Summer Flings and Dancing Dreams (20 page)

B
efore I went
to bed I called Tony and gave him a quick rundown on the latest episode in my love life. It was funny, because even if it had ended, I was proud of the fact that I even had a love life – before I’d just listened to stories about everyone else’s. I felt like I was finally part of something.

Tony was, of course, furious on my behalf when I told him I’d seen Juan with another woman, but calmed down when I told him what I’d done.

‘Whoa girl! Didn’t think you had it in you but she’s one feisty bitch that Lola.’

‘Yes and she doesn’t give a toss, but Laura’s rather pissed off that he hadn’t even waited until she was on the bloody plane,’ I sighed.

‘Ooh olive oil was too good for him,’ Tony started. ‘I’d have given him a piece of my mind, torn his bloody poem up, said something fabulous from my Joan Crawford collection and stomped off.’

I laughed. ‘Yes, I could just imagine
that
scenario. But seeing him with someone else so soon reminded me that you can’t rely on other people to make you happy. I’m responsible for my own happiness, and I will have it - I’m not hanging around waiting for some man to tell me how good I am how beautiful I am and ‘validating’ me with his love... I don’t need it.’

‘Oh how very Bette Davis!’ he said, in his Joan Crawford voice. I laughed, realising how much I’d missed him; his dancing, his old Hollywood films, his eyebrow dramas, and his Grindr scandals – but most of all I missed his friendship.

‘Sounds like you have had quite a time, girl,’ he was saying.

‘Yeah... the best, the very best, but I’m ready to come home now.’

Hanging up, I took the beautiful flamenco skirt from the bag and tried it on. I strutted around the place, sweeping out onto the balcony and gazing out onto the city lit with a million twinkling lights. The stars were out and the moon had reached its fullness and that night the city was all mine.

‘I’ll be back Granada,’ I sighed, knowing in my heart this was the first of a million visits.

T
he next morning
I woke early and hearing the beep of the taxi I’d ordered to take me to the airport I picked up my suitcase and put the rucksack on my back. I felt good, my body was firmer, my legs and feet stronger, and I was wearing shorts, something I hadn’t done for years. I had one last look in the mirror – my hair was down, my arms were bare but here in Granada I’d learned that Laura could do anything she wanted to. She could sleep with a man she hardly knew – and she could dance flamenco with strangers until dawn. ‘I am one shameless, forty-four-year-old hussy,’ I said into the mirror, and blowing myself a kiss, said goodbye to the place where I’d found duende and come across some ‘actitude’.

A
rriving back in the UK
, I couldn’t believe how cold it was, and Tony, who was waiting for me, confirmed it in his own inimitable way.

‘My testicles have been shrivelled up for a week with this chill,’ he announced. ‘My love, I want to hear EVERYTHING.’ Mandy, eyebrow specialist to the stars, was with him, nodding vigorously at this. She had apparently passed her driving test only the week before and had brought him to the airport to meet me because he was still unable to drive. There were as usual lots of colourful adjectives directed at Tony from Mandy as he made us all detour to the nearest newsagent to pick up for the latest ‘Dreamboys’ magazine.

‘So what about your holiday?’ Mandy was saying as we headed out to the car. Bloody hell Laura, Tone’s been telling me all about you rubbing olive oil into a Spanish guy’s willy on a pavement. Outside a restaurant!’

‘Well it wasn’t quite like...’

‘Babe - even I wouldn’t do that... like ... get a room girl!’ She said this like I was the most sexually outrageous woman she’d ever met, which was saying something for Mandy. I didn’t disillusion or disappoint her with the truth, she wouldn’t believe me anyway, she liked her own version better. So I just squeezed myself and my bags into the back of Mandy’s little car and prayed her driving was less aggressive than her eyebrow styling.

‘I need a blindfold, I can’t look,’ Tony screamed, covering his eyes as she pulled away, just missing a whole family walking through the car park.

‘Jesus, Mandy, did you actually see them?’ he squealed. She hit him and told him to shut his ‘gob’.

‘She nearly killed me on the way here, as if I haven’t been through enough. I need something to take my mind off her bloody driving...’ Tony said, covering his face with his magazine. ‘If I’m gonna die a horrible death in a twisted car wreck, I want to die with guys like this.’ He opened ’Dreamboys’ and gasped with sheer joy at the naked spectacle before him. ‘What about that spread-eagled on your king-sized, love?’ he shouted to me in the back waving a glossy centrefold of muscular male. Mandy roared and grappled the magazine off him... still driving... well I use the term loosely. I almost lost my lunch.

T
he following morning I woke
, remembered I wasn’t in Spain and my heart did a little dip. My only consolation was that on the last day at the school we’d been allowed to film the teacher dancing. This meant I would be able to show Tony everything I’d learned, so I took my flamenco shoes and practice skirt and headed off to meet him at the dance centre as we’d arranged the night before. When I arrived he was doing some stretching exercises and I was impressed at how his leg had improved. Apparently once the swellings and bruising had gone down his injuries hadn’t been quite as bad as we’d thought.

I put my shoes on and in between torrid tales of sex with Juan and the flamenco caves, we watched my short film and Tony said he would modify some of the footwork so it would be more suitable for a man, but essentially copied my moves.

‘The idea is to keep the footwork tight, stay on the smallest space,’ I explained, feeling like the teacher for once as I watched him move, shouting, ‘golpe, golpe,’ a word I’d heard a million times at the school, meaning stamp. After we’d been dancing for a couple of hours (which we took steadily to accommodate Tony’s recovery) we sat down on the floor to rest a while and I popped into the cake shop down the road and brought us both coffee, sandwiches and cupcakes.

‘Ooh I missed this chocolate velvet,’ I said, biting into my cupcake.

‘Yeah... love em.... oooh. Oh.My.God, I’m having an orgasm,’ he announced.

I nodded. It was good to be back home, dancing with Tony and eating my favourite cupcakes, I just dreaded going back to work on Monday.

‘I feel I’ve changed so much,’ I sighed. ‘It will be like walking back into my old life.’

‘Don’t... just leave.’

‘If only – I have the matter of a small thing called a mortgage.’

‘I thought your mum’s house had sold?’ he said, licking cream from his fingers.

‘It has – and I might buy a new pair of dancing shoes, even a dress when it’s all signed and the cheque arrives – but until then we need the money to pay for Mum’s care.’

‘Mmmm... about the dress?’

‘I don’t need one – not until we do a competition next year...’

He was nodding frantically and looking guilty at the same time. ‘You do need one... you need a flamenco dress for November.’

‘Why? What’s happening then?’

He looked down, I always knew when he had done something he shouldn’t.

‘It’s erm... well, there’s a Dance Festival... in Blackpool.’

‘Next November?’

‘This November.’

‘But that’s only three months away. We can’t do it this year, I’m not ready and...’

‘Oh love, you’ll never be ready, if we wait for you we’ll both be dragging our arses onto that Blackpool dance floor in zimmer frames. It’s not a competition, just a display, but it will be your first public performance and the beginning of our glittering career together. So while you were off enjoying tapas and tangos I booked our places.’

‘But apart from anything else, are you sure you’re ready after all you’ve been through?’

He stood up and started walking around and in his Joan Crawford voice said, ‘Darling... they beat me. But they didn’t knock me down... the show must go on. You see, my love, that night was meant to happen... it’s made me realise I need to grasp at everything before it’s too late. No one knows how many tomorrows we have, and no, I didn’t get that from a self-help book, I made that up myself.’

‘Oh Tony, I feel the same. After being in Spain and dancing every day and... well, being with Juan... I feel so… different. I feel like Lola came out in Spain and she won’t be pushed back inside... Lola’s going to Blackpool!’

‘She is, darling. And I bet flamenco lessons, warm weather and a few “goes” on Juan has made the world of difference to Lola’s dancing,’ he winked.

‘Yes... I can really feel it now.’

‘I bet you can, love,’ he smirked.

‘You know what I mean. But, Tony, are you feeling strong enough mentally to cope with the pressure – after everything?’

‘After all the publicity about “Local Dance Teacher Being Beaten”, I thought I will turn this into a silver lining and get the local press on board too. It will be good for us, good for my dance lessons... and it’s good for the charity I’m working for.’

‘Charity?’

‘Yes, it’s against homophobia, and I’ve been invited to give talks in local schools. I’m a cause célèbre, darling. It’s an issue we need to make everyone aware of – homophobia gets them young, let’s try and nip it in the bud.’

‘Brilliant.’ I was impressed. Then he did what Tony always does and overegged the pudding.

‘Because, my love...’ he started singing, ‘I believe the children are the future... teach them well and let them lead the way...’

‘Yes, I get it – and I think what you’re doing is wonderful. But please don’t sing.’

‘Darling, just because some haters say I can’t sing... doesn’t mean I can’t. I sing perfectly when I’m alone at home in front of the mirror with a Coke-bottle mic.’

‘Yes, well, it’s the world’s loss that any singing talent you may have when you’re alone seems to disappear when anyone’s present.’

‘Oh you’ve gone all feisty since you learned flamenco,’ he laughed.

‘Oh yes, honey,’ I laughed, ‘I’m one shady bitch, as Mandy would say.’

He was right. My time in Spain had given me more confidence in myself, it wasn’t just about the dancing, it was also about meeting Juan. We’d both enjoyed spending time together no-strings, just a wonderful, wonderful time – and that had released something inside me.

‘So go on, let’s get going, I want you to share everything you learned with me,’ Tony said, rubbing his hands together excitedly.

‘Yes... we will. But first can we try the Argentine Tango one more time?’ I said. ‘I think I might just be ready to let go.’

‘Oh girl, yess... let’s see what Juan did that I couldn’t.’

He was smiling to himself as he put the music on, and we listened for a while. After a few minutes, I had to move. ‘Let’s go for it,’ I said. Tony stood behind me and pushed his leg into mine, lifting my leg up, and then we moved together slowly, winding around each other to the music. Then he lifted me and as the music reached a crescendo, I was suddenly there, in the streets of Buenos Aires, the rhythm running through me. We were moving, hip to hip, our upper bodies leading the dance, our legs working through the intricate, complex movements. Our foreheads were touching as we moved as one across the floor. The tango and the music had taken me over. I was the lady of the night, strutting around the man, teasing him, moving into a tight hold, then pulling away, flirting, flouncing, and together making a figure of eight on the floor. Tony lifted me and I was euphoric landing perfectly, leading naturally into a final scene entwined together on the floor.