Page 1 of Dancing Fools and All That Jazz

Monica Thornton

‘Balance step to the left. Then to the right. Midnight… la-la-la… sleeping…’ Clarissa’s shrill just-off-key voice is amplified by her radio mic. Her lyrics are fragmented and lag slightly behind those of Shakin’ Stevens’ “Green Door”. She gives a flick of her hand towards me.

‘Good evening, Monica.’

So much for creeping in unseen.

With a cursory wave back – head down – I make a beeline for the bench and hurriedly change into my jazz shoes.

I know the other ladies will have glanced quizzically over to me.

Monica is never late – I can almost see their thought bubbles.

Normally, Ruby and I arrive a good fifteen minutes early to help Clarissa set up, plug in the sound system, turn on the spotlights, the air con and all that.

Normally Clarissa tells us how Hazel’s treatment is going as we prepare the studio…

Normally – ha. Things will never be normal again. I swallow hard.

Clarissa changes direction. The dancers behind her – clad in black leggings and the black floaty tops I designed – are reflected in the full-length wall mirrors. They follow her every move.

‘Join us when you can, Monica… dum-dum-dum…’ Her tone and smile are friendly, not critical. Ruby’s covered for me, thank goodness.

A sharp pain flickers across my forehead. I can still barely believe it.

Ruby briefly turns my way. Her eyes urge, ‘You can do this.’

I respond with a weak smile before joining the end of the row at the back to get into step with the others. We move in synchronisation with the heavy beat, and I force myself to concentrate on the steps.

‘Now triple walks. Arms up in a Vee. Bonnie, get your arms higher. Da-de-da… green… no, even higher…’

I glance critically at my reflection in the mirrors as we leap in unison. OK, I look better than anticipated. The bright lights blot out some of the puffiness, so I just look a little tired. Waterproof mascara works.

‘Box step left. Dum dum… flick kick and turn.’

Ruby winks at me in the mirror. She frequently impersonates Clarissa mumble-singing out-of-time and out-of-tune.

In the fleeting glance we know we’re thinking the same, Ruby taking Lady C – as she’s dubbed her – off to a tee.

A loud snort bursts from my nose. It takes me and Bonnie, who’s dancing next to me, by surprise.

I bite my lip and look apologetic. Bonnie merely shrugs it off.

My emotions are swinging wildly out of control, and I determine to fix my thoughts on the music, the beat.

Shaky sings out about the secrets behind the door as Clarissa calls, ‘Reach out to each corner and kick…’

Secrets. All those ones you’ve been keeping… I kick sharp and high.

‘Come on now, practise those winning smiles. Dum-de-dum da-da… Swing those arms.’

I imagine swinging for Vince.

He’d tried to phone me as I’d hurried from my car to the studio. I’d dismissed the call, stabbing a finger on his details and hitting edit. With a flourish, I changed his name to Cheating Bastard , shoving the phone back in my bag with a disproportionate degree of satisfaction.

Now righteous fury and utter dismay fight for the spotlight in my turbulent thoughts.

‘Cross through… No. Janine! Wrong way – dear, oh dear. Pay attention. La-la-la door…’

I force my focus on the other women. We thread in and out of each other before returning to our original places.

Ruby gives my hand a glancing squeeze as she passes.

When she called earlier to find out where I’d got to, I barely managed to stammer out my words.

‘Monica, what the hell’s happened? Talk to me.’

‘Vince… he… for years… he’s been…’

‘What?’

‘…with other women…’

‘What the…?’

‘And I just can’t… can’t…’

‘Frigging hell. What a toerag. Look, Monica, skip dance. It won’t matter for once, will it?

Although thinking about it, Lady C will effing flip if you’re not there.

’ Ruby’s voice switched to Clarissa’s, ‘“Ladies, Expression Paris is only two weeks away and these last rehearsals are not, I repeat not optional”’

‘No, I have to… I need to come.’

‘You’re right. Look, think of it as displacement activity. I’ll go ahead and make up some excuse why you’re late. We’ll talk after – I can come back to yours.’

‘No, not here. Not with the twins in earshot.’

‘OK, we’ll talk at the studio. Just get yourself there when you can. And when you do, give that dance floor hell.’

Dear Ruby. She’s right. She wouldn’t allow someone like Vince to make a fool of her. She’s strong, independent, always in control. Oh, to be more like Ruby.

Reminding myself of her words, I throw myself into the dance, my whole effort channelled into executing the steps within the complex patterns of direction. The lyrics thump into my muscles and I begin to unwind.

‘Ensure you stretch out each move to fully warm-up, ladies.’

The routine demands full concentration and by the end of the number we’re all breathing quickly and have broken into a sweat. I feel distanced from the earlier revelations, which seem almost surreal.

We dive for our bags and rummage for our hats for the next dance.

Ruby leans into me. ‘You OK?’

I smack her hand lightly. ‘No being nice,’ I hiss. ‘I need to stay furious and focussed.’

Ruby grins. ‘Furiously frigging focussed. Atta girl.’

I stare at the floor and through clenched teeth ask, ‘How did I not know? Am I utterly stupid?’

‘Whoa. Stupid you are not. Come on, Monica. This dance floor needs a kicking.’

Clarissa calls from the front. ‘Ladies, “Dancing Fools” next. Positions… Janine, further forward… Fay, two steps back… and… Five – six – seven – eight…’

*

The class flashes past. An hour and a half of solid dance. By the end, the tension has ebbed from my body, and I’m in a much better frame of mind. We stretch out, Ruby next to me. My muscles are warm with exertion and my head’s clearer.

‘Endorphins work.’ Ruby nudges me, dabbing the perspiration from her brow.

‘Too right.’

‘Excellent rehearsal, ladies.’ Clarissa gently claps the fingers of one hand onto the palm of the other as she smiles her approbation. ‘Remember, when you dance, everyday life evaporates. Our troubles float away…’

If only.

‘…Nothing matters but your moves and your focus. This is what engages your audience. You are taking them on a journey, a flight of fantasy. Capturing their hearts and souls. You must put every ounce of your being into each single move from your toes to your fingertips. So, practise daily at home. The competition is very close now.’

As we change back into our shoes, other dancers edge towards me.

‘Everything OK, Monica?’ Cath asks. ‘Your solo was bang on. Best I’ve seen you dance it.’

‘Thanks, Cath.’ A bubble of anguish starts in my chest.

‘What on earth happened to you, Monica?’ Bonnie leans over Ruby to pat my leg. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen you arrive late. Everything all right?’

‘Yes, fine thanks, Bonnie.’ I keep my head down.

Fine. Just peachy. Oh, apart from discovering your husband’s a rotten dirty cheat. I feel myself starting to slip.

Clarissa calls for silence. ‘Ladies, our new dance school badges have arrived, and I have to say Hazel’s design is marvellous. They will need to be sewn onto our tops in time for the competition. Right-hand side, between the chest and the shoulder.’ She indicates the required position.

I join the others as they pool around Clarissa to see the new insignia. We’d all agreed the old ‘Dance by Clarissa’ next to a top hat had desperately needed updating.

Eagerly, everyone takes a new patch.

Ruby hands me mine and gives me her ‘What the F?’ look.

I stare at the sewn patch, and have a terrible urge to laugh, which I quickly suppress.

An artistic representation of a dance figure denoted by bright blue fluid curves stands poised on one leg, the other outstretched in a high kick.

This, I can see, has Hazel’s brushstroke genius.

What can’t be Hazel’s work is the rest of the design.

Our new group name – only Clarissa could have come up with this – has been embroidered in a tiny blue font below and along the line of the extended ‘leg’.

Instead of capitals the first letter of each word is in lower case but enlarged and in a flowery silver font quite different to the blue lettering.

The eye is immediately drawn to the four standout letters sparkling in silver thread.

I stare, lost for words, at the bespoke badge and quickly exchange looks with Ruby.

‘What do you think, ladies?’ Lady C beams at us all.

There is a stunned silence before Bonnie gushes out her praise. She appears to be the only one, other than Clarissa, who hasn’t clocked the unfortunate result.

‘Oh, isn’t it lovely?’ Bonnie holds her patch high, squinting at the lettering. ‘I’m not wearing my glasses but these lovely sparkly letters, I can see the “d” must be for dance and the “c” and “k” for Clarissa Kirkland. So I am guessing the “i” is for inspiration?’

‘It is not an “i”.’ Clarissa’s indignation is palpable as she gives Bonnie a piercing stare. ‘It is an “ e” and it stands for excellence .’

‘Oh, silly me. An “e”. Well, what a lovely name for us, “Dance Excellence – Clarissa Kirkland”. How marvellous. Did Hazel design this? Clever lady. We’ll be the buzz of the town.’

Fay instantly corrects Bonnie in her usual annoyed tone. ‘Talk, Bonnie, for goodness’ sake, it is talk of the town. Dear me.’

Ruby, still looking aghast, points to the kicking leg and opens her mouth. ‘But…’

‘Very nice,’ I say and grab Ruby’s arm as I steer her away.

She clamps her mouth shut and shakes her head as we cross the studio on Fay’s heels to pay our lottery and Paris money to Janine.

‘Really?’ hisses Ruby. ‘I mean DECK’s a bad enough name but that definitely reads “DICK”. Even that ruddy leg looks like a ginormous…’

‘Shh, she’ll hear you.’

‘Unbelievable. Well, I’m not sewing that on my top!’ She leans into me as she adds, ‘Talking of almighty di—’

I shush her with my hands. There’re too many flapping ears in here.

‘Monica, how did you find out?’