Excerpt: Backwards in High Heels

It was bitingly cold outside, and even the thrill of starting dance classes again wasn’t enough to keep Nena warm as she waited for her bus into town. She clutched her bag close to her and heaved a sigh of relief when the bus finally ambled round the corner.

She arrived early at the dance hall, and had to kick her heels for fifteen minutes until the dance teacher arrived to unlock the doors. Vincent, as he asked her to call him, was a slim, very neat-looking Italian man, who welcomed her with great enthusiasm.

‘But you are very eager to arrive so early!’ he exclaimed. ‘That is good. Perhaps you will warm up while I prepare my class, and then we shall try a dance together.’

Nena obeyed, although she felt a tremor of nerves at the prospect. It had been a year or more since she’d done any serious dancing, and she had no idea what standard Vincent might be expecting from her. She slipped off her thick coat and sneakers and put on her high heels, then went through the warm-up her old teacher had used, beginning with the arms and working down through the whole of the body until the winter chill had vanished and all her muscles were loose and ready for work.

‘Ready?’ Vincent asked her. He switched the stereo on, and a Frank Sinatra song began to play. ‘We are learning Quickstep this term,’ he told her. ‘So perhaps we begin with that and see how we proceed?’

Nena’s fingers were trembling as she stepped into his embrace, resting her hand lightly on his arm and setting her posture, but the nerves dissipated as they set off. Vincent was an excellent leader, steering her expertly around the floor. At first he stuck to the most simple of steps, then gradually he built up to more complicated ones as she became more confident and relaxed a little.

‘That was lovely,’ he congratulated her when the music finally ended. ‘You have a good lightness of touch and you follow the lead very well. Now we try the Latin. This term we do Cha cha cha. I know you say you are not so good at this, so we keep it simple.’

Nena was less confident about her Latin skills, and even less so when she tripped over Vincent’s foot barely two bars into the song. Only his arm around her saved her from hitting the deck.

‘It’s okay, it’s difficult, I know,’ he reassured her. ‘But you obviously know what you are doing, you need only the practice.’

Other students were coming into the hall now, calling greetings to each other and to Vincent. Nena eyed them with interest. The majority were women, as she had grown to expect, and what men there were seemed to have come with partners. She hoped they were willing to share around; she hated spending most of her time on the sidelines, waiting for a male partner to become available.

‘Yes, we need more men,’ Vincent remarked, obviously guessing what she was thinking. ‘But it is not so bad. There are several women who are happy to dance the lead, so it is only a little while that anyone is without a companion. And for this class, I do not at all want you should be on your own because we have another new starter and I hope you will help teach him. He is a beginner, you see, but he wanted so much the space that I could not refuse him.’

‘You want me to help teach him?’ Nena repeated incredulously.

‘If you are comfortable, yes. From what I have seen you are the most advanced dancer in this class, and I think also he will be more comfortable with a young girl than some of the older women here.’ Vincent looked doubtful. ‘I plan that you will also be able to learn and progress yourself. But if you do not wish…’

‘No, no, I mean, I don’t mind doing it’ Nena assured him. Even the most flat-footed of partners was better than none at all, and Nena was shrewd enough to realise that there would be benefits for her own dancing in the form of extra tuition if she helped out. ‘If you think I’m good enough then I would love to.’

He smiled, obviously relieved. ‘That is kind of you. Ah, I think I see him now!’

He disappeared into the throng of people, and reappeared a moment later with a familiar figure in tow. Even without his usual trucker cap, Richard’s small frame and red-brown hair were unmistakeable, and unwelcome.

‘Here we are,’ Vincent said cheerfully, tugging Richard into place in front of her. ‘Reechard, this is Nena, who will be partnering you. Nena…’

‘We already know each other,’ Nena said resignedly, while Richard scowled blackly at his shoes. Unfortunately her tone was lost on Vincent, who clapped his hands in approval and then hurried off to attend to the demands of another student, leaving the two of them alone.

‘I didn’t know you were a dancer,’ Nena said eventually, when the silence threatened to become overwhelming.

‘That would be why I’m here,’ Richard told the floor.

‘Have you done much dancing before?’ Nena persisted.

He looked up, finally, but his face was full of scorn. ‘Do I look like your average ballroom king?’ he demanded.

Fortunately for Nena’s temper, further conversation was cut short by Vincent switching on the music and starting the class. As she was already well warmed-up, she felt justified in switching off while he took the rest of them through the usual stretches and movements, and instead kept her attention on Richard.

He was right in one thing, at least; he was not the average ballroom dancer. He was smaller than most of the other men, and of a stocky build, as though he hadn’t quite lost the last of his puppy fat. His only concession to the fact it was a dance class was a pair of proper shoes rather than his more usual sneakers; the rest of his outfit was what he’d been wearing earlier that day, and she suspected he’d come straight from the studio.

Vincent was pairing the rest of the class off into couples, correcting their posture and holds where needed, so Nena put her speculations on Richard’s appearance to one side, and instead held out her hand.

‘We’ll work on the basic ballroom hold and steps while they practise,’ she said, more brightly than she felt. ‘Put your *blah* hand on my shoulder blade, and hold the other one out like so.’

She was half-expecting him to refuse, but he followed her instructions, albeit with bad grace. His hold was poor; her old teacher would undoubtedly have pointed out that there was far too much fresh air between their bodies, but Nena was by no means sold on the prospect of getting hip to hip with someone who so obviously disliked her, so she decided to overlook it, along with the fact he seemed to think her shoulder blade was somewhere near her kidneys.

He might be reluctant to touch her, but she couldn’t fault his sense of rhythm. After some initial confusion over which foot was going where, he picked up the basic step quite quickly, and Nena was pleasantly surprised to find he didn’t step on her toes once.

‘That’s good!’ she exclaimed.

‘Some singer I’d be if I couldn’t keep time,’ he retorted, obviously unimpressed by the compliment.

Vincent came over a few moments later, and promptly corrected their position. ‘Nena, how can he dance when he is on the other side of the hall to you?’ he scolded. ‘Reechard, you have a beautiful girl here, you have to embrace her. Like so.’

He dragged the two of them together, placing Richard’s hand squarely on Nena’s back and lifting Richard’s chin so they were cheek to cheek. ‘This is not tango,’ he added. ‘Reechard, you are allowed to look like you are having fun, you know. Smile!’

Richard produced a rictus that might have passed for a grin, and Nena was hard-pushed not to burst out laughing, even as they started the steps again.

‘Good,’ Vincent said approvingly. ‘You have the rhythm, but you must remember to rise and fall on your toes. At the moment it is like you are pressing grapes.’

Richard didn’t respond, but Nena felt a huff of breath against her temple that might have been a laugh. That was all she got in the way of levity from him for the rest of the class though, and she was relieved when Vincent finally came over and ordered Richard to take a break and Nena to partner up with one of the other women for the last quarter of an hour.