Page 13 of Every Time We Touch

“You’ve got this, Chrissie,” she says to the girl. “Bring that trophy home to me.”

The girl skips past me without acknowledging my presence and then it’s just Clancy and me in the studio.

“Hi, Jennifer.” Clancy walks toward me in a pair of super-tiny shorts and a tank top barely covering the essentials. She opens her arms and asks, “Do we kiss?”

My heart does a double take, but, luckily, I quickly realize she only means as a way of greeting each other. What the fuck is wrong with me?

“Why not?” I kiss her on the cheek and even though she must have been teaching, she smells—impossibly—like spring flowers.

“The kids have a big competition this afternoon. I wanted to give them a last-minute pep talk.” Clancy walks me to a couple of chairs in the corner of the room. “But I’m so glad you’re here.”

“Yeah.” Oh, Christ. Why am I here again? I need some more fun in my life. But why did I mistake this for fun?

“It’s normal to be nervous.” Clancy smiles warmly. “But don’t worry. I’m a pro at this.”

“I’m meeting my family after this, so go easy on me.”

“Let’s talk first.” Clancy leans back and crosses one bare leg over the other. “We’ll do the official admin later, though. If you decide to come back.”

“Thank you for doing this.”

“Don’t thank me yet.” Her smile has turned into a grin. “Do you have any injuries I need to be aware of?” she asks.

“No.” I roll my wrist. “Just the occasional RSI, but it’s under control.”

“Have you done any dancing before? Formal, I mean. Not at the club.”

“God, I can’t even remember the last time I went clubbing.” Since we’re the same age, I reckon it’s a fair question. “Do you still go clubbing?” Clancy’s dating a seventy-year-old man, but you never know.

“Not clubbing, but I know some great places to shake your booty after dark.”

I try to push away the image of my dad in some underground salsa club in Boyle Heights. “Have you taken my dad to one of those places?”

Clancy shakes her head. “It’s not his scene.” There’s something in her voice that I can’t really place. Is she disappointed? Or is she working on him to make it his scene? “Back to you.” She fixes her gaze on me. “How’s your fitness level?”

I huff out some air. “Could be better.”

“And that for someone who used to date a personal trainer to the stars.” After how I showed up here last week with that picture of Marcy, it’s a fair enough statement.

“With the emphasis on ‘used to,’” I say.

Clancy nods her understanding. “How do you feel about dancing in high heels?” She looks at my bag. “Did you bring any?”

“Of course.” I’m somehow flattered that she would take me for someone who doesn’t over-prepare for every possible scenario.

“I know they were invented for the male gaze, but in dance, they’re also a useful tool.” I wasn’t expecting that. Clancy really is full of surprises. “And we use them on our own terms.”

“Really?” Having been raised by my mother—who wears high heels all the time while drilling into us it’s her choice to do so—I can’t help myself. “Are you saying there’s an option not to wear them?”

“Of course.” She tilts her head. “You can dance barefoot if you want to, but, as your teacher, I wouldn’t recommend it. Heels change your balance and how you carry yourself. Your whole line.” She leans forward a bit. “They make things more interesting.”

“I’m here to follow your instructions.” This is neither the time nor place to launch into a lecture about internalized patriarchy. Besides, good for her for making it work—because I don’t believe for a second Clancy ever really had a choice.

“Even more interesting.” Her gaze lingers and it makes me shift in my chair. “Come on then. Time to put on those dancing shoes.”

Chapter 8

Clancy