Monday, April 27, 2015

A Love Scene From A Portrait of Love and Honor

“Shall we dance?” Jay smiled, holding out his hand.
She nodded and set her wine glass down.
They stood up. His hand cupped hers against his chest and they began swaying to the romantic music.  He leaned back and looked at her. “So where did you learn to dance?”
“Mrs. Hill’s Dance Academy. My parents made me attend ballroom dancing classes.”
“Ah . . . and what was that like?”
She laughed. “Well, after I mastered the box step, it was still pretty awful. Mrs. Hill, a very sophisticated matronly woman, made all the girls sit in chairs along the side of the dance floor. Then she would instruct the ‘young gentlemen’ to choose a partner. I remember sitting there in this stiff white organza dress my mother bought for me, wearing black patent leather flats, waiting for some boy to ask me to dance. It was dreadful because even then in the sixth grade you were so afraid you’d be a wallflower. How about you? Where did you learn to dance?”
“Ten years of an all-boys Catholic school which included etiquette and dance classes took care of that.”
They danced slowly to the seductive Latin rhythms of Jobim’s music.
“I’d like to hear how you became a writer.”
She smiled. “I was fourteen when I wrote my first short story. I couldn’t sew – I was terrible in home economics, couldn’t even sew a straight seam. I wasn’t athletic. There really wasn’t anything I was good at but writing. Like you wanting to be an officer in the Army, I never thought of being anything but a writer. I was a terrible romantic.”
He nodded. “Poetry, romance, it’s the stuff we live for.”
One solitary lamp lit the living room and the music beckoned one more dance. They swayed to the strains of yet another love song.
Ava jolted herself out of her reverie. “We should go,” she said, hoping she sounded brisk. “I have an early morning appointment.”
Jay pulled back. “Ok.”
She moved across the room to switch off the living room lamp. She turned and looked at him. “Look, I’m sorry. I don’t want to give the wrong impression.”
He smiled. “Better grab a coat. It’s getting cold outside.”
  ~ A Portrait of Love and Honor

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