The last group class at "The Cumberland Academy of Dance" ended at eight that Wednesday night, and I was glad. The group classes brought in a lot of my income, but they were sometimes frustrating, like this one had been. I'd advertised the class as a beginner class in ballroom dance, and promised anyone who could walk could learn to foxtrot, cha-cha, and waltz in three months of weekly lessons.
My promise of being able to teach anybody to dance was a bit of a stretch. I could teach the steps of a dance and some patterns to anybody. If they could hear the beat of the music and were reasonably coordinated, they could dance well enough to impress their friends at the office Christmas party or a friend's wedding. What I can't teach is an ear for music and the ability to dance the dance to the music in a graceful way. There would always be some that just could not grasp that concept.
Because of that, it took a little more thought to decide how much to charge per class. The bigger dance studios charged fifteen hundred in advance for fifteen weekly lessons, and there were no refunds for missed classes no matter what the reason. I didn't think that was smart marketing, because few people wanted to invest that kind of money before they knew if they enjoyed dancing. In truth, that was the point. No studio owner wanted to spend an hour of his time teaching the last two people left in a "pay as you go" class after the others gave up. Making them pay in advance guaranteed the studio owner's income.
There would always be those who gave up after a few lessons, but if they only had a few dollars invested, they wouldn't be upset. They might even tell their friends to try. The people who dropped out of the big studio's program were not happy, and they relayed this to their friends as well.
I finally settled on fifteen dollars per person or twenty for a couple, and my ad stated it wasn't necessary to have a partner. The people in the class would change partners from time to time, so the unescorted women I expected in the class would always get to dance. Once they seemed to have the steps down fairly well, I'd stop teaching and dance with all the women as well. It seemed that unescorted, though not necessarily single women liked the idea of dancing, and they enrolled in classes to learn. Sometimes, I thought they enrolled just to have some way to be with other people. I was sure a couple of the women were in the class just because they liked being with men.
This class had a couple of what I called "rhythm impaired" men with their wives. Their wives did fine, following my lead when I danced with them, and for the most part, doing so gracefully. The men...I frowned as the last couple walked out the door. It was obvious several of the men were only there because their wives had somehow badgered or shamed them into it. I'd tried everything -- clapping my hands to the beat and calling out the foxtrot steps of "slow, slow, quick, quick, slow, slow, quick, quick", filtering out everything except the beat on some familiar songs so they'd learn how to listen for that beat -- every thing I could think of, but I couldn't fix the lack of will to try.
Their wives and the other women in the class tried to help them as well, but I figured this would be the last class for two of my couples. I'd heard the same chuckled excuses from the husbands before.
"I do my best dancing in bed."
"Marion can come back if she wants, but I'm missing the game every night I'm here. Think I'll stay home next week and let her show me what she learned when she gets home. After she does that, I'll show her a couple of my moves, if you catch my drift."
It was some comfort to see the same men's wives smile when it was their turn to dance with me. Few were really good dancers, yet, but they were adept enough to feel my lead and follow. The result was exhilarating for them, or so it seemed. I enjoyed dancing with them all, and three, two blondes about thirty and one redhead a little older, were becoming excellent dancers.
I turned off the laptop that plays my music and the amp for the sound system, and was turning off the lights when she walked through the studio door. She stopped in the middle of the dance floor, looked around, and then smiled at me.
"I know I'm pretty late, but is this the place Judy told me about -- the place where I could learn to dance?"
She wasn't young, probably about sixty or so, I figured. I didn't miss the fact that she wasn't wearing a wedding ring.
"Yes, this is the place, but I'm closing up for the night."
"Oh, I didn't think we'd do it tonight. I just thought I'd come by when nobody else was here. I've been waiting outside for the class to leave."
"You didn't have to wait. You could have come in and joined the group class. It doesn't cost much, and you could see if you like dancing or not."
"No, I've never done anything like this before. I'd be too embarrassed to be with other people. My husband always says...said...I was about as coordinated as a cow on crutches."
I chuckled.
"Well, most people can learn how to dance enough to have some fun, and you shouldn't be embarrassed. Most of the people in that class aren't going to become great dancers either."
"Well, I'd still like to do it by myself, for a while anyway. When can we start?"
I have a standard contract I use when I enroll students. My lawyer said it was just good insurance. People have been known to sue a dance studio when they injure themselves trying something beyond their capabilities. I don't particularly like using it, but then, I can't afford to be sued either. It does tell me quite a bit about a potential student, because I added a few questions to help me decide how best to teach them.
Her name was Madeline Connors, and she was fifty-two. My form doesn't ask why a person has a particular marital status, but Madeline had sort of frowned when she checked the "single" box, and explained her ex-husband had decided she was a little old for his taste.
"The girl was all of thirty, and she ran every day so everything was tight, not like I am. I guess I should have started running too."
Her next of kin was her daughter, Judy.
"Judy's about all I have left to show for twenty years with Rick. She was pretty torn up when I divorced him, but she's getting over it now. I'm going to be a grandma in another six months. I guess I am getting old if I'm going to be a grandma."
Well, she didn't look like my grandma at all. Madeline was wearing a dress that night, just a simple dress that didn't fit all that tight or reveal much skin, but it was pretty obvious she had some sensuous curves. She was also pretty in the face, and the long, dark brown hair that fell in waves over her shoulders framed that face into a portrait of a very enticing woman. I chuckled, partly to make her feel better, and partly because it was what I really thought.
"If all grandmas looked like you, there would be a whole bunch of really happy grandpas around."
Madeline smiled.
"I wouldn't think a young guy like you would notice, not that I mind."
"I'm not all that young. I'm forty-one, and any man would notice."
She smiled.
"Well, thank you for telling me what you think I want to hear, but I know I'm not all that sexy, and you don't need to keep schmoozing me like that. Just teach me to dance."
She didn't blink when I told her a private lesson was a hundred for an hour. She just asked if I took credit cards or if I wanted cash or a check. After I explained I preferred a credit card or cash, we settled on nine that Friday for her first lesson. My last group class ended at eight, and she liked the idea of getting there and being by herself.
I didn't think much about her over the next two days. I had evening classes on Thursday that ran from six until nine, and on Friday from six until eight. In the mornings, I put together the steps or patterns I was going to teach the groups. On Thursday afternoon, I had a private lesson with a young couple who wanted to learn the waltz for their wedding reception. Before I knew it, it was Friday at eight and I was saying goodbye to my last group class of the week.
Madeline walked into the studio at ten 'til nine. She was a different Madeline than the woman I'd met on Wednesday.
On Wednesday night, Madeline had seemed about like any other woman in my classes. Perhaps she was a bit more shy around other people than some, but she wasn't shy with me. She seemed confident in her decision to learn to dance and wasn't shy about telling me she thought I was just being a good salesman when I commented on her looks.
That night, she was nervous, but I didn't notice that at first. What I noticed was how she was dressed. Madeline noticed me noticing and grinned.
"I saw the girls on that dancing show on TV wearing dresses like this, so I went out and got one. I hope it's all right. I bought some dance shoes too."
It wasn't really a dress for a woman who is just learning, but it was fine with me. The top of the metallic blue dress dipped in a narrow "V" low enough the curve of her breasts showed. I figured the bra had to be built-in, because nothing showed and it would have had she been wearing one. The hem hit her at about the middle of a very nice pair of thighs. Those thighs and the rest of her legs were clad in nylon that shone in the lights of the studio. Teaching her was going to be a struggle between the thoughts running through my mind and helping her learn.
