Chapter Four

The first piece of the evening was entitled “Triad.” The triad was Anthony, Caesar, and Cleopatra. Terry Jacobi, of course, was dancing. Laura liked the performance as much as she could pay attention to it, but her mind was working away a mile a minute. She was overwhelmed, for one thing, that she and Dante were sitting right next to Maxwell. (Maxwell!) If she had known that, she would have been three times as nervous on the ride into town.

After “Triad,” they had an intermission and the three of them trooped downstairs to the bar. Dante clutched Laura’s arm again and shook her. He glared at her and bought her an orange juice. She didn’t dare excuse herself to go to the ladies room, which she knew would be impossibly crowded anyway. She wondered if her hair looked like spaghetti.

Dante introduced Maxwell to her in an offhand way, explaining that Laura studied at his Studio. Laura didn’t have to try too hard to think of anything to say because in a moment Maxwell was surrounded by danceophiles.

Dante pulled Laura to the side of the lounge area and pushed her into a vacant chair. She looked up at him and couldn’t help but grin. He was taking care of her, she knew. It was good to see him, too. She was getting used to seeing him. She smiled into her orange juice.

“I’m sorry I was late,” she remembered.

“Who was that guy?” Dante asked, as if offended that she had a life of her own.

She thought of Dante’s girlfriend. “I’m doing him a favor,” she said. “It’s business.”

He continued to glare, unappeased. He seemed irritable and restless. In a moment, he took the unfinished orange juice out of her hand. “Let’s go back upstairs,” he suggested. He put the glass on a ledge and caught Maxwell’s eye, gesturing upward.

Two pieces next, with a pause in between—one lightly pastoral, the other breathtakingly brilliant. Dante held Laura’s hand part of the time and leaned away to avoid her the other half. During intermission, he shunned her and talked to Maxwell’s crowd while she stood a little apart.

The last piece was an inscrutable parable about John the Baptist. Maxwell had wound up on the other side of Laura and once or twice he glanced at her, which made her self-conscious. Dante looked at her as well, which made her feel hemmed in.

After the performance, they took a cab down to Cabino’s in Soho, Maxwell descrying the rudeness of New York audiences all the way. This seemed the main thing in life that bothered him. He didn’t say a word about how good the dances or the dancers had been, only about moments on the stage when women from the suburbs had coughed.

The conversation began to get on Laura’s nerves and her head started to pound with temper. Then Maxwell took out a cigarette and Dante lit it for him. Laura was shocked. She was surprised that a dancer like Maxwell smoked cigarettes and she was astonished that Dante reacted to Maxwell like a waiter in a very good restaurant expecting a sizeable tip. She didn’t care for that in the slightest.

And she didn’t like Cabino’s from the moment they entered; she had been there several times before, of course, and hadn’t liked it then, either. She didn’t enjoy the aspiring theatre crowd, or the elbow jostling, name jostling, beer-drinking, loud music atmosphere. All that simply didn’t seem to belong to the decent, orderly lifestyle that she preferred.

She ordered an orange juice and a salad, realizing she hadn’t eaten any dinner whatsoever. Maxwell asked for a beer, and Dante ordered a grilled cheese sandwich, but then played around with it. “We ought to go to Rene’s and go dancing,” he said. Rene’s was where all the movie stars went—she knew that much.

“Later, later,” Maxwell said, calling for another round. He began talking about the early days in modern dance, about Martha Graham, Doris Humphreys, Charles Weidman, and others. He went on to catalogue everyone since from Merce Cunningham to Twyla Tharp to Kei Takei (“that abomination”).

Laura found him interesting in part, but the thudding in her head increased. He didn’t give either of his two students the opportunity to say one single word. Laura became livid and went to the ladies room to calm down.

In the ladies room at least she had a chance to comb her hair. Her face was shiny but she couldn’t wash it because there wasn’t any decent soap and as she didn’t wear makeup, so she couldn’t powder the shine away. The small room smelled of stale beer.

Laura returned to find the table empty. She didn’t know whether to feel relieved or anxious. She turned around and bumped into Dante. “Did you think we’d left you?” he inquired.

“I wasn’t sure if I cared,” she replied sharply.

For once that evening, he smiled at her. “Come on,” he said. “We’ll go to Rene’s. It’s a perfect chance. Maxwell’s a member.”

“I ought to go home,” she protested. “I have to get up early for work tomorrow.”

“We won’t stay long,” Dante assured her. “I want to make the morning class.” He seemed to like pulling Laura close to him, and she liked it too.

The cab uptown, for some reason, was a lecture on classical painting and sculpture. Laura, who knew her art history as well as the next guy, was tested to her absolute limit. She stared out the window, trying to recall the ride through the country earlier in the day. She listened to Dante throwing little noises into Maxwell’s omnivorous ego. She couldn’t believe she was in the midst of such pathology.

Rene’s brought her into almost open rebellion. It was swinging nightlife in all its glory. Everyone kept turning around to see who was important. Maxwell was semi-important, so people stared at Laura as well. She felt nowhere nearly well-dressed enough to receive such attention, even had she craved it. She thought longingly of the nice family afternoon she had enjoyed. Her body began to feel some weariness.

Dante danced with her and brought her back to life. That, at least, was fun. She didn’t mind the people so much when she was dancing. She could almost believe that they were simply trying to have an innocent good time. Yet the air was filled with marijuana smoke and she wanted to run fetch a police officer, then go home, wash her face, and go to sleep.

Maxwell danced with her and, as she might have suspected, he was a showoff. He made himself look good and Laura vaguely clumsy, which was rather difficult to do, disco style. He came up close to her and sang in her ear.

“You’re not bad,” he shouted at her. “You ought to be a dancer.” She wanted to weep.

“I have to go home now,” she told Dante after pressing through the crowds to reach him.

“Fifteen more minutes, and that’s it,” he promised her. “Your boyfriend is here.” He pointed, and there, sure enough, was—not her boyfriend of course—but Richard. And there, too, was the fabled Elise. Both were dressed to the teeth, looking like the movie stars everyone had been waiting for.

Dante watched Laura watching Elise. “She’s something, isn’t she,” he said. He smiled. “I bet she scratches. Or at least chews.”

“I’m sure she’s a very nice person,” answered Laura, but she smiled in amusement.

Dante put his arm around Laura’s waist and stood there with her. Both of them were sweating from the heat of the crowd and the dancing they’d done. “Let’s grow up and be stars,” Dante suggested and smiled at her again.

“I just want to be a dancer,” Laura insisted.

“I want to be what Baryshnikov once was. The Baryshnikov of modern dance.”

She smiled and shook her head a little sadly. Dante put both arms around her and Laura felt a rush both of sweetness and of pain. “Your girlfriend belongs to my health club,” she told him.

“My what?” He pushed her away, wide eyed and annoyed. She felt sick that she had made that statement. “Who is that?” he demanded. She didn’t say anything.

A hand grabbed her from behind and she thought it must be Maxwell and recoiled slightly. She turned to see Richard and the goddess Elise. Introductions were made all around, Dante putting his arm around Laura again as if she had never offended him.

Dante and Elise eyed one another like a cat and a dog spoiling for a fight. It was a sort of Star Wars, Laura realized with a start. Dante was jealous of Elise’s charisma and not Richard’s supposed success with Laura. Laura and Richard looked at one another, too, with the knowledge, it seemed, that they were the minor characters in the scene.

Dante knew how to resolve this impasse. He grabbed Elise and asked her to dance. “It’s so noisy,” Laura complained to Richard, raising her voice. He gestured to the exit.

Outside, it was cold, but refreshing for the moment. Laura felt for a second that the two of them might become friends. “That’s your important date?” Richard asked her.

“Yes,” she said slowly. She didn’t know how to explain, She didn’t know herself what her feelings toward Dante were.

Richard only looked at her and nodded. “Don’t you work tomorrow?” he asked.

“Do I ever!” She wished that he would take her home and leave Dante with the elegant model, but that was too much to expect. She shivered. “It’s cold. Let’s go in.”

Dante and Elise were waiting on the sidelines. They appeared bored with one another’s company. Dante glowered at Laura. “You walked out on me,” he accused.

“I’m ready to leave now,” she told him.

“I’ll let Maxwell know. Wait here.” He left her with Elise and Richard.

“Are you in the art world?” Elise asked.

Laura understood from the question that Richard hadn’t explained Laura’s part in his dirty tricks. Laura was strongly tempted to do so now.

“In a very small way,” she answered Elise. Richard looked relieved.

She had time to examine Elise while Dante stood and listened to Maxwell. (Laura could see him nodding and agreeing with whatever his mentor was telling him.) Elise seemed like a woman who didn’t know what to make of herself, so made of herself the best thing she could think of. And she had done that well. Elise was the synthesis of every high-class beauty idea in the history of man. Tall, willowy, darkly exotic, she looked as if she bathed in buttermilk and spent the night wrapped in Vaseline a la Doris Day.

Dante returned. He began yanking at Laura again and she slapped his hand lightly. “Violence,” he proclaimed in mock dismay. He gave Elise and Richard a dramatic good-bye wave.

He took her home in a taxi, yawning a lot, and kept the cab waiting at her door while he brushed her lips lightly with his own. “I’m dancing next Sunday. You’d better come,” he demanded. Laura nodded in agreement and hurried upstairs.

This Monday morning was even worse than usual. Laura felt hung over from not enough sleep. Then, in the afternoon, Cecil pressed her into staying late on the grounds that she never did, so she stayed, missing her class.

She walked into the health club and saw Dante’s girlfriend just leaving. She wondered at his reaction the night before. The woman couldn’t have spoken like that in the sauna if she weren’t his girlfriend. Yet the idea that he had a girlfriend seemed to anger Dante. How bizarre!

Since Laura had missed her class, she arrived home early for once. She fixed a veggie burger for dinner, emailed her parents, then found herself at a loss for something constructive to do. She stretched for twenty-five minutes, then went to bed.

I’m lonely, she thought. And that’s the truth. She imagined Dante being there to put his arms around her, a pleasantly exciting thought. Then Richard flashed into her mind. Men are basically liars, she decided and fell asleep.

Thursday, she saw Dante in the hall at the Studio. He was dressed for dance and the sweat still glistened on his arms and neck. He came over to her and gave her an uninspired peck on the cheek. “Been avoiding me?” He grinned and took her arm and placed it around his waist. “I called you one night and you weren’t home. I didn’t leave a message. Out with the vampire’s boyfriend?”

She removed her arm from his person. His perspiration was on her skin and she wiped it off with her sweater. He was still smiling at her. “Aww, don’t you like my sweat?”

“If you want, I’ll cook dinner for us on Saturday night,” she said, although it frightened her to say that.

“No, I may still be rehearsing for Sunday. Maxwell’s a slave driver. Isn’t he too much? Too bad he’s a genius, he’s such a cluck.”

“You don’t treat him as if he’s a cluck.”

“Do you treat your employer as if he is one?” He made a face at her. “Have a drop of compassion.”

She did. She was sorry. It was easy enough for her to say; she wasn’t in his position—if only she were. She gave him a forgiving smile. He put his arm around her waist in a clutch sort of way. “I could like you,” he muttered. That made her melt and shiver at the same time.

Then, as usual, he pulled away from her. “I have to get back. Hmm, let me call you Saturday. If we finish maybe I can take you out for an orange juice. But don’t count on it. Don’t let me hold you up.”

Laura watched him return to the classroom. His body was perfect, full of grace and healthful vigor. He seemed to like her too. Somewhat. Perhaps. But he was obviously in the habit of being a tease. Still, he’d asked her out—twice.

On Friday, Richard called in the midst of more Macy’s designs. He wanted to know if she would be able to go home with him again on Sunday. His grandfather was crazy about her and so were the rest of his family. This time they hoped she and Richard would stay for dinner. His grandfather was eagerly looking forward to bridge.

“Dante is dancing Sunday afternoon. I promised to go.”

“Sure. Never mind. We’ll do it another time. Elise wanted to go to Vermont this weekend anyway.” Richard sounded vaguely disappointed. “We’ll make it the following Sunday. If you can. By the way, thanks for not telling Elise about all this. I thought it might hurt her feelings if she knew—my grandfather not liking her and all. Oh yes, also, did you get my check?”

“No, I didn’t.” Cecil was looking at her, then looked at the work still on her table.

“I mailed it.”

“Fine.”

“Elise didn’t like your boyfriend very much.” He didn’t seem able to let her go.

“That’s funny. He thought she was super.” Laura wanted to get back and finish her layouts before she had to stay late and miss another class.

“She liked you quite a bit though.”

“Look, I have to go now. Let’s make it the following Sunday. If anything comes up, give me a call.” She hung up, feeling annoyed at Cecil. After all these years of good work, why did he have to make her feel like a crumb?

She did find something in the mailbox when she arrived home, something other than a bill. Richard wrote his address down as 306 Central Park West. No wonder he needed his grandfather’s money. Or did Elise pay the rent there? Laura opened the envelope to find a note and a check.

The note read: “Sunday was nice. It was strange to see you at Rene’s later, but I was glad you were able to meet Elise. I’ll call you when I go upstate again. Thanks very much. Richard.” The check was for fifty dollars.

Laura couldn’t decide if fifty was a lot or really too little. Too little for a day’s work, but a lot for having a good time. Elise liked her! That was a laugh. Elise probably thought Laura was after Richard and hated her. Or was Laura being cynical? No, she just knew it was so.

Laura dialed Lillian who happened to be home. “I wanted to thank you, Diamond Lil. I’ve received my first fifty dollars for impersonating a woman who belongs to a man.”

“Women don’t belong to men anymore,” Lillian corrected her.

“Oh, that’s right. I forgot for a moment. And, by the way, how’s your romance?”

“What romance is that?” Lillian actually seemed not to remember.

“The lawyer,” Laura prompted.

“Oh, him. I shipped him back to his wife. Once I found out he was married. Do I need that? What a creep. Honestly. Am I too old fashioned?” Lillian sighed.

“No. Throw the married ones back in. They aren’t full grown anyway if they don’t know how to stay home nights.”

“Society’s rotten.” Lillian sighed again. “I want to make a lot of money and get away from it all. That’s woman’s new hope. Money. Dealing with men is utterly futile.”

Laura laughed. “I think money is, too. For me the only answer is to dance. When I’m dancing, I forget about it all.”

“That’s the way I feel when I go to my accountant,” said Lillian.

They agreed to get together that very weekend, and then hung up. Laura knew she didn’t have the time to keep her promise, and she hoped Lillian didn’t either.

Laura took two dance classes on Saturday, then rushed to the club and had a massage. Soon, covered head to foot with vegetable oil, she went down to simmer in the steam. Later, in the whirlpool, a man started a conversation with her, then demanded her phone number, which she wouldn’t give him.

“We could have something short but delicious,” he told her. She looked at him as if he were a worm, which was exactly the way that she saw it. He got out and went into the pool. Laura and another woman exchanged glances.

Laura knew the other woman, a solidly charming type in her middle forties. “Really!” the woman exclaimed, shaking her head.

“Thanks,” said Laura. “I was beginning to think that I was goofy to be disturbed by such… such… Does ‘rudeness to a lady’ sound laughable in this day and age?”

“If it does, it’s because many of us don’t act like ladies anymore,” said the woman. “And I’m not criticizing women’s liberation, which I’m all in favor of.”