Summer Flings and Dancing Dreams (12 page)

‘I’m not sure it’s as simple as that,’ I laughed. Tony knew all about Cameron and though it was still just an online friendship with flirting Tony couldn’t wait for each instalment.

‘I’m not spoiling what Cameron and I have got...’

I started.

‘Love, you haven’t got anything – yet, but just think what you could have if you got him naked on that velour sofa and practiced the tango on him.’

‘Yes and I’d probably fall off the sofa mid-‘tango’ knowing my luck,’ I laughed. ‘But seriously, I’ve been hurt in the past and... I don’t want a man coming into my life and...’

‘Whoa girl. Who said anything about a relationship? I’m talking about a night... or just a couple of hours of red hot passion. Trust me it will be like a dam bursting...’

‘Oh what a lovely image...’ I sighed.

‘Don’t worry, we’ll nail that tango – but you have to get nailed first, girl... you just need to have sex... with anyone. Okay?’

‘Yes. I’ll pick someone up on the way home,’ I said, thinking how it must have been so easy for Tony. He was a gorgeous gay man and he didn’t get it that an average middle-aged woman couldn’t just pick up any man she fancied like he did.

‘When are you going to believe that you’re attractive... gorgeous even? Lola, you just need to believe it.’

His smile made me smile – I liked Tony’s approval, it made me feel good about myself. Our friendship was special – it wasn’t complicated by sex or rivalry or jealousy we just spent our time laughing and dancing – and what’s not to love about that?

I
n between long
shifts at Bilton’s, Tony and I worked on our ‘repertoire’ as he called it.

‘We need to be eclectic, not predictable or complacent – always offering a little surprise here, a quirk there,’ Tony said.

‘My dad always used to say stuff like that... about dancing. You remind me of him.’

‘Really?’

‘Yeah, there’s a song that’s been going through my head for years, I think Luther Van Dross sang it, it’s called “To Dance with my Father Again”.’

‘Yes I know the one you mean, it’s really slow, makes me want to cry.’

‘Me too – I suppose it’s about being able to say goodbye. I never said goodbye to my dad and if I could have anything – I’d have one last dance with him.’

Tony smiled. ‘I think we could dance to that song you know, a waltz?’

‘I would be a blubbering mess.’

‘Me too,’ he laughed.

‘It’s not just the dancing though. I know it’s not the image you want, but like him you make me feel safe, like my dad did.’

‘Safe? Try telling that to the hunky builder who’s doing my brickwork. He looks scared to death every time I go near him.’ Typical Tony, he found it hard sometimes to take compliments and would turn them into a joke.

‘Don’t go near him then,’ I said.

‘I can’t help myself. I stand behind him when he’s on the ladder and pretend to be ever so interested in his work, but really I want to look at his cute bum. I found him on this website that said his work was “robust, pleasing to the eye and largely maintenance free”. I thought he was describing himself, I didn’t realise it was actually a builders’ website. So when he turns up on my doorstep in a big hard hat with a bag of tools I thought I’d died and gone to heaven.’

Tony’s whole approach to life was just what I needed after a lifetime living with Mum’s melancholy. He never took anything too seriously – though everything was high drama, the most horrendous thing could happen and Tony would turn it into something hilarious. Even when he discovered his latest boyfriend was involved in internet porn he’d called me to tell me through his tears and we ended up laughing.

‘He shattered all my dreams, Lola,’ he sighed. ‘I opened up that computer and was faced with the motherload of flesh-tinted pixels.’

I wasn’t quite sure what this meant. ‘Oh... is that so bad?’

‘Bad? Lola he’s been looking at men having sex online.’

‘I repeat... is that so bad?’

‘It is when I zoom in and see he’s one of them!’

‘Oh that’s bad,’ I said, ‘what a betrayal.’

‘Darling you are so right – a betrayal. I wish I’d thought of that word when I lambasted him with a million Fs... it’s very Joan Crawford isn’t it? Betrayal?’ he said, in his quivering Joan Crawford voice.

‘So it’s over with Adrian and time for a fresh start,’ I said.

‘Yes, truth be told we’d fallen out of love and there's nothing sadder than watching someone you once loved become a stranger. Except maybe over-tweezered eyebrows?’ he suggested as a quick aside. ‘Anyway, I’m going to wash that man right out of my hair, and do you know the first thing I did when he dumped me – before calling you, Lola – I went online and booked a trip to Spain later this year.’

‘Lovely. For a holiday?’

‘Not just a holiday. I’ve always wanted to dance flamenco – and I promised myself I would learn properly, which means going to Spain. I feel if I can get the basic steps and rhythm down then I can play around with it and do flamenco a la Tony. Oh I wish we could go together, but I got the last place on the course.’

‘Ooh I’ve got goose bumps, that’s really spooky because my dad’s biggest dream was to learn flamenco in Spain. How weird is that?’

‘Yeah weird – but I doubt he wanted to wear the frills like I do,’ he laughed. ‘You should come with me next time?’

I smiled at the thought of Tony camping it up in the huge frilled sleeves worn by the male flamenco dancers.

‘Yes, I’d love to go to Spain, maybe one day,’ I heard myself say, in my father’s voice. Like my Dad I was putting things off, standing on the edge unable to jump and I wasn’t sure I’d ever summon the courage to do it alone. ‘How long will you be away?’ I suddenly panicked, I couldn’t dance without my partner.

‘Only a couple of weeks, I’m going to a place called Escuela Carmen de las Cuevas. It’s a fabulous flamenco school set in the Sacramento caves... sounds totally gorgeous doesn’t it? Atmospheric, authentic, and you know me, honey, I like to keep it real.’

I could only imagine how it would feel, to really get inside the dance and live it in the place it was born. I felt my stomach fizz just thinking about it and wished I could go with him. But there were no more places on the course and I wasn’t ready yet, but I promised myself I would go to Spain and learn Flamenco – one day.

‘I’ve booked it for August 16
^th
which is of course the birthday of our lady Madonna Louise Veronica Ciccone. And just like Madonna I will return with a taste of flamenco and a string of Spanish lovers... I can’t wait.’

‘It sounds wonderful,’ I sighed. ‘I’m really happy for you... I’ll definitely come with you next time.’ I was envious of his confidence and his freedom to just take off, I had commitments, I couldn’t leave Mum and what if Sophie suddenly needed me?

‘Yeah Lola you’re coming with me next time. And I won’t let you put it off like you said your dad did... but it’s tough, so you have to be prepared to fail... and try again. That’s good advice isn’t it? I got it from a book.’

‘Which one?’

‘Oh I don’t remember what it’s called, I buy a self-help book every time I’m dumped and it’s happened so many times the hundreds of titles merge into one. It was called something like,’ he breathed in, gave a dramatic pause ‘Feel the Fear and Shag Him Anyway!’ We both laughed.

It amazed me the way Tony had just stepped into my life, and though we’d only known each other a few months it was like we’d always been friends. Tony had even received my mother’s approval on a recent visit. We were like an old married couple except for the sex, but as Tony said, old married couples don’t do it anyway – so in essence we were the very picture of a couple who’d been married for years. I just had one little shadow on the horizon... I still had to talk to Mum about Dad’s letter. I’d been to visit her a few times but had put off ‘the conversation’ I didn’t want to bring up painful memories from the past, and even if I asked her directly she’d have every right to refuse to tell me about what happened between her and Dad. Part of me was scared to know the truth, I’d always seen my parents as the perfect couple with the perfect love. Would I feel differently about them, about Dad, if I was told this wasn’t the truth? I was torn between being frightened to ask and have my illusions shattered – and desperately wanting to know what had happened. I had to talk to Mum and let her know I was dancing ballroom too, another conversation I’d been putting off, but wanted to keep that to myself a little longer. Dancing felt to me like a beautiful, but fragile bird in my hands and I wanted to protect it, protect me from destroying it. There was every chance that Mum might criticise me, and make a comment about me dancing that would spoil it for me. So for now I would keep that little bird in both hands and close to my heart.

‘
D
o you still go dancing
?’ Carole asked over lunch. She was drinking a strawberry meal replacement drink and I was having a chicken salad.

I nodded. ‘I go nearly every night now, I can’t get enough.’

‘Is that gorgeous Tony still gay?’

‘Yep... it’s not a moveable feast, Carole. It’s like me asking you if you’re still hetero.’

‘I know, but it seems such a waste. You’d make a gorgeous-looking couple, both dark haired, dark eyed, and you’ve gone all... “glossy”. Makes me wish I’d stuck with the Zumba if I could get a figure like yours, but the human body can’t do that every week and live.’

‘No,’ I said, doubtfully. She’d only managed a couple of weeks at zumba class, she said it wasn’t possible for the human body to survive the sheer physical punishment of Martha’s sessions.

‘Have you heard from Cameron?’ she asked.

I’d told Carole about mine and Cameron’s online liaisons and she said she remembered him vaguely from school and his sister was a member at her slimming club. Carole left school before the sixth form so wasn’t around to witness our passion at the time but was fascinated to know every detail now. I enjoyed chatting to Cameron, it was just flirting, but it made me feel good about myself. We talked more about the past than the present and he seemed reluctant to talk about his ex wife or the divorce, he was more interested in flirting and making suggestive comments. I understood that he might not want to share the pain of a broken marriage with me and I was just glad I finally had someone I could talk to and tell my troubles at the end of the day. I also enjoyed the frisson of our flirty chats, recently his messages had become a little raunchier. Sometimes in the middle of the night I’d get a text asking if I was lonely and needed company in my big bed. But it was all very light-hearted and I didn’t mind, I quite enjoyed feeling wanted, desired again after such a long time – even if it was just online and just for fun.

Carole loved to hear about my online flirting. ‘As Jason and I gave up sex for Lent about fourteen years ago and never bothered to reinstate it I shall live vicariously through you,’ she’d said. So, having known about it for a few weeks, Carole wanted her usual update over strawberry slimming milk.

‘Do you think you’ll meet up?’ she asked, opening up a large block of Cadburys chocolate.

‘I don’t know, I’m not sure I want to, it might spoil things. We don’t really talk about anything serious. It’s just memories about school, about the teachers and it just takes me back, makes me feel good. I didn’t have a very happy time when I was younger, but Cameron was a little bit of light in the darkness,’ I sighed. Neither of us had ever mentioned meeting up and that was fine with me, I enjoyed what we had for now, and like my dancing I wanted to take each step one at a time.

‘Well, I suppose if it stays online it can’t do any harm,’ she smiled.

‘It can’t do any harm even if we meet up... can it?’ I had considered the possibility that one day he might suggest we get together. I’d even wondered if I should suggest it myself – it seemed the next logical step, but I was too nervous. And I didn’t want to spoil what we had.

T
hat night
when Tony and I stopped for a ten minute break, I had a sext from Cameron that was particularly explicit. He asked me if I’d give him a private dance... naked. I was flattered, but a little taken aback - I could feel the blood rushing to my face as I read it, but when I showed Tony he said it was ‘positively tame, dear’. So I decided to be a little daring and sext Cameron back. I wasn’t comfortable with sexting and quite frankly at my age I felt a bit silly texting sexual stuff. Tony was the expert – but I didn’t want to ask him what to say because he would snatch the phone off me and send something so X-rated Cameron would be horrified and probably take out an injunction against me. So I wrote it without help and went for something playful, but suggestive.

‘Hey, I’m doing the Argentine Tango. It’s like making love on the dance floor and it made me think about you and how I would love to be your private dancer. I’m not wearing any underwear – and I’m very, very hot!’ I typed, feeling that was just the right balance between playful and raunchy, and I pressed send feeling outrageous, but pleased with myself.

When Tony wandered over with two bottles of water, I showed it to him. ‘You see, I can let go... I may not be from the underbelly of Brazil, but I’m a total tart when it comes to the art of sexting,’ I smiled, proudly.

‘Yeah... ooh that’s good, babe.’

‘Is it raunchy enough?’

‘Yeah... but who’s Carl?’

‘Carl? He’s Sophie’s boyfriend why?’

‘Oh, love. That’s... that’s not okay,’ he was deadly serious.

‘What do you... mean?’ I looked down at the message which, in my urgency, I’d mistakenly sent to Carl instead of Cameron. I’d asked Sophie to give me his mobile number so I could call if I couldn’t get hold of her. Both Cameron and Carl were in my phonebook under C – an easy mistake to make. So, I’d just sexted my daughter’s boyfriend, informing him that I was hot, would love to be his private dancer... and I had no pants on!

‘Shit. Oh shit. Oh my god, Tony... Tony what can I do?’ I said, throwing the phone at him like it might scald me. ‘Make it stop. I don’t want to be Carl’s private dancer... what can I do? It’s a long way to Phuket, can I stop it getting there?’

‘No, love. It’s gone,’ Tony was shaking his head and looking at the screen, then he started smiling, ‘but if he sexts you back you’re a cougar – if he doesn’t you’re a gonner,’ he roared with laughter.

‘It’s not funny, Tony.’

‘Not funny? It’s bloody
hilarious
,’ he laughed.

‘Oh God, imagine if Carl leaves Sophie because of her inappropriate mother? Oh Christ, Christ, shit... she’s sent me a message.’

I opened it and we both peered at my phone.

‘Mum. Really?’

There were no words I suppose.

‘Oh how entertaining,’ Tony laughed when he read it, ‘she’ll be upping her game with old Carl now, thinking mummy wants in on the action.’

‘Stop that...’ I said, desperately texting Sophie to say it was a mistake. ‘I’ll have to FaceTime her later and explain everything. Oh God and Carl will be there... looking at me on screen...wondering how I could do such a thing.’ I felt sick.

‘What will you say?’

‘I’ll tell her it was you.’

‘Oh that’s a great idea - her mother’s gay friend, who doesn’t know Carl or Sophie, just took it upon himself to text and offer pantless private dancing. They’ll believe that... much.’

‘Oh I’ve told Sophie what you’re like – nothing would surprise her. Let’s get on with the session, it will take my mind off what I’ve just done.’

‘Okay, but only if you put your knickers back on.’

So Tony had another good laugh and we got back on the floor, forgetting about men and my major faux pas doing the thing we loved most – dancing. Despite my lack of bedroom action, we gave the Argentine Tango another go. Our dance began with a flirtatious leg hook followed by a dramatic battle of wills, a pull towards and a push away. A lift high in the air, my legs wide, toes pointed, then a landing, and Tony throwing me across the room, me coming back for more and miming a slap across his face. But when we got together it was electric, and I felt such a depth of intimacy, a closeness I’d never felt with anyone. The dance climaxed with us both in absolute sync, our legs a perfect mirror, our brains and bodies working as one. And so we danced and danced until we couldn’t dance any more. Tony hurling me around the dance floor, making like a big butch cowboy, while I strutted the steamy streets of Brazil – in a dance centre in the West Midlands.

‘That was so much better – Lola you’re nearly there,’ he said, as the dance ended. He was breathless and sweating, wiping his forehead with a towel.

‘Yes, I really felt it then, I just let it carry me away – almost. Ooh it’s so exciting Tony!’

‘I told you Lola you just needed a little bedroom action... and all that sexting is opening those floodgates... now you just need a hot night of passion and you will be living it girl!’

I walked home that evening, the January night was freezing cold but I was warm inside was and feeling every muscle, every sinew in my body, thanks to dancing – something I was good at, something that made me truly happy after all these years. What a brilliant day, I thought, despite a sexting scandal involving my daughter’s boyfriend that I needed to unravel as soon as I got in.

Tony was right, all I needed now was a night with a man to finally make me come, throw off the shackles and become the dancer I knew I could be. alive. But like the Argentine Tango, the thought of getting physically close to someone and letting go was scary.

D
ance had become
my respite from a humdrum life watching Weetabix on a checkout belt, my escape. Before now I’d spent my days imagining other lives from the contents of someone else’s basket – and wondering when my daughter would call. But now I thought about the dancing and couldn’t wait to get on the floor, become Lola and leave Laura the checkout girl behind. Dancing The Argentine Tango with Tony, I was hot and vibrant, a wild young thing on the streets of Buenos Aires, flirtatious and effervescent in Cuba dancing the Cha Cha, I was breathless with enthusiasm, passion and a lust for life. I could also be serene and ladylike, a rich, titled woman, royalty even, gliding through a European Palace at the turn of the century during a Viennese Waltz. I could be anything and anyone when I was dancing.

Sometimes, when we were quiet I would abandon my checkout and grab Carole or Rocky from security and make them dance with me. Rocky was great, because he was sturdy he could take my weight and I could try out all sorts of moves on him, like a kid on a climbing frame. We almost caused a furore in toiletries when I was trying out some leg hooks which involved wrapping a leg around your partner’s knee and vice versa. It was complicated and you had to go with it but the minute you thought about the process everything collapsed – including the dancers! Tony and I had a few close shaves where we got caught up in each other’s legs, but we recovered and I turned round to see a small audience forming around the shampoo and conditioners. Rocky loved it and played to the audience, and when we finished they clapped and cheered and I felt utterly embarrassed because I’d been so engrossed in the dance I hadn’t even noticed. After that I would get requests at my till – ‘Go on love, show us your tango,’ the old ladies would say and others would ask if I would teach them. Of course I had to decline, but it wasn’t unheard of for me to hold an impromptu tango masterclass at the back of the freezer aisle on late nights when the bosses had gone home. I was also happy to dance alone wherever I might be – in private of course, and during those times, I was sure Dad was there, guiding me through those tricky steps.

‘
Y
ou’re late
,’ my mum said as I opened the door to her apartment.

She was sitting by the window looking through Heat. ‘Kate Middleton’s looking thin...’ she sighed. ‘I hope it’s not going to be Diana all over again... at least you’ve never had that problem. The opposite in fact...’