Writer’s Shop Talk: Shall We Dance?

Write a scene that involves dancing. Who is dancing and where? Solo, or with a partner? Is it sexy or classic?

“Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, welcome back to the Moonglow Club!” The emcee’s voice rings out over the speakers, drawing cheers and applause from the crowd. He is a tall, skinny man with slicked-back hair and a thin mustache, dressed in a tuxedo and a bow tie. He talks with a fast-paced, nasal accent, reminding me of a Walter Winchell-type radio announcer from the 1940s. “We have a special treat for you tonight, a swingin’ sensation that will make you groove and move, the Swinging Millers!” He points to the band behind him, who wave and grin. “They’re going to play more of your favorite tunes from the golden age of swing, so get ready to boogie and have some fun! And now, without further ado, let’s give it up for the Swinging Millers!”

The emcee steps aside as the band starts playing “In the Mood”, a classic swing song that fills the air with energy and excitement. The dancers pair up and move to the beat, spinning and twirling on the dance floor. The emcee watches from the side, clapping his hands and nodding his head. He waits for the song to end before he goes back to the microphone.

“What a wonderful performance by the Swinging Millers! Let’s hear it for them!” The emcee’s voice rides the wave of applause washing over the crowd. “And they’re not done yet, folks. They have two more songs for you tonight, two more gems from the swing era that will make you swoon and sway. First up, we have the lively and spirited ‘Little Brown Jug’ —a tune that’s all about joy, camaraderie, and those good times that call for a toast with friends. And then, we have the romantic ballad that will make you feel all warm and fuzzy inside, ‘Smoke Gets in Your Eyes.’ So, grab your partner and get ready for some more swingin’ fun with the Swinging Millers!” He steps back as the band strikes up “Little Brown Jug”, its upbeat tempo and infectious rhythm a stark, yet delightful contrast to the earlier number. The dancers pick up the energy, their steps light and quick to match the bouncy spirit of the song.

I glance at Maddie and see that she has a flush on her cheeks and a sparkle in her eyes. She looks at me and smiles. Then she says, “Do you want to dance?”

“To ‘Little Brown Jug’?” I raise a skeptical eyebrow. “All you’ll get is your toes being stepped on – constantly. The rhythm is a bit too fast for me, I think.”

Maddie’s smile fades as if a passing cloud has eclipsed the moon over Manhattan. The spark in her hazel eyes dims a bit as well. “Party pooper.”

“No, no. I’m just trying to save your toes from going home tonight all sore. They used to call me ‘Two Left Feet Jim’ in school.”

For some reason, Maddie finds that nickname amusing, and her smile, that bright, self-confident smile, returns – but not quite reaching her eyes. A trick of the lighting in the Moonglow, perhaps, or maybe it’s the two Heinekens I’ve consumed talking. But for a second there, I sense that odd feeling that characters in Raymond Chandler or Dashiell Hammett’s stories get when they get a visit from mysterious dames at their offices late at night.

“You? Danced in school?”

I shrug. “Yep.”

She laughs, half amused, half skeptical. “College? Or high school?”

 “College. I was too much of a high school – “

“Nerd?” she finishes for me, and I’m not sure if she’s being cute or if she was the type of girl in high school that looked down on boys like me – the grades-before-all-else, shy, and awkward guys usually depicted in the movies as uncool, comic relief characters who play second fiddle to the jocks and bad boys on campus.

I gaze at her, looking for any sign of disdain in her expression. There’s none.

“Yeah, you could say that. No, I took dance classes in college. Mom insisted. She said it would be good for me. You know, to socialize. And be a bit physically active.”

“I see,” she says, her distinctive patrician accent that is somehow fitting in this World War II-era themed nightclub a tad more pronounced thanks to that Sidecar she’s been drinking. Her eyelids droop a bit, like shades being dropped to conceal – something. “Mothers know best, after all.” She pauses a second, then her expression morphs back to inquisitiveness. “Where did you go to college?”

I look away from Maddie. I like her, I really do. But I don’t want to reveal too much about my past yet. I didn’t even tell her what I do for a living. It’s not that I’m ashamed of being a professor of history at Columbia or that my latest book was just published. I just want her to like me for who I am, not because I’m a B-list celebrity in my field.

Not wanting to antagonize her, I decide to make light of it.

“Ask me on our second date. After all, we’ve just met.”

She raises an eyebrow and gives me a mock-offended look.

“Who says this is a date? I just needed to rest my feet and quench my thirst,” she replies, her tone full of false indignation. “And who says there will be a second date? You haven’t even asked me to dance yet.”

The band plays “Little Brown Jug” with gusto, and the dancers join in with enthusiasm. Maddie and I watch from our table, tapping our feet and clapping our hands. She looks at me with a playful smile and says, “You know, this song is not so bad. It’s catchy and fun. And it’s not too fast for you, is it?”

I shake my head and say, “No, it’s not too fast for me. But it’s still not my favorite. I prefer something slower and more romantic.”

She cocks an eyebrow and says, “Oh, really? Like what?”

I shrug and say, “Like ‘Smoke Gets in Your Eyes.’ That’s a beautiful song. It’s smooth and soothing. And it’s perfect for dancing close.”

She leans in and says, “Is that a hint?”

“Maybe.”

She laughs. “Well, maybe you’ll get your chance. The emcee said they’re going to play it next.”

I smile and nod.  “Here’s hoping that I get that chance, then.”

The song ends with a flourish, and the crowd erupts in applause. The emcee returns to the microphone and says, “Wow! What a wonderful performance by the Swinging Millers! Let’s give them another round of applause!” He leads the audience in cheering for the band. “And they’re not done yet, folks. They have one more song for you tonight, one more gem from the swing era that will make you fall in love all over again. It’s a romantic ballad that will make you feel all warm and fuzzy inside, ‘Smoke Gets in Your Eyes.’ So, grab your partner and get ready for some more swingin’ fun with the Swinging Millers!”

He steps back as the band starts playing “Smoke Gets in Your Eyes”, a slow and tender song that fills the air with emotion. The dancers pair up and move to the rhythm, holding each other close on the dance floor. The emcee watches from the side, smiling and nodding his head. He says to the crowd, “Look at all these lovely couples dancing so sweetly. Don’t they look happy? Don’t you want to join them? Come on, folks. Don’t be shy. This is your chance to show your sweetheart how much you care. Or maybe to find a new sweetheart. You never know what can happen on a night like this at the Moonglow Club.”

Maddie grins enthusiastically. “Come on, Jim. It’s a slow dance. Just like you wanted.”

I look at her and say, “Are you sure? You don’t have to.”

She nods and says, “I’m sure. I want to.”

Maddie takes my hand and pulls me up from my seat. She leads me to the dance floor and wraps her arms around me. I put my arms around her waist and pull her close. We sway to the music, feeling each other’s heartbeat.

As we dance, I catch a whiff of her perfume again. Jasmine and orange blossom. A familiar scent that evokes someone I loved long ago. Someone I lost. Someone I can’t forget.

I feel a pang in my chest and a flash in my mind. A face. A name. A memory.

But then it’s gone. Just like that.

I shake my head and tell myself it’s nothing. Just my nerves. Or the beer. Or the music.

Excerpt from my upcoming novel, Reunion: Coda, coming Winter 2024.