Bust a Move
It was too early to ask for the dance, he knew it but walked up to the girls anyway.
They didn’t acknowledge him at first, talking to each other deeply about something that involved looking over at the bar then back to each other. When they realized he was waiting for them to acknowledge him, they both sat down in their beers.
“Would you like to dance,” Larry asked, hoping inside that one of them would say yes. He wasn’t going to be picky that night, all he needed was a warm body so he could show off the great moves he learned on Let’s Dance.
Frances looked over to Kelly, who shrunk in her seat. Kelly, was having mobility issues, something in her right hip was limiting to only The Bump. A appointment with the chiropractor was due for a hipness check.
Kelly looked him up and down, thin, flexible, eager. “You go,” Kelly said to Frances, “He looks your type.”
Frances looked over to Larry, “I don’t know. I really don’t want to up stage anyone like I did before.”
They both looked over to see the poor young man drowning his sorrows in a shot after his attempt at dancing with Frances. No one at the ski resort knew her, it was in the lowlands that she gained the title “Master of the Dance.” Starting at a young age with The Hustle, Frances was known around town as one that could spin any move. She could pop when most would hop, swirl when others could only twirl, and tweak what ever came her way until her partner would drop in surrender or exhaustion.
Kelly smiled at her friend, “Just tone it down a bit lady, he may survive.”
Frances walked out onto the dance floor with Larry, both eyeing each other like wolves ready to devour. “He’s got some nice thin hips, he’s in decent shape, maybe he can keep up with me,” Frances thought as she rolled her hips to soften her stance.
“She’s got some cordination. I don’t really need her, but I always look desperate dancing with myself,” Larry figured as he looked over to the band and put his hand up in the air.
The first song was pulled straight from the 80’s, Toto’s “Africa” one with an easy beat, not too many crazy twists and turns, so the most basic of dancer could not keep up. They both looked each other and circled the dance floor like wrestlers getting ready to rumble.
Frances laid down the first line, leting her hip flexors go, the side swipe of her hips caused several guys seated at a table in front of the fire to look her way. Larry stopped and stared at this woman in front of him and thought, “Oh you want to play that way,now don’t you?”
Larry returned her fire with his hands over his head, his back thoroughly stretched out from yoga that morning letting him show her there are many different ways to show off his assets, the tight blue jeans clinging, black leather vest slight open showing the 6 chest hairs. The rapid fire of his pelvis caused Frances to stop in her tracks and look at him. With a slow smiled she moved up close to him, letting him smell her Love’s Baby Soft perfume only to disappear with with a quick dart and twist. Larry moved with her, picturing the dance mat under his feet, Miley Cyrus on the television, his mind seeing the next light before his foot even stepped there. Frances, sweating slightly, enjoying their joust, pulled out the shimmy shake, causing several at the bar to completely miss their shot ski. The tight ski pants, straining against her assets, held on as she moved close to the band, Larry right with her. They got to the front of the dance floor, as Larry grabbed her around the waist, ducked her under the red lights of the band. The lead singer came to the part in the song, “AAAFFFFRRIIICCCCAAA,” as Larry came in for the kill. Frances could smell machine oil on him, wondering if it was part of his job or he just used it to lubricate parts for dancing.
“You’re quite good,” she said as he face came close.
“And you are too, my lady,” Larry replied, taking in a long whiff of Love’s Baby Soft.
“I’m sensing a few Let’s Dance moves here,” Frances said.
He dipped her lower, “Just a few.”
“Then follow me,” Frances said as he moved in for a kiss but she was gone before he reached her, leaving only Love’s Baby Soft in her wake.
She went over to the side of the dance floor, her body twisting and turning as more eyes went from the party at hand to the dance floor. Larry followed like a puppy, his eyes never leaving her assets but his rhythm shown in how effortlessly he slid right in behind her. She showed him a move, and he followed--the yin in her yang as they told a story with their hands, bodies and eyes.
When the song stopped, both stood by themselves in the middle of the dance floor, the bar silent. The slow clapping started by the poor guy with the shot at the bar, “Well done friend, well done,” he said as he clapped. It went around the room, as Frances bowed then walked back to her seat next to Kelly.
“Damn,” Kelly said as she took a sip of her beer.
Larry thought he had found his soul mate, he walked back over to their table breathless. His future wife sat there, the love of his life. They could trip the light fantastic as they faded into the sunset.
“Would you like to dance,” he asked.
“I don’t know how to,” Frances replied going back to her friend and her beer.
“Another lonely night,” started the second round by the band.
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