Walk on Water (9 page)

.

NINE

D
espite the Sunday afternoon desserts, the
Jazzercise
, strength training, and
Pilates
at home appeared to be having a positive effect. And of course there were all those partially eaten meals with Luke. Whatever the case, tonight I made a decent presentation in front of the full length mirror hanging on my closet door. Even in kitten-heel pumps, the black pantyhose gave my muscular calves a sleeker look. My ankles were nicely defined. The black pencil skirt topped off with a white peasant blouse revealed my reemerging collar bone. As I entered the so-called
prime
of my life maybe I wasn’t aging that badly. I might even be mistaken for a thirty-something in the right light. I kind of applauded myself as I sprayed on a final dose of
Juniper Breeze
.

The clock radio next to the bed read eight-ten. Sensations, where I was meeting Corrine and four other friends from work tonight, was at least a thirty minute drive away, and we had agreed to meet at eight-thirty. However I had learned not to be on time with this group or else I’d end up waiting by myself, and I didn’t like doing that. So yes, I was stalling a little.

Careful not to wrinkle my clothes, I sat down on the edge of the bed and picked up the telephone. Agatha immediately hopped up on the bed beside me forcing me to stand up, since gray cat hair was probably not what the fashion police had in mind when they stressed, “Accessorize, accessorize, accessorize.”

Walk on Water Dialing Luke’s home number I told myself it was just to say hi. After all we hadn’t talked today. It was nothing more than a friendly gesture, and besides I couldn’t talk long. I wondered what I would do if Luke asked me to change my plans and do something with him instead. I could imagine the grief I would get from Corrine on Monday morning if I stood the girls up tonight. And of course I would if given the inkling of a chance.

After four rings the call went to Luke’s voicemail. “Leave a message,” his outgoing message said, but I didn’t, hanging up and opting to call his cell. It might be inconvenient for him to get to his home phone. He always kept the cell phone with him. It too rang a couple of times before he answered.

“Hey,” said Luke. “What’s up?”

I could hear voices in the background, music, and other noise. He must be out. I wondered where.

“Hi!” I replied.

“Thought you’d be out on the town by now,” he said. “Is everything all right?”

“Oh yeah,” I assured him sounding casual. “Just thought I’d call and say hi. Is this a bad time?”

I knew that it must be.

“Luke, it’s your shot, man,” I overheard a male voice in the background.

“Yeah, come on,” a woman’s voice also spoke. “Winner takes all! And you will like the prize!”

There was laughter, including Luke’s. Was she the prize? I felt so foolish.

“I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?” Luke told me. “I’m in the middle of something right now.”

I should be too. And definitely I wasn’t the
prize
.

“Oh, okay,” I replied masking hurt but even before the words were completely out of my mouth the connection was closed between us.

I returned the telephone to its charger and settled for stroking Agatha on her belly. Tomorrow was Sunday, and Mommy’s day. Luke and I wouldn’t talk. Okay. So he had a life. Other friends. Well so did I. We were going dancing tonight. Sensations was a very nice place with valet parking. I looked good. It was ridiculous to turn into one of those women who chose the boyfriend over the friends, especially when the man wasn’t the boyfriend in the first place.

When I arrived at the club, there were a couple of cars ahead of me in the valet line; one of them belonged to Melinda. Good, I thought, we could go in together. I handed the valet a two-dollar tip and hurried to catch up with Melinda as she was paying the cover. The pulsating music was muffled until someone opened one of the heavy double doors separating the club interior from the entrance foyer. I tapped my friend on the shoulder and she turned around.

“Hey girl!” said Melinda as she stuffed her credit card back into her pocket. “Don’t you look good!”

“You do!” I returned the compliment. “I love those pants.”

“Pockets, girl. You can’t go clubbing without some place to keep your stuff.”

Melinda was the fashionista in our office, the pinnacle point on the yardstick by which a lot of us measured ourselves, making her both an inspiration and an aspiration. Tonight she was wearing a red silk blouse, pulled in at her narrow waist with a gold belt. Her shiny black sateen pants hugged her tightly and beautifully all the way down to her red stiletto peep-toe heels.

“I know what you mean,” I agreed. “Purse-duty is no fun.”

I had known what it was like to be left to it on more than one dreary occasion. Tonight I was carrying my money, driver’s license, and cell in a small pouch that I wore cross-wise like a very miniature messenger bag, the leather strap falling right between my breasts. I paid the cover and we went inside.

It was still early and the dance floor was pretty empty, but it wouldn’t be for long. Inside the music beats became tangible, not just something you heard but something you felt. Could Luke feel the music anymore? I had read that deaf people could feel the vibration of music and dance to it. Could Luke feel vibrations? When we were in college he had been a sublime dancer. So supremely confident of his masculinity, he would simply have fun, giving himself over to the music, spinning and dipping, rocking and gliding wherever the music took him. Luke doing the
Moonwalk
would have made Michael Jackson proud. But that was gone now. What must it be like to have lost it?

We saw our group, which included, Corrine, Becky, and Sandy. They were holding two tables, pushed together to make one, next to the wrought iron railing that bordered the dance floor. Sandy was waving at us. We were supposed to be six tonight, but Sophia, the sixth one of our group, arrived everywhere
fashionably late
, including to work.

When I ordered a white wine spritzer, Corrine rolled her eyes.

“What?” I asked.

“Live a little, Rachel,” Sandy said.

“Yeah, get something fun!” Becky chimed in. “They make the best appletinis.”

“I’ll have a cosmopolitan,” I told the waitress.

“Now you’re talking!” said Melinda.

“I do have to take my mother to church in the morning,” I reminded everyone.

“So it’ll be ginger ale the rest of the night,” said Sandy.

“
Diet
ginger ale,” Corrine corrected her laughing.

“Well all I’m saying is God bless
Spanx
!” Melinda raised her glass.

And we all toasted the miracle of spandex.

By the time Sophia showed up, which was of course after ten o’clock, the music was much louder and the dance floor was jammed with sweaty, writhing, wriggling bodies, the six of us among them. Our table was popular. Somebody—we didn’t know who yet—seeking to impress one of us—we didn’t know whom yet—had bought a round a drinks for all of us.

I loved to dance, and as long as I was alone in my room or anonymous in some exercise class, I would give myself over to the music too. Tonight being jammed up on the crowded dance floor of Sensations was providing just the kind of cover I required to let loose. As one song ended another one began, and the dancers, as if we were all parts of one big body with many arms and legs moved to the repetitive rhythms practically in unison. There was something powerfully urgent and earthy about the scene, like we were caught up in the madness of mob rule, a primitive, energized herd, nearly unaware of ourselves as individuals.

In college disabled students had “danced” in their wheelchairs at the student union. They had been guys mostly with their able-bodied partners, gyrating around them and sitting in their laps. They had required a lot of space to accommodate them. A wheelchair would never fit on the Sensations dance floor, unless it was a slow night, or one set aside for people with
special needs
.

My current partner, Brian, an attractive man with a nice watch and heavy cologne, kept pulling me up against him so that our bodies rubbed together. I’d push away and spin around only for him to catch me again and hold me close. It was all a part of
the
dance, the ritual of modern courtship, or rather seduction, because it always came to
that
. People wanted to rub their bodies together. AIDS may have given us pause, and forced us to deal with condoms, but it couldn’t stop it. We didn’t want it to. Eventually the mobs always broke up into pairs.

Another song was starting up again, but this time I took the ending one as my opening to leave the floor. I wanted a drink of water. As I headed back to our table, Brian came with me, keeping a proprietary hand at the small of my back. He was going to ask me for my telephone number, I was certain of it. But I wasn’t certain that I wanted to give it to him. That was the main reason why I had gotten caller-id, my tendency to be too free with my telephone number and then regretting it when the conversations took the budding relationships to nowhere.

Back at the table, Brian held my chair for me to sit down. Then he kept his hand on the back of the chair and hovered over me, making small talk, which he had to shout, and even still I wasn’t catching all of his words. Corrine was escorted back to the table too, but her partner thanked her and moved on. She sat sipping the remnants of her margarita and smiling at me knowingly, as Brian continued to work his magic.

The executive business card made its appearance. Suavely Brian took it from his wallet and placed it on the table, sliding it towards me. “Maybe I could take you to dinner sometime,” he said. Corrine’s eyes widened as she waited to see what I was going to say in return. Despite the dim lighting I could see it was a nice business card. He was a marketing executive. He looked successful. He was well-dressed. He’d be disappointed when he learned that I was very happy merely being a counselor. I wondered if he was a Republican too. Oh well. At least my bait seemed to be luring a better class of fish. It wasn’t likely that I would find my
Mr. Right
in a night club, but Brian could easily be a
Mr. Right Now,
so I had no good excuse not to take him up on his offer. I just had a reason. But it was a dumb reason, and I was supposed to be smarter than that twenty years later. Moreover Corrine was going to gloat relentlessly if I turned Brian down.

Smiling up at him I began patting down Brian’s torso and then his trouser pockets, all of which took him by complete surprise.

“Whoa!” he grinned looking pleased. “You’re a feisty wench, aren’t you?”

“Hardly,” I coolly replied. “I’m looking for a pen. I didn’t bring one.”

“Oh,” he said a little deflated, as he reached into his jacket pocket and produced a pen.

Taking it from him, I jotted down my cell phone number on the back of his business card and then slipped the card and pen back into his trouser pocket.

“I’m old-fashioned,” I said giving his pocket a final flirtatious pat. “
You
have to call me.”

“Okay,” said Brian, smiling again. “I’ll do that.”

“Great,” I continued. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to the ladies’ room.”

Where there was naturally a line, albeit a short one. I was glad for the delay anyway. I had needed an exit after what I thought was a pretty fine performance. The cosmopolitans (I had had more than one) must have helped. All the AIDS brochures talked about sex for drugs, but they ignored alcohol, as if that drug only led to domestic violence and vehicular homicides. People took risks for an assortment of reasons: for drugs, and money, for hope, and appearances, for text messages. There was no such thing as
safe sex
because there was no such thing as
safe living.
We were too tied together, constantly colliding and crashing into each other.

Once I had the privacy of a locked bathroom stall I checked my cell phone. There were no messages and no missed calls. No Luke. Suddenly the phone started vibrating in the palm of my hand I nearly dropped it into the toilet. I didn’t recognize the number so I didn’t answer the call. Seconds later there was a message indicator light. I listened to it.

“Hi this is Brian,” the message said. “Just checking. I’m looking forward to your TSA technique.”

I deleted the message and slipped my cell back into my purse. Well at least, I supposed, I had a
prize
too.

.

TEN

A
fter a vigorous Saturday night, and scarcely five hours of sleep, Sunday was a very long day. I didn’t even get home from Mommy’s until close to eight o’clock. After feeding the cats and cleaning their litter box, I took a shower and put on my PJs. Brian had called again and I really owed him a call-back. So I brewed myself a mug of decaffeinated green tea with lemon, retrieved my cell phone from its charger, and settled in for that all important
getting-to-know-you-getting-to-know-all-about-you
conversation.

Being a marketing executive, Brian was really very adept at selling himself, plus he did have a lot to offer. Like too many of us, according to Reverend Milton and Mrs. Sterling, Brian was also divorced, but it had happened a long time ago he assured me, and their only child, a girl, was an honors student at the University of Texas.