Nikos

It’s taking everything I have not to touch her. The black dress is modest enough, but it can’t hide the curve of her waist or the shape of that ass. She could wear a gunny sack and they’d suddenly be the rage. And heels. She’s wearing high ankle strap sexy heels that command me to look at her legs.

But the pull is more than the sum of her body parts. Damn. Why can’t we stick with the awesome sexual thing we have? That should be enough. We barely know each other and I already know there’s an undefinable something that calls me to her. And surprisingly, it’s not about what I can see.

“Jenny’s here!” Kate calls over the music.

Voices rise in greetings, welcoming the newcomer to our party. She takes in all the costumes. The great room has its furniture pushed to the walls so we have the dance floor and everyone is getting their groove on. Even Max and Boo and Gregory. All three are dressed like Travolta in Saturday Night Fever. It was Boo’s idea that she wear a tiny white suit fit for a five-year-old. Now that the boys are teenagers they’ve honed their skills on the floor. Max more than Gregory. Boo tries to mimic her brother’s movements but what she comes up with bears little resemblance. It’s more adorable than accurate.

“Let me see what everyone’s wearing,” Jenny says.

I anticipated she wouldn’t be in costume, so I wore my black pants and a white shirt. But the rest of my family came as dancers from different eras.

“I hope I’m dressed properly,” she says.

“We’re both 2018 dancers,” I say.

The revelers pass in front of us in a conga line, parading their costumes. Mom and Dad move by as a nineteen twenties flapper and her one spat-wearing gangster with a limp. He’s saying it was a bullet hit. She congas as he walks next to the line snapping his fingers. Nash and Farrah are summer of love wearing hippies, Christos and Kate Romeo and Juliet at the ball, Alexander and Joseph 60’s twisters and Dion and his date jitterbug dancers from the forties.

“You all look fantastic!” she says.

I spin her around and have her take the hips of a passing Dion. We conga. For about three more seconds. Then the song changes. The first notes to “Hey Baby” rise in the air and I take Jenny’s hand.

“Let’s dance.”

I keep ahold and start moving. This is the perfect beat for slow fast dancing, the name Max gave it. That’s my favorite. You can move elegantly and sensually at the same time. She’s following me perfectly. Good thing it was my left elbow that broke. When I move her out she slides, when I bring her back to me, she comes matching her step to mine. Heyyyyy, hey baby.

One song moves to the next till we’re all in need of a drink. My shirt is sticking to my back, and even the trio of John Travolta’s have their jackets off. I was in charge of the playlist and made sure to include songs for every person here. I even asked Dion for a favorite tune for his date.

“Save me, Jesus!” my mother says. Her feathered headband is slipping sideways.

“Alexander! Bring your mother and I a martini.” They crash on the couch and my mother motions for Dad to put his leg up.

“There’s food in the dining room. Everyone help themselves,” Farrah says.

“We’ll get you and Dad a plate. Mom,” says Christos.

It’s a stampede to the table, where we find many of the favorites my family’s noted for. Decorations declare it’s my birthday, and a big Dirty 30 balloon floats over it all.

“I bet I could guess whose idea this was,” I say.

“Mine and Max’s,” Gregory says smiling.

“I asked them to go buy a balloon and that’s what they came back with,” Nash says shaking his head.

The boys are both laughing at their inspired idea.

“Can you blame them?” Alexander says.

I glance at Jenny and she shoots me a grin. I think she agrees with the boys.

After we all get our fill of pasta fusilli, cheeses, manicotti and tiramisu, the dance party resumes.

“I’ve noticed you haven’t had a drink. That’s good you’re not mixing pain medication and alcohol,” Jenny says as we stand to join the guests.

“I’m not on pain meds. Haven’t been for a few days.”

The shocked look on her face kinda pisses me off.

“You think I’m a drug addict or something?”

“No! God, no! I’m just a little surprised. Come on, let’s twist.”

So I pretend to move right past that bump in the road, mindful that the reason I’m feeling mad is because she’s right. She doesn’t know it, and I’ll fight against it, but I may have a small problem in that area. It’s been so easy to pop a pill, take a drink, float away on a manufactured high. And when you’re surrounded with people who like to do the same, it becomes normal. I’m never required to hide it in Vegas.

Here in St. Helena I feel like a skid row junky because I do take a few too many pills. I guess it’s true I never consider the effect of mixing alcohol with the narcotic, or the fact that sometimes I drive when I do. Once she put the idea in my mind I can’t stop thinking about the truth of it.

Shit.

Saved by the music.

The song changes from Chubby Checker’s upbeat classic to “She’s Like The Wind”. I was hoping that showed up soon. Taking Jenny’s hand I bring her close to me. The warmth of her soft skin against my palm and my face, the feel of my hand on her back, right where her waist dips is powerful. I want to be inside her. Not just sexually, although I haven’t stopped wanting that. But emotionally too. Whatever she’s made of has captured me, changed me. Never have I felt this way before. How can I say goodbye?

She runs her fingers up the back of my neck and entwines them in my hair.

“Jenny,” I whisper in her ear.

An unexpected tear runs between our cheeks and when I look at her face I see her bottom lip quiver. She pulls me closer to her. “Please keep dancing. I don’t want anyone to see me cry. Please.”

So I do as asked, holding her close and moving around the room till we’re positioned in the hall that leads to the front door, hidden from the others.

“Let’s go outside for a few minutes.”

“Can you get me my purse? It’s on the kitchen counter,” she says, her voice wavering.

“Why? You’re not leaving are you?”

“I have to. It’s too painful, Nikos. Please, get my purse.”

Tears are streaming down her face, and her beautiful brown eyes are pleading with me. So I do as asked, making it into the kitchen without anyone noticing. The loud Saturday Night Fever music has encouraged the group. They stand watching the three kids do their best impressions. Grabbing the bag, I make it back quickly.

“Thank you,” she says.

I take her by both hands. “Jenny, please don’t.”

“I’m going now. I just can’t take this happiness a minute longer. It was a bad idea that I come.”

There’s no irony in her comment. Her eyes shift to the side and are glazed with a layer of tears. I try to bring her in, but she puts a hand on my chest that keeps me away.

“There’s no reason to prolong the goodbye. I hope you know I wish you well, Nikos.”

“Don’t leave like this. Let’s go to a hotel, spend the night.”

She gives me the strangest look. “Talking! Spend the night talking,” I say.

Her head shakes defiantly. “No. Stop it. I’m cutting it off right now. For my own benefit and yours. Goodbye, Nikos.”

She bites her lip tightly in an attempt to stop the crying sound that wants to escape. My heart sinks. Then I feel a soft kiss on my cheek and a squeeze of her hands in mine. She turns and walks out the door.

A single tear rolls down my face.

Her leaving was the end of the party for me. The bogus excuse I gave my family for going to bed because my elbow hurt was accepted. What choice did they have? The look on my face must have been enough to quiet their questions. And ten minutes ago the music ended and I heard everyone leaving.

Laying in the dark makes it impossible to escape what haunts you. I’ve always been good at playing devil’s advocate with myself, but most of the time the devil has the last say. Tonight it’s my better side, my greater self. That fucker keeps throwing in the one reason not to let her go that can’t be argued against.

This could be love.

Love?

How did that happen?

We’ve only known each other for five weeks. I’ve never been to her house. We’ve never fallen asleep at night or woken up together in the morning. What we know about each other could fit in a short story. Yet. I know I’d want to read it. More than that, I’d want to be the hero.

She said she wasn’t seeing anyone. I told her I was seeing everyone. She laughed at the time. I don’t think she’d be laughing now. The thought of being with anyone else turns me cold. Christ, I’m screwed.

I look at my suitcases standing watch against the wall, highlighted by the moonlight through the window. They’re ready to go, to get back to Vegas and the closet they live inside. Quit looking at me.

What if I did stay? No job, little money, dismal prospects. But what do I really have in Las Vegas? No job, little money, dismal prospects. And more important than all the reasons I can list, no family life.

Man. I got sucked into Santini world. I’d forgotten what it feels like to be around them. And not for just a weekend or a wedding. But really with them. It’s good. They’re great. I’m an asshole for thinking of missing the whole thing.

But the one thing I can’t figure is what the hell would I do for a living? I do not want to work in a deli. I had enough of that as a kid to know I’m not cut out for the job. I wouldn’t want to teach dance to middle aged couples who want to be ready for their daughter’s wedding. Where would I find my place? In the real world I’m still young. In the dance world I’m a young old man.

And then there’s my injury. The doctor said there’s no guarantees about my level of recovery. I may never be able to lift, and sway, and move the way being a professional dancer must. It’s anyone’s guess. So why be constantly reminded of my inadequacies by being in a town of dancers?

There’s no running from the truth either. I lean toward my weaker nature when it comes to drugs and alcohol. By pointing out to me that it’s nothing to be proud of, Jenny shined a light. It took something away from the experience. I think it’s the ability to shove what I’m doing under the rug and just party. It kinda sounds pathetic now. She’s made me a better man, or at least a man who wants to be better.

Maybe in the morning I’ll go talk to her. Find her house and go have a conversation. Yeah, that’s what I’ll do…

My plan didn’t lose any power when I woke up an hour ago. The shower cleared any cobwebs and I’m ready to plead my case. I can leave for Vegas today, wrap things up in a few weeks and get back to St. Helena. Didn’t say anything to my parents yet. It would have been a shit show of happiness, but I’m not going to get ahead of myself.

I feel a lightness around me. Guess that’s what a good decision feels like. All the doubts and questions I have will work out one way or another. I’ve always been adventurous, fly by the seat of my pants guy. Who knew my greatest adventure would be coming back to where I started?

“I’ll be back for my things. I’ve got to take care of something first.”

The words are directed at my mother and father, who sit at the breakfast table. But I don’t look at them. Can’t risk a lengthy conversation where they ask if I’m alright and why I’m leaving.

Out of my peripheral vision I see my father put a finger to his lips, silencing my mother.

I’m outta here.

I got her address from my mother’s address book. You don’t see those too often anymore. But hallelujah, old school wins the day. One more turn and I’m there. Nice street. These old houses are kinda cool, with their porches and big front yards. Let’s see. Twelve twenty. Okay, it’s the other side of the street.

Up ahead a few houses I see a man standing at the door. He’s running a hand through his hair and carrying a bouquet of flowers. Nice morning greeting for someone. Wish I had thought of it.

Her house has got to be close. Wait. Is it the one the man is standing at? Shit. Fuck. I pull the car to the curb and turn off the engine. I’m across the street and down a few houses so I hope she won’t spot me. I watch.

After a few moments the door opens. She’s standing there looking at him with a little smile. I can tell there’s surprise on her face when he hands her the flowers.

He comes in for a kiss on the cheek, which she gives him without hesitation.

Fuck! He’s good looking. Tall. Nicely dressed if you like nerdy pressed clothes. She invites him in with a sweep of her hand. The door closes.

What a fool I am. I start the engine and pull away from the curb. I’ve no interest in watching any more.