Fire in the Turtle
The dance class sniggered. The female partner shuffled her boots into the center of the board floor. The twist of her mouth told of more than a chip on her shoulder. In fact they could see the brace rods sticking out the back of her bodice.
Most of the veterans among them had done a class with someone who thought dance would strengthen weak muscles. The few who didn’t snigger had been in El Fuoco’s class with such a client.
The instructor wore his signature salmon tux and tails. Lace cuffs fluttered at his wrists and throat. His golden brown hair rocketed off his head and then flowed like molten lava to his shoulders.
One of the crowd dared to whisper, “voice of the lobster” and a light ripple rewarded the wit. They relished watching the owl being eaten.
The girl’s tall frame certainly had softer parts to it. Her movements imitated El Fuoco in exquisite slow motion, every grace and flourish of his booted feet an ode to the heartbeat between dancing partners. He could convince anyone he loved them, them only and the veterans leaned in to watch the hardness melt from his present adored.
He lifted her hands above her head, arching her arms to perfection, twisting his fingers amid hers, transfixing her gaze as he circled.
The mockers stilled, also mesmerized by the stall in tempo enforced by El Fuoco.
Like feathers in the room currents he lowered her arms halfway and swung his inside hip toward her. Her eyes dilated; he smiled reassurance and daring with his. She followed, her hip sliding toward his and touching like an eiderdown kiss. The twist of her mouth changed to a mix of pain and triumph.
He circled and stopped behind her with her arms crossed over her chest. His chest braced the metal rods. One of his thighs braced under her while the other nudged her leg out. They could see her trembling.
Long they stalled in the first position. El Fuoco never forced his students, neither did he give fear a place in his class. The crowd silently urged her to accept, to trust. They too, even the veterans had experienced this moment.
Some missed the change, some doubted their senses it came so late and subtle. Some were doubting the girl, which amounted to doubting her partner, a foolish, futile exercise they were better off without.
His strength never failed. He held her and pressed her until she blended with him and stretched her leg by infinitesimal increments out at last to a perfect pointed toe. His lips caressed her ear and she melted even further into his embrace.
As gently, as slowly, the couple straightened and faced each other. They turned to touch first one hip then the other, fingers entwined and eyes smiling at each other. The girl’s eyes might have been pleading a little. The onlookers understood. The love of El Fuoco burned so hot, his adored was always relieved that it also burned momentarily.
He lowered her arms, released her fingers and bowed. She drew a shuddering breath and beamed. Her muscles had been stretched alright! Her back would ache in a new way, and she would return for more.
They all did.
Alice watches a dance between two unlikely creatures. I hope you enjoy my modern adaptation. www.tassanara.com Come and find more rabbit holes!
