We’re dancing. We’re twirling. His right foot goes forward. His arm supports my back and he dips me. I fall on my rear. Jerry quickly helps me up. Words, unneeded apologies, froth from his lips. My embarrassment is not important. I console him as if he were my child, accepting all the blame. ‘Honest, Jerry, my heel turned over. Look yourself. It’s cracked. No harm is done except to my shoe. We’re still in the marathon and I can dance shoeless. Just don’t step on my toes. We’re not disqualified!’ The rinky tink 4 piece band is still blaring out tangos. Jerry pulls me in close enough for me to wrap my leg around him, twist my body and look straight out to the audience. My silk stockings are slippery. I fall backwards with Jerry landing on top of me. From the wooden benches laughter sounds like Niagara’s roar as Maid of the Mist slowly sails behind it.
Two strikes against us. No other couple has any. One more and we are disqualified. Making light of our precarious predicament, I wave to the onlookers. Some wave back. Some boo us. As Jerry and I try to start smoothly again, I whisper,’ Come on. Let’s drop out.’ He reacts as if I asked him to assassinate FDR. ‘What are you, crazy or somethin’ ? I’ve got new jitterbug steps to try. We can knock those laughers dead, unless you fall again.’ His attitude enrages me and I answer. ‘Shut up, Mr. Dancing Machine. I’ve never fallen when Willy double dips me. Your lead stinks to high heaven. Just step on my shoeless foot one more time and it will be your last time to dance with me or do any of the other things you just dream you will do.
Rest/toilet time. Twenty minute break. The barker is selling Hershey bars, Peanut Chews and Ginger Ale. The time out has pretty much cleared my foolish head. Watching for Jerry to come back to the dance floor, I spot him holding Ruby’s hand. That cinches, clinches it. My anger, disgust pours from my mouth. ‘What did you do, Ruby, shoot your Harry? You can dance this session with Jerry but don’t expect even a blue badge. He’s a loser and he turned me into one too.’ I wave a tiny goodbye to both of them, go to my locker for my street shoes. My nose is in the air as I walk past them, go out the door to start my ten block walk home alone.
The evening is lovely, balmy and happily Jerryless. Milt’s Malt Shop is packed. Another person or two can get in and I become a squeezer. Some of the crowd that had seen part of the contest, hissed, laughed at me and go so far as to make nasty remarks about Jerry. To ignore them, I lean against the wall and call out my order, a large vanilla shake with whipped cream on top. Just as I see the soda jerk put my shake on the counter, the end seat empties and I get it. The tall glass is sweating, tingles my finger tips. The thick shake won’t pass thru the straw. I use my spoon to eat it and wait a bit for the rest to melt. Something that doesn’t hurt or bite flies at me. I’m not the only one being bombarded. The Wild Bunch, 3 noisy teens, are blowing straws everywhere. Soda Jerk Jimmy yells at them to cut it out. ‘Straws cost money.’ The bombardment slows down and stops. There are no more straws in the counter containers. I still have a little shake to slurp and do it until the noise is impolite.
Alone, I walk the last few blocks home. Sitting on the front steps is Jerry. I ask him, ‘What do you want. Won’t Ruby ‘put out’ for you? You want to try me again? Don’t embarrass yourself. ‘NO.’ My nasty voice gets nastier.’ ‘Jerry,’ sign up for dancing lessons.’ I call him loser and give him a tiny push. He falls backwards down the granite steps, gets up, makes an extremely childish ugly face at me and disappears. My power is great. I have become all of my idols at once.
I have done the impossible, become a Mandrake, Merlin, Houdini magician. The fool limps out of my sight and never asks me to dance with him again.
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