7. FLAMENCO CAN WAIT
.
Something odd was going on. Brian started making himself scarce every weekend and sometimes even on weeknights after work. When Janet questioned him, he blushed like a schoolgirl, looked cagey and became defensive:
"How would you even know? I'm surprised you've noticed. You've been vanishing almost every night, too. What's up with that?"
"I asked you first!"
"So, now answer first."
"Bri! What are we, toddlers? Go ahead, come clean."
"Only if you do."
They both fell silent, staring into each other's eyes. Then said in unison:
"It's a surprise for you!"
...
One rare evening when they were both home at Mrs. Starr's, Janet walked into her room to catch Brian poring over papers spread out on the table which looked like blueprints.
She tiptoed up to him from behind. He jumped three feet in the air when he noticed her peering over his shoulder.
"Baby? Ugh... I thought you were downstairs helping Mrs. Starr with dinner."
"I was downstairs. Now I am upstairs. What's all this?"
"It's... it's work." He blushed and tried to cover the papers with his hand.
"Since when do you bring your work here? And why are you being weird? What's going on?"
He looked resigned. "Okay. Remember I told you I was working on a surprise for you?"
"I remember dragging it out of you. Is this the surprise?"
He nodded. "It is. Kinda like a wedding gift from me and my family."
"But what on earth is it?" She pointed to the blueprints which, even to her untrained eye, looked like the floor plan of a structure.
"Baby. I wasn't supposed to say anything. I knew I shouldn't have brought this stuff here but we are on a tight deadline." He turned away from the table to face her. "This is gonna be a little house. More like a cabin."
"Huh? A little house? A cabin? A wedding gift?" The words still didn't quite register. "Enough with the big mystery, Brian. The cat's out of the bag anyway, so I want to know the whole story. Shoot."
He sighed. "I'll have to tell them you pried it out of me under torture. Okay, full disclosure. We are building a cabin. Just for us."
"Who are "us"? Who are "we"? And who are "them"? And where?"
"Us" are you and me. "We" are me and Dad and Neil and a few friends who are giving us a hand for free. "Them" are all the above minus me. And "where" is in a far corner of my parents' property, as far from the big house as possible."
Janet stood still, looking dumbstruck. Brian was already about to wave a hand before her eyes when she came to. "Is that where we'll be expected to live?"
"Of course not, silly. We'll live here in town, in that apartment we've been looking at. Even my folks don't live up there all the year round."
"So, then we'll have to spend every weekend and vacation up there with your folks?"
Brian glanced at her with mild reproach. "Where are you getting these ideas? We'll stay there once in a while when and if we feel like it. I love my folks but they can sometimes be a bit too much even for me. I sure wouldn't pick a vacation with them over you and me getting away, just the two of us. But when we do go up there, we'll have a little palace all our own. Not too bad, is it?"
"Guess not." Janet still didn't sound quite sold on the idea.
"We'll be making the furniture, too. If we have the time."
"Well. Don't you think I would've liked to be consulted on any of this? One would think I should have some input on the designs."
"Baby, of course you are gonna have input! Who ever told you otherwise?"
"I thought you said this was supposed to be a surprise for me!"
"Yes. The cabin. It's just the most basic design, a couple of rooms, a bathroom and a kitchen, so we weren't gonna get too fancy with it anyway. But when we get to the furniture, not one nail gets hammered in without you signing off on it."
Janet stood in front of Brian and reached up on tiptoe, as she always did to hug and kiss him. Instead, she started patting him on the chest, shoulders and arms.
He looked down at her, bemused. "Baby, what are you doing? If this is foreplay, I gotta warn you it's working."
"Good to know, but I was just making sure you were real. Not a dream or a phantom." She clung to him, burying her face in his chest. "Bri, what did I do to deserve you? I sometimes feel you are literally too good to be true. Are you sure I didn't just make you up? They say the perfect man is as real as Santa Claus."
"Oh right, good old Nick! We were just about to get together for a drink. A pair of totally real perfect dudes." He rocked her gently. "Baby, what's this all about? Why are you suddenly questioning my very existence? And why do I get the feeling you are always braced for some kind of unpleasantness to be sprung upon you? You have my word that nobody's gonna push anything on you or expect you to do anything you are not 100% on board with. Not my family and certainly not me. We just figured you may not be used to getting houses as a gift, so you wouldn't be too picky about the architectural style."
"No, Bri, nobody's ever given me a house as a gift. In fact, I hadn't even had a room to myself in years, until I moved in with Mrs. Starr. So, forgive me for being overwhelmed. A whole little house just for me!"
"Well... not exactly just for you. I'm afraid I'll be hanging out there as well. If you don't mind, of course. Think you'll be able to put up with my presence?"
"I think I'll manage." She rubbed her temple against his chest and purred gently. "You know something, Bri? I swear, I don't even know why I made such a fuss over the little house or your family's expectations! I love your folks! I love your whole family! What would be so terrible about staying with them once in a while?"
"Wait till you hear more of the yelling, Neil and Erin fighting, Dad hollering at them to shut up and all that, then we'll see how much you love them."
"Big deal! Every family's like that! But they are so caring, so warm, so – so genuine! They remind me of my own folks. Except mine are more low-key. And I love that whole place, their cottage and the whole community."
"Have you noticed it's a bit different from the rest of Orange County?"
"That's right! I was just gonna say, it has this amazing atmosphere I had never expected to find anywhere in California. It almost has a feel of a – "
"Of a backwoods community, say, in rural Virginia. Right?"
"That's it! At least, from what I know of rural Virginia. I haven't been able to put my finger on it but that's exactly what it made me think of!"
"Maybe because we are rural Virginia transplants. That's where we moved here from."
"Oh? I thought it was Ireland!"
"Ireland, too, but a couple of generations earlier. This generation comes from Schuyler, Nelson County. All three of us were born there."
"Just curious. Why did you move?"
"You'll have to ask my folks that. I mean, I do know their reasoning, but it sure wasn't my decision. I was just a kid, too young for my opinion to matter."
"I take it, you weren't happy about it?"
"Damn right I wasn't! I missed it like crazy for quite a while. Then, of course, I got used to it, made new friends here... But at the time, I was pretty sore. I mean, they claim they did it for "the kids". Only they forgot to ask the kids if that was what they wanted."
"What made them think it would be better for the kids?"
"They were afraid we would be bored stiff growing up in that "backwater" place. That there was nothing for young people to do there, not too many options for education or work, no entertainment and crap like that. They were mostly worried that when Erin grew up, she would have no exciting men to meet and marry other than country bumpkins."
"What's wrong with country bumpkins? They are the salt of the earth."
"Exactly! You'll have to ask my folks this question. As for me, I loved it there. The gorgeous countryside, the people... Neil and Erin were still too young to care one way or another, but I wasn't." Brian gave himself a slap on the forehead. "Hey, listen to me! Why am I even complaining? I did love it there, but if we had stayed in rural Virginia I never would've – "
" – met me," chimed in Janet. "And if I had stayed in my suburban Indiana, if something bad hadn't happened there to get me to move away – "
" – you never would've met me. See how things sometimes work out?"
"Perfectly. You know what they say about God moving in mysterious ways?"
"Do I ever. But I thought you weren't religious?"
"I am not. But you don't have to be religious to get this one."
"True. The irony is, once we got here, my parents must've also felt homesick. We had to live here in the city because of the factory. But the moment they were able to afford it, they got that cottage and pretty much recreated the way of life they had left behind. And almost all the neighbors turned out to be the same kind. All craving that close-knit rural community feel."
"Now it all makes sense. I wondered why I loved it down there so much! In fact, I wouldn't mind spending more time there. Don't even know why I gave you a hard time over that."
"To keep me on my toes, that's why."
"Oh? So far I am the one who has to be on my toes just to hug or kiss you."
"Let's do something about that." He picked her up as easily as someone might pick up a little dog and held her against his chest. "Better?"
"So, so much better," she murmured, her eyes closed.
He leaned in for a kiss and suddenly stopped in mid-motion.
"Hang on there, baby! First things first. Your turn to come clean, remember?"
"Is it now? I never said I would."
"Oh come on," he groaned. "After I put all my cards on the table! No fair!"
"Life isn't fair, Bri. Why, did somebody tell you otherwise?"
"Okay, you asked for it." He nearly smothered her with kisses and tickled her until she squealed. But all he ever got out of her was her most mysterious and mischievous look.
...
"Stay after class." Michael imperiously poked the air in her direction with a bony finger.
For the hundredth time, Janet reminded herself how good her dancing instructor was at what he did. Otherwise, she wouldn't be caught dead even talking to him. In addition to his overbearing personality and total lack of social graces, he had a special way of setting her teeth on edge by this lecherous look he often fixed on her.
To be fair, she was not alone. Pretty much all the young women in the class were subjected to the same treatment. Each handled it in her own way. Janet's way was to focus on the man's formidable skills as dancer and teacher and try to ignore the rest.
The idea of spending any amount of time alone with him didn't sound too appealing. Still, curiosity got the better of her. And anyway, she knew what to do if things got too heated for comfort.
"I've been watching you – " he began.
"I noticed," broke from her.
"O-o-kay, relax," he drawled with a knowing smirk. "Just wanted to say you've outgrown this class. There isn't much more you can learn here."
That was the last thing she had expected. "So what, are you kicking me out? Didn't see that coming!"
"I just bet you didn't. Good to know I can still surprise you. I was gonna suggest you enroll in an advanced class."
"Oh." She looked uncertain.
"Before you throw a hissy fit, I am not the one teaching it. It's a woman. A very good old friend of mine. Interested?"
"What kind of class?"
"You are gonna love it. Flamenco."
"Flamenco?! No way!" She could barely believe her ears. She had always thought this style of traditional Spanish dance was way beyond her abilities.
"Why? I thought you'd jump at the opportunity. Or don't you like flamenco?"
"Are you kidding me? It's spectacular!"
"What's your hang-up then? I thought you always wanted to go further."
"And so I do. But flamenco! It's a professional's dance, not a gifted amateur's. Or those who were born Spanish."
"Aren't you part Spanish?"
"Italian. One quarter."
"Same difference. Listen, I am not gonna twist your arm. If you don't think you are good enough – "
"Michael, I am no end flattered." The unexpected tribute to her abilities had caused her eyes to well up. "It means a lot to me that you obviously think I am."
"Indeed, I do," he said simply.
"But I am already taking ballroom and modern – "
"Which, as I just told you, you can safely drop for now."
" – as well as this other advanced class. Michael, you know how much dancing means to me. It's a hobby I love, but still a hobby. It's not like I am planning to go pro."
The instructor looked at her with the same lascivious glint in his eye. Except now she suddenly saw something more there, something she had never noticed before. Genuine admiration and respect. And, the biggest surprise of all, kindness.
"That's too bad. You do have what it takes to make it as a dancer if you put your mind to it."
"That's high praise coming from you, Michael. But I am too realistic to turn my back on job security. Besides, as you know, I am engaged."
"So? Engaged and even married people have been known to learn new skills. And even change jobs or careers."
"No, no, no." She shook her head vigorously. "It's tempting as hell but right now I need to focus on my marriage."
"Young love," muttered Michael with a mix of disdain and envy. "Well, it's your call."
"But I sure would love to check out this flamenco class! Just to gawk, if for nothing else."
"You won't regret it, promise." Michael handed her a colorful flyer. "Go sit in on a class or two while you have the chance. She only comes here for a few weeks every spring to recruit the pick of the crop for her dance troupe. Quite a lady, this Esmeralda. You'll see."
…
"Okay, young lady, let's see what you've got. What have you been studying lately?"
"Irish reels, Miss Esmeralda," said Janet self-consciously.
She had sat in on the class, her emotions wildly fluctuating between pure bliss, awe and a sense she had not been too familiar with. A sense of her own inadequacy.
Part of it was due to the dancers, several women ranging in age from late teens to mid-thirties, all slender and graceful as aspens and doing the complex, ferociously passionate steps with the same ease they breathed. But the larger part was Esmeralda.
The woman's presence was in equal parts effortlessly commanding and irresistibly personable. As petite as Janet herself, her every movement gave off fiery, effervescent energy. Only her coal-black eyes, filled with wisdom as ancient as flamenco itself, betrayed her age.
"Well then, go ahead, do a reel." Esmeralda said a few words in Spanish to the accordionist providing accompaniment to the class.
Janet looked around the studio. Some of the dancers had left when the class was over. Others lingered, changing out of their leotards and chatting.
Normally, Janet was not timid or insecure. But dance here, now, after and in the presence of these demigoddesses? And her, so clumsy, so awkward?
At least, that's how her mind felt. But not her feet. The moment Esmeralda nodded at the musician and the first bars floated over the studio, her feet carried her to the center of the room with their usual lightness and went on to weave the intricate lace of the tap dance in a blur of motion. In just a few beats, she forgot all about the flamenco dancers and even about Esmeralda and was aware only of the lively, spirited music and her own movement in time with it.
"Not at all bad," said Esmeralda after the dance came to an end. "I don't see why you can't learn flamenco. In fact, it has a lot in common with this."
"Oh no! In the Irish dance, the feet do all the dancing while the upper body is rigid and stiff. But you – you guys – you dance with your arms, your hands, your shoulders, your faces… It's magical!"
"You are quite capable of mastering this magic. If I may ask, why Irish reels?"
"I am marrying into an Irish family. So, I wanted to – "
"Impress your future in-laws? Why, that's so sweet!" beamed Esmeralda, her eyes lighting up. "What about your young man? Is he going to do it with you?"
"Oh no, not Brian!" laughed Janet. "In fact, this is my big surprise for him. He is one of those people of whom they say they have two left feet. But to be fair, that's the worst thing anybody can say about him."
Esmeralda's students snickered.
"Listen to her! He's oh-so-pur-fect!"
"Let's see what she says after a year or two of marriage!"
"Ah, to be young and blindly in love!"
Esmeralda cast a look towards the sarcastic voices and raised an eyebrow – and they promptly died down.
"I see. This does look like the wrong timing. You have more important things to do. Go marry your Irish prince and be happy. Flamenco can wait."