’d probably score, either the blonde or her brunette mate. Knowing that Saturday morning, when the four of them hit the surf, they’d hardly bother to mention the random hook-ups and that they’d be back here Saturday night trying out the same old routine again and hoping for a different result.

Alex gave Scott a grin, took a deep breath, ran, and dived into his extended arms. He caught her, and in one fluid motion she was suspended above his head, his hands on her hip bones, her body in a long, almost straight position, her head held high, her legs together, her toes pointed, and her arms out to her sides, like wings. She was an exotic bird in flight.

The watching class broke into spontaneous applause.

Simultaneously Alex brought her legs down and Scott folded his elbows. In a flash, he took her hand and spun her out to his side saying, “Tah-dah,” theatrically, and they both took a little bow.

“That’s a Bird.” Alex grinned. “But don’t worry we’ll build up to it by starting with both of you on the floor.”

Eight couples looked uneasily at each other. Alex knew all the women were wondering ‘what if I’m too heavy?’ and all the men were thinking, ‘what if I drop her?’

“It’s got nothing to do with how much you weigh or how strong you are. It’s all about body position, momentum, and trust.” She looked at the anxious faces in the advanced Latin dance class. To date, they’d mastered the advanced level of the core routines, the rumba, samba, cha cha, paso doble, and jive, but now they needed to learn the lift components, especially if they wanted to earn a ranking or compete.

Teaching lifts was harder than teaching the dance steps themselves; students could get hurt more easily and it was a real test of fitness, strength, rhythm, posture, and partnership, but it was Alex’s favourite thing to teach and Scott was in such a good mood, it was going to be a fun class.

Leading up to tonight they’d done various holds and drops, Fish, Scarf, Flag, and a host of other movements, but Bird was the big one everyone was scared of. Tonight it was all they’d do.

“All the boys on the floor. Watch me,” said Scott. He got down on the wooden floor on his back, legs out straight and together, and arms by his side. Then he bent his elbows, lifting his palms and flattening them to the ceiling, lastly extending them straight up.

“This is basic Bird arm and hand position. You’ll have her hip bones resting in your palms. If you don’t keep your palms absolutely flat, you’ll tip her off.”

There was an apprehensive murmuring and Benjie said, “Holy crap,” and looked at his partner whose eyes were wide with fear. She said, “How do I get my hips in his hands?”

“Like this,” said Alex. She stood either side of Scott’s prone body, her feet level with his knees and she leaned forward, body straight, hips thrust out until Scott’s hands were on her hips. She grabbed his wrists and lifted her feet and once again she was a bird flying over his floorbound body.

“Keep hold of his wrists until you have your balance, then you can open your arms to the side. Head up. Don’t look down or you’ll end up going over his head.” That got a laugh, especially as Scott made a move that looked like he was going to pitch Alex over his head and she made a grab for his wrists.

“Once you get to here, boys, I want to see you work,” said Scott, turning his head to look away from Alex and back to the class. “Push-ups.” He bent his elbows back to the floor and then straightened them, taking his Alex bird for a ride as though she was a strange new form of human dumbbell.

That earned more applause and some awed grunting from the male partners.

Over the next hour, the eight couples tried out Bird on the floor and, despite some impressive collapses and quite a few near un-mannings from poorly placed knees, by the end of the session they were all able to hold the Bird position and complete a few push-ups.

“Thanks everyone. Next week we’ll try it from standing,” said Alex and the class gave her and Scott the traditional end-of-class, thank-you handclap.

When the room emptied, she looked at Scott. “You had a good day?”

“I had a completely yummy day.”

She took his hand and dragged him over to a bench adjacent to the floor-to-ceiling mirrors that lined two full walls of Wallace Dance Studios. “Tell me about it because this, just now, was the best part of my day, so I’m jealous.”

“Poor baby. You first, and then I can cheer you up.”

“I missed out on a High Distinction in Business Statistics by two points.”

“Two tiny points?”

“Two. They might as well be Sydney Harbour big, that’s the difference between the HD and an ordinary Distinction.”

“Poor baby,” Scott repeated, but this time voice iced with irony. “An ordinary Distinction in the subject half your class will fail because it’s so damn hard.”

“That’s not helping, Scotty.”

“Oh get a grip, Alley cat. It’s two points. Who’s going to care?” Scott rocked his shoulder into hers.

Alex looked at her bare feet. “I care.”

“What about Mommy Dearest? I think this is all about her.”

“It’s not, of course it’s not, but she won’t be pleased.”

“I guess it puts a pimple on your perfect record in Mommy’s big black eyes.”

“I wish you wouldn’t call her that.”

Scott rolled his eyes. “I’m not the one with mommy issues.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Totally girlfriend. As if! Anyway, why does she have to know?”

“She’s my mother and she loves me and I still live at home, so she supports me too.”

“She keeps you tied to her.”

“You really hate my mother.”