Celia, The Cello, and Cigarettes
My name is Francis. I teach ballroom dancing.
Rock music never turned me on. I could listen to Metallica, Aerosmith, or The Who... It all sounded the same to me. Like noise. I was trained as a classical musician. I played woodwinds -- the flute, clarinet, saxophone, even the bassoon. My father, who played violin, wanted to teach me the violin, but I hated it. My brother played the cello. He used to practice 6 hours a day. He auditioned for the symphony and didn’t make it. Finally he went crazy. Today he’s in a mental institution.
I played in concert bands, and orchestras. There are lots of women in an orchestra. When you’re a real musician, you don’t notice the women. But I was different, I looked at their legs. So I can’t consider myself a real musician. I had to find a job where I could hold a woman in my arms. I am a leg man. I love a woman’s thighs, especially her inner thigh where it’s most sensitive. That’s why I teach ballroom dancing.
My buddy, Larry, has a monument company. You know, grave markers, headstones, mausoleums, but not tombs. He asked me to help out. So, one summer I sold monuments, door to door. Don’t laugh. We scanned the obituaries every day, and Larry would give me list of recently deceased people, usually husbands who died of a heart attack, and I would call on the wife. Our receptionist was responsible for making appointments. I was a young, good looking guy, driving a new Cadillac, so no one ever slammed the door in my face.
Just so you know, I bought the Cadillac from the money I made in selling ballroom dance programs. But that’s another story.
It was a beautiful July day, not too hot. I had an appointment to call on a Mrs. Cassidy. She lived outside of Boston in one of the upscale suburbs, mostly trees and a few farms. She answered the door on my third ring, and I expected to see a grief stricken middle aged woman. But she looked about 45, with an hourglass figure, and two little boys hanging behind her legs. She had someone visiting her, a young pretty woman with a baby. She looked like a teenager. The teen was breast feeding the baby. The girl smiled at me. Haven’t you ever seen a woman nursing her baby before? I tried not to stare, and hoped my eyes would revert back to normal as soon a possible. Gloria’s breast looked like a giant cantalope. The baby was sucking on a thick brown nipple.
I directed my attention back to my “customer”. She was very attractive in a housewife way. Nice figure but not openly displayed. She appeared to have a big ass, but I wasn’t sure. Her hair was dark brown, and hung to her waist.
“Mrs. Cassidy? My name is Francis, and ...”
“Oh, I know” she interrupted smiling. “You want to talk about my husband’s marker.”
My heart sank. I was hoping to sell her a beautiful granite headstone, with two angels hovering over the edges. There wasn’t much commission in a marker.
“This is my daughter, Gloria. She lives next door, and had just dropped in. I told her you were coming and she wanted to meet you.”
I was surprised that both these women were waiting for me. “Actually your secretary told us you were very handsome and taught ballroom dancing. Is this true? You’re a dance instructor?” That was Mrs. Cassidy.
“Well, yes, but I didn’t come to talk about dancing.”
“I wish more men would learn to dance ...”
“Mrs. Cassidy ...”
“Please call me Celia ...” she said. “My husband wasn’t much of a dancer,”she continued. “He used to say he had two left feet ...” Then she added, “He was a chain smoker. I told him he had to smoke in the garage. He stunk up the house.”
