Dance with Me

This was something I wrote while I was stalled on other projects. Not super-long but hopefully it's cohesive. For those following Red Roses, I'm still at it. Chapter 3 should be my next post but I keep tinkering with it because I want to get it right. :)

As always, all feedback (positive or negative) is welcome. Standard disclaimer for my crappy copy-editing applies. Thanks for reading!

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Samantha paused at the outer doors of the gym building. Bass rhythms vibrated the glass as dance music played beyond. The self-doubt, which had been just a flicker in the back of her brain, grew to a roaring fire. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

Courage, lady.

She pulled the worn metal handle and opened the door. The slight squeal of metal on metal reached her ears and a glimmer of a smile flitted across her lips. That door had squeaked when she last opened it thirty years ago. Samantha stepped inside.

The volume of the music increased. A pair of long tables stretched across the hallway. A banner draped around the long edges of the tables, falling to the floor. Stitched in blue, the words, "Welcome Back, Center Valley High Class of 1989!" ran the length of the white fabric.

Two women sat behind the table. Each wore a form-fitting dress that looked two sizes too small. Their coifed hair and gaudy jewelry bespoke a certain degree of wealth. Both appeared simultaneously bored and excited.

Even three decades on, Samantha recognized them, from the ill-fitting outfits to the nose-in-the-air attitudes they displayed.

Some things never change, she thought.

Samantha approached the tables. One of the attendants looked up and smiled a plastic smile. "Welcome back, fellow Cougar."

"Hello, Marjorie. Hello, Carol."

The woman flushed with appreciation. Marjorie, the one who'd first spoken, said, "You remember us? Wow, we must look just like we used to back then." Carol tittered her agreement.

"Something like that," Samantha said with a smile. "Or I read your name tags."

"Oh, right." A note of hesitancy entered Marjorie's voice. "I, uh ... I apologize but your name escapes me."

"Samantha Marcos."

Marjorie's mouth fell open. Samantha didn't have to ask; she knew the woman was struggling to reconcile the skinny, acne-faced teenager she'd been with the woman she was now.

"Wow," Carol said, rubbing her double-chin. "You, uh, filled out nicely."

"Thanks. I hit a growth spurt after graduation." Samantha pointed to the rows of name tags. "Can I sign in?"

"What? Oh, yes, of course." Marjorie pushed the guest book register and a pen across the table while Carol flipped through the name tags until she found Samantha's.

Samantha signed her name. She resisted glancing up and down the already-scrawled columns to see if he was here. She handed the pen to Marjorie, took her tag, and pinned it to the lapel of her sea-green dress. "Thanks, ladies." She strode past them to the doors to the gym. Behind her, Samantha heard Marjorie launch into the same litany of greeting to some new arrival.

She glanced around the gym as she entered. The immediate area was filled with circular tables and chairs. On the left, the organizers had set up a buffet and bar—probably in violation of state laws concerning alcohol and schools, Samantha thought, but in small-town Ohio, the school board and police no doubt looked the other way. Beyond the seas of tables was an open dance floor, already occupied by a handful of gyrating couples. A DJ and his rig sat at the far end. The lights were low but not really dark.

Samantha guessed about two-hundred fifty guests already circulated. She thought that if about half were dates and spouses, then there were a hundred to a hundred-fifty of her old classmates, out of a graduating class of two hundred twenty-nine.

Good odds. Just maybe—

She shook her head to clear the thought.

The rhythm of a long-forgotten pop band busted in a lip-synching scandal reverberated through the gymnasium. Samantha snickered at the memory; they'd been so popular at the time. The music of the late eighties had never quite been her thing. She preferred the tunes from the seventies.

Just one more thing we had in common.

She made her way to the bar, scanning the crowd. She caught a few glances thrown her way. Samantha was certain most of them didn't recognize her. At graduation, she'd been a gangly five-foot-five scrawny teenager with black hair she always kept in a pony tail, thick glasses, and no makeup. Her social skills had been non-existant. Now, at five-nine with some corrective surgery to her eyes, a good diet, and a steady regimen of exercise, Samantha knew she turned a few heads. Her breasts were on the smaller side but her long legs displayed a runner's tone and her stomach was flat and hips slender. She wore her raven hair—still glossy and vibrant—straight and past her shoulders. Even the few strands of silver peeking through seemed to enhance her look rather than detract from it.

"Women pay a lot of money for those kinds of highlights," one of her friends had told her months ago, in a jealous voice, "and you got them for free."

The man behind the bar acknowledged her with a nod and a smile. She returned it. "Hi, Will."

He peered at her tag and his eyes widened. "Samantha? Wow. You, uh ..."

"Yep. Can I get a white wine?"

"Sure, coming right up."

She accepted the glass from him. "How'd you get dragooned into this duty?"

He shrugged and grinned. "I volunteered. I figured most folks would be by the bar at some point, so it seemed like a good place to be able to catch everyone."

She nodded at his reasoning. Will Nichols had been one of the more popular kids in their class, simply by his friendly, outgoing nature. "You still here in town?"

"Yeah, I took over Dad's job at the mill. Foreman now and pretty much run the place, though I've done some bar-tending as a side gig—you know, mostly as a hobby, just 'cause I enjoy it—so this second nature. You remember Clarissa Gomez?"

Samantha thought. "A couple years behind us? Her folks moved up from New Mexico our senior year, right? I didn't know her too well but she seemed nice enough."

"Yeah. We ended up dating and got married." He smiled and held up his hand, sporting a thin gold band. "Twenty-four years now. Two boys and two girls."

"That's great, Will. Is she here tonight?"

"No, she stayed home with the kids. I'll tell her you said hello. Are you married?"

A slight sense of sadness hit her. "I was."

Sensing her evident distress, Will only nodded.

Samantha held her glass in both hands. "Will, I have to ask. Have you seen Alex tonight?"

"Alex Yensen? Not yet but I know he responded saying he was coming." The corners of Will's mouth turned up in a brief smile. "Alone. No guest."

Her heartbeat accelerated just a hair. "Okay. Thanks. We can talk some more later."

"Sure thing." Two women she didn't recognize approached the bar. Will turned aside to deal with them.

Samantha took her drink and meandered away. She chatted with a few folks she'd known at an acquaintance level in school, just generally catching up. Aside from remarking on her physical changes, everyone seemed surprised that she was also the head of a successful marketing firm in Philadelphia. More than one remarked that she had emerged from her shell.

She watched a woman she thought was their former class president, dance with a man she didn't know. Watching them sway together elicited a host of emotions, none of which Samantha wanted to deal with. She sensed a presence at her elbow and turned to it.

Even in the three-inch heels that put her at six feet, she was shorter than the behemoth before her. Despite his height and broad shoulders, the new arrival had the look of a man who was melting. A roll of fat hung over his belt and even with his sports coat, his love-handles were evident. He had just a fringe of hair around the perimeter of his balding head. His eyes glinted with arrogant lust as he stared at her and the greasy smile on his face caused his jowls to quiver. "Hey, Samantha. Remember me?"

"Yes, Mike. I remember you." For numerous reasons, she'd never forget the school's All-State quarterback. In a perverse way, she was glad to see time had been less than kind to him.

He looked around. "You here alone?"

"For the moment."

The glitter in his gaze intensified. He offered his hand. "Wanna dance?"

Samantha repressed an urge to sock him in his face. She glanced at the paw-like hand holding a beer and caught the glimpse of a ring. "Is your wife here with you?"

"Margie? Yeah, she's out front greeting people. She doesn't mind if I dance with other chicks." He edged closer. "Hey, you remember the last game of the State Finals? I set a passing record that year."

Samantha rolled her eyes. High-school quarterback marries the head cheerleader, they stay in their old hometown, getting fat, and dwelling on former glories. How much more cliched can you get? She said, "I remember. We were so far behind Coach Cavanaugh had you throwing on every down."

He blinked. "Yeah, well, our defense couldn't hold them."

"I know. Having to go back on the field again and again after you tossed all those interceptions just wore them out."

Mike glowered but Samantha merely smiled. "Good to see you, Mike." She walked around him.

She mixed with some more of her former classmates, reconnected with some old friends, and even took some numbers and email addresses from a few. She had no idea if they'd stay in touch or not but it felt good just to talk to some folks about the more pleasant aspects of her past. She avoided the "popular" crowd, though Samantha noted with mounting discomfort that Mike Simpson and his cohort of football and cheerleader toadies watched her more and more—the women with jealousy and the men with undisguised lust. And after an hour of pleasantries and feeling as if she were under a microscope, Samantha still had not seen Alex.

This was a mistake.

Wilhelmina "Willie" Charlois, one of her former fellow outcasts, waved a hand in front of her. "Earth to Samantha. You spaced out there for a moment. You okay?"

"Yeah," Samantha said, trying to focus. "Sorry, I was just lost in thought."

"About Alex?"

Samantha looked at her. Willie was a slightly overweight woman with long, wavy brown hair, glasses, sharp piercing eyes, and an even sharper tongue. Unlike Samantha, she'd been rather proud of her outcast status back in the day, as the class's resident hippie chick. Willie had thumbed her nose at convention and even told other people to fuck off if they didn't like it. She'd developed into something of a Bohemian and stayed in town after going to college, becoming an art teacher at Center Valley High School.

Willie had also been one of the few aside from Alex who had always been kind to Samantha and treated her as human. Even though the two women couldn't be more different, Samantha felt a strange camaraderie and an obligation to be honest. "Yes, about Alex."

"Tom Bertrand told me Alex was coming. He should be here any time." Willie paused. "You came tonight just in case he was going to show, right?"

Samantha sighed. She couldn't deny it.

"Okay. Well, if you want to talk about it, you have a sympathetic ear here, okay?"

"I appreciate that, Willie." Samantha drained the rest of her wine, put her glass down, and stood. "I should probably get out of here."

Willie stood as well. "Really? You sure?"

"Yeah. I'm tired of sitting here on display for Mike and his buddies. I feel like I'm part of the buffet. Considering they wouldn't give me the time of day when we were kids, now they just feel like creeps."

"I get that but—" Willie's eyes widened as she looked past Samantha. "—I'm not sure you want to leave just yet."

She turned and there he was.

Samantha wondered if she would recognize Alex immediately or, if like many of their peers, time would have taken its toll on him. She needn't have worried. He stood around six feet tall. His light brown hair didn't have a trace of gray and still fell over his glasses. He was nowhere as skinny as she remembered; his broad shoulders and narrow waist made an excellent rack for the well-tailored suit he wore. Above all, his lopsided toothy smile was the same as it ever was and just seeing it made her knees weak.

Oh my God. He's hotter than ever.

"Hi, Sammy."

"H-hi, Alex."

He glanced down her. "You look fantastic. Great choice in dress, by the way. You always did look good in every shade of green."

"Thank you. You look good too. The suit fits you well. You stayed in shape."

"So did you."

They stared at each other for a moment without speaking.

Willie snorted. "Well, I am just going to excuse myself for a bit, then." As she walked away, she muttered under her breath, "As if either you would even notice I was gone."

Samantha shook herself. "Want to sit and catch up?"

"Sure. Let me grab a drink. Would you like something?"

"Just a Diet Coke, maybe, since I need to drive."

He smiled. "Be right back."

She returned to her seat and watched him. Alex moved with a confidence he had never had as an awkward teenager. Samantha caught a couple of other women watching him too and that sparked a tickle of jealousy.

Alex returned a moment later with their drinks. She pointed at his cocktail. "What are you drinking these days?"

"Vodka Martini."

She raised her eyebrows. "Is this the part where you tell me you're a secret agent now?"

He chuckled. "No. I started ordering them in college because I thought it made me sound cool—you know, James Bond's drink. Turns out, the joke's on me; I actually like a good martini, whether made with vodka or gin."

"That's a far cry from the beer and pretzel crowd here."

"Don't get me wrong, I enjoy my beer too." He sipped his drink. "Damn. Will makes a damn good cocktail."

"He told me he does some bartending on the side."

"I bet." Will reclined against his seat. His eyes sought hers. "How you been, Sammy?"

She laughed. "I forgot you used to call me that. Well, not forgot, but I haven't heard it in a long time."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"

"No, no, it's fine." She blushed. "I like it, at least from you."

He smiled. "So what's going on in your life?"

"Same as always. I own a marketing firm in Philadelphia for non-profits—you know, doing ad campaigns and stuff life that. Most of our clients are local but we have some in New York. It's lucrative and going very well."

"Congratulations, you turned into quite a go-getter. I always knew you'd do well."

Samantha shrugged. "Yeah, though I've been thinking about doing something else for a while now. I have a couple of real sharp youngsters working things. We've talked about them perhaps buying into the company and taking over the day-to-day. I could cut back, work part time or something on the big accounts. Maybe I could start traveling or something. It's not that I'm tired of the business but maybe—" She lowered her eyes. "—I'm just ready for something else now."

"I bet your husband is proud of you."

"He was."

"Oh?"

"Pancreatic cancer." Samantha stared at the tabletop. "It was three months from the diagnosis until he was gone."

"I'm sorry, Sammy."

"It's fine. We had twenty-one good years together and I don't regret them at all. Barry was a good man. He supported me and loved me, though he could never have kids, which was fine. We both were career-oriented and had just enough time for each other."

Alex toyed with the toothpick in his drink. "How long ago did he pass?"

"Two years." Samantha gave him a sad look. "I still miss him all the time but that's life, right?"

"Yeah."

"So," she said as she crossed one leg over the other, "I heard you got married."

"I did."

"Is your wife with you?"

Alex frowned. "Ex-wife, and no. We've been divorced for ten years."

"Bad break-up?"

He shook his head. "Not really. Sharon and I just kind of went our separate ways in life. I'm happy with my business and raising our sons in Columbus. Her job was taking her all over the country and she was always on the go—seeing the world, meeting lots of people. As far as I know, she wasn't cheating but I know she wasn't happy with the suburban lifestyle. It was basically an amicable split. The kids stayed with me and she was all right with that. She talks to them by phone and texts all the time, and hosts the boys every summer in Los Angeles for a few weeks. They have a good relationship with her. Me and her? Aside from discussions about the boys, we exchange Christmas cards and that's about it."

Samantha took a deep breath. "And there's no new Mrs. Yensen?"

"Nope."

A trickle of hope wormed into her heart. She smoothed her dress over her thighs. "So, you have kids? How many?"

"Two boys, both of whom are at Pitt, doing software engineering. One junior, one sophomore. They're good kids. They want to join their old man in the family business."

Samantha cocked her head. "I figured you'd end up doing something with computers. You program now?"

"Yeah. Mostly accounting software for CPAs with corporate clients, though we've branched out into some individual applications for small business." He chuckled. "We'll probably never have Quicken's reach but we're a little more specialized and work with all our clients as individuals."

"Sounds lucrative."

"It puts bread on the table."

They fell silent and stared at each other for a moment. Just gazing into those deep brown eyes catapulted Samantha back to the night of their senior prom. He heartbeat sped up.

Alex looked away. He brought his hand to his neck and adjusted the knot of his tie. "I need to do something. When I come back, would you do me the honor of joining me on the dance floor?"

Wordless, she nodded.

He jumped up and disappeared into the throng, leaving her feeling light-headed. A thousand thoughts bolted through her head but she kept coming back one: I still love him.

The rational part of her mind scoffed. She hadn't spoken to Alex in thirty years. He could have changed. He could have turned out to be a wife beater. Maybe he was a closet alcoholic. Maybe it was something as simple as leaving his dirty socks on the floor rather than putting them in the hamper that was two feet away.

How can you love him? her brain shrieked. You don't know him anymore.

Irrelevant, her heart fired back. You thought you had those feelings buried but the moment you saw him, they came roaring back, stronger than ever.

Let's slow down, she thought. I'm not rushing into another marriage or anything. We'll see what happens.

Alex returned a moment later, a self-satisfied grin on his face. Samantha narrowed her eyes. "I remember that look. You always used to get it right when you uncovered the solution to a programming problem. What's up?"

"Oh, nothing." He offered his hand to her. "Ready?"

She took it and tried to ignore the rush of heat that bolted through her when their skin met. A flutter passed through her abdomen but she let him help her to her feet. His grip was strong and confident. "Someone's been working out."

"In my spare time, yes. I even did some amateur boxing. Not the scrawny kid I used to be."

"No," she murmured, resisting the urge to rake her eyes up and down his body. "You're not."

Alex led her to the dance floor. A slow song by Chicago had just started. He faced her and lowered both hands to her hips. Samantha draped her arms around his shoulders and they swayed to the music of their youth.

With her heels, she was on level with him and able to look him in the eye. "This is nice."

"I agree." He gazed at her. "Sammy?"

"Yes?'

"Why?"

She flushed and lowered her eyes. There it was: the one question she knew he'd ask—the question he had every right to ask. It was the question she'd thought of every day since accepting the invite to the reunion. And she still had no solid answer, nothing that would justify it.