Ameera, Unveiled (4 page)

“I’d like to make a toast,” Polly announced, raising her glass. “Here’s to us. As my Irish ancestors would say: ‘If you’re the only one who knows you’re afraid, you’re brave.’ Let’s do it, girl.”

“To Ruby and Merlot,” I returned the toast, swirling my wine.

Two weeks passed before we stood in the parking lot after our fifth class, exploring costume ideas for our final class and recital.

“Sybil says we’re ready,” Cheryl said.

Ready for what?
I wondered, then asked, “So are we gonna try to match outfits? I’m not thrilled about Sybil requiring us to show stomachs. Trying to bling up the makeup is challenging enough. I wish we had an example of what she’s looking for.”

“What if we wear black yoga pants and workout tops?” Polly suggested. “Everyone’s got those.”

“That matches any color scarf or veil. Add lots of bling, girls!” Cheryl said.

“Guess I’ll put a trip to the store on my list,” I said. “My pants are faded and make muffin tops.”

“You looked good tonight, Kat,” Polly said. “Even your veil behaved.”

“Thanks,” I said. I hadn’t told them that I’d had a private lesson with Sybil the night before.

Tonight, as I headed home from class, I felt as though I belonged in the dance world in spite of life’s interruptions. Next week can’t be my last! But as I steered the car to the store to find new yoga pants and a black top for my dance recital, I decided that I’d worry about that Monday night.

A week later, Shakira sang in the background while I danced in my head. As I turned into the student parking lot, I spotted Polly and Cheryl.
Thank God
, I thought. I don’t have to walk in alone. My heightened mindset seemed to have sapped all the confidence out of me.

“Good timing, guys,” Polly said as she walked toward my car. Her makeup included glitter eye shadow. Her yoga pants were punctuated by two coin scarves, and her stomach was bare between waistband and top.

“Aren’t you the brave one?” Cheryl asked, pointing at Polly’s toned abs.

Polly responded with an undulation.

“Show off,” I said, suggesting envy at her bravado. “Nice touch with the two scarves.”

My own belly dance costume felt inadequate next to hers.

“Is anyone else as nervous as I am?” I threw out as we jingled to class. We passed a pack of students and someone whistled.

Polly perked up to say, “I think this class was awesome.”

“I do too,” I agreed. “I love Sybil, but when she watches us execute something, she’s got that stare that I can’t read.”

“It unnerves me too, so I try not to look,” Cheryl responded. “I hope my veil stays in my hands and my hip scarf stays on.” She pointed at my hips. “Remember, Kat, you don’t have much in the hip department, so tie it tight! I’d hate for you to lose your scarf during our dance.”

“Will do,” I said. “Does that make you the Flat-ass Police?”

We were laughing as we entered the building. We found Sybil fussing about a table laden with a veggie tray and brownies. She closed a small cooler and slid it under the table. I waved at our fourth classmate, Cindy, who was warming up across the room.

“Hey, Sybil,” Polly greeted as we headed toward the table.

“Wow! Look at you,” Sybil said, turning from sorting cups and napkins to look at each of us in turn. “Finish getting ready and I’ll do a costume check. Round-robin in two minutes.”

I headed across the room, fishing my veil and scarf out of my dance bag. Polly fussed with her hair in the mirror as Cheryl pulled off an extra shirt covering her belly. I tugged hard as I tied my hip scarf. Cheryl was right. It had slipped off my hips a couple of times—both in class and while practicing.

“Round-robin,” Sybil called to us. “Thank you again for registering and sticking with it. As I’ve gotten to know each of you, I’ve seen your growing pains. Just remember, I predicted you’d become addicted.” She gave us a dimpled smile as we grinned at her last comment. “Check Polly out,” she added.

“Hello, my name’s Polly, and I’m addicted to belly dance,” Polly said. We laughed as she shimmied.

“Let’s chat after class while we enjoy snacks,” Sybil said. “I’ll lead warm-up and run through the dance three times.” She started a peppy Middle Eastern tune on her CD player.

I tried to preserve the scene in my mind. This was the last class, and I wanted to stay in touch with these women. We followed Sybil in stretching, locking, and popping through the dance modules. The group dynamics had become warm and friendly compared to that first day’s awkwardness. We giggled as Sybil tried to push a dance move to a more difficult level. As the song ended, Sybil stopped the music and shuffled through the CD for another song. We retrieved our veils and prepared for our run-through.

The mood changed as Sybil turned back to us with her teacher’s face in place. “Line up in the center. The first one’s your warm-up run-through. Here we go, girls.”

As we lined up, Cheryl and I exchanged wide-eyed stares. We ran through a first attempt.

“Again,” Sybil said, replaying the song. I felt as though I’d danced it tighter as we held the final pose. I tried to read Sybil’s blank stare. “Good. One more time,” she said.

Then, just like that, it was over. We cooled down and headed toward the snack table.

“Sybil, this was nice of you,” Polly said, spooning ranch dressing beside raw vegetables.

“I’m so proud of each of you for sticking through the dance session,” Sybil said. “Kat, what would you like to drink?”

“Diet, please,” I said. “This class challenged me for sure.”

“Me too,” Cheryl said. She bit into a brownie and rolled her eyes. “These are orgasmic! Did you make them?”

“I did,” Sybil answered before she shifted focus back to our class. “Instead of asking you a question in round-robin, I wanted to ask each of you a final class question.”

“Do we get graded on it?” Polly asked, chuckling. “I wanna graduate tonight.”

“No, silly,” Sybil replied. “I’d like to know what this class meant to you or how it changed you. Anything you’d like to tell me.”

“I’ll start,” Polly volunteered. “I’ve been taking Tai Chi and working out at the gym, but I love to dance and can’t hit the dance clubs with my work schedule. I loved every class, and the choreography was fun to do as a group. The costumes are fun. I hate that we’re done, but I’ve made some new friends that I may’ve never known.”

Sybil smiled and turned to me. “Kat?”

I sipped my drink. “I signed up for several reasons. I’d gained some weight and hate gyms. I’ve wanted to dance since I was a little girl.” I paused and sipped my drink again. “I won’t bore you with the long list of reasons, but the few times I’ve seen belly dancers, I sensed their free spirits under all the glitz and glitter. I’m an empty nester and think it might be my turn.”

Sybil smiled and nodded. “Cheryl?” she asked.

“I think it may be my genetics,” Cheryl said. “My family has Lebanese roots, and I’ve always been fascinated with belly dancers. I wanna look and feel pretty—y’know, exotic. My boyfriend thinks it’s pretty cool too.” She blushed.

Sybil looked at the last classmate who’d stuck it out with us. “Cindy?”

“I’m shy,” she said, a mousy voice emerging from her petite, twentyish frame. “I just broke up with my boyfriend and needed something to distract me. I liked the class, but I hurt myself climbing stairs earlier this week. Wasn’t sure I’d be able to make it tonight.” She looked at her cell phone. “In fact, I’ve got a study group next door at the library. I hate to say it, but I’ve gotta go.”

“I’m glad everyone enjoyed it,” Sybil said.

Cindy reached over, gave Sybil a hug, and retrieved her dance bag. Waving, she left the drama room.

“I’d wondered why she was so reserved tonight,” Cheryl mused. “She seemed sweet.”

“I’ve got a proposition for the rest of you,” Sybil said. “How’d you like to take semiprivate lessons with me at my house? You three seem to have bonded, and if you’d like to keep going, I’d be happy to teach you.”

In the quiet room, we searched each other’s faces. “I’m in,” Polly said first.

“Me too,” Cheryl answered. “What night?”

All eyes turned to me. “I’m in,” I said, hiding my stunned thoughts. I’d resigned myself to the idea of this being our final curtain call.

“Would you want to keep it on Mondays?” Sybil asked. “Does six thirty work?”

“I can make pretty much anything work,” I said.

Polly and Cheryl agreed.

“Great! Let’s resume in two weeks,” Sybil said, standing and moving to the food. “More?” I waved her off as I chewed a last bite of celery. As she tucked plates and cups into a bag, I stood and went to help pack up the leftovers.

“So does this mean we’ve graduated?” Polly asked.

“No, this means you’re addicted!” Sybil said, flashing dimples.

We jingled with Sybil to her car—survivors of her six-week session, each of us laden with food containers and dance equipment, big grins, and deep pockets of hope to become better belly dancers.

“Thanks for offering to keep us dancing,” I said to Sybil as I placed her boom box on the back seat of her car.

“You’re so welcome,” Sybil flashed me her dimpled smile. “Remember, ladies, you’re off next week, but you’ve got homework. Keep practicing your dance.” She slammed the back door of her car. “One more question.”

We all looked her way.

“At Christmastime, I ask a few students to help me out with a couple of nursing homes,” Sybil said. “I’d like the three of you to volunteer to perform your dance for the residents.”

I’d only just agreed to continue my dance classes, and already she wanted to push me to perform in public? I’ll have to expose my stomach again? I felt panic rising from my gut to my throat.

“I’ll invite some students from my Wednesday class too. We can have a drink at TBonz afterward. The residents are so appreciative and look forward to this every year.” Sybil continued her sales pitch, spinning it with a little guilt if any of us wanted to bail on the idea.

“Absolutely,” Polly said.

Cheryl’s face glowed at the prospect of dancing. “We’d love to,” she said.

“Right, Kat?”

“I love visiting nursing homes,” I replied, evading the promise of a commitment and trying not to think of what this particular visit would mean.

“Good,” Sybil said. “Keep practicing and I’ll see you in two weeks.” She jumped in her car and drove off, taillights fading in the distance. By the time we reached our own cars, it was as if we’d tossed our graduation hip scarves into the air and were looking forward to college.

“If anyone wants to practice before our first Monday class, call or e-mail me,” I said as I threw Merlot into a heap in my trunk.

“My boyfriend, Trey, isn’t coming till the weekend, so I may call you,” Cheryl said as she discarded her music, bags, and veil.

“I’m always up for practice,” Polly said. “I can meet in Kat’s poolroom and work around gym time. I’ll be running through the routine during my workouts too.”

“’Night, Cheryl. Good night, Super Polly,” I said.

I couldn’t wait to tell Steve about our new class over wine and Dancing with the Stars.

The two weeks since our last class had flown by.

I checked the time as I pulled up in front of Sybil’s house. I’d sent an e-mail to the girls giving them directions and promising to be there early to help them find the studio. Polly’s car pulled in behind mine. With my dance bag on my shoulder, I walked toward her car. Polly quit checking herself out in the mirror and opened her door.