Chapter 33
Grace
The Crystal Ballroom. The name seemed a little overblown for an old three-story brick building in that particular part of Portland, so near to the freeway.
The neon sign near the door, topped with an image of the moon as a grinning, disembodied face, coupled with the fact that the lower floor was occupied by a pub, made me think the place had probably seen better days and added to the generalized anxiety that had been hovering over me all afternoon.
The quip about my dress being made for dancing had sort of popped out unexpectedly. It wasn’t that I hadn’t understood what I was getting into, committing to four weeks of dance lessons with Luke. But I’d done so in the excitement of the moment, giddy from my unanticipated success and grateful to Luke for helping to make it all possible. It wasn’t until I woke up the next morning that I realized I might have left Luke with the wrong impression.
Though it was awkward, I felt like I needed to call and make things clear.
“Sure,” he said casually. “We’re just going to dance, as friends. I got that.”
“Okay, good. I mean . . . I just. You know. I wanted to make sure we were on the same page.”
“We are,” he confirmed. “Not a problem. I’ll meet you there, right?”
“Right. Thursday, seven o’clock. See you then.”
Though it had to be said, it was a weird conversation and left me feeling unsettled. Fortunately, work kept me so busy that I hadn’t had much time to think about it—especially since Aunt Rickie had agreed to cosign my loan so I could get Twirl and Whirl off the ground more quickly.
Two more wildly successful Saturdays had proven to me that my debut at the market hadn’t been a fluke. The demand was there. People loved my twirly skirts. But I wouldn’t return until I had a chance to hire some reliable help and build up the inventory so I could keep up with demand. However, apart from the eight prepaid special orders, I hadn’t sewn a thing that week and I was so busy I’d even skipped support group. At that moment, my whole focus was on planning the future of Twirl and Whirl and turning it into a proper business.
Already I had bank accounts, a company logo, a website in the works, and accounts with a fabric wholesaler. I had purchased another sewing machine, and was searching for someone who knew how to use it—my first employee. For some reason, that part seemed especially daunting.
I was incredibly busy. So busy that, until Luke called that afternoon to ask if I needed directions, I’d forgotten about the class.
I looked down the street in both directions, hoping to catch sight of Luke. I’d feel less awkward if we could go in together. Where was he? I looked at my watch, then remembered the frozen hands and checked my phone instead. It was only 6:44. Luke wasn’t late; I was early.
When it started raining, I reluctantly went through the doors alone and climbed the stairs to the third floor, expecting . . . Well, I don’t know what exactly. But definitely not what I found.
Entering the doors of the Crystal Ballroom was like entering another world, another time, like walking onto the set of one of those old black-and-white movies I loved so much and seeing it come alive with color and sound.
I stood just inside the doorway, drinking in the atmosphere, breathing deep of the scent of wood, and spent candles, and dust, as I watched a few couples who had arrived early and were already practicing some steps. They looked so graceful, so beautiful. Were they always like that, I wondered. Or had they become so when they entered this room?
“It’s really something, isn’t it?”
Luke’s voice, coming from behind, startled me a bit, but I was happy to see him.
“The windows are amazing,” I said, looking toward the four enormous palladium windows on the street-side wall, each one outlined by white marquee lights. “But the chandelier . . . I’ve never seen anything like it.”
I walked into the center of the room and stood beneath the four-tiered crystal chandelier from which the ballroom took its name. It was part Palace of Versailles, part carnival midway; a fanciful, glittering jewel, embellished with blown glass flowers of vibrant coral and turquoise that straddled the border between dazzling and garish.
“Did you see the murals? That’s my favorite part.”
Luke pointed to one of several large medallions, also outlined with marquee lights, and painted with an assortment of fantastical scenes. In one, a couple waltzed among the clouds as angels looked on in envy. In another, a silhouetted female form wearing a crown of sunbeams balanced a moon and planet in her outstretched arms.
“It’s not often you get to dance in a space that truly was designed for dancing,” Luke said, “back in the days when dancing and courtship were the same thing. My grandparents met here, at a USO dance.”
“Really?” I smiled. “That’s so romantic.”
He nodded. “They were married for fifty-seven years. After World War Two, it became more of a concert venue than an actual ballroom—same as now. It was closed for almost thirty years because the town was worried that rock music was corrupting the city’s youth. Some people say that Little Richard fired then unknown guitarist Jimi Hendrix in the middle of a gig they played here.” Luke grinned. “But I think that’s just a story.”
“Kind of a good one, though,” I said as more couples filed in.
“But the best part is the floor. Feel that?” Luke bounced up and down on his toes, signaling me to do the same.
“It’s kind of . . .” I searched for a word to describe the sensation of lightness under my feet, as if the laws of gravity didn’t quite apply here. “Springy?”
Luke nodded. “Exactly. It’s a sprung floor, some people call it a floating floor, specially designed to absorb shocks. There are only a few like it in the whole country. That’s—”
Luke’s explanation was interrupted when an old man walked to the front of the room and started clapping, slowly but deliberately, summoning everyone’s attention.
Judging from the lines on his weathered, overly tanned face, our instructor, Florian Hybels, appeared to be in his eighth decade. He wore a blue spandex jumpsuit that looked like it belonged to a 1950s fitness guru, but I had to say, he wore it well. After welcoming everyone, Florian explained the basic format of the class. Every week for the next four weeks, he would teach a different dance—waltz, fox trot, swing, and tango.
“Don’t worry if you’ve never danced before,” Florian said, speaking loudly so everyone could hear. “We’re going to start at the very beginning with every dance and walk you through it step by step. This course is meant to be an overview. If you want to sign up for advanced classes later or take some private lessons, I’m at your service.”
He made a small but courtly bow and came up smiling.
“But even if this is the only ballroom class you ever take, in the next four sessions, it’s my goal to give you the skills, confidence, and desire to keep dancing. The important thing to remember,” Florian said, pointing his finger and tracing an imaginary line slowly through the air, touching every couple present, “is to relax and enjoy yourself. Have fun.”
Luke gave me a sidelong look. I nodded. Message received.
“Having fun is what I’ve been doing,” Florian continued, “over the past sixty-two years of my dancing career. The last forty-five of which, I have been lucky enough to share with my partner in dance and in life, my wife, Victoria, who will now help me demonstrate this evening’s dance, the waltz. Darling?”
He made a graceful arc through the air with his arm, extending his right hand to a woman who had been standing alone near the outer fringes of the group.
Though Victoria appeared to be a decade younger than her husband, her hair was completely white. Her platinum tresses were drawn into an elegant twist that emphasized her long neck and beautifully balanced shoulders. Everything about her was elegant, even her walk. She all but floated across the room toward her husband and when she took Florian’s hand, the look in her eyes was a perfect mirror of his.
There could be no doubt in the minds of anyone watching that the years had done nothing to decrease the ardor they felt for each other. They were still very much in love.
Florian and Victoria walked toward the center of the ballroom. Stopping directly under the crystal chandelier, they turned to face each other, the fingertips of her right hand resting lightly on his shoulder, his left hand making contact at the base of her shoulder blade, their free hands clasped and held at shoulder height, looking directly into each other’s eyes. Someone hit a button on the portable CD player and the music began to play.
Florian and Victoria stepped off at exactly the same moment, their movements so perfectly synchronized it was as if they were thinking the same thoughts. They continued that way throughout the dance, like two people who were one, twirling in each other’s arms, floating across the floor, creating a large oval around the room. They were fascinating to watch. I couldn’t have taken my eyes off them if I’d wanted to.
They were true to the rhythm of the music, but also played with its possibilities. Sometimes they moved slowly, even sinuously, hesitating briefly to strike a pose, Victoria’s back arching like a bowstring as she turned her head to one side, emphasizing the long, supple line of her body. Sometimes they moved quickly and with sudden energy, Florian pulling his wife close before they stepped off into a series of dizzyingly rapid spins.
As they spun and dipped and twirled, the crepe and chiffon layers of Victoria’s blue dress fluttered like a flag in a fresh breeze. It really was a dress made for dancing.
Finally, the music slowed and Florian guided his wife back to the place where they’d begun, right under the chandelier. Once again, Victoria arched away from her husband, her movements slow and languorous. She lifted her arm lightly from his shoulder, tracing an elegant arc above her head as her beautiful and smiling face turned toward the audience.
In that breath between the final note and the ringing burst of applause that came after, I had two connected and conflicting thoughts. First, that I could never in a million years imagine myself being able to dance like that. Second, that I really, really wanted to try.
Breathing heavily from the exertion of their efforts, Florian and Victoria bowed and curtsied to acknowledge the applause. I was clapping so hard my hands hurt.
“Doesn’t that look like fun?” Florian asked. “I bet you can’t wait to try. So let’s get started. Face your partner and let’s stand in the closed position. Like this.”
Victoria turned toward him and they connected at shoulder, back, and hand, as they had before. There was a noise of shuffling and some awkward laughter as the students, including Luke and I, assumed the position. When everyone was set, Florian and Victoria walked around the room, offering advice and adjustments.
“Very nice,” Victoria said when she came to check on us. “Just lift your arm a bit,” she said, touching me on the elbow, “and keep that nice curve in your arm, like you’re getting ready to hug an enormous oak tree. That’s it. Lovely.”
“All right,” Florian said after every couple had been inspected and corrected. “I think we’re ready to learn the basic waltz step, yes?”
“But,” he said, lifting his chin high, sounding suddenly serious, “before we begin, it is only fair to warn you that the waltz made me fall in love with my darling Victoria. It’s a beautiful dance, but a powerful one, eh? So. Unless you’re ready to fall in love for a lifetime, perhaps you should sit this week out.”
A murmur of laughter passed through the crowd. Luke, who had been watching Florian, laughed too. But when he turned back toward me and saw the look on my face, his expression became solemn.
“He’s kidding, Grace. It’s only a dance.”
I shifted my eyes from his face to my feet. He was right. It was only a dance.
I took a breath and looked up. Luke clasped my hand and smiled.
“Ready?”
“Ready,” I said.
The music began.