Shall We Dance

There used to be a girl, who lived on Broadway and 6th, in a two bedroom walk up that was common in New York. She was married, and had a beautiful son who was 3. Her husband worked on the Wall Street, a currency trader. She was 38 and had wavy brown hair, brown eyes, petite figure and a lovely face. Men couldn't stop smiling at her, and they constantly wanted to do things for her because she had that fragility that made them wanted to take care of her. When she smiled she looked like a child. She was a singer when she was young, before she met her husband. She stayed at home, raised her boy and now her boy was in day care so she had more free time.

She wanted to learn to dance, like a professional. She asked her husband if that was acceptable, to learn to dance at night, when he was home and when she supposed to be spending time with him.

He said, “Honey, do what you want. I can handle junior.” She jumped up and down like a kid, she was finally able to do something for herself, on her own.

The first night she went to the dance studio down the street, she was assigned a dance partner.

The dance partner was slightly older, by about 7 years, he had intense blue eyes, sun kissed hair and he said his name was Christopher. He did not wear a wedding ring. He had a fit body and a slight Midwesterner accent. He said that he owned an architectural firm in midtown and he was new to the area. He was slim and subdued. He wore those architect glasses with dark rim. He had thin lips and a tight grip. He said that he had danced tango years ago, when he was in Minnesota, in his 30s. He said that he liked to dance but was never a good dancer.

They danced. He led, she followed. The night went on. They were becoming the best dance couple in the class.

She began to wonder what he did outside of their dance classes. She began to imagine what it was like to be seen with him, in a café, in central park, holding hands, in day light, comb through his sun kissed hair, talk about life, talk about something other than the dance moves, how they tangoed.

She asked him if he was open to something like that, perhaps during the day, perhaps over lunch.

He said, “Of course. You are a beautiful dancer. I love dancing with you, I love to see you outside of the dance studio, during the day, a proper date?”

She smiled shyly. She had never pretended that she was single. She wore her diamond wedding ring to dance, he never asked her about her husband or her child, nor did he question as to why why she asked him out either.

It was a lovely day. They met at the Central Park. Like two lovers she looped her arm around his, he was a gentleman, refined, proper, spoke softly, held his arm out for her to hold onto him. She wore large hat and big sunglasses. She was feeling slightly guilty but not so much so that she would not want to be seen out with him.

The bought hot dogs at the hot dog stand, went to the fountain and sat on the bench and had ice cream cones afterwards. He kissed her, first lightly, like a peck, light as feather, and then more urgently.  He said that she was beautiful, the most beautiful dancer he’s ever danced with, and he loved how they were so in sync. At one point, a little boy ran past them as his nanny chased after him pushing the red Bugaboo stroller. He looked at the boy and then to her and said “We'd make a perfect couple. We’d make beautiful babies, you and I.” In the end he said that he had to get back to work but what a lovely date this was.

Like a schoolgirl she was giddy with joy. She didn’t know what came over her, she realized that perhaps this was really the reason she wanted to learn to dance, to meet him: this mysterious man who was gentle, kind, and liked her genuinely. She felt desired again.

They met up from then on, always in the dance studio. Occasionally they grabbed coffee afterwards. He told her bits and pieces about him, but not too much that she knew anything substantial about him. He said that his firm had projects abroad, he traveled frequently to the middle east. He had never quite found the woman he would settle down with, and he had been so busy with his work that he rarely dated. He told her how pretty she looked under the dim lights, how wonderful it was to dance with her, and how he liked seeing her and how he looked forward to seeing her each time. She asked him to invite her out again, during the daytime, so that she could see his hair, shining under the sun; so that she could loop her arm around his, walking through the park. He said that he’d love to do that, but work beckoned, and there was never another opportunity for him to get out of the office. But what a lovely suggestion, he would love to see her again, outside of the dance studio.

She waited for that next date, a proper one but it didn’t come. Gradually he stopped showing up in the studio as well. It started with a text, he said that he was running late, because he had a client engagement, the next time he said that he had to fly out of town. Each time a new excuse or the same old ones appeared. At first he told her why, and then he just said “I can’t make it.” Finally one day the text stopped. He just did not show or tell her whether he’d show or not. She sat there, waited for her phone to blink but it was dead silent. She texted him, and she did not hear from him either.

Weeks passed. Then it became months.

One day, it was a warm sunny day in Central Park, she was walking and holding her son’s hand. She saw him again. He had his arm out, a beautiful blond woman by his side, her arm looped in his. He was animated, and laughing. She then saw him holding a small hand, a little boy, about her son’s age. There was something else. It was a wedding band.

She walked briskly pass this happy couple. Did not stop, did not say hi. He did not see her, she was convinced.

That evening she cried. She never knew anything about him. She realized, yet, in her head, he was the man who would come and rescue her from mundane. She realized that he was only her dance partner, nothing more or less. She didn’t realize that somewhere along the line, she had developed feeling for him, complicated, emotional feelings that resembled a schoolgirl’s crush, or perhaps love.

When she woke up the next day, she was surprisingly calm and reflective.

She only wanted to dance with him. They formed such a wonderful rhythm, on the dance floor, they were one. She didn’t care if he was married, seeing other people, or where he was from, what he did for a living. She didn’t know nor care to know. She only wanted a good dance partner. He was a great dance partner, perfect in fact.

But then somehow both of them got emotionally tangled up. Seeing her became a chore. He began to feel obligated to tell her lies, lies about his whereabouts, and why he couldn’t make it to the dance studio. He might have, could have, just told her that he too was married, and had other women and life besides spending time with her in the dance studio, but perhaps he was worried about hurting her.

She wanted to believe that she was the only one to him as well. Even though she was married and had a life outside of their dance world. She didn’t want him to know that she had other priorities in life, she wanted him to believe that he was all that mattered.

In that process, he became all that mattered to her.

Sometimes in life, the only thing we need from a perfect stranger, is that really fabulous dance. No one wants to dance alone, Not she, not he.

She wished that when he said “Shall we dance?” that very first time, she had said, “We shall, and let’s just dance.”