Oddly, it was
Woody who took charge now. He was thinking about dancing, which
was his strong suit. And, now that she was willing to talk,
he felt better about being more aggressive. He took her to
the sweeping driveway, where two cabs were parked under the awning at
the front entrance of the conference center. Both drivers were
napping, their windows down in the evening heat.
Woody woke the younger one up.
"Any place in town that has more than one dancing style?" he asked.
"Yeah," said the man, rubbing his eyes. "The Prestige Club plays a pretty good mix."
"I suppose it would be too much to ask if they ever have ballroom dancing," said Woody.
"Willy No Chin is the band leader," said the cabby. "He brags that his band can play anything ever written."
"Willy No Chin?" asked Woody, grinning.
"Don't let his name fool you. He's good. He just doesn't have much chin, that's all."
"I want to wine and dine this lady too," said Woody, winking.
"Know just the place," said the cabby. "My name's John."
"Well, John, whisk us away from here to some good food, and I'll call you to pick us up and take us to the club."
"You got it, man," said John, starting the cab.
"I'm not dressed for this," said Crystal.
"You're gorgeous, and I have the hots for you," said Woody, opening the door and bowing. "That's all that matters."
"Don't push it,
buster," said Crystal, folding herself into the back seat of the
cab. "Remember ... talk first ... dancing maybe."
"I have complete
confidence in my ability to sweep you off your feet," said Woody,
grinning. "And, once I have you back on your feet, and on the
dance floor, you'll never want to stop."
"I am not a dancer, Woody," she grumbled.
"You will be, my sweet," he said, closing the door. "You will be."
Dinner, for
Crystal, was a dichotomy. It was somewhat of a letdown, in
the sense that, while they talked about all kinds of things, none of
them were anything more than casual conversation. He talked about
where he grew up, and asked her questions about places she had been,
and things she had seen, jobs she'd had and movies she
liked. It was somewhat of a rush for her too, because, at
one point, she realized he'd gotten more stories of her own history out
of her than she had ever told anyone else, including her
ex-husband. Gone was his brash assumption that anything at all
would happen between them. It was obvious he just loved to talk
and learn about the person he was with.
He wasn't shy
about telling things about himself either. He shared a
story of hijinks he and his High School buddies had done, and the
trouble they'd gotten into over them, and then talked about working in
a homeless shelter one summer, just to try to find out what that was
all about. He was dead serious one minute, and the
next he was telling a story about trying to make his mother believe he
was really trying to learn the clarinet when all he could play were two
songs.
Crystal watched
him eat, and noticed little things about him. He actually used
his napkin, instead of leaving it on his lap the entire
meal. He passed her things when all she did was glance at
them, almost as if he were reading her mind. As much as he
talked, he never did it with his mouth full, yet seemed to keep perfect
pace with her, so that they finished their meal at the same
time. She wondered, for a while, if she were being played,
by a master player. She could almost taste the charisma wafting
around him. He'd read everything, seen everything, and seemed to
know almost everything.
She also noticed
that, throughout the entire meal, he never once looked at her
breasts. He also never flirted with her once.
"You know I'm probably ten years older than you," she said suddenly.
"Maybe."
He took a drink of his iced tea. He didn't seem to care how young
or old she was. He wadded up his napkin and put it on his
plate, a sign for whoever cleaned the table that he had enjoyed his
meal. "We talked," he said, leaning back. "Now ... how
about that dance?"
"I don't know
any dances," said Crystal, feeling like a young girl. "When
you're all arms and legs, dancing isn't one of your favorite sports."
"I saw you get into the hot tub last night," he said. "You move like a dancer. I bet you're very limber."
"That's
something I've worked on all my life," she admitted. "It helps
with joint issues. I can hook both ankles behind my head."
Something
flashed in his eyes, and he made a little smile on his face. She
had the sudden image of how he must be thinking about that little trick
... what she'd look like with her ankles behind her head ... naked, of
course. She felt a little disappointment as he opened his
mouth. She fully expected him to say how much he'd like to see
her do that. She was almost shocked when, instead, he said
something completely different.
"Flexibility is
the key to dancing," he said. "Learning the steps is the easy
part. Learning how to use your body ... how to transition
movement from one part of your body to another, to create a seamless
flow of motion ... that's the hard part. You're used to feeling
your muscles as you stretch. If you've been at it all your
life, you probably stretch individual muscles in a sequence. Am I
right?"
"Yes," she nodded, amazed that he could know that.
"Dancing is just using various muscles in sequence," he said. "You'll catch on easily. I promise."
"I'm not graceful," she objected.
"You're very
graceful," he countered. "I've seen you walk. I've seen you
stoop to pick up a pen you dropped. I've seen you step over
the side of a hot tub like it was a kiddy pool. You are a study
of controlled motion."
"You're trying to seduce me again." She smiled, and this time it was a real smile.
"That's true,"
he said. "But that's not why I said that. I meant
that. You have what it takes to learn to dance. We're not
talking the Rockettes, here, just some Friday night fun.
What you're really worried about is that you'll be the tallest person
on the floor."
"Well?" She folded her arms across her chest. "Won't I be?"
"Who cares?" he
said. "I probably won't even know. I won't be looking at
anybody else. You're my date. I'm honor bound to pay
attention to you."
"This is not a date," said Crystal firmly.
"I guess that
means we're going Dutch, huh?" he said, as if he didn't care whether
she called it a date or not. "But you owe me a dance, if only
because I have the hots for you."
"Why would you
having the hots for me require that I dance with you?" she asked,
feeling unaccountably happy that he'd gone back to flirting with her.
"It's a rule in
the official relationship handbook, printed by Harper and Rowe,
copyright 1957," he said smoothly. "Rule number seventy-three, on
page thirty-five, if you want me to be specific."
He said it so seriously that she had to laugh.
"OK, one dance," she said.
"I get to TEACH
you one dance," he amended. "That may require that we dance
three or four times, but it's really the same thing."
"Of course it
is," she said, trying to be serious, but failing and grinning. "I
can't wait to see how you make up rules about when I have to kiss you,
and what THAT involves."
"Oh, we're not
even close to that part of the rule book," he said, waving a
hand. "I wouldn't worry about that, if I were you. You can
trust me implicitly, anyway. I never bend the rules, or use them
to my advantage. Your virginity is perfectly safe with me."
She laughed out loud then, and finally got a grin from him.
"OK, Cassanova," she laughed. "Teach me to dance."
Two hours later
Crystal sat down limply. She was sweating profusely, and felt
like she'd been in the gym the whole time. Somehow, he
managed to move her from the first dance he taught her, into one that
used some of the same upper body moves, but did something completely
different with the feet and hips.
But what kept
her there ... what kept her from saying it was time to go ... that she
had fulfilled her part of the bargain ... was watching HIM dance.
He had the fluid
grace of a professional dancer. His feet seemed to float half an
inch above the floor, and his body moved in ways she was able to do,
but only with intense concentration. Yet, when he did it, his
body flowed and bent as if it were controlled by some immense
computer. Half the time he danced with his eyes closed, and yet
it made no difference. He never ran into anybody else and he
circled her like smoke, always near her, brushing her elbow with his
fingertips, or stroking her hips with a quick touch. It seemed as
though he never danced the same way twice, except for when he was
teaching her basic movements.
She didn't feel
awkward any more. His patient instruction made her feel like her
body WAS graceful. She understood how to move her upper body, and
let that motion transition into her belly, hips and then legs.
She couldn't tap or stomp out the drum lines with her feet, like he
could, but it didn't matter, because she still felt like she was
dancing better than she had in her whole life.
The only dance
she remembered was one from her childhood, that she'd learned for a
musical that had a sock hop in it. She'd learned the male part,
because the girl had to spin under his hand, and he had to throw her
out and pull her back. None of the boys could do that with her,
but the teacher had said that girls in the fifties danced together like
that all the time, and that it lent accuracy to the presentation.
Woody knew the
dance too, and was able to let her take the lead with hardly a stumble,
as the band cranked out a whole set of Beach Boys and Jan and Dean
surfer songs.
They'd sat out
the slow songs. It wasn't because Crystal demanded
it. Whenever a slow song came on, Woody went off to the bathroom,
or to get them another drink, or just sat her down to rest.
Talking was easier on the slow songs, which weren't as noisy. A
slow song was playing now.
Woody came back
with more fruit juice. He wouldn't let her drink alcohol while
they were dancing, because he said it dulled the senses and put lead in
the feet. He sat down and leaned back.
"I could go on all night," he said. "You're a much better dancer than you think."
She gulped the juice thirstily.
"But we should
probably call it a night," he said. "We have class tomorrow, or
whatever you call it. I would like to dance one slow dance with
you before we go, though. Would you do that for me?"
"I suppose
that's the one dance I owe you," she said, smiling tiredly.
She'd thought she was in pretty good shape. She'd found out
differently in just two hours of dancing with Woody. He, on
the other hand, was breathing normally.
"Rule seventy-three," he said, grinning.
"OK," she said simply.
"Be right back," he said.
She saw him go
talk to Willy No Chin, who kept directing his band, and talked to Woody
at the same time. It was pretty impressive. She saw Willy
nod and Woody passed him some money. The song ended as Woody got
back to the table. Willy No Chin stepped up to the microphone.
"We're going to
play another cuddly song now," he said. "This one is for all you
guys out there who have the hots for the girl you're with. Enjoy."
Crystal
recognized the song as one played by the Moody Blues, but she couldn't
remember the name of it. It wasn't really slow, in the classical
sense, but you couldn't dance fast to it either. Woody held out
his hand, and she took it.
His face wasn't,
as it turned out, between her breasts. His nose was right about
where her collar bones met at her breast bone. She was still
wearing the blouse she'd worn to the seminar that morning. It
buttoned down the front, and she'd undone two of the buttons while they
danced, only to let her sweaty body get a little air. Now, as he
held her firmly against him, with his right hand in the middle of her
back, and his left holding her right out as if they were waltzing, he
led her through a series of almost spins. She felt lead footed,
but his feet somehow never stepped on hers, or let hers step on
his. She felt almost dizzy as he whirled her around.
Then, in the
middle of it all, she felt his lips press to her skin, between her
breasts. It was just a brief little touch, but it electrified
her. She suddenly felt his hips pressed to her upper
thighs. For once she was thankful that she was taller than the
man she was dancing with, because she couldn't feel what was between
his legs. His nose moved to the right, pushing her blouse
in that direction, and he kissed the inner slope of her left
breast. He let the tip of his nose drift across her upper
chest and did the same to the other side, just kissing lightly and then
moving on. She felt tingles start up all over her
body. His lips pressed onto her breast bone and she felt a
vibration being transmitted from his lips to her body. She
realized he was humming with the melody of the music. They
had stopped whirling, and were just swaying to the music now, turning
very slowly. Their extended arms had pulled back in, and were now
curled, the forearms touching.
Crystal,
suddenly feeling more feminine than she had in a long, long time,
realized her left hand had left his shoulder, and slid to the back of
his head. She was holding his face to her body. She felt
his hair under her fingers. It was soft, and it felt good.
His face moved left again, pushing her blouse to the side until the
button below stopped it. She realized, with a start, that her
hand had pushed his head that direction. He kissed that
breast, just next to where her bra covered her, and she felt him give
the skin there a short, quick lick with the tip of his
tongue. She couldn't believe how good it felt, but she felt
embarrassed about not having full control over her body, and slid her
hand back to his shoulder.
He looked up and smiled.
"You smell good," he said. "You taste good too."
"You're misbehaving," she said, looking down into his eyes.
"Not too badly,"
he said, lowering his face to kiss her breast bone again.
He looked back up. "Your virginity is still safe."
"I'm far from being a virgin, you goose," she said, smiling gently.
"Not as far as
I'm concerned," he said. "We've never done anything together, and
in my book that makes us both virgins. If, at some point in the
future, we decide to share that kind of thing, it will be a gift from
each of us to the other, something we can never do for the first time
again. To me, that would be sharing something just as precious as
true virginity."
The song ended,
and Crystal looked around to see couples still embracing, some of them
kissing. She wondered what it would be like to kiss Woody.
"You ready to head back to the resort?" he asked.
"I guess so," she said. He'd been right. Once she'd danced with him, she wanted to keep going for a long time.
The cab ride
back to the resort was quiet. For once, Woody wasn't talking, and
that gave Crystal time to wonder what he'd do when they got back.
Would he try to kiss her? If he did, would she let
him? She had mixed feelings about that. He seemed so
sure of himself, and she got a little miffed about that, when she
thought about it. At the same time, everything he'd said
would happen HAD happened, in one way or another. They'd
certainly talked, and they'd talked quite frankly. She had liked
dancing, and hungered for the chance to be in as good a shape as he
was, and know dancing like he did, so she could whirl and float with
him. He'd been the perfect gentleman, not counting all those
kisses on her chest. She remembered his hot lips on her
skin there, and a tiny shudder went through her. She
remembered making love, but it was a dim memory. Still, she knew
his lips would feel just as hot, and just as soft, other places on her
body.
She shook her
head. This was silly. They were strangers,
thrown together for a week, and then they'd never see each other
again. She couldn't let him get under her skin. He was
nice, but it was too dangerous to trust a man, and let him in.
She decided to
be firm, and that there would be no kissing good night, this night, or
any other. A little flirting was fine, but that was all it
would be.
She was
completely unprepared, therefore, when they stepped out of the cab, and
he took her right hand in his and raised it, to kiss the tips of her
fingers.
"I had a good
time tonight." he said, smiling. "You're a good partner to do
this kind of thing with," he said. "See you at
breakfast?" He dropped her hand.
She was
stunned. She'd been ready to tell him all kinds of things ... to
lay down the law ... to establish ground rules. But before she
could say a word, he was walking away, waving over his shoulder at
her. She stood there, watching him saunter off, and fumed
inside. This wasn't the way it was supposed to
be! How dare him get her all worked up, and then just walk
off!
She
blinked. She WAS worked up! She didn't have to look
at the front of her blouse to know that her nipples were poking through
her bra and the cloth of her blouse too. They'd been doing that
all night long. He hadn't paid them any attention at all,
though, at least not as far as she could tell. He could at
least have TRIED to kiss her!
She finally turned and wandered toward her room.
She knew she'd have to masturbate before she could get to sleep.
She growled, under her breath. This was all HIS fault!
