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“Douglas?”
Douglas looked up from his book. He was reading in bed before going to sleep in their shared room in the Maluku Islands. Martin had just emerged from the bathroom. He was in his tee shirt and pajama bottoms, still pink from the bath, his hair damp. The pink in his cheeks may have been helped by the glass of white wine he’d bought—with his own money—after dinner and brought into the bathroom for his soak.
Douglas slid the bookmark into his novel. “Yes, Martin?” Martin looked nervous, he thought, although Martin always looked nervous. But his eyes had that pinched quality they took on whenever something went wrong.
“Can I ask you a question?”
“You just have. Is that all?” He slid a thumb into the bookmarked page, made a show of opening the book again.
“Erm, no. What I mean is, ah, can you show me how to do something?”
“I’m sure I can show you how to do many things, my boy.” He licked his thumb and ostentatiously turned the page.
“I was just wondering about just one thing, though.”
Douglas looked at Martin over his reading glasses. “And what would that one thing be?”
“Can you show me how to dance? With a lady?”
“‘A lady?’” he echoed. “Martin Crieff, do you mean to tell me that you have a date? And with a female who could be called ‘a lady?’”
“Erm, yes.” Martin’s mouth was pinched now, as well as his eyes, and he was shuffling his feet like a child confessing to having broken something.
“Good Lord! Martin Crieff on a date with a ‘lady!’ And she wants to dance! Maybe that Mayan apocalypse was just late, and it’s coming now.”
“If you don’t want to, just say so. You don’t have to be stupid about it,” Martin huffed before stalking to his bed and pulling back the covers.
“Oh, don’t be petulant,” Douglas said. “I was just teasing. Of course I’ll show you how to dance.” He closed his book and laid it and his reading glasses on the nightstand. Martin had fairly flung himself into the bed. Douglas slid his feet into his slippers and stood, tugged his pajama bottoms up.
“But you’ll have to tell me how this historic event has come to pass.”
The pink in Martin’s cheeks darkened. “Well, erm, Arthur was going with his girlfriend to a friend’s wedding, but then they broke up last night. The wedding is in a week and she was angry because she didn’t have a date and Arthur told her if she wanted a blind date he could fix her up with an airline captain. . . . And she accepted,” Martin continued, looking a bit stunned. “He just told me this morning that he’d promised me to his girlfriend. And that her name is Bambi. And that I need to be able to dance.”
“You could have refused,” Douglas pointed out. “I wouldn’t want to spend the day with that pony-club set.”
“I wanted to, but Arthur just looked so sad. . . . He was telling me about the corsage he’d ordered for Saturday, and how he’d been looking forward to going with her. . . . ,” Martin trailed off. “Have you ever seen Arthur look sad? It's just awful. And besides," Martin continued, plucking at the sheet, "I’ll get a free meal.”
“Ah, a free meal. That’s the Martin Crieff I know,” Douglas chuckled. “I’ll show you the foxtrot. It’s easy. You’ll be the lady for a minute while I show you the steps, then we’ll switch and you’ll learn how to lead. Just push your bed up against the wall so we have some more room.”
Once the bed was sorted, Martin stood in front of Douglas with both hands raised to his shoulders. “Which hand goes where?” Douglas held up a finger as he practiced the steps a few times, his eyes closed.
“I remember now,” he said. “It’s a box step, which means you trace a box on the floor with your steps. Watch me a moment. The gent steps forward on his left leg, then brings his right foot up to his left; he extends his right leg to the right, then brings the left across to meet it, making two sides of an imaginary box, like so.” Douglas pointed out the two sides while Martin nodded, frowning in concentration.
“Then you complete the other half of the box. The gent steps backward on his right leg, then brings his left foot back to meet the right; he extends his left leg to the left, then brings the right across to meet it. You’ve made the other two sides of the box.” he pointed out the four lines, “and you’re back where you started. Let’s practice. You be the lady while you get the feel of it, then we’ll work on the gent’s part. We’ll take it just one step at a time, moving one foot at a time.”
Martin nodded, looking nervous. He still had his hands in the air. Douglas stepped up to him. “The lady’s left hand rests on the gentleman’s right shoulder, like this,” Douglas said, placing Martin’s hand on his shoulder, “and the gent’s hand is at the small of the lady’s back.” He pressed his hand into Martin’s back, just above his buttocks. “The lady’s right hand rests in the gentleman’s left hand, at about shoulder height.” He took Martin’s hand in his own. “The gent uses both his hands to guide the lady around the floor. You’ll see how in a moment. And we stand slightly offset so our knees and feet don’t bump into each other,” he added, shuffling Martin a few inches to his left.
“The lady always moves backwards to the gent, so once the gent starts, the lady steps back on her right foot. And the gent presses the lady’s hand slightly backward to guide her.” Douglas pressed Martin’s hand slightly backward as he stepped forward. Martin, looking like he was still thinking about Douglas’s instruction, didn’t move. Douglas brushed the inside of Martin’s right thigh with his leg, encouraging him to move. Martin gasped and lurched backward, his expression flashing from concentration to startled.
“You don’t need to take big steps. The goal isn’t to cover ground, and the dance floor will probably be crowded,” Douglas said. “Let’s try again.” He moved back to his starting point, pulling Martin toward him with the hand at his back. “See how I moved you just now, by pressing with my palm?”
“Y-yes,” Martin replied. Douglas smiled. The boy’s stutter came out whenever he concentrated.
“Right, on the count of three. One, two, three.” Douglas stepped forward and Martin stepped back, less clumsily this time.
“Good. Much better already. Except we were only taking one step at a time, and you’ve moved your left foot up next to your right, for two steps. Let’s try again.” He guided Martin back to starting position.
“One, two, three.” They moved a step back together. “And you’ve kept your left foot in place this time, good. Now, bring your left foot back to meet the right, on the count of three.” They moved on Douglas’s count.
“Good, except don’t step like you’re walking. Your toes should glide just above the floor. Start again.” Douglas counted to three and they took the two steps. Martin was following reasonably well, considering he was, well, Martin.
“Now the left foot extends to the left, just a comfortable amount, a little more than hip width. On the count of three. Yes, exactly like that—did you feel how I moved your hand slightly to your left and used my hand at your waist to move you along with me? That’s right. And finally the right foot slides over to meet the left. And did you feel how I used both my hands to signal you? There should be a little less stepping and a little more gliding, but that’s it. You have now completed one half of a single box step.”
Martin disengaged himself and took a step back. “Good Lord, Douglas, that’s impossible!”
“Only because you, in your usual way, are overthinking it. We’ll practice a little every day until Saturday. You’ll be used to it by then. But we have to finish your first box. And then I’ll teach you the gent’s part.”
“Just please tell me it gets easier.”
“You’ve done exactly half of one figure. Of course it gets easier.” Martin sighed and held his hands up again. Douglas guided Martin’s hand to his shoulder, took his other hand, and slid his hand around Martin’s waist.
“Now follow me while we reverse the steps. One, two, three.” They worked through the second half of the box step. Martin struggled, clumping nervously.
“Excellent!” Douglas was fibbing, but Martin was having a dinner date at a pony-club girl’s wedding, after all, and he needed to know he could become competent in time. His little boy was growing up. “Now we’ll switch. You’ll learn the gent’s part.”
“Douglas, I don’t think I can learn this.”
“Martin, you can fly a jet, therefore you can learn the box step. Besides, didn’t you have dancing lessons when you were a boy?”
“No. Simon and Caitlin had, but Dad didn’t want to wa—spend the money.” Douglas closed his eyes and counted to five. Ten would have been too obvious.
“Well, it’s time you learned. You take the gent’s part, and I’ll take the lady’s.” He raised his hands as Martin had. “Tell me which hand goes where.” He tried to keep himself from smiling while Martin held up his hands, frowning in concentration. “Just reverse them, Martin. Which hand was in mine when we were dancing?” Martin held his right hand higher. “So the opposite hand to that holds my hand, and that hand,” Douglas touched Martin’s upheld palm, “goes around my waist.”
He waited while Martin put his hand against his back and took his hand. “No, your hand holds my hand; it goes palm up underneath my hand, that’s right. No squeezing, remember how lightly I held your hand? That’s right. Now step forward with your left foot, bring your right foot up to meet it.” They finally completed the step and Douglas let Martin take a mental break.
“Good job, Martin.” Martin’s cheeks pinked again and his eyes grew dark with pleasure. Martin was a positive sponge for praise. “You’ve led me through a complete box step. Let’s do a few more so that you’re sure you have it down.”
They worked through the box several more times. “Douglas, is that enough?”
That was probably enough for one night. Martin had the steps down now. “Have I worn Sir out already? I’m glad to know that I still have my youthful vigor.” He danced two bars of "The Three Sea Captains," then decided that that was enough of that. Not as much youthful vigor as he used to have.
“Douglas?”
“Yes, Martin? Do you want to ask me if you can ask me another question?” He kicked his slippers off and got into his bed.
“I don’t think I’ll be able to learn this by Saturday. I’m not very good at it.”
“You’ve just tried something you’ve never done before. Give it another try before you descend into hysteria, why don’t you? Now go to bed. Flying out in the morning.” He put his glasses back on and picked up his novel, watched Martin out of the corner of his eye as he pulled his bed back into position, then got in and pulled the covers up.
“Good night, Douglas. And thank you.”
“Tell me, did you have that glass of wine just so that you’d be brave enough to ask me to teach you to dance?”
“Erm. . . “
“Ah. Good night, Martin.”
Douglas sighed as he checked the number of pages to the end of his chapter. He’d watched Martin gain skill and confidence over the past couple of years, and he’d realized that he’d grown very fond of him. Despite the bumpy start to their relationship, they got along so well now, and seemed to fit together somehow. He’d begun to think . . . But no. That’s what Martin’s confidence was for. Going out on dates with young ladies. Growing into himself, making his own life. The boy certainly deserved it. Douglas decided to give up on the rest of the chapter and turned out the light.
* * * *
By Friday, Martin had the box step down reasonably well. They’d practiced in Douglas’s front room every night. Martin pushed the furniture back at the beginning of the evening and they circled the room, turning and occasionally dipping.
“Last practice session tonight. Do you feel ready for your big date tomorrow, Martin?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be for a blind date with one of Arthur’s ex-girlfriends at a society wedding.”
“You’re dancing reasonably capably for a pilot.”
“Erm, thank you?”
Douglas wanted to tell Martin that he’d miss having him come over. That he’d miss spending time with him. That he’d miss holding him.
“Tonight we’re going to work on staying on the beat. And, of course, not staring at your feet. Ready?”
Martin nodded and stepped up to him, took Douglas’s hand in his left and pressed his right palm into the small of Douglas’s back. Douglas counted to three and started humming “After You Who.” They’d tried putting on music, but they stopped and started too often. Douglas had hummed and sung and whistled his way through most of the big band era.
“Remember to look the lady in the eye. Don’t look at your feet. Or hers.”
“Hum along with me. Think about the tune. That will help you stay on the beat. That’s better.”
* * * *
Douglas had made Martin promise that he would come over for a late brunch the day after the wedding so that he could find out how the evening had gone. He was drinking coffee and reading the newspaper when Martin arrived twenty minutes late.
“I’m so glad that Sir could make it,” Douglas said. Martin looked disheveled and tired.
“My van wouldn’t start. And my phone died.”
“Ah. Your usual luck. And I’m glad I listened to that little voice telling me, 'It's Martin: Put the quiche in fifteen minutes later than you think.' Coffee?”
“Yes, about a gallon if you have it.”
“So, how was your evening with the pony club?”
“Long and awful. My date was about six inches taller than you. And she was in the wedding party, so I had to sit next to her grandmother during the service. Granny smelt of moth balls and couldn’t hear, so I had to shout the entire service into her ear. And after just a half glass of champagne at the reception, Bambi started laughing. Like a horse. At everything. The whole night.”
“So it was about as you expected. How was the free dinner?”
“One poussin, dry. Two fingerling potatoes, mushy. Three green beans, nearly raw.”
“Did you see any promising young ladies there?”
“No. They’re all about the same.”
“Did you dance?”
"Lord, yes. Bambi decided she didn’t like me, so she played drinking games with her girlfriends all night. And she laughed all night. You could hear her everywhere you went. I wound up sitting with her moth-ball grandmother. And it turns out that she'd been a professional ballroom dancer. After I told Granny that I could do the foxtrot, she dragged me around the floor all night doing tangos and mambos and polkas and waltzes and I don't know what. We did the quick-step to "Put a Ring on It." I felt like I'd just run a marathon. My ears are still ringing from her shouting directions in my ear all night. And Bambi didn’t want to go home until they shoved her out, so I didn’t get home until three. After I poured her into her front door and her father came downstairs to yell at me.”
“Too bad. Still, just as you imagined, I’m sure.”
“Yeah.”
“Have some fruit and I’ll put some toast in. Quiche in half an hour.” Douglas was going to send Martin home with a full stomach, at least.
“It wasn’t like dancing with you.”
“I imagine granny did a better job than me.”
“N-no. I l-liked dancing with you.” Douglas turned from checking the quiche to look at Martin. The boy was beet red from his neck to the tops of his ears and staring at the fingers he was twisting in his lap.
Douglas set the potholders on the counter. “I’m glad. I liked it, too.”
Martin’s head snapped up. “Really?”
“Very much. Would you like to have a go now? We have another twenty minutes until the quiche is ready.”
“Yes, please.”
“Very speedy answer. Stand up, then.”
“Should we go in the front room?”
“There’s plenty of room right here.”
Martin held his hand up to take Douglas’s, then let it fall again. “W-would you lead? I like that.”
“Of course.” Douglas took Martin’s hand and slid his arm around Martin’s waist, pulled him against himself. He felt Martin offset himself, the boy's sharp hipbone at his belly and his thighs whispering against his own. He started humming “Our Love Affair” and stepped forward. Martin rested his head on Douglas’s shoulder; he felt the tune vibrating in Douglas’s bones as he started moving with Douglas.