And now for the beautiful slowfoxtrot

by

V.J. Williams

RATING: ALL AGES

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT: The title of the story was inspired by Mister Vivier Nel. Those who know this gentleman, will recognise the words as he always introduces this particular dance this way. Thank you, Vivier Nel!

CHAPTER ONE: “You have the look!”

The reflection of the couples flitted like dark sylphs on the gleaming floor as the giant strobe overhead threw  patches of light on the dancers.

The preliminaries were the hardest. It was the test that would get six couples into the finals. Girls wearing bright neon-coloured lycra leotards and flared skirts smiled brightly to impress the adjudicators who tapped their elegant shoes to the beat of the music. Boys, their hair gelled in a smooth sheen to their scalps, jutted their chins high and aimed straight for couple on a reverse turn, only to collide and take off again in the direction of Adjudicator No. 2. Like peacocks the dancers strutted to attract attention, the brightest colours catching the eyes of the judges…

Lee-Ann Dean shifted nervously next to her partner Darren while they waited for the announcer to call the twelve couples to the floor. It was the quarter-final and they had successfully come through the previous round. The memory of that round still gave her the shivers. She had stumbled and brought Darren down with her. They had been up and dancing in one fluid movement in the next moment. She had just time enough to see how Darren winced at their mistake and then smiled her way through the quickstep. Lee-Ann had been tearful afterwards, and Darren had put his arm round her shoulder to console her. Both had been worried they’d be out of the competition. She was strung out, and needed too many bottles of bubblegum flavoured energy drinks to stay afloat. It was only when Coach Brinkmann - or Demolition Man as everyone called him these days after she had inadvertently told Anthony he was an incarnation of Wesley Snipes the way he demolished his dancers after every competition -  said: “Don’t worry, you’ll still make it to the final” that she finally relaxed. Demolition Man’s nice words didn’t often last long enough for his dancers to get very comfortable with him. Anthony Bailey had laughed his head off. He told Hank, who told The Twins Squared. After that, Coach Brinkmann got to be called ‘Coach’ to his face, and Demolition Man behind his back. It suited everyone.

Anthony and his cousin Gail were standing second from the front, and Lee-Ann could see over the heads of the other couples that he didn’t look much better than she felt. For one thing, he didn’t smile, and for another, his shoes were probably too small and it gave him the pinched look. Lee-Ann nudged Darren and pointed to where Anthony and Gail were standing. Darren smiled, then faced her again. There was a glint in his eyes; she knew her mother would have described it as “Hard as steel. He must be on the prowl for victory”. Just sometimes in the last year since she and Darren had been partners she didn’t much like the way he smiled. Smiled like he knew he was going to get something he wanted badly. Lee-Ann sighed. They were good together, although with their first few dances they had been at each others’ throats. “Remember when you dance - smile, dammit!” they could hear Demolition Man’s voice ringing in their ears.

Now she felt the twitch near her jaw. She was nervous. Her skin was clammy and her thigh itched. She wanted to scratch, but the girl behind knocked into her. Lee-Ann stumbled against the girl in front of her. The leg would have to wait till after the dance. She was no dog that didn’t mind who looked if she scratched. Besides, it didn’t look good if she wanted to relief a section of her anatomy that would make the others look and snicker. In the comfort of her own home she could sit down on her bed and scratch to her heart’s content while she listened to Frank Sinatra singing “The Lady is a Tramp”. Behind her Maid Marian - she had long braids that she pinned around her head like a turban - made no attempt to apologise, and her partner Robin Hood didn’t help her mind her manners, but Lee-Ann quickly muttered a “sorry” to the girl in front as she saw the girl’s expression. Lee-Ann and Darren had a name for her: Dolly, because she wore so much make-up and she was only twelve. Lee-Ann was thirteen. Her mother would have a hissy fit if she rouged her face. “No, my little ice-pick, not even for ballroom”

Yeah, right.

Was her mother glad when they changed that rule! No make-up for the kiddies. They have no business imitating big people. Now angry Dolly - her real name was Priscilla Minnaar - fumed two seconds then turned her attention to the dancers on the floor.

Lee-Ann hardly noticed the noise in the hall, and the announcer’s voice was something distant, as if it came through the Mouille Point fog at her. Eventually she didn’t hear the voices and the loud protests at the DJ’s choice of Ave Maria for a waltz. Lee-Ann shrugged. Hell, whoever danced a waltz to the tune of a hymn? Get real. The other day on TV she saw dancers doing a Viennese while the choir sang Blessed Assurance…

She was beginning to act more like her mother. Now there was a woman who could go all absent like, her eyes glazed, and she’d be thinking deep things. That’s what she always said whenever Lee-Ann waved her hand in front of her mother’s eyes. “Don’t disturb me. There’s a story playing out in my head.”  Big deal. Her mother would get up in the middle of the night, wake her snoring father and declare: “I just dreamed a whole story: beginning, development and dénouement.” It took Lee-Ann a while to figure out that dénouement was a French word and had to do with the way a story ended. After which her mother muttered: “I should put the girl through Alliance Francaise. She needs culture.”

Well, so much for dreams and happy endings. Lee-Ann hoped that her story tonight would have a good ending. Like getting into the finals. Like...like... She shrugged at that thought again. She and Darren just had to do their best. “Winning is not the end that justifies one’s behaviour or attitude towards one’s fellow-man. It does little to enhance the inner spirit, and turns nice people into not-so-nice people. It is the losing that shapes an athlete and allows for personal growth.” Demolition Man didn’t say that. Her mother did and before that, Great Aunt Mabel. Lee-Ann doubted very much that their coach had the ability to “expound on the theories of winning and losing” because he had only one goal in mind: “losing is not an option”. Lee-Ann gave herself a mental shake. Her lips were suddenly dry and again there was a dread inside her. She wanted to do well. She knew Darren wanted to do well too. But Demolition Man… He was something else.

Lee-Ann forcefully directed her growing ugly thoughts away from Coach Brinkmann, alias Demolition Man, and turned her attention to the other couples in their line-up. They were all very good. She and Darren had danced against some of them in previous competitions. Anthony and his cousin Gail were good enough, but they had never beaten them yet; many others she was seeing today for the first time. It was something she had not taken into account: there would be others dancing in their section whose abilities a mystery were to her. They could either be brilliant or bad. Whatever. It was not knowing that gave her the willies. The “Surprise Element”, her mother always used to say. “My child, beware of that and know your enemy. Know your competition. Good conflict and drama make good stories, and there’s nothing like the element of surprise and an aura of mystery to destroy the opposition.”  Always, when her mother spoke like that, Lee-Ann could feel how her brow knitted in a frown as she tried to make sense of her mother’s literary/political/social utterings. “Oh, look! What’s that I see upon thy brow? A Question Mark?”

Sigh. Her mother was a writer. She knew what she was muttering about. They usually get Grace Dean back in public places like restaurants: “Sir, she’s no relation of ours!”

The quickstep was almost over, and very soon the announcer would call them to take the floor. They were standing almost at the back of the line-up, being of the taller competitors. The girls had make-up applied, some light, others like Dolly, had heavy make-up with fake lashes. Didn’t they announce a few competitions back that the lower grades should not wear make-up? Dolly looked like a “Replica of An Overpainted Doll”. Lee-Ann almost snickered at the image. She had seen a wall painting in the foyer of a modern building in town. A painting of a young girl whose face was all out of proportion with large, grotesque eyes. A smile lifted the corners of her mouth. The phrase did sound like the title of a painting, or that play she saw when she was little - about six years little. “The Wedding of the Painted Doll”. Dolly turned and smiled at her. The girl looked overdone and overpriced for Junior Level 2 Ballroom. Lee-Ann thought of kicking herself for thinking such an unkindly thing, but sometimes she just felt a little bit like bitching back at these replicas of Miss Teen USA.. Dolly’s smile was too brittle, too artificial, like those beauty pageant contestants who forced their faces into smiles to impress the adjudicators, and to please their mothers. She smiled back at couple No.156 - Dolly and her partner. Her father taught her the value of Good Manners, straight from the Handbook of Behaviour and Etiquette. Great Aunt Mabel would have simply have said: “Child, it’s just common courtesy”.

Barracudas. That’s what the other girls and boys reminded her of. Not so much the boys, she conceded. Mostly, they wanted to play soccer or cricket and couldn’t care less about make-up and fake nails. Hungry for revenge, ready to attack and to be placed first so they could be noticed. Her Dad called them “Spike-blasters”. They had spikes instead of guns and shot them straight from the hip. “Didn’t you feel the sting, Lee-Ann? You’re their worst nightmare, and they have voodoo dolls to annihilate you.” She had no clue what he meant. She was only thirteen and her parents spoke half the time like weirdoes. Her mother was a crazy intellectual, but she’s forgiven. She played fair, and that was what counted.

Lee-Ann cast Darren a furtive glance, then quickly looked at the giant strobe hanging high over the centre of the dance floor. To her right, on uncomfortable looking scaffolding, the camera of E-TV was perched with a man whose figure she could only just discern in the darkened section. At least it didn’t escape her that the man was blonde. It didn’t help any that he was dressed in black. She wondered - a stray thought that just crept into her head - whether all television crew were dressed in black. It did lend a kind of efficient, professional air to the whole outfit. She smiled inwardly. She’d take the floor with Darren and just hoped they danced so well, Mr Black&Blonde wouldn’t be able to pan his camera on any other couple. At least not on Dolly and her partner. Not that Lee-Ann was vain, or anything, or that the very low down grades like Ballroom Level 1 would ever appear on TV, but it was a nice feeling just knowing some shadowy figure up there liked what they were doing on the floor down here.

“Hey, you’re dreaming again,” Darren whispered as he leaned closer to her.

“I’m nervous.”

“Me, too. Roy and Missy are going to win, I just know that.”

“At least they’re nice. I don’t mind them winning. I like Missy...”

“Who else is there?”

“Robin Hood and Maid Marian…”

“Who?”

“Behind us, dummy. The one with the long braid that curls round her head. Her partner  had a green cummerbund and bow tie for Latin to go with her green skirt...”

Darren almost choked as he turned to look at the couple behind them, then  he smiled at Lee-Ann.

“Robin Hood, huh.”

“They’ll eat us alive, Darren. We - “

The announcer’s voice cut in sharply: “Thank you-u-u-u!”  The music stopped and the dancers of Juvenile Level 3 left the floor, moving in different directions to reach their families or coaches. 

“Hey, don’t forget to take your cherry’s hand. Lead her off the floor!”

Lee-Ann snorted when the announcer said that. He always reminded the boys to lead their partners off the floor and he always called them ‘cherries’.  In a few moments they would be on the floor. A sudden warmth flooded her body. It was the kind of adrenaline that made her want to rush for the toilets. Whenever she was afraid, that happened. But it happened when she was over-excited too. So she took a deep breath to calm herself. She noticed how Darren too, inhaled deeply, then expelled a long sigh.

“We’re on…” he whispered, but she could see how dry his lips looked. And his eyes... He suddenly looked…afraid.

“And now, Junior Level 2 Modern - two dances,” the announcer called out.

Darren took Lee-Ann’s hand; they followed the couples on the smoothly polished floor of the Good Hope Centre. He led her quickly to a spot on the floor where Coach said they had to start. Darren twirled her and Lee-Ann completed her twirl with a curtsy for the audience nearest them.

“Smile, Dammit,” Darren said through clenched teeth as she poised to face him, her hands loosely at her sides.

Lee-Ann smiled, but it was more for the way Darren imitated Demolition Man. She knew they were standing very close to one of the adjudicators and that was good. As long as they were seen moving first. That’s what Demolition Man said. They’ll be noticed and marked. Suddenly, a calm came over her, and her nervousness seeped out of her body. They were going to make it. She knew it. She could feel it, so she gave Darren her most dazzling smile. It didn’t matter if her eyes closed whenever she smiled. Everything was going to be alright. 

“And now for the beautiful Waltz,” came the announcer’s voice.

The music started and Lee-Ann floated into Darren’s arms to Celine Dion singing.

There was a loud applause as the quickstep ended and the dancers left the floor. Eager parents and trainers waited to receive and congratulate, comfort, encourage their charges, kiss them or dry their tears. Darren was holding Lee-Ann’s hand as per the instruction of the announcer. Grace Dean knew Lee-Ann hated being called a ‘cherry’ since she noisily declared she wasn’t anyone’s girlfriend. But then, they tended to call all the girls cherry, drawing out the first syllable longer than was required.

“Darren and Lee-Ann,” Grace said as she leaned over to her husband, “will reach the final.”

“Is that your final word on it, Grace?” Melvin asked.

They were seated half-way up the ramp, facing the floor along its length, so they were able to see the couples move around it, dancing from left to right. Melvin’s look challenged her, but it was too late. She had already seen the glint of pride in them. So she sidled closer, felt the narrow gap between the two chairs pinch her bottom. She  winced before she made herself comfortable halfway across his lap. Melvin blushed. That’s how she got him. She settled back, brushed a hair from her face and  tried to look dignified before she declared proudly:

“It is. They were streets better than most. Though I think that girl with the barracuda smile will give them something to dance for.”

“She probably has a name. “

“Melvin, I had no idea I should have to remind you of the obvious.” Melvin rewarded her with a  gloating smile. She knew he was baiting her. He had the programme in his hand but he loved to make her slightly madder than she was already. “Yes, it’s couple 156. I think Lee-Ann calls her Dolly.”

“Dolly, huh. She does look, well, painted, I should imagine.”

“Be fair, Mr Dean. We should not, and I say this with some concern lest the unfortunate individuals should hear it, call the children names.”

“I didn’t start it,” he complained.

“Oh, yes? Then who was it who called that tall, thin, long-limbed lanky boy Le Dessossé?

“Grace! You said he reminded you of The Boneless Wonder”.

“I did?”

“Don’t you dare go stupid on me, Grace Dean. You showed me Le Dessossé on paintings by Toulouse-Lautrec. Oh, look, the children are  coming this way...”

Grace looked up, distracted from her sparring with Melvin and only absently noting that the Junior Level 3 Modern had started their waltz. Lee-Ann and Darren were heading their way. Grace shook her head as she saw how Lee-Ann came towards them.  How the hell did the girls manage to run up and down the steps on two and a half inch heels? She herself had stumbled several times just navigating the steps, trying to avoid knocking into the KiddieDancers who were doing monkey tricks on the banisters. 

“Mom! Dad!”

“We hear you. And hello to you too, Darren.”

Lee-Ann bent down to kiss her mother. Grace felt the strong musculature as she hugged her daughter. The girl was out of breath, taking short gasps between phrases.

“I think it went better this time, Daddy.”

Melvin tweaked Lee-Ann’s ear, then patted her cheek. Grace could write ten essays on just how the look was on her husband’s face as he looked at Lee-Ann. It was a mixture of indulgence and pride and love. He was constitutionally unable to reprimand and punish.

“You did look good, sweetheart. Darren is a good partner.”

Darren peeped from behind Lee-Ann.

“Thank you, Mr Dean”

“You’ll go far - “

“In the final, yes,” interrupted Grace as Lee-Ann bent down at the same time  to take an energy drink from her tog bag.

“You think so?” Lee-Ann asked after a long swig from the bottle. She looked at Darren, offered him the bottle. “Wanna drink?” Darren pulled his face, then shook his head.

“I get it. You don’t like this flavour...”

“Maybe he isn’t thirsty,” Melvin said.

“Oh, he is. He just doesn’t like bubblegum flavour.”

“Is that why all the bottles are - ?”

Lee-Ann shook her head vigorously. “I always get a cheap round, Daddy...”

“You’re a skinflint like your Great Aunt Mabel,” Grace said and before she could continue, Lee-Ann grabbed Darren by the arm and pulled him down the steps with her. He managed a hasty good-bye before they were gone. Grace blinked several times and shook her head like a long-eared golden cocker spaniel.

“Was that a tornado that just hit us?” Melvin asked as he sat back and threw his arm across Grace’s shoulder.

“I have no idea. She’s your daughter. You tell me.”

“Well, Grace, my love, we raised one daughter through her Roaring Teens, counselled and threatened and loved her to bits and pieces. Lee-Ann...” He gave a sigh that Grace knew would herald the serious grown-up moment between them. “Be prepared to catch her when she falls...”

“’When’, Melvin, as opposed to ‘if’ she falls?”

“Mrs Dean, they will always fall. Depend upon it. It’s not a question of ‘if’, but ‘when’. It doesn’t matter how well we think we raised them....”

“Shall we dispel the current climate of doom and watch the...” Grace grabbed the programme from him, peered myopically on the page and continued: “Junior Level 4 Ballroom...”

Mr Dean, not given to display affection in public, put his arm round Mrs Dean’s shoulder, looked in her brown eyes and whispered:

“Sure, baby...”

They were called back for the final.

Lee-Ann had jumped up and down, smiled till her eyes almost closed, pinched Darren’s arm hard then hugged him. After that they rushed to the starting line-up for the final. They had time to wave in their parents’ direction, then vanished after that.

Grace and Melvin Dean simply nodded when Lee-Ann and Darren’s number was called. No sighs, no nervous chewing of nails, no blood rushing to the head. Too unassuming, an outsider would have said. Perhaps they held their breath for a moment, but there was never any doubt in their minds that Darren Bailey and Lee-Ann Dean made a good partnership. A very good partnership.  So they joined the rest of the mothers and fathers and aunts, brothers and sisters of the Dancers of the Erica Dance Academy and applauded the couple who were now standing on the dance floor, ready to begin the final.

With only six couples on the floor, there was more room for manoeuvring, good footwork and avoiding getting hit by flying elbows. It was something Grace noticed. Sometimes there could be only two couples on the floor, but inevitably they gravitated to the centre like two magnets until they collided.

A warm hand covered Grace’s hand and she looked gratefully at her husband. She never fooled him, however eccentric she behaved at times. His antennae were continuously tuned in on her frequency. So what if he sensed she was just as excited and nervous and on the edge of her seat and...afraid?

She wanted Lee-Ann to do well. Their daughter looked surprisingly, wonderfully, unexpectedly good on the floor. She hadn’t given Lee-Ann much credit for sticking through with ballroom. At one point she wanted to play rugby. The girl was getting involved in so many sporting events she “just wanted to try out.”

A rush of warmth spread through Grace, a feeling she got most of the time when she sat down with her laptop and started on a new story outline. Melvin had merely taken everything in his stride and more often than not, provided the sobriety she and Lee-Ann needed. He was just so...solid. And now the look was in his dark eyes. Everything about him was dark. His eyes, hair - he ignored the grey streaks at the temples, dismissed the dignified gentlemanly look - was black and his skin was dark. Then there was the perpetual frown. Not any indication of worry or stress - he was too controlled for that - but just the way the skin of his forehead puckered,  as if the doctor had taken a scalpel during the birthing process and made a little mark there. Like a Physician’s Signature.   Melvin’s hand felt warm and the calm spread from him into her. She sighed.

“They’ll do well, Gracie. Don’t worry.”

“Have I told you lately how much you love me?”

The waltz started and Melvin clasped Grace’s hand tighter. Throughout the waltz and the quickstep, they sat like that, watching Darren Prince guide Lee-Ann with ease. Lee-Ann even managed a smile. They looked good, they looked like they floated. They looked...top three.

“Thank you-u-u-u,” the announcer called out when the music stopped.

A sigh of relief escaped them as the dancers stopped and started to walk off the floor.

“Now that’s done,” Melvin declared matter-of-factly.

“Mom! Daddy!” Lee-Ann’s voice rang over the noise of children and the music. She waved her certificate and trophy for them to see. Darren was just behind her as they came up the steps again.

“They’re coming to present their spoils of the day...” Melvin said.

“We shall have to build an additional fireplace in the family room,” Grace said, her voice sounding thoughtful.

“Huh?”

“Why, so there can be another mantelpiece where she can display her trophies.”

Melvin burst out laughing. When the dancers reached them, Lee-Ann stumbled into her father’s arms.

“So, you’re happy with the second place, Lee-Ann?” Lee-Ann extricated herself and leaned over to kiss her mother.

“Next year I’ll be standing on the highest part of the podium, right, Darren?”

“If it’s okay with you, Lee-Ann.” he answered with a smile as Melvin shook his hand.

“Congratulations, you two. You’ve done more than well. I’m proud of you...”

“Thanks, Daddy!” Lee-Ann breathed, unable to contain her excitement. Earlier they had been placed fourth in the Latin-American, but they hadn’t been disappointed.

“We’ve only been dancing together a few months. We know what we can do and what our limits are,” she had said at the dinner table one evening. To which her mother had replied with equal aplomb:

“Or your limitations.”

Lee-Ann had given her mother one of her grins.

“Yeah, that too,” she had replied.

Now Lee-Ann looked much more relaxed, the tension gone, and free to mix with her friends from her school and new ones she made from other schools. She thrust her certificate and trophy in her mother’s lap. “Put it away, Mom,” she ordered. Then, she seized Darren’s hand and tugged him away from her parents. Grace looked down at the trophy and certificate Lee-Ann unceremoniously dumped in her lap and sighed.

“The new mantelpiece, Grace,” Melvin muttered succinctly, “will soon be full.”

The young dancers were standing near the tuck shop. Little children - the boys dressed in black trousers with white shirts and bow ties - dashed wildly about, screaming and chasing one another, one or two sailing deftly across the floor until he skidded to a halt in front of the bigger children.

“Who would say they just looked so nice and reserved on the dance floor?” Lee-Ann asked, sipping her energy drink.

“Yeah, butter wouldn’t melt in their mouths, so innocent they look,” came Darren’s rejoinder.

“They’re little pests. I’m ashamed to say I was like that once upon a time…” Lee-Ann replied. She shooed one of them away. The boy laughed at her, then ran in the opposite direction, hurrying after one of his friends.

“Anthony, what did Demolition man say after your performance?” Darren asked him.

“Come, on, Anthony, he must have said something,” Lee -Ann coaxed. Sometimes she thought Anthony was too shy. He hardly spoke unless she spoke to him first. Lately, he had begun to be a little more talkative. At least, he didn’t reply in monosyllables.  

“Yeah, say something,” Darren echoed Lee-Ann’s words.

Darren had been busy eating a hot dog and wiped the last crumbs from his mouth. Anthony laughed a little nervously. A slow blush crept into his face. He was a tall boy, almost as tall as Darren, but he was a year older. Lee-Ann knew he was thirteen and Darren was twelve. Both boys still had to go to high school when she was already in grade 8. Anthony was thin. Thin as a reed. Maybe as thin as her mother’s favourite thin dancer, that…that Le Dessossé. She liked the way Anthony’s shirt and trousers fitted on him. Darren looked good too, but he was still a child.

Most of the time Lee-Ann was more astute, more in control of what happened around her. Darren’s level of interest remained with cartoons and PlayStation. She like cartoons too, but Darren couldn’t detect the humour in The Simpsons, or, appreciate classics like Bugs Bunny imitating Bing Crosby. She doubted Darren ever heard Bing Crosby sing. Maybe she was unfair. They all liked movies and music, and that was fine, though she was raised in a house where she heard anything from Metallica to Mozart. She and Darren waited for Anthony to speak.

“So? What’d he say?” Darren asked again.

Anthony looked at the two of them, then cleared his throat.

“My cousin is too short for me,” Anthony replied morosely. He didn’t look too happy. Lee-Ann clicked her tongue in sympathy and Darren put his hand on Anthony’s shoulder.

“If it’s any comfort, Demolition Man told us we need to work harder on our floor craft. We almost fell twice and he was mad as hell.”

“But you came second, Darren. We didn’t even make it to the finals!”

“Second, yes. But it wasn’t first like he wanted.”

“Maybe your mother should give Gail growing meal.”

“Or ten litres of energy drinks!”

“I like dancing with her. She’ll grow, I suppose. She must…” Anthony said reflectively, then smiled as he realised he was stating something obvious.

“Hey,” Darren asked suddenly, “you’re going to Kelsey’s party next week?” His eyes suddenly sparkled as he remembered the birthday party of one of the dancers. He bobbed heel-toe like he wanted to rush to the bathroom. Lee-An smothered a laugh.

“I haven’t been invited yet,” Anthony replied, the glumness of earlier dispelled.

“Kelsey said it’s okay. He’ll phone you on Monday,” Lee-Ann said, slapping his arm. “Then I can teach you to jazz!”

That brought a wide grin to Anthony’s face and he was just about to say something when another girl joined the group. They looked at the newcomer.

“Hello, Nikita,” Lee-Ann greeted her.

She was never nasty or anything to Nikita, nor were the two boys. But Nikita’s presence put a little damper on their conversation. “A real conversation stopper”, her mother would have said. Nikita was a dancer, but she had no partner. Everyone in the school knew that her partner walked out on her, but no one knew why. She had been dancing in the pre-championship section when she was forced to stop. Now she was out of dancing for more than a year, still looking for a partner. They were always careful what they said around Nikita although she was very friendly and open enough with everyone. But she was Demolition Man’s niece, and sometimes, only sometimes, Nikita did tend to be a little haughty. It was only about her dancing that she was like that. They were all still Level 2 anything, and started with Level . Demolition Man had moulded them from nothing into dancers. Nikita, however, had already danced like some of the Pre-Championship dancers they had seen today, and they knew they still had a long, long way to go before they reached that stage.

“Patience,” her father always said, “teaches you to understand yourself.”

Yeah, she knew that she’d get there one day. Just sometimes, she couldn’t wait.

“I might get a new partner next year,” Nikita said conversationally.

“Really?” Darren asked.

“Oh, yes. Then I can dance again…”

“I’m glad. You’re always just sitting around when we’re practising during the week,” Anthony said.

“Listen, have to go now. My Mom’s probably looking for me.”

They greeted and Lee-Ann left them still standing near the tuck shop, very glad that the uneasy moments were over. The two boys could keep Nikita company, but she wanted to watch the Adult Championship dancers. They moved with so much grace and deportment, it was always a joy to see them in action. They were her role models, especially Craig and Denia who were already National Champions. She admired them and one day she wanted to dance like that, in a beautiful ballroom gown without the feathers, with just as much expertise and class as her heroes. She didn’t like feather boas. They reminded her of male ostriches dancing to attract a mate. She giggled at the image. Here it was the female dancers who dressed to kill. Their dresses were so beautiful! The men? Mostly, they looked suave, debonair in their white ties and tails. She pictured them always as she remembered Fred Astaire dancing in Royal Wedding, or Gene Kelly, or Bing Crosby and Frank Sinatra when they sang What a swell party this is.

She gave a contended sigh, forgot all about Demolition Man’s meanness when he said they should have come first. She was happy with their result in the Ballroom event. Her parents were happy, so were Darren and his mother. Why worry over Demolition Man’s mean streak? But then, he did get his name of Demolition Man because he was always so mean, never satisfied with what they or any of his dancers achieved. He never rushed to congratulate them like the other trainers, and very few of the dancers were encouraged to approach him and discuss their performance. No, she thought, he was never as inviting as that. Some teachers in schools were like that. Some parents were like that. She was glad her Mom and Dad always told her that she had to define her own parameters and work to her own best ability and what she was capable of. It really does take two to tango, she realised with an inward grin, remembering the phrase people always used when only the one side got the blame for anything. She and Darren were responsible for their success, and when they did badly, the partnership had to take the blame. Sometimes, it was nice to know that one would cover for the other. As soon as they progressed to level 3 sometime early in the new year, she hoped, the tango would be the new dance added to the waltz and quickstep. Demolition Man had already started training everyone to dance the tango. They just gritted their teeth whenever he was in “demolition mode”.

When she rounded one corner around the back of the stage, she skidded to a halt. She saw her parents in deep conversation with Demolition Man, of all people! She hurried past them, sure that they hadn’t even noticed her. When she was in the auditorium again, Lee-Ann walked directly to where The Twins Squared were seated and breathed a sigh of relief as two sets of double vision turned to her, saying simultaneously: “Hi, Lee-Ann!”.

Grace and Melvin Dean had been walking to stretch their legs in the mini-break that the dancers were allowed and spotted Coach Alby Brinkmann standing with his sister - Nikita’s mother - in conversation. They looked preoccupied, but as soon as the couple approached them, they turned their attention to Grace and Melvin.

“Hello, Alby,” Melvin greeted, shaking Alby’s hand.

“Hello, you two,” he replied, and Emily gave them a friendly nod as she, too, took Melvin’s hand.

Grace Dean thought they looked like two conspirators cooking up something, though she dismissed that thought as irrelevant. They were friendly enough.

“Good day, Emily, Alby,” she said.

“Well, what do you think of the competition so far?” Melvin asked.

“The standard is very high this year,” he responded, smiling till his eyes almost closed. Grace always thought his smile went into overdrive if he wanted to butter up parents, like he was going to do at that moment. She had been in a profession before where the same thing happened. Never tell the parents the same thing you told the children. That could mean anything, right to spacing out the kids when the parents were out of ear shot and sighting range. The parents were always told a much diluted version of the ‘give them hell’ routine in the training sessions.

But this coach knew his work. He trained well, and at this point, it was the best thing that could be said about him. What they were going to hear was probably going to be the real McCoy…she hoped.

“We’ve seen some pretty tough competition, Alby. Are you happy with Erica Academy’s overall performance today?”

“Well, yes,” he muttered, “they’ve done well enough under the circumstances. Your Lee-Ann did pretty well...”

“Yes, we’re quite happy with their result in the ballroom. They looked very good together, I think,” Grace offered, hoping that she did appear to have some knowledge of the subject and speak with conviction.

“They’ve only started out mid-year together,” Melvin said, “and they’ve been either first or second in all their competitions.”

“Yes, they have a lot going for them - “

“You think so?” Grace interjected.

“As a coach and trainer, why do you suppose they’re doing so well together for a couple that started out only recently?” Melvin asked.

“Yes, exactly what makes them stand out from others that catches the eyes of the adjudicators?”

Coach Brinkmann’s mouth curved into a smile. His eyes narrowed. He waved his hands in a flourish.

“They have The Look”.

Melvin looked non-plussed. “Huh?”

“I don’t understand,” Grace said. “What do you mean by ‘they have the look’?

“He means they have the look of champions,” Emily offered.

Grace had no problem picking up the energy vibes on that. That must have been what Emily and her brother were discussing before she and Melvin arrived. In the auditorium rave music played and Grace knew that most of the dances were on the floor ‘line dancing’ and doing crazy hip-hop stunts.  It was a crazy thing, trying to wrap her brain around graceful ballroom dancers who were dancing hip-hop during the break.

“They will always be in a final,” Brinkmann said shortly, the hands not waving about as he said that, but his smile was something enigmatic.

“But... The Look? Melvin asked again, not wholly satisfied with Brinkmann’s reply and Grace was certain by this time that he was just humouring them. Brinkmann’s beady eyes were serious enough though. Grace too, wanted to know about “the look” and she was convinced that Brinkmann had not told either Lee-Ann or Darren that they had “the look”, whatever that was.

“The moment they take the floor, they have the appearance of grace, poise and posture. It’s rare around here, I can tell you that. It’s an intangible, a quality that defies description. It’s something the adjudicators pick up instantly as their eyes home in on the first movement on the floor. Lee-Ann, particularly, helps the partnership because of her intuitive feel for movement and interpretation of the music and rhythm...”

“Well, that explains it then,” Melvin said, looking quite pleased with himself. “I’m glad to know Lee-Ann has poise.”

“I think the ballet and modern jazz helped when she was in Junior School,” Grace added.

“They’re wonderful together,” Brinkmann agreed, to which Emily nodded her head vigorously as if she were a little child given permission to play on the swings. Grace had a feeling that Emily was yay-saying her brother. The two of them had danced until they turned professional, and it seemed to Grace that Brother Brinkmann was leading his sister off the floor as well. Not good, even for a sister-brother relationship. Especially for a sister-brother relationship, she amended.

“A partnership not to be split,” Melvin said reflectively.

“They have The Look, that’s why,” Grace added, smiling and nudging her husband in the ribcage. It was the sign that they had overstayed their welcome in the company of the Brinkmann duo. Earlier she had seen Lee-Ann pass them, and Lee-Ann had given a quick, quizzical glance in their direction before hurriedly moving off to the auditorium.

“Well,” Melvin said, shaking Brinkmann’s hand again, “we must be off. It’s been good talking to you...”

“Yes, thanks,” Grace said as she took Melvin’s arm and moved away, in the direction she had seen their daughter moving.

“What do you think of Brinkmann’s assessment?” Melvin asked when they were out of earshot of Alby and his sister.

“I always knew Lee-Ann would be graceful in dance.”

“That’s not what I meant, Grace.”

“About ‘the look’?”

“Yes. The Look.”

“I’ll tell you this, Melvin. I have no reason not to believe Brinkmann. He’s been paying them more attention in the evening classes, did you notice? I wondered why, since all of the dancers are in Level 2...”

“Yes, and that worries me somewhat. I’d hate for them to be singled out for special attention.”

“But if they have The Look, it might help if he explored it and gave them more scope. - “

“Not at the expense of the others, Gracie.”

Gracie. Whenever he turned her into a diminutive, he was concerned, the endearment slipping out naturally.

“I understand. Perhaps we should address him on that issue, then.”

When they walked towards where the children of Erica School of Dancing were sitting, they spotted Lee-Ann immediately where she was talking animatedly to The Twins Squared. In a shared moment of intimate exchange, Grace said to Melvin:

“I daresay, Mr Dean, our daughter has The Look.”

“With developing line and shape...” Mr Dean added proudly, looking like he did the day Lee-Ann was born.

“A good couple, you say?”

“I concur, Mrs Dean, there’s a champion couple in the making...”

*************

to be continued...

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