“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
