rants, reports, raves, and embarrassments from eric trules

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dancing with L

i saw her first

on the BMT line

the R train to be exact

heading uptown from 23rd to 57th street

she’s sitting… diagonally across from me

wearing bright red and white, candy-striped pants

balloon size, with a white tuxedo blouse and tiny red bow tie

her hair, flaming red

her face, like a fleshy, scandinavian beauty

full figured body

with a tiny waist i couldn’t resist

i get up, cross the train car, and sit down next to her

i feel like an intruder

“excuse, me, i usually don’t do this, but i really like the way you’re dressed”

right there on the RR uptown

l: “thank you”

period.

“did you make those pants?”

i feel something in the air

l: “yes”

“i could use a good costumer with a sense of style like that.”

that was true enough

l: “i’m pretty busy.”

“give me your phone number and i’ll call you… about costuming.”

l: “why don’t you give me yours?”

“okay.”

i do

49th street. right out the door. she’s gone

out of my life. i’ll never see her again.

57th street, my stop.

i get out and walk to the rear of the platform; exit at 55th  street, near the carnegie deli

i walk past the hotel woodward

where i frugally reside with ex-cons and hollywood ghosts

it’s sunday

i’m going to studio 54 for a wrap party of karin bacon’s last “event”

i’ll never see her again

i make the turn onto 53rd and walk into a red-orange, blinding sunset over 9th avenue

the back entrance of 54 is here on 53rd

i’m walking down the block and somebody’s… waving to me up ahead

i think it’s me, because… there’s nobody else on the street

i’m squinting and they’re jumping up and down, waving

but i can’t see anything because of the sunset’s back light over the westside

i feel dumb, walking towards the back door of 54, not knowing who’s standing there waving at me

it’s… her

the beautiful red head with the candy striped pants

she’s standing there waiting for me at the back entrance to studio 54

wow!

l: “i’m sorry i was so aloof on the train. it’s just that… i get hit on by strangers all the time and i try to be careful.”

“i understand.”

l: “but i work for karin bacon all the time. i got off the train at 49th and walked over from there.”

she’s a lot friendlier now

l: “i’m with a friend but… we’ll dance later, okay?”

ok

we get lost at the party

she knows her people, i know mine

i try to keep my eye on her during  the slide show for karin’s  “event”

pretty boring

like watching your parents’ trip to europe there at studio 54

finally… some music

i see her at the bar

make my way over; order a couple of drinks

“so… how ‘bout that dance?”

l: “i can’t now. i’m with someone. but — later.”

she gets up to leave with her friend, a new york actor type with toothy grin

“don’t leave without that dance, ok?”

l: “okay.”

i have a few more and pretty soon it’s late

most everyone’s gone home and i should have too, but i’m still waiting for… my dance

my girl’s nowhere to be found

so i start canvassing the place – upstairs and down, the balcony, the deco men’s and women’s rooms

i ask karin, the hostess

“have you seen your costumer, the red head with the candy striped pants?”

k: “you mean l…?”

“uh, yeah”

k: “she’s dancing behind the scrim.”

sure enough, there she is: l…..

dancing… by herself

she’s covering the entire dance floor… about fifty feet wide.

moving with her whole body

as if the music carries her

she runs, slides, plays across the floor

her legs kick out and hiccup back in on the upbeat

she eats up the music and the floor like a… tapeworm

her red-orange hair is wet on her face and she’s… laughing

i’ve been watching for about five minutes, standing there alone at the edge of the scrim

until… she finally notices me

and smiles

she’s alone on the dance floor

two thousand square feet of studio 54 with no one else around

i start from right where i am

and step towards her, feeling like a star flamenco dancer

from the other side of the dance floor she imitates me

 

she is suddenly wearing a long, spanish, dress

our eyes lock and we circle the edge of the entire space

hands on our hips, we criss cross a lace of steps together in a wide circle along the periphery of the room

we lunge forward, in mock thrusts

then return to our circular, grapevine pattern

like two panthers in a scripted mating ritual

we start to add quick jump turns, still on the periphery of our circle

we’re like two magnets, drawn …and repelled to each other, simultaneously

suddenly, violently

she runs at me through the diameter of the circle

a beat behind her, i do the same

at the exact center, we miss each other by a hair’s breath, do a half turn each, and are pulled out to the edge again

now we reverse directions along the perimeter of the circle

then again, and…. again

 

as soon as either of us change and move towards the other, the other counters and keeps the 180-degree symmetry

we are like 2 heavenly bodies, obeying the physical laws

aware of the decisions being made but, not making them ourselves

this is the relationships of… dancers

we are instruments of the dance

not creating it

but being created by it

fatefully, we are permitted to approach one another

cautiously…. jealously

our heads circle one another in hyp-notic attraction

it’s all in the eyes, all in the bodies

our circular approach has condensed itself into the center of the floor

two electrons orbiting around the nucleus of the same atom

our eyes, no longer locked

they peruse each other’s torso, hips, abdomen

 

finally, we touch

embrace in the formality of partnership

male leader, female follower

agreement

we learn each other’s rhythm, each others’ desires

my right arm is buried deep around her waist

she understands where i want to take her by feeling its grasp

my left hand is in her right

i don’t know the first thing about this red, candy-striped lana

but i know everything i need to

we speak the language of rhythm, of movement

our bodies are one

dance is the catalyst between us

we are ignited by it, set freeeee by it

we are only its ingredients… what happens to us when mixed, we don’t know, take no responsibility for

 

we are voyeurs of our own chemistry, the magic & alchemy created between us

we pushinto one another

as if we can push through the physical body of each other

as if… we can not get close enough

as if… we can not give each other… enough… resistance

we wrestle apart

but i won’t let her go

she wants to be free and to be part of me simultaneously

i leave her in a flash

show her my virtuosity, my footwork

my pleasure in dancing for her

she is angered

pleased

 

she runs at me — and spins away

we make new patterns on the floor

our imaginations are… dancing

we mirror each other’s style, each other’s footwork

there is an ecstasy in the give and take

not knowing how far we can go

our bodies have never been so ignited

we’ll burn together ’til there’s nothing left

we are breathless but not tired

all is motion, alive

as time stands still

and watches

—————–

her long-toothed actor friend reappears

she kisses me and runs off

l: “call me…..”

and she vanishes into thin air

————

there is no one left at studio 54

except karin and the crew

i say goodnight and walk out into the cool air

i am soaking wet with sweat

but invigorated and alive

 

i walk over to eighth avenue and hail a cab

 

sorry, charley, no concrete tube with itinerant flesh tonight

tomorrow night i’ll get back on the anonymous subway

but tonight — i’m going home in style

i just met a girl with flaming red hair and candy-striped pants

and we —

Danced

 

 

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