RSS 2.0 FeedLet's Dance
When Patrick was first placed in his mother’s arms, her smile slowly sagged as she stared at her newborn. She sighed in her thick Irish brogue, “Well at least he doesn’t have the devil’s curse of being too handsome.” As he matured his looks appeared to have been assembled from spare parts. His mousy brown hair was straight as a string until he became bald. His eyes matched his gray-freckled face, which was perched too close to his chest. But he was blessed with one thing: as small as his stature was, his intelligence was large. He excelled in scholastic endeavors throughout his schooling, and his natural proclivity for numbers led him to graduate college first in his class as an accounting major.
Patrick, a true find for any national accounting firm, was hired immediately after graduation. Not a “face man,” he was never involved with the firm’s clients. Yet, despite his physical limitations, his peers recognized him as an asset. He was promoted to be the firm’s accountant. Being an accountant’s accountant was a rare achievement; one to be envied. He performed brilliantly; he usually found ways to save the firm money as well as make money for the partners. At the end of the day, at the end of the year, he got pats on the back, and he was handsome.
With his success he knew he should be happy, but he was not. He was not married like most of his contemporaries, and every morning when he looked in the mirror, he knew why he probably would never find a mate.
One evening, when he was about to turn off his computer and go home to his customary dinner of a beer and sandwich, a woman intern asked him a complicated tax question. He was flattered she had asked him but he knew he was the only one she could ask. He dismissed any thought that she could have any interest in him.
He was wrong. She did. Amy was also not physically attractive; she had never missed a meal and never intended to. Her off-color blond hair was partially curly and partially straight, always looking as if she had just taken off a stocking cap. Her clothes clung to her body in the wrong places and were loose where they shouldn’t be. But she, too, was smart and had a disposition for numbers.
Patrick and Amy were made for each other. After many nights of working late to discuss accounting issues, they fell in love. Their wedding was small and unpretentious. Their life together followed their personalities. Ordered, without ceremony, and predicable. Two children eventually came into their family, and they were happy in their quiet life.
Too soon the assets and liabilities of their life fell out of balance; Amy died from diabetes. Since their children were grown and gone, Patrick again looked in the mirror and wondered what to do with his life and how to find happiness.
Shortly after Amy’s death, while reading the Sunday paper, he saw an ad: “Wanted. Single men to join a cruise ship as a dance partner for single women.” It intrigued him as he knew he could dance. His mother had taught him, giving him a social skill in the event he was ever invited to a party. When married he had become an accomplished dancer through practice with Amy. They had danced in their living room many an evening from songs spilling from a radio. Why not apply? Nothing to lose.
He took the ad as a challenge. On the day for his interview, he put on his best suit, brushed the hair that surrounded the lower part of his head, splashed on his special after shave lotion, gargled, and checked his smile in the mirror. He arrived at the hotel for the interview early. “Mr. Murphy,” the desk clerk paged him at his appointed time. He jumped from his chair and screeched, “Me. That’s me”.
“Would you please go to room 203?”
He mumbled an answer that only he understood, ran to the elevator, and fumbled with the buttons until he found number two. He knocked on the door and waited for what seemed to be an eternity. When the door finally opened, a shapely, well-dressed woman invited him in. She introduced herself as “Mandy”, then turned, and introduced her associate, “Wendy,” who was likewise a candidate for Vogue magazine.
“Mr. Murphy, do you mind if we call you Patrick?” He nodded. “Thank you for responding to our ad. Since we have other candidates to interview, I hope you don’t mind if we get right down to business?”
“No, no. That’s fine with me.”
“Well, I guess before we get into your background – you understand that we only associate ourselves with men of impeccable character – we should see if you can dance. Do you mind dancing with Wendy”?
“No. No. That’s fine with me.”
Wendy turned on a tape player and slithered over to Patrick. She was as tall as he was short, and when they joined up to dance, his face opposed her semi-exposed, bountiful breasts. His face turned crimson, and he closed his eyes to prevent eye-to-bosom contact. They danced, and he did pretty well – at least Wendy and Mandy said so. He assumed they were not lying as they requested his personal history and said goodbye by saying, “You’ll hear from us soon.”
But he didn’t. He was crushed. His dreams of going on a cruise in exotic waters, warm summer nights, the smell of perfume, and dancing with women like Mandy and Wendy teased his thoughts. He tried to forget. But he couldn’t. He watched the paper religiously and read about dance cruises. They were going to paradises on a regular basis – without him.
One Monday evening, as he was about to go to bed, he got a call from Mandy. She asked if he would be able to join a cruise leaving the following Sunday. He couldn’t answer “Yes” fast enough. She promised to e-mail him the details, reminded him that he would need a tux, and then cooed, “Goodbye, sweetheart.” Patrick was so excited, he packed that night despite the excursion being nearly a week off.
Patrick was early at the gathering area for the ship’s passengers. He couldn’t help but notice the exotic women gathered to join the cruise. He became even more thrilled. The thought of dancing with any one of them was beyond his imagination.
He was assigned a roommate named Don, another short man who also had forgettable looks. In their room while unpacking, Don volunteered that he was a cruise pro as he had been on many cruises as a dancer. But before he could give Patrick the details of their roles as escorts and dancers, they were interrupted by a knock on their door to announce a meeting they were to attend.
Mandy addressed the assembly of men. “By now, unless you are blind, you’ve noticed that there are many attractive guests on this cruise. You will be dancing with them.” Punctuating the air with her first finger, she raised her voice, “That is the ONLY, repeat, the ONLY thing you will be doing with them.” Still waving her finger, she said loudly, “THERE WILL BE NO FRATERNIZING ON THIS TRIP WITH ANY OF THE GUESTS. If you break this rule, you will be put off this ship at the next port, with no pay or a return ticket. Is there anyone here who doesn’t understand what I have just said?”
The dancers mumbled their understanding. But one of them, who seemed to know everybody, said “Yeah. No hanky-panky. If you follow that, you’ll never be on another cruise.” Everyone laughed, knowingly, it seemed to Patrick.
Wendy next outlined the cruise routine. The when and where they were to be escorts for the guests and how they were expected to dance with them. Patrick was beside himself. He returned alone to his room immedately, shined his shoes, laid out his clothes for the evening, took a shower, shaved extra close, and laid down for a nap so as to be rested for his opening night performance.
The first night dress code was informal – sport coats and slacks. Patrick wore a navy blue blazer, gray pants and a red tie. The tie was important to him as he thought it would direct the guests’ gaze to his tie rather than to this face. Early for dinner, he was seated with a party of six, but was inhibited in talking to anyone because a guest dominated the conversation. He was pleased when dinner was finished that the ship’s band struck up a popular romantic tune, which had a beat that matched his heart’s. When the leader announced, “Let’s dance," he welcomed his responsibilities.
As was the procedure for the first night, Patrick danced with as many of the guests as he could, except the one who talked too much. All of the guests, as he had first noticed, were well-dressed, adorned with expensive jewelry, and impeccably made-up. He was surrounded by beauty. At the night’s end he floated on a cloud to his room and fell into a dreamy sleep. Satisfied for the moment.
The next night was a repeat of the first, except that he was attracted to one guest in particular. They moved together in simpatico as if they had danced together all their lives. The only apparent thing they had in common was their middle age as she was taller, thinner, and one of the most striking of the guests. Her beautiful face made her stand out even more when she danced with Patrick as she could be seen peering above his bald head. They sashayed around the dance floor dance after dance.
The next night they danced together the lion’s share of the evening. Afterwards, Patrick told Don, “I had a great time tonight. I wound up dancing with a woman named Judy. You know, I’m attracted to her. I get the feeling that she shares my interest. You see, I am no movie star in the looks department, and I have never had a woman who looks like her say to me, and don’t you tell anyone, that she loves me, and would like to make love to me, and so on. I don’t know what to do as I would like to pursue her, but I know what the rules are---.”
Don interrupted, “What does she look like? I can’t place her.”
“She’s the tall red head. You may have noticed that I have the bosom problem with tall women;”
“Yeah. I noticed. I’d laugh if I didn’t have the same problem. That's why I go short.”
“Well anyway, her long legs match her long hair. She’s a good dancer. Must be in great shape as her body feels sexy in the right places. But it’s her face that mesmerizes me.”
“Well go ahead if she means that much to you. From the little I know about you, you don’t need the money for these trips, so go for it. By the way, I’m going to have a visitor in our room tonight, but don’t worry, it’s another dancer, and we need to talk. So, please knock before you come in.”
Patrick didn’t give Don’s conversation another thought as visions of sugar plums and fairies dominated his thoughts about Judy. The next few nights they continued to be together as much as possible and managed to squeeze each other in places which sent signals of greater things to come. Patrick’s fantasies about Judy were soon stimulated to a fever pitch. To his ecstasy, three nights before the end of the trip, in the moonlight, in a lifeboat’s shadows, Judy looked deep into his eyes, bent over, and kissed him in a manner that was more than a kiss to a cousin. Patrick’s legs went limp and ended his dancing the two step for the evening.
It became obvious among the other dancers that they were an item, with the result that they allowed them to pair off for the remaining days of the voyage. The days flew by but had to end. As they prepared to disembark, Patrick and Judy exchanged promises to meet as soon as possible in a place and time to be determined. Judy lived in another city, which created the problem. As they withdrew from a long, passionate kiss, Judy said that she would be in touch soon.
Patrick whispered, “Goodbye my love.”
Weeks passed, but no word came from Judy, and no word from the cruise line as to another trip. Patrick was bewildered. Hurt. He thought that Judy and he had an understanding. And he thought that he had done a good job of pleasing the guests he had danced with so that he would be asked to be a dancer again.
Nearly a year passed but Patrick still hoped to be summoned as a dancer. One Sunday morning, while he was reading the cruise advertisements, the phone rang. It was Mandy. “Would you like to go on a cruise like the last one you were on? You know you were big hit. Can you make it?”
He could hardly answer. He struggled to get out of his stunned silence, untangled his tongue, and shouted, “Of course, of course. When?”
Mandy interrupted, “I’ll send you the details. I’m so happy you can make it. You know, it’s not every time we arrange the annual transvestites’ cruise that we have a special request for a particular dancer from one our guests.” She hesitated for a moment, lowered her voice, and whispered, “You know, Patrick, you’re going to make somebody a real happy camper.”
Originally published in The Journal, 2005