We turn to face the ballroom, but before Jack can even take my hand, I’m off.
I can hear Simple Minds playing a triumphant soundtrack in my head as I sashay into the room, flicking my boa off one shoulder. I surge through the milling people like a supermodel on her runway. As the band plays “Fly Me to the Moon” at background volume, I can see people turning to stare, so I smile with cool amusement.
I strut right onto the empty dance floor, and I–
I’ve got nowhere to go! I’m going to run out of room soon. Then what do I do? Hit the wall then stride back like a swimmer doing laps? Where’s the bar? I can dock at the bar, toss back my hair, and order a Scotch. But like a quarterback who just can’t deviate from the play to find the open man, I can see nowhere but straight ahead of me. End of dance floor. Wall beyond. But there’s a door to the right. Kitchen, maybe? I could offer to help. That’s it. I’ll detour to the kitchen.
But before I can tuck my boa around me like an apron, Jack is in front of me, at the edge of the dance floor. In one fluid movement, he sweeps me into his arms, and before I know it, we glide out onto the middle of the parquet floor, floating along to the ambient strains of the band.
Jack looks down at me with a hint of smile, as if we’re simply tripping the light fantastic and he didn’t just save my ass.
…what life is like on Jupiter and Mars…
He dips me. Everyone is watching. He swings me up with confident flair.
“You’re pretty good at this,” he says, pulling me close.
“I think you make me look good.” I twirl into his embrace. “And anyway, this kind of dancing isn’t scary. It’s fast dancing, alone on the floor, that freaks me out.”
“You weren’t doing so bad on your own.” He spins me away from him but doesn’t let go of my hand. “That was a hell of an entrance you made.” He folds me back in to him.
“How’d you get to the other side of the dance floor so fast?”
“It was like running through a roomful of statues,” he murmurs in my ear. “Everyone was looking at you.” He swings me out then pulls me into him as the song ends. Next, he kisses me on the forehead.
I step back but we’re still holding hands. “Thanks for the dance,” I say looking up at him.
“Drink?”
“I’m jonesing for a Coke. Let’s go.”
We walk toward the bar, where it’s surrounded by potted palms and flanked by a fountain shaped like a champagne glass. I’m so fascinated by the fountain I almost plow right over Jack’s mother. She’s standing with a balding man who must be Jack’s father.
“Hello, dear,” she says to me, standing back to look at me in all my snow-blinding impropriety.
I steel myself for her imminent cattiness.
“Don’t you look charming,” she says instead. Her smile sparkles as much as her black and copper top. “Frank,” she says to the man peering at me over his glasses. “Isn’t she sweet?”
“Oh, yes, yes,” he says, falling in line. “I’m Jack’s father,” he says to me. “His, uh, dad. Daddy, really.”
Daddy
?
I look over at Jack and he’s staring at his parents as if they’ve started speaking Klingon.
Edna looks heavenward, then looks back at Jack. “Wasn’t it nice of you to bring your little friend. What center did you say she was from again?”
“Center?” I echo.
“Yes, dear,” she says, looking tenderly at me, still all smiles and charm. “Where you and Jack met.”
I look at him.
“Are you talking about HEYA?” he asks.
“HEYA,” she says. “That’s it! They do good work, don’t they? Look at you,” she says, turning back to me and pinching my cheek.
Pinching my cheek!
“You are just so precious,” she says.
I look wildly back at Jack. But his eyes are bugging out as much as mine are. He’s doing the George-Bailey-has-just-realized-he-doesn’t-exist look.
Shock. Utter stupefaction.
Terror, even.
“Mom?” He sounds like he’s checking to see if she’s dead or merely asleep.
She turns to him, her dark hair swinging as she takes a sip of her cocktail. “Is it okay that she’s not wearing her helmet?”
In stereo, Jack and I say, “Helmet?”
Edna laughs with such airy delight it has to be fake. “Relax, Jack. You need a drink, but just a small one so you can get your little friend home safely. Frank, go get him some Scotch. And something for his little friend, but probably nothing with alcohol or caffeine in it.” She adds the last part in a loud whisper that I can totally hear.
When Frank takes off, Jack takes my hand. “Lisa, you remember this is my mom, Edna. Mom, this is Lisa. You can stop calling her my little friend.”
“Yes,” I say, shaking her hand, feeling very confused. “Uh, Lisa.”
“Li-sa!” she says in a sing-song voice. “I remember. What a pretty name! And how do you spell that?” I swear she sounds like she’s talking to a toddler who just learned how to poop in the right places.
“Mom,” Jack interrupts, “I think I’ll take Lisa around and introduce her to some people, I guess.”
Edna turns back to me. “Now, Lisa, there’s nothing to be afraid of.”
She’s positively cooing. Where’s the Edna from the office? The one who made the final call-back for
What Ever Happened to Baby Jane?
“We’re all very nice people,” she continues, taking my hand. “Just say hello and shake hands and everyone will like you.”
“Thanks, Mom.” Jack pulls me away right quick, leading me off into the crowd.
“How much has she had to drink?” I whisper.
“I don’t know.” He says his words so evenly I know he must be concerned.
“Does she drink a lot?”
“No.” He looks around. “Maybe it’s her weight loss medication or something. But that wouldn’t explain my Dad. Maybe it’s some New Age thing.” He stops talking, cocks his head for a few seconds, and then starts laughing.
“New Age what?” I pull on his sleeve, wanting to be let in on the secret.
“Or maybe it’s just their idea of a joke.”
I still don’t get it, and Jack sees as much from my blank expression.
“I survive my relationship with my parents because I don’t take them seriously. Maybe they’ve decided not to take me so seriously. Man,” he says, looking their way. “This could be fun.”
I’m struck dumb. Parents can be
fun
? Parents who criticize, blame, demand?
They
could be
fun
?
Maybe it could happen somewhere over the rainbow where everything black and white turns to color. Maybe. And if so, and Jack’s found it, that makes him Dorothy, the one person special enough to figure out how to get there.
As I realize how black and white my own world is, Jack reconsiders.
“Or,” he muses, “it’s possible they don’t approve of you so they’re acting like freaks to scare you off.”
“Scare me? Me? Why me?”
“I never bring someone to these things. Never. Now that I have, they must think we’re serious. That is, of course, unacceptable to them. You’re not from any crowd of which they approve. So, they’re trying to scare you away.”
Must think we’re serious
. But are we?
Jack didn’t exactly say. Are we? ARE WE?
But before Jack can suspect how desperately I want to know, I bark out a laugh. “Well, their plan would never work. I mean, you’re way scarier, and I’m here, aren’t I?”
Jack smiles at me. “You are,” he says, pulling me closer. “Let’s dance.”
Heaven
.
I’m in heaven
…
I waft like a feather toward the dance floor with Jack, but just as we’re about to step out together, dancing cheek to cheek, Frank comes rushing up to us. “Here, Jack.” He pushes a glass with about two fingers of Scotch in it at Jack.
“Thanks.” Jack’s brows slam together as he tosses it back.
Then Frank stoops to get eye level with me. “And here you go, little missy.” Big, scary smile. “It’s a Shirley Temple.”
“Uh, thanks,” I say, taking the drink.
“Now, don’t you spill that all over your pretty dress,” he warns.
“Dad?” Jack takes him by the arm.
He pats Jack on the shoulder. “Right. Well. Well.” He turns and leaves us, heading back toward Edna.
I set my drink on the nearest passing tray. “Yuck.” I look up at Jack. “I mean, it was really nice of him, but, well, yuck.”
“Yeah. Shall we?”
I take his hand, and onto the dance floor we go. As each song ends, my pulse throbs in time with terror.
Please don’t let them play a fast song
.
Please don’t let them play a fast song
.
So far they haven’t. And maybe I’m safe for the night. I mean, it’s an orchestra. The rowdiest they’ve gotten is, “I’m Beginning to See the Light.”
When the musicians take a break, Jack gets me a sparkling water and leads me to a table. “Hang on,” he says, and before I know it, he’s gone. I start nibbling at the salad in front of me. I look at the couple across the table. They’re both wearing chic black and their teeth are blinding. They smile when I look their way.
“Hi,” I say. “I’m Lisa.”
“We saw you dancing,” the woman says. “You’re very good.”
“Thank you,” I say. “That’s very nice of you.”
“It’s wonderful for you to get out like this,” the man says. “Not many… uh… not many have this kind of chance.”
As the lady elbows him, I just stare. Is he seriously saying that I should be honored to rub elbows with the Orange County elite? Maybe I was right and they’re not so nice after all.
“That’s a beautiful dress you have on,” the woman jumps in to say.
But before I can answer, Jack is back, sliding into the chair next to me. “Are you ready?”
“For what?”
“You’re on.”
“On what?”
But just then I hear it, the throbbing beat of Jimmy Eats World. I swing my head around. A DJ at a table in the corner is taking over for the orchestra on break.
“Jack….”
“Go on,” he says, smiling. “The DJ’s playing it just for you.”
“By myself? Fast dancing? Right after I ate?”
“You can do it.” His quiet voice belies the intensity of those damn eyes. Tonight, Jack isn’t challenging, goading, or demanding. He just believes in me.
You can pull this off
.
I smile, grab my boa, and take off for the dance floor.
I get to the center just as the lyrics kick in.
Hey, don’t count yourself out yet
…
At first, I just kind of vibrate, trying to feel the rhythm in my heart, like they do in
Strictly Ballroom
. But before I can get a bead on the beat, my leg starts this kind of thumping, making my toe tap. Adrenaline shoots through me, and as the chorus kicks in, I close my eyes and start hopping around.
But it makes me dizzy, so I open my eyes just in time to see myself careening off the dance floor into a potted palm. I grab at the branches to stop my momentum, hop back to the dance floor, and keep right on bouncing my butt all around.
I kick out my feet and flick my boa. At one point, I think I’m channeling Molly Ringwald from
The Breakfast Club
.
I wave my arms in the air, then drop them to swish my feathers like a mermaid tail. I am one with the song. I am skipping, I am spinning. The world is a blur and I am on fire.
No one joins me on the dance floor but I don’t care. I am music. I am rhythm.
When the song ends, I stop with a flair, then let the feathers settle. I stand there breathing hard for a split second, like Troy Bolton at the end of “Breakin’ Free.” Then everyone erupts into applause. There are even a few whistles and shouts of “Lisa!”
My face splits into a huge, unstoppable smile. I did it!
I search for Jack, but his chair at the table is empty. A split second later, he sweeps me into his arms as another song begins.
Jack spins me around and hugs me tight. “You did it, Lisa! You really did.”
Jack smells really good. And feels really, really awesome. Wow. I never get this close to him. Even with all the sex we’ve had, we don’t touch all that much. Except that one time in the shower. But that was naked and wet and very different. I sink into him until he finally lets me go.
“How did I look?” I ask.
“Like you were having the time of your life.”
I swear I want to kiss him, right here in front of his parents and everyone.
The DJ’s voice booms across the music. “Let’s hear it for Little Lisa!”
My head whips toward the bandstand.
Little Lisa
?
“Jack,” I ask, “was your last date to one of these things fat, or really tall, maybe?”
“No,” he laughs, pulling me into the dance. “I guess it’s just that you’re so damn cute.”
We dance into the next song, and as we do, people keep floating by telling me how much they love my dancing and my dress and my boa. One lady even calls it a ‘feather poof.’
After the next song, I go back to the table while Jack brings the DJ a drink, to thank him for playing a song just for me. While I try to be discreet about sucking down my sparkling water, the woman at my table glitters at me. “What an incredible dance,” she says with a sigh.
“Yes,” the man joins in. “You really are amazing.”
Amazing? Jeez. Did Jack tell them about my fear of dancing? I can feel myself blush. “Thanks,” I murmur, looking over toward Jack, wondering if he betrayed me to perfect strangers. Sure, he looks so innocent, smiling with the DJ, but–
Suddenly, from across the room, Jack looks angry. And he grabs the DJ by the collar! Jack’s arm knocks into the mike, and his voice reverberates through the room, through my head, through my skin.
“–THINK SHE’S MENTALLY IMPAIRED?”
She’s mentally impaired
.
Oh, God.
Is she okay without her helmet? … Li-sa! How do you spell that? … I’m his daddy … feather poof … What’s the name of the center where you met? … little missy … Little Lisa ….
“It’s okay, folks,” the DJ says into the mike. “We all know about the acci–”
Jack rips the mike out of his hand and flings it toward the bar.
I feel icy sick all over.
“Don’t worry, dear,” the woman at my table begins.
I whip my head toward her. “That’s why you’re being so nice and said I was a good dancer. You think I’m….”