Acting 101 Ch. 03: Surprises

Meredith shook his hand firmly. "Thank you, Claude," she replied warmly.

Claude looked at a book behind his counter. "Dinner for two this evening in the main room," he asked, more an observation than a question.

"Yes. I'm looking forward to the new menu I've heard about," Meredith said, then leaned forward and in a quieter, less formal voice asked, "Is it any good?"

Claude made a face and leaned toward her to say quietly, "Just stay away from the seafood. All the seafood."

Throughout the conversation, Claude simultaneously ignored me and gave me a much more thorough evaluation than I suspected most guests received. It was a stark reminder that however well I might 'clean up', I was still quite obviously much younger than Meredith.

She noticed the evaluation at last and exclaimed, "Where are my manners? Claude, this is Mr. Scott Talbott. Scott is my date this evening," she added with a slightly evil tinge to her smile.

Claude did not offer me his hand. He merely nodded formally to me and said, "It is a pleasure to have you with us, Mr. Talbott." Apparently guests did not rate a handshake. Or at least man-child guests who presumed to go out with members Claude was fond of, did not. Our gazes both slid across her slightly smug face before my eyes returned to Claude's, and we shared the briefest moment of camaraderie as we each wondered which one of us she was teasing more with that introduction.

After a pleasantry or two more, Claude shooed us down the hall to the main dining room. The staff there was equally familiar with Meredith and we were swiftly seated. I rose an eyebrow of my own when Meredith eschewed the proffered chair and seated herself so that she was facing the rest of the dining room instead. After the host swept off, Meredith answered my unspoken question. "If I am going to scandalize a bunch of these blue noses by bringing a date who is fourteen, well, twelve years younger than I, I want to enjoy their expressions. I vividly remember Matthew," there was only the slightest tightness visible in her face at the mention of her late husband, "enjoying the looks very much when he first brought me here, at fifteen years younger than him."

We each ordered a cocktail. (Thankfully, I wasn't carded. I'd have died.) Then we ordered dinner, both carefully avoiding the honestly delicious-sounding seafood section of the menu.

Then we moved on to learning more about each other, as one does on a first date, even if every once in a while I felt like Meredith was deposing me.

I told her I grew up, and my parents still lived, in North Carolina. "Damn!" laughed Meredith, "I should have introduced you to Claude as Mr. Scott Talbott, of the Winston-Salem Talbotts. That would have gotten a rise out of him!"

I tugged my tie self-consciously and replied, "Um, I actually am one of the Winston-Salem Talbotts." That surprised her, but I hasted to add, "But we are the comparatively impoverished branch!"

Meredith looked at me and said drily, "'Comparatively' covers a lot of ground with that kind of wealth... I suppose that explains the Tesla and hand-tailored Italian suits."

"Actually, it does not," I replied firmly, eager to honk my own horn, and avoid my family's. "Alright, it does to the extent that when I was a bored out of my mind sophomore, I came into a piece of a small inheritance from a comparatively impoverished aunt." I yammered on about how I had dropped out for two years to play the financial markets and done very well. I knew I was honking said horn a little louder than was attractive, but, damn I was finding myself intimidated by this self-possessed woman who seemed to have the entire staff of the most exclusive club in the city at her call, prepared to 'deal with' an obvious adventurer such as myself.

"So, you will be a financial investor when you now get around to graduating?"

"No," I said firmly. "I will be a writer, which is what I want. I said I was good at the investing game? I am also fully aware that I have been lucky. I'm not going to base my livelihood on being lucky." That impressed her a little, I thought. Then my mouth went on without me. "So instead, I will base my livelihood on meager residual checks...."

Meredith just shrugged and took a bite. "Well, writing is about the only art with a high upside, financially. And if you don't make it as a published writer, there is always a market for people who can string sentences together coherently."

"Hmmph," I murmured, eager to move on from the subject of my financial prospects, and of me in general. "I've been maundering on about myself all evening. That's got to be boring you by now. Time for you to tell me about you!"

"Very well," said Meredith, entirely failing reassure me that my story had been too thrilling to interrupt. "My life in a nutshell: I was born and raised in Nashville. My family does not rate a "The" when being mentioned, but my father did and still does quite well for himself in the cryogenic gas business..."

"Wait a minute," I interrupted. "The way you stopped me when I called you Ma'am when we were first introduced, I just assumed you were some variety of Yankee. Since you were raised down here, I'd have expected you to be used to it."

"I suppose I am, really," mused Meredith. Then she looked me in the eye and went on softly, "But at that particular moment, I just discerned that I didn't want to be ma'am-ed... by you."

The rest of her story was fascinating to me, but not germane here. She had rocketed through undergrad, and then Vanderbilt Law. She paused one year to bum around the Med in Spain, France, Italy, Croatia, and Greece. I got the feeling that I was treated to the PG version of her adventures in Europe, and I made a note to myself to explore the full story if I ever got the chance. We went on from there to all sorts of other topics and I found myself fully relaxed and having a great time with this charming woman.

I was having so good a time, I didn't realize I was lingering over my pasta to extend the evening. But Meredith checked her watch and asked diffidently, "If you are about finished, it is about time for us to move on with what's next."

Next?

"Next?" I asked. "You have more mysteries for me beyond the Capital Club?"

"More mysteries, yes," chuckled Meredith. "Beyond the Capital Club, no. Come on. We are heading to the main ballroom on the next floor." She rose and swayed off toward the exit. I followed, involuntarily but eagerly. I was frankly surprised that half the men in the place didn't involuntarily follow Meredith in that dress.

"No check?" I asked, as we ascended a wide staircase.

"It will be on my monthly, along with a generous automatic tip that I'll still increase tomorrow, via the online portal. It wouldn't do for members to engage at the club in grubby financial transactions like paying for dinner!"

Music swelled ahead of us, and as we reached the top of the stairs, the ballroom came into view. It was about three-quarters full of couples... ballroom dancing.

I was very careful to keep my face neutral.

Meredith looked over at me with just a trace of good-natured evil in her eyes. "I thought we might do a little dancing. Don't worry, I can show you some basics." Her smile turned into a grin. "And I'll be interested to see how you move...."

We entered the huge, high-ceilinged room with a beautiful old parquet wooden floor, perfect for dancing. Many couples were dancing, while many others were gathered around the bar or split off into groups for conversation. A surprising number of couples looked like they knew what they were doing, while others seemed to be concentrating hard just to make the steps. A few just held each other and shuffled around like they were teenagers at Prom.

"The things the upper crust hides from us hoi poloi," I murmured to Meredith. "I had no idea the Capital Club was a dance hall."

"Every second Saturday," replied Meredith happily. "There is always a class early on in the evening. Tonight's was while we were having dinner. Dance Night has been a regular thing for four years now. I may or may not have been on the social committee that cooked up the program," she added, giving me a sidelong glance.

I was not going to give her any clue about how I felt about an evening of dancing. Not. One. Clue.

It was only moments before the song which was playing as we had entered, ended. The chirpy brass of Frank Sinatra's The Way You Look Tonight sounded in the room and I turned to Meredith. "Shall we?" she asked, holding her arms out toward me, ready to help me through this. However much she was enjoying springing this on me, it was clear she didn't want me embarrassed either.

In answer, I slid one hand surely around her elegantly slender waist, took the delicate fingers of her graceful hand in my grasp, and crisply lead her out among the dancers in a sure-footed Foxtrot.

Meredith barely missed a half step in surprise before she expertly began to follow my lead.

If Meredith thought she was going to catch me off-guard with ballroom, she had another think coming. She wanted to see how I moved? This was a Heaven-sent opportunity to impress.

The Foxtrot is a fairly simple step at heart, but it can also be showy as hell. Unlike most of the other standards, designed stay in roughly the same area, you sweep across the floor in the Foxtrot, weaving in-between the other dancers. With a lot of couples who know what they are doing, it can almost seem like each couple as a unit is dancing with those around them. There was a lot of couples doing the Foxtrot on the floor at that moment, and I steered us surely among them. Meredith very definitely knew what she was doing, and in no time we moved together as if we'd been partners for years. It felt magical to me how smoothly Meredith followed my lead as we wove around the floor, and how light and yet athletic she felt in my arms.

I only put Meredith through a few simple turns and releases during that first dance. Mostly I led us in fast, sweeping lines through the crowd. The woman does a lot of moving backward in the Foxtrot, and if you are moving quickly, like we were, it can be scary for her. I flushed as I realized how quickly Meredith gave me her trust that I would not collide us with another couple. I steered us to the edge of the floor as the song neared its end, and when it finished, I released her a little reluctantly, and gave a little bow. With a twinkle in my eye, I gazed into hers.

Her face was pleasingly flushed and she smiled. "Well, that was an excellent discovery phase," she said. "Where did you learn to dance like that?"

"I have a mother who loves to dance, and a father who does too, but has a very bad hip. I was 'blessed' with lessons starting at fourteen."

"You dance like that, just from dancing with your mother?"

I shrugged, and admitted, "I found myself in demand during the social events where I took lessons. Plus, there were proms and of course, Cotillion."

"And the Debutante Ball," added Meredith bemusedly.

"Ahh... my initiation to that was apparently lost in the mail. Wrong Talbotts, remember?"

She shrugged, "My invite was similarly misplaced. I'd say the best people skip the Ball, wouldn't you?"

I nodded, but noted that there was just the tiniest note of regret in her voice. Another song began, softer this time, and I wordlessly swept her into a Waltz. We still moved across the dance floor, but the Waltz is less about traveling than the Foxtrot, and I kept us to the edge, where we had more room. This dance, I got a bit more daring with the moves I offered, and soon Meredith was smiling broadly as I swung her wide, in, out, and around. I found, whenever I returned my hand to her back, that I was resting it considerably lower than I had our first dance. It wasn't like I was groping her ass or anything. I wouldn't have dared if we had been alone, let alone in a room filled with Atlanta's best and brightest, but I could definitely feel the sleek swell atop her elegant backside. Twice, when I swung her into a parallel embrace, I felt the back of my hand, as I held hers, pressing against the firm curve of her breast. The second time, I was quite sure she had guided my hand there.

While most of my dance experience had been with my mother and her mostly decidedly non-MILF friends, I had certainly danced with desirable girls, even desirable women, before. Copping the occasional, mutually deniable feel while dancing had always been fun. Copping a feel, any feel, off this woman, in this place, was positively electrifying. I had to tell myself to back off, lest I get carried away.

The next song was by Brooks and Dunn and I found myself Cha Cha-ing to My Maria. I hate country music, and the Cha Cha is my least favorite step song those that I know well. But you use a lot of hip in the Cha Cha, and Meredith's lovely hips made the whole thing very worthwhile... for Brooks and Dunn.

As the miserable song wound down, I gently released Meredith and said, "A break please? I need to drink some water."

Meredith led me toward the bar and asked, "Not a cocktail?"

I turned and looked her directly in the eyes and said calmly, "I'm intoxicated enough as it is."

Her eyes crinkled and her lovely, uneven mouth quirked. "Aren't you the silver-tongued devil."

The double-entendre lay there to be taken, but I left it alone with a smile to indicate I was passing on the opportunity.

We both took bottles of water and downed them swiftly. I looked down at Meredith's feet and laughed.

"What?" she asked, puzzled at my sudden merriment.

"I can't believe I didn't recognize those as dance pumps instantly," I said, pointing at her shoes and the elegant but sturdy straps designed to keep them secure throughout the craziest of maneuvers. It was plain as day what they were.

"Oh, you pay close attention to feet, do you?" teased Meredith.

Okay, I blushed. I do not have a foot fetish. I like a beautiful foot, sure, but I knew what a foot fetish is (I had a buddy), and I do not have one. But hotly denying it, like I wanted to, would have been even more embarrassing.

We discarded our water bottles and returned to the dance floor. Almost immediately a very trim couple, dressed flashily but much less finely than most of the people in the room, swept up beside us and the guy asked, "May we cut in?"

Meredith just laughed and introduced them. "Scott, this is Piotr and Maria. They run the dance classes at the start of these evenings, and I took lessons from them for years." Somehow, I lost my grip on Meredith and found myself dancing with Maria. She was a thin, athletic Latina with a touch too much makeup and a dress that endeavored to suggest more bust that she actually possessed. The song was Blue Bayou, and I grinned as I led her into a Rumba.

"I'm pleased to meet you," I said as we moved. It took about ten seconds to realize that while Meredith was good, this woman had skills. And as an experienced instructor, she knew how to lead by being led. We were swiftly moving in a graceful series of mutually arrived at steps that were in no way intimate, but left us close enough to converse easily.

"So, are you a new instructor, or has Meredith finally decided to find a partner for competition?" asked Maria, elaborately casually.

Ah. So that was why they had separated us. I saw Meredith across the floor, being led through an elaborate swirl-dip combination. Maria wanted to know if I was competition or opportunity. This was an interesting time to gauge some reactions.

"Neither, actually," I drawled. "I'm just Meredith's date," and swept her out into an outside turn. She actually mumbled on the pivot and I grinned in satisfaction. "So, no. I am not the competition," I went on. "Not that I could be. I can tell you could dance rings around me."

Maria smiled at my compliment and spent the rest of the song quite literally dancing rings around me, all while letting me retain the impression that I was still leading. As the music changed, we found ourselves once again next to Meredith and Piotr and we flowed back to our own partners. The music was now a song in Spanish that I didn't recognize. The singer could only be Andrea Bocelli, though. His voice is unmistakeable. I stayed with the Rumba, but the pace was slow and let me embrace Meredith and hold her much closer.

"They wanted to know if I was betraying them with a new dance instructor. You should be flattered," said Meredith, her mouth much closer to my ear than needed during the fairly quiet song.

"I noticed," I replied, my mouth similarly close to her ear. "Maria actually missed a step when I told her I was simply your date."

Meredith laughed. "When I dropped that bit of information, Piotr just heaved an exaggerated Russian sigh. But he then made a few impertinent and sexually jealous remarks."

"Ah! So Piotr has a crush on you, does he?"

"No at all... Piotr is gay," she replied deadpan.

Yikes.

I walked her through a wide sweeping turn before drawing her back close to me.

"I was disappointed we didn't get more scandalized looks at dinner, but I just didn't know anyone in the dining room," observed Meredith. "But in here, I know pretty much everyone on sight, and more than half of them fairly well. We are the center of attention."

My head jerked up for a moment, but I managed not to stare around us. "We are?"

"Men are so oblivious," she chuckled. "Yes! Ever since that first, flashy, grand Foxtrot tour of the dance floor you took me on, everyone here knows that Meredith Chisholm is back at Saturday Night Dance... on the arm of a handsome young stranger."

"And what is the judgment?"

"Oh, I'd say everyone here can tell you are better dancer than all but about five other men here."

That answer derailed my question momentarily. "Wait, you think, beyond Piotr, there are four men better than me here?"

"My, you are pretty proud of yourself," laughed Meredith. "But no, I didn't include Piotr in the five. There are four husbands who are sure-footed as mountain goats, and a sixty year-old single billionaire, originally from Panama, who could probably out-dance Piotr if he really wanted to."

I'll admit I stared at her long enough to be sure she was not bullshitting me. "What I meant was," I said, my voice less apprehensive than I felt, "how is the assembled multitude judging your life choices?"

"We are on the receiving end of a delicious number of glares, and the subject of much scandalized twittering behind hands, as I expected," Meredith said gleefully, even as I swung her down into an unnecessarily showy dip. She sobered slightly as I pulled her back upright, though. "But I'm a little misty at the supportive looks I'm getting from a lot of people. It's actually annoying. I may have to improve my opinion of a few of these assholes." I stared at her. "Especially that Poppy Weathern. I got a particularly warm, welcoming, and happy glance from her... which is no mean feat with all the Botox she's had." I looked at her exaggeratedly frustrated expression and we both burst into laughter.

We danced on and I realized that I really had no handle at all on this glorious woman. Sure, she was beautiful, smart, and fun. But she was also pretty vulnerable, in lots of ways. And she had brought me here, to the heart of her social circle, to confront that vulnerability. Add brave to the list of her characteristics. But was I there to help her test or demonstrate her strength in the face of that vulnerability, or had she brought me simply because she wanted to, and that strength was what let her? Was I a prop... or a focus?

A sweet, slow Billy Joel song came on, and I gathered her close for another Foxtrot. This time, I was not interested in grand promenades, moving slowly so I could hold her close. Meredith's hand slowly slid up and down the back of my jacket as we danced. Normally, I wouldn't have dared to hold a partner so close, if only because I'd be afraid to trample her. But Meredith's steps and mine now were in such natural sync, I could confidently pull her body full against mine as we danced. It was sweet, and tender, and comfortable.