“Didn’t bring my tap shoes,” I said apologetically. “Wore right through the taps. They’re being resoled at a place over on. .”
“Show me,” she said with a smile I did not like.
It was my turn to nod. My first problem was that I couldn’t find the beat, though I heard Lou hitting it hard. Something is wrong with the spring inside me. By the time I hear the beat, it’s long gone. My former wife, Anne, tried to teach me to dance at least once a year and gave up each time in quiet cold disbelief, certain that I wasn’t trying hard enough. Even Fred Astaire hadn’t been able to get through to me.
I did my best to imagine I was Astaire, put on a happy face, and tried to remember what I had just told Luna. I plunged in. Heel-toe, heel-toe, arms out, happy smile, shuffle and turn. I almost fell on the turn but I converted it to a bow in Luna’s general direction. She had just witnessed the march of the wooden klutz.
“I think I got it,” she said seriously.
“Fine,” I said. “Give it a try.”
“Can we restart the music? I am not so good at picking up the beat.”
“Lou,” I called. “Take it from the top.”
Lou stopped, muttered something, and was off to Kalamazoo. Luna started in, taps clicking. She had feet of solid lead and the grace of an armadillo. She was Ruby Keeler coming out of a heavy dose of ether. She tapped, she shuffled, she stopped and looked to me for approval. It was hard to believe that she had actually given dance lessons to sane people, but that’s what she had claimed.
“Almost perfect. Only the reverse. Start with the left foot,” I said.
She did. Over and over again. Lou switched to “The Mexican Hat Dance.” The move in no way altered Luna Martin’s style or pace.
I looked on critically, hands behind my back, watching the clock for the hour to end. I gave her a break, let her use the ladies room, the towel, and the pitcher of water.
Lou lifted the top of the piano and grumbled as he searched for the bad note.
“Wire’s about to go. No middle C,” he grumbled.
“Do without it,” I said.
Luna announced that she was, again, “Ready.”
Lou closed the top of the piano.
And then, back to the routine.
I’ll give her this. She was determined. The hour sulked by to the uneven tapping of dancing feet and the piano magic of Lou Canton, who played loudly and with no enthusiasm “Where Oh Where Has My Little Dog Gone” and “After You’ve Gone.” There was a tense moment when Lou banged into “Ida! Sweet As Apple Cider.” Luna stopped in the middle of a shuffle and said, “That is a girl’s name.”
“Forbes had a friend named Ida?” I asked.
“It is the principle of the thing, Mr. Peters,” she said with indignation.
“Lou,” I shouted. “You’re playing a girl’s name.”
He stopped and shouted sarcastically, “I’m sorry. I don’t know how I could make such a mistake. I’ll cut off my fingers.”
Don’t give the lady any ideas, I thought, and was about to make a suggestion when he roared into “If I Could Be with You One Hour Tonight.”
“You crazy old nut,” Luna shouted.
Lou ignored her.
According to the big Benrus clock on the wall, the hour finally came to an end. I looked at my watch and sighed with disappointment. My watch was the only thing my father left me besides memories and a brother on the Los Angeles Police Department. It ticked away happily, seldom coming within hours of the right time of day. Whenever I tried to reset it, it danced away energetically, like Luna.
“I’m afraid it’s time,” I said.
I held up my hand for Lou to stop playing. He capped the chorus with a flourish.
“So, I did?. .”
“. . fine,” I finished.
The moment had come for which I had been paid two hundred dollars up front by Fred Astaire. I followed as Luna’s tap heels and toes clicked to the table, her towel, and her waiting water.
“You think Fred will. . you know, like it?” she asked.
“He’ll be knocked off his feet,” I said.
“Do not overdo it, Peters,” she said softly. “I am no dummy.”
“Listen,” I said, rubbing my hands together. “Mr. Astaire is working night and day on the defense-bond show for this Saturday and then he won’t be back from this war-bond tour for at least a month and. .”
“You will work with me. Double the lessons. I will be dancing like Ginger when he gets back,” she said.
“Right,” I said.
“Wrong,” she answered. “I want Fred Astaire. Period.”
“Can I go?” Lou shouted across the room.
“Keep your skinny withered ass on that bench,” Luna shouted.
“I’ll give you a ride in a minute, Lou,” I said.
“I can’t hang around,” he called.
“Are you deaf, you old fart?” Luna said.
“Give me five minutes, Lou,” I called out. I took a breath and said to her, “Mr. Astaire won’t be able to give you any more lessons. I’m sorry. He’s sorry. After the tour, he starts rehearsing for another movie and then he. .”
I didn’t like the look on Luna’s face.
“He teaches me to dance,” she finished. It was not a request, or a question.
“’Fraid not,” I said with a sigh. “Mr. Astaire gave you two lessons on Mr. Forbes’s solicitation. During those lessons, you declared. . let’s say you indicated an attraction to Mr. Astaire.”
“He is funny-looking,” she said, her brown eyes unblinking. “But there is something sexy about him, you know?”
“Not really,” I said. “No more lessons, Miss Martin. Mr. Astaire is happily married, has three children. .”
“Two,” she corrected, “one is adopted or something.”
“Three,” I insisted. “You need a teacher far more advanced than I am. I’m sure Mr. Astaire will be glad to find you a first-rate teacher who he will personally pay for, but. .”
“No buts,” she said, handing me the towel. “Here. You are sweating.”
I was. I wiped my face. The towel smelled of Luna Martin. I felt just a little dizzy.
“I’m afraid I’ve been given the go-ahead by Mr. Astaire to tell Mr. Forbes about your attempted seduction of Mr. Astaire unless you agree to taking lessons from someone else.”
She laughed. “Arthur will never believe you, or Astaire. I will call him a liar. Arthur will be very hurt. He will assume, with a little help from me, that Fred Astaire did not want to associate with me because of Arthur’s reputation. Not only will Arthur be hurt, he will certainly be very angry.”
She was almost in my face now.
“You want me to come back, you get a piano tuner in here,” said Lou. “I can try to fix it myself, but. .”
“Something wrong here?” a man’s voice came from the general direction of the ballroom door.
“No, honey,” Luna said, her face tauntingly close to mine, her lips within touching distance. “I was just considering giving Mr. Peters a thank-you kiss for a wonderful lesson.”
“I don’t think. . ”Arthur Forbes began.
Luna gave me a peck on the mouth, crinkled her nose fetchingly, and whispered, “Arthur gets very jealous.”
She backed away and I faced the advancing Arthur. He was not big, about my height, five-ten or so and about twenty pounds heavier. Maybe two hundred or a little less. He was wearing a gray suit that looked new, and a shirt and tie that were definitely silk. His hair was brushed back, a little gray, a little long. I knew he was over sixty, but I wasn’t sure how far over. There was nothing that hit you about his face except his eyes. They were big. They were blue. And they fixed on me with suspicion.
Behind him in the ballroom doorway stood a mass of a man, an Indian, in a perfectly pressed blue suit and
