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Marianne sighed as she watched her classmates file out of the room on break. This was the second time her fiancé missed their dance lessons. She knew accidents happen, but Roland promised yesterday to arrive early, and now he wasn't answering her texts and her calls went straight to voicemail. She didn't mind a little alone time, but flipping though bridal magazines while all these loving couples spun around the ballroom giving her pitying glances made her wish she were invisible.
Marianne perked up at the sound of the doorway jingle bells, “Rol-” One look and she knew it wasn't her Rolly. She pursed her lips, scrutinizing at the stranger. He seemed familiar, but with his height and deep-set blue eyes, she should have been able to place him. Her breath caught when she realized he was staring back.
“B.K.! You're here!” One of the students, Thang, ran up to him. She didn't know his real name; he and his dance partner only referred to each other as 'Hot Stuff' and 'Sexy Thang.' “Thanks for coming out, but class is running late today-- it's only break right now-- sorry if we're keeping you waiting.”
The stranger, B.K., shrugged, “Things happen.”
Hot Stuff shuffled over, “You should ask him.”
“Why me?”
“He likes you.”
“Er, Hot Stuff and I were thinking about heading across the street for a quick lunch. Would you...”
He shook his head, “I ate before I came.”
Marianne could have sworn she heard Hot Stuff breath, “Thank God,” under her breath as grabbed Sexy Thang and skittered out the door, leaving Marianne alone with the imposing stranger. She buried herself in last month's copy of Southern Bride, hoping he'd have the good sense to ignore her like the others had.
“Did Plum con you into being a stand in, or are you waiting on someone?”
No such luck. Marianne bit her lip. As much as she wanted to avoid everyone, she couldn't afford to be rude, not when this B.K. character knew her teacher on a first name basis, “Waiting. Why, are you a stand in?” She had overheard enough to know he was Stuff and Thang's ride home, but didn't want to let on that she'd been eavesdropping.
“No. I used to, though. My mother didn't want me home alone after school and couldn't afford a sitter, so I came here and racked up some volunteer hours.” He sat next to her and his thigh brushed against hers, sending sparks flying in her chest. “Most everyone comes in pairs, though, so I got most of my studying done before Plum's classes were out.”
Marianne set the magazine back on the end table, giving up on ending the conversation quickly, “Sounds like a win-win, Mister...”
He held out his hand, “Bog.”
“I'm Marianne,” She shook his hand, and immediately knew it was a mistake. His calloused fingers engulfed hers, and she felt her skin sizzle under his touch. So far, he hadn't said or done anything ungentlemanly, but something about his hand on hers screamed trouble. Marianne jerked her hand away, afraid he had felt her quickening pulse under his fingertips. “Sorry for staring earlier. I thought I knew you from somewhere.”
“Really?” Her heart thudded at the way his face lit up.
“Yeah, but that's impossible.”
Bog looked away, hiding his disappointment. They had met before. Not in this life, but the one before. His Marianne looked different in a human's form. Her ears didn't stick out as far and her fingers were shorter, but even without wings, she was still Marianne. He supposed it was foolhardy to think she'd know him immediately and they could pick up where they left off. He braced himself. He had waited thirty years, he could wait a few more. “Let me guess, you were hoping to practice your first dance?”
“Yeah-- Por Una Cabesa. I... really need the practice.”
“Oh. I wouldn't have pegged you as a Scent of a Woman person.”
Her nose wrinkled slightly, “I'm not, but my father loves it, and if dad loves it, Roland does too. Personally, it makes me think of Schindler's List, and I'd rather not have gas chambers in my head on my wedding day.”
“No, that's for the wedding night.”
She tilted her head back and howled in laughter. Marianne blanched, trying to hide her amusement in a coughing fit.
“I take it that wasn't your first choice.”
“No,” Marianne smoothed out her skirt, “I was gunning for Eye of the Tiger, but it isn't an actual wedding song, and you can't exactly tango to it.”
“Says who?” Bog stood, rummaging through his pockets for his mp3 player. He wasn't sure, but he just might...
“Says anyone, I suppose,” Marianne rose, following him across the dance floor, “I dare you to find anyone who'd say Eye of the Tiger when you ask them what their first dance was to.”
Bog quickly switched his iPod with Plum's and hit play before he could let fear change his mind.
“What are you--” Marianne's breath caught as the familiar cord thrummed through the speakers, “Oh my god. You can't be serious.”
“You said you needed practice. Let's practice.”
“You're insane.”
“Probably, but not wrong.”
Marianne slipped her hand in his, and the same feeling of trouble pulsed through her veins when his hand rested on her shoulder. When the lyrics started, she smiled despite herself. Roland would be furious, but for the moment, she didn't care.
Rising up, back on the street. Did my time, took my chances...
“The basic steps are just like walking. I go forwards, you go backwards. And go.”
Marianne's eyes kept flicking toward their feet, afraid she'd misstep so early on in their dance.
“Don't look down, look up. Look down and everyone will know you're afraid. Look up and you're already doing something right.”
Her chest heaved. “Look up. Right.”
“Now back towards me.” Marianne couldn't help but to glance down again after stepping on his foot, but he was kind enough not to mention it. “And again.”
...Don't lose your grip on the dreams of the past, you must fight just to keep them alive...
The moment she smiled up at him, Bog knew he had made the right decision. “Are you sure this is a tango? It always looks more complicated in the movies.”
“These are just some of the basic steps. Those come later. Now, ready to mix it up a little?”
Marianne let out a prompt, “No!”
“Next we step to the side.”
“Oh,” She laughed, not bothering to hide it this time, “That I can do.”
“Step, together, step, together. Just imagine you're trying to cross a railing and you're back's to the wall. Now back the other way.”
“Okay, this much I can handle.” But the more they danced, the closer they became, and Marianne could feel Bog's stubble brush across her face and his pulse through his chest. She hid her face in his neck to cover her flushing face, but it only grew hotter. “You stopped giving directions. Why?”
...Face to face, out in the heat...
“For a wedding dance, you only need to know the basics-- like it or not, it's the man's job to lead. If you can't dance, he can't lead.”'
She nodded, hesitant, “Got it.”
“What fresh hell is this?”
Marianne jumped away as though burned, “Roland! You made it!”
“And it's a good thing I did. Who is this?”
“Rolly,” Marianne moved between the two, trying to block Roland's view of Bog, “he's a friend of the teacher's. He offered to fill in since you were running late.
Bog could feel her fear. He wanted to pull her back into him, to comfort her, but it would only get her in more trouble with her precious 'Rolly.'
“Well,” Roland sneered in his southern drawl, “I'm here now, so your friend here can leave.”
When Roland tugged at his collar, and Bog could make out a hickey that was too fresh to have been Marianne's. Bog fought back the growl in the back of his throat, “I can, but I won't. I offered to drive some of the students home after class, and when I say I'm going to do something, I do it.”
Roland's princely face contorted in a sneer. “Pumpkin, we're leaving.”
Marianne shrunk under his gaze, “But class isn't over. We've still got--”
“Marianne,” He barked, “Get. in. the. Car.”
“I drove myself, how will I--?”
“I don't care, Marianne, just get in the god damn car!”
Bog instinctively pulled her behind him, “What did you say?”
“Do you and me got a problem, roach?”
Marianne clutched her bag to her chest like a shield, “It's okay, it's okay. I'm going. Thanks again.”
Roland snaked his arm around Marianne's waist and steered her out of the dance studio. Bog caught Marianne's small wave just as she rounded the corner and disappeared from sight. As much as he wanted to, he couldn't force Marianne to leave Roland. That would have to be her choice. Bog too a moment to breathe. He unplugged his iPod from the stereo system, but he vowed this wouldn't be their last dance. He knew she took classes with Plum, and he knew she'd have to come back for her car.
It wasn't much, but it was a start.