Cat & Mouse

We were escorted to a table in front of a large window that overlooked the glittering East Side of Manhattan. A five-piece Latin band was onstage, and they were cooking pretty good. The slowly revolving dance floor was still full. People were having a fine time, lots of people dancing the night away.

“It’s funny, beautiful, and ridiculous, and I think it’s as special as anywhere I’ve been,” Christine said once we were seated. “That’s about all the superlatives you’re going to hear from me tonight.”

“You haven’t even seen me dance,” I said.

“I already know that you can dance.” Christine laughed and told me, “Women always know which men can dance, and which men can’t.”

We ordered drinks, straight Scotch for me, Harvey ’s sherry for Christine. We picked out a bottle of sauvignon blanc, and then spent a few delicious minutes just taking in the spectacle of the Rainbow Room.

The Latin combo was replaced by a “big band combo,” which played swing and even took a swipe at the blues. A whole lot of people still knew how to jitterbug and waltz and even tango, and some of them were pretty good.

“You ever been here before?” I asked Christine as the waiter came with our drinks.

“Only while I was watching The Prince of Tides alone in my bedroom at home,” she said, and smiled again. “How about you? Come here often, sailor?”

“Just the one time I was chasing down this split-personality ax murderer in New York. He went right out that picture window over there. Third from the left.”

Christine laughed. “I wouldn’t be surprised if it was true, Alex. I wouldn’t be a bit surprised.”

The band started to play “Moonglow,” which is a pretty song, and we had to get up and dance. Gravity just pulled us. At that moment, I couldn’t think of too many things in the world I wanted to do more than hold Christine in my arms. Actually, I couldn’t think of anything at all.

At some point in time, Christine and I had agreed to take a risk and see what would happen. We’d both lost people we loved. We knew what it meant to be hurt, and yet here we were, ready to go out on the dance floor of life again. I think I’d wanted to slow-dance with Christine from the very first time I saw her at the Sojourner Truth School.

Now, I tucked her in close and my left arm encircled her waist. My right hand clasped hers. I felt her soft intake of breath. I could tell she was a little nervous, too.

I started to hum softly. I might have been floating a little, too. My lips touched hers and my eyes closed. I could feel the silk of her dress under my fingers. And yes, I could dance pretty well, but so could she.

“Look at me,” she whispered, and I opened my eyes. She was right. It was much better that way.

“What’s going on here? What is this? I don’t think I’ve ever felt like this, Alex.”

“Neither have I. But I could get used to it. I know that I like it.”

I lightly brushed her cheek with my fingers. The music was working and Christine seemed to flow with me. Graceful, moonlit choreography. All my body parts were moving. I was finding it hard to breathe.

Christine and I were in harmony together. We both could dance well enough, but together it was something special. I moved slowly and smoothly with her. The palm of her hand felt magnetized to mine. I spun her slowly, a playful half turn underneath my arm.

We came back together and our lips were inches apart. I could feel the warmth of her body right through my clothes. Our lips met again, just for an instant, and the music stopped. Another song began.

“Now that is a hard act to follow,” she said as we sashayed back to our table after the slow dance. “I knew you could dance. Never a doubt in my mind. But I didn’t know you could dance.”

“You haven’t seen anything. Wait until they play a samba,” I told her. I was still holding her hand, couldn’t let go. Didn’t want to.

“I think I can samba,” she said.

We danced a lot, we held hands constantly, and I think we even ate dinner. We definitely danced some more, and I could not let go of Christine’s hand. She couldn’t let go of mine. We talked nonstop, and later, I couldn’t remember most of what had been said. I think that happens high above New York City in the Rainbow Room.

The first time I looked at my watch all night it was nearly one o’clock and I couldn’t believe it. That same mysterious time-loss thing had happened a couple of times when I’d been with Christine. I paid our bill, our big bill, and I noticed that the Rainbow Room was nearly empty. Where had everybody gone?

“Can you keep a secret?” Christine whispered as we were going down to the lobby in the walnut-paneled elevator. We were alone in the car with its soft yellow light. I was holding her in my arms.

“I keep lots of secrets,” I said.

“Well, here it is,” Christine said as we reached the bottom floor with just the lightest bump. She held me inside after the door had opened. She wasn’t going to let me out of the softly lit elevator until she finished saying what she had to say.