S1 E7 – Just a Dance

Part 1 of 2

He's not sure how it happened. He'd been determined to avoid this very situation and yet, here he is, being led onto the dance floor by a woman he can't seem to resist. As she drops his hand and turns to face him, he takes a deep breath and squares his jaw. I'm an Englishman, I can do this! It's just a dance, a dance between colleagues who respect one another, a dance that will last exactly 4:52 minutes if those album liner notes are accurate.

But, as she steps into him and her hands come up to rest upon him, his eyes flick closed for just a moment as a new problem tries to assert itself. NO! I won't allow it! I simply will NOT respond so boorishly to her trusting proximity! It's just a dance, just a dance, just a dance…

He's so focused on controlling his face and his body that he forgets about his hands. Well, his hands have only one job to do, right? His left takes her right; his right rests on her waist. Easy peasy, no problem. Except. Two steps into this longed for socially acceptable method of making love in public while fully clothed, he realizes to his horror that his right hand is NOT on her waist. His right hand is squarely and very possessively planted on the glorious upper swell of her most firm and plumptious rump!

A million thoughts fly through his head between his second and third steps. He can't handle the overload. His brain fires off in all directions, trying to reel Time back to before this catastrophe occurred when…

… the music breaks into a different number. Camille looks over her shoulder to the stage and he sees his chance to flee the dance floor, slightly stiff-legged but that's to be expected in his aroused condition. He isn't even aware that he's still holding her hand, like he can't bear to let her go, like she is his lifeline to safety, a tenuous link to Life itself. As her fingers finally slip from his, his whole body cries out in silent anguish but it's too late, he's left her behind and his table and his drink waver before him as if seen through unshed tears. By the time he sits, his face is once more composed, his body subdued. He salutes her with his drink; the only thing he can think to do with his hands that doesn't involve touching her.

She points a sassy finger back at him, laughs, then turns away to dance solo. Without me, he mourns, she's happy without me. I just don't matter to her. He ducks his head, tries to sip his drink but his throat hurts and he can't swallow. He covers his eyes and leans onto the table.

Camille is devastated. He LEFT me! I had him in my arms like a green-eyed miracle and he LEFT me! Right in front of everyone! But even as her heart convulses with loss, she puts on a sassy face and gestures to him as if she hasn't a care in the world. So what if you won't dance with me? I'll dance by myself. I don't need a man to be complete, to be happy. I don't!

She turns to the stage and just as she feels a traitorous tear threaten, someone is at her side. Her eyes fly up. He's come back! He's sorry and contrite and he's realized he DOES want to… then she sees it's Curtis and her heart groans. The disappointment allows one tiny tear to shiver into her lashes before she swifts it away and Curtis speaks.

"May I have this dance, Miss Bordey?" he intones in his deep gentle voice. Then he pauses to study her face, "You ARE Miss Bordey right now? Not the Detective Sergeant?"

She gives a shaky laugh, "Yes, I'm off duty, and yes, you may have this dance as I seem to have no partner." She also resists looking over her shoulder to the callous uncaring man sitting happily by himself and not wasting a single thought on her at all.

The man at the table sees Curtis' arrival and stiffens as if shot, a wave of heat rolling through him. The plastic glass in his hand crickles and starts to leak. He hastily sets it down onto a napkin, never taking his eyes off the impending disaster before him.

Curtis listens and watches Camille with a troubled face then nods and takes her in his arms. After a few moments he leans in, "I have a question." She looks up at him with raised eyebrows. He nods again, "You said you recognized the look on Avita's face when I brought her flowers. You knew? Just like that? When I didn't know myself?"

She nods, "Yes, it was clear as spring water. But then, it was an unguarded moment. People can hide their feelings if they're careful but, for that one instant, her face was an open book."

"I see. Well, I've thought about it a lot since you told me that and… well, I think I saw that same look on someone else's face but I don't know if I should say anything."

As she turns with Curtis on the dance floor, Camille's eyes are drawn to only one thing, the suited man sitting all by himself with a look of pain on his face as he watches her dance with another man. Something in that look tugs at her memory. Where has she seen it before?

Curtis nods towards the same table, "Yes, it was him, right after he arrested Eddie. He was watching you help Michelle sit back down and for the briefest second I swear he had the same look. Not all foolish and smiling like me but serious and quiet, you know?"

Curtis' words slice through the haze of her memory and she sees Richard sitting all alone at another table, a table at La Kaz, during his first week on Sainte-Marie. She'd asked him to dance and he'd declined, claiming jet lag and having his first good cup of tea in front of him. But she'd seen that same look of pain on his face as he'd watched her dance… a look of longing, loneliness, and fear of rejection.

Camille blinks, sees the two Richard's superimposed over each other. It's the same look. She looks up at Curtis, realizes what he's trying to tell her, and smiles. She doesn't see the look of shock on the suited man's face as he totally misunderstands her smile as she murmurs up into the young man's ear, "Thank you, Curtis. I think you just helped me take courage." Now they both look to the man sitting alone. They see him pale but don't realize why.

"No problem, Miss Bordey. You helped me realize the truth about Avita and he saved My Girl. He could've hurt her bad but he didn't. He called you and you were gentle. She told me, My Girl, she told me all about it."

Somehow that little story flies right over her head. "You're welcome, Curtis, and thanks for the dance, but right now I've got a puzzle to solve that could save my life. His too, maybe." And she steps back and cuts through the crowd, making a bee-line straight to that table and the suited man who looks so stricken and ill.

"You're welcome," Curtis whispers as he turns to the woman with eyes that shine only for her."

Camille reaches the table and curls herself up onto a chair, puts chin into hand, and just looks at him with half-lidded eyes and a little smile. He withstands this French psychological warfare for five seconds before blurting out, "NOW what have I done?"

She lowers her hand and asks, "Why did you desert me on the dance floor?"

He swallows drily and mutters low, "Everyone was watching! Fidel and Dwayne too! I can't have people saying I put my hands on you in full view of the world, now can I?"

She frowns a very French frown and says slowly, "Now that you mention it, your one hand seemed to stray a bit…"

He cuts her off abruptly, "Never mind that, what were you and Curtis talking about out there?"

She smiles, "Well, we talked about My Girl, Avita, and you."

He blinks, "My Girl? The snake?" She nods. "Oh, er, I hope the creature suffered no ill effects the other night?" She shakes her head. "Oh, good, um, and is everything alright with Avita?"

Camille gestures with her chin, "See for yourself."

He glances across to see Avita and Curtis slow dancing to a completely different beat than the music that swirls around them. "Ah," he gruffs and manages another five seconds of resistance before growling, "And… me? What did you two have to say about me?"

She gestures to the oblivious couple again, "Do you see the look on their faces?"

He studies the couple carefully, "They seem very intent upon one another. Are they fighting?"

She laughs quietly, "God, you really can't read people, can you?" At his insulted look, she goes on to say, "No, they're not fighting. A bomb could go off and they wouldn't notice. They're in love. That's what people in love look like when they look at each other."

He frowns, "Oh, alright… but why were you discussing me?" He waits for an answer but she just looks at him. It makes him nervous. "Why are you looking at me like that?" he mutters.

"Do you remember that night I took you to La Kaz for the first time and you ordered tea and then I asked you to dance and you said 'No' so I went to dance with Maman instead?"

He nods, a trifle uncertain. "Yes, you saved my sanity that evening… although I could have done without starting a blood-feud with your mother… but what's that go to do with tonight?"

She huffs a very satisfied huff, "Because I've always remembered the strange look on your face from that night. I watched you watch me dance, you looked sad then… but tonight I saw the same look only this time you looked a bit mad."

He jerks to attention. Her words have shot him nine months into the past… and he remembers that night very clearly. He hadn't been sad, he'd been furious at himself for being such a coward… because he really DID want to dance with her! A beautiful French woman asks me to dance and I refuse? Poole, you idiot! When will you ever get another miraculous offer like that?

But now she says she saw that same look tonight? At first he's blank… and then it hits him. He DID get another miraculous offer… and he refused. AGAIN! He stares back at her serious face with shocked regret then sinks his face into his hands and groans, "I am such an idiot!"

END – part 1