Ballroom: A Novel Read Online Free PDF

with twentysomethings.
    The rotation of partners, the monotony of practicing steps, reminds her of her life. She had three ex-husbands by the time she was thirty, and a series of going-nowhere relationships over the past ten years. Work is constantly shifting as well—salesgirl, bank clerk, and administrative assistant. She has worked at jobs as though she were driving on a highway, concerned only with the side and rearview mirrors. She never thought about what lay ahead.

Chapter 10
Harry
    Do not create a disturbance, by making any apparent slight: an intentional insult is rarely ever given. If a lady is in the case, she will not thank you for making her “the observed of all observed.”
                     —W. P. Hazard, The Ball-Room Companion , 1849
    S loppy.”
    Harry Korn mutters under his breath as dancers waltz by. Same faces, same music, same everything. Nothing ever changes at the Ballroom. He worries about the time. Eight thirty. He’ll dance twenty more minutes, look for two new students, ten and ten. At five minutes to nine, before Maria and that Angel arrive, he’ll leave. Jimmy J is playing Hammerstein’s “This Nearly Was Mine” when a middle-aged woman approaches Harry.
    “Care to waltz?” she asks.
    Blond, well dressed, with expensive jewelry, she looks like she has money for private lessons. Not bad looking, either. Women in their fifties prefer private lessons because of the attention they get. Even old guys here want only to dance with the young girls. Who can blame them? He leads her onto the floor and, taking her in his arms, tries to lead her into the waltz.
    Six lessons, he’ll say. Tell her he’s tied up with a busy schedule for the next month, but could “squeeze her in” this month with several lessons a week. Get her to pay the floor rental, too. She looks as though she can afford the extra ten bucks an hour. That will bring in almost $400 clear. Maybe she’ll pay him to take her dancing at Roseland.
    “How can you follow me when you’re fighting me? Stop fighting me. Why don’t you relax and let me lead?”
    “I suppose you’re a dance instructor.”
    “As a matter of fact, I am.”
    “Well, I’m here to enjoy myself, not be given instruction, if you don’t mind.”
    “Madam, if you danced properly, you wouldn’t step on my feet.” She steps out of his arms and walks away, giving him the finger. He’s infuriated that she has left him on the dance floor in the middle of the song, and insulted him. Worse, he’s lost a possible student. Tina Ostrov steps into his arms.
    “Harry. How are you, darling? Still treating ’em rough?”
    He always has to laugh at Tina, despite himself. He’s known her a long time. In the 1960s he danced with her and other taxi dancers, paying for each dance with a purchased ticket, at the Broadway Dance Palace on Eighth Avenue. She was just off the boat from Moscow, with long black hair. Couldn’t speak English, but she could dance!
    In those days he bought enough tickets to dance with her for several hours, and he would slip her a twenty to go with him behind the velvet curtain. Ten years later, he ran into her in Vegas. Tina was blond then, working at a topless place. Now she’s a redhead and claims to be selling real estate. Still sexy, she moves against him in perfect Latin motion to a Tito Puente mambo.
    “You’re the best, Harry,” she whispers in his ear. “Too bad you lost your hair. You’d have the young girls all over you.”
    “You’ve still got it too, for an old broad.”
    When the dance ends, Tina gives him a hug.
    “No one dances like you, Harry. I mean no one —but I’ll deny I ever said it, ’cause you’ve become such a grouch. See ya, babe.” As quickly as she appeared, she is gone.
    Glancing at his watch, he can’t believe it’s five to nine. Grabbing his raincoat off the chair, he bolts out of the Ballroom, taking the stairs two at a time. Maria and Angel will be arriving at any moment.