“Understanding Women,” Fiction, E.P. Lande.

I held Katie in a close embrace as we tango’ed to Pugliese. It was ‘our’ Tuesday.

“I've decided to go on a retreat.” Oh no, not another yoga retreat. The last one produced Josh — but he turned into an interval. I could handle that.

“Where?” I asked, but did it matter?

“Newburyport,” Katie said. Her dancing became fierce; I had a hard time keeping my lead, not knowing where to lead her. “There's a deep breathing meditation center there.” I placed a back sacada, leading Katie to face me.

“Sweetheart, what exactly does one do there?” I asked, though I imagined that breathing of some sort was part of the program.

“Well, you breathe, deeply.” That told me a lot — and nothing at all. I prepared to slide her foot. “You're assigned a partner ...” Bending my right leg at the knee ... “... who watches ...” I led her in a back gancho ... “... while you breathe, deeply.” ... and holding her on her back leg ... “Sometimes you go into a trance ...” ... slid her forward leg ... “... and often talk in tongues ...” ... and raised myself ... “...while your partner takes notes.” ...to join our feet together. “In the afternoon you switch; while your partner breathes, you watch and take notes.”

I guess that explained everything ... but I didn't get it. “Why?” I asked. “What exactly is the object?” Perhaps I was being somewhat too rational — like the economist I was. Perhaps I ought to be thinking irrationally — like any normal person.

“Breathing, especially deep breathing .... Oh, I forgot to tell you, they usually play loud African rhythms, with lots of drums. It helps you get in the mood.”  Yeah, a grumpy mood. “They say it facilitates easing you into a trance.”

It all sounded a little too scary for me. I like to be in control, and if the breathing to loud drums put me in a trance, well, that would be contrary to how I've lived my life. I didn't think I would be a good candidate for the center's programs.

“Deep breathing relaxes you.” We started going to the cross ... “It lets you forget ...” ... where I led us to continue ... “... what's wrong in your life ...” ... into cross basic ... “... like wiping the slate clean ...” ... where Katie began ochos ... “... so that you can begin over again ...” ... then back to the cross ... “... a form of renewal.” ... where we came to a stop. I liked the last part: so that you can begin over again. That's where I make my entrada.

“Here,” and Katie placed my hand beneath her rib cage, on her diaphragm. “I'll breathe deeply,” and she took several deep breaths. “Do you feel any movement?” She continued to take deep breaths, her diaphragm moving in and out, up and down. “That's what we do, for an hour, every day.” I couldn't imagine doing it for five minutes — and have someone, a stranger, watch me? I'd rather stay home, manage my restaurant — and breathe normally.

***

"Hi Honey."

It was the following Tuesday, and I held Katie in a close embrace.

"How are you?"

I stepped back, and looked. I didn't have to ask Katie how she was. It was written all over her face: deliriously happy. But why? The yoga retreat? If that's what deep breathing did for you, perhaps I should consider taking a few classes myself.

"Katie, you look, well, simply radiant. Did you have a good time?" That was self-evident — but I felt I had to ask.

"I did ... I did." Yes, I could see that. But .... "Guess what?"

Guess .... No ... NO ... NO. It couldn't be.NO.

"Well, aren't you going to guess?"

"No, Katie. It's not guess what. It's guesswho." There, I said it — and I knew I was right. It was written all over that adorable, elfin face I had grown to .... But perhaps I was wrong. I could be, yet ....

"Yes.Yes. You always know, don't you, but,yes. His name is Lenny." I couldn't continue dancing. I thought it appropriate — under the circumstances — that we take a short break, to discuss the latest revelation, to give it the proper moment, so to speak — and for me to regain my composure. These yoga retreats must be dynamite.

"But Katie, if you were at a yoga retreat for deep breathing, how did you meet Lenny?"

"Oh, yes, well, there he was, in one of my sessions."

"Is that all?" I was certain something had been omitted, but then one never knows, does one? "I don't like to pry ..." — Who was I kidding? I couldn't help myself when it came to Katie. —"... but, how did you meet? I mean, does one just start up conversations with other participants?" I always thought one met people over a caffè latte or at a milonga. Meeting people while breathing deeply, and possibly in a trance, was quite new to me.

“At other yoga retreats I concentrate on what I'm doing, but I still manage to speak to whoever's around me. That's all part of the retreat experience. I've gotten to know quite a few people that way." Yes, I was coming to that realization myself. I was just not as friendly as Katie. Unless the other person were to open the conversation, I doubt I would, which probably meant that before signing up for one of these retreats I should consider taking a course in social etiquette — or at least a primer.

“In this particular yoga retreat you're assigned a partner, to watch you and take notes while you breathe, and if you're having a problem, to call for help.” Now I was beginning to be intrigued: call for help? Here I'd always thought yoga was benign — funny exercises and stretching; not much danger there. “Partners are chosen from names in a bowl, and Lenny chose mine. During the first session I was breathing deeply, but afterward ....”

“What about the trance?” I asked

“Well, yes, I did go into a trance the first day, but afterward ....”

“Did Lenny also exercise breathing deeply?”

“Yes, in the afternoon, but after my session ....”

“Did he go into a trance too?”

“No, not the first day, but he did during our second session, the following day. He intrigued me, Lenny did, that is. And I guess he took a liking to me too. We agreed to have coffee, later." There, I knew it. They plotted over coffee, just as I would have suspected. Being a yoga retreat I doubted whether they would serve caffè latte; too sophisticated.

"Since the facilities at the retreat are minimal, we met at a coffee bar nearby, one that serves caffè latte and cappuccino; better atmosphere and a little more mondaine, if you know what I mean." I knew it. Yes. I wasn't such a dullard after all. I was beginning to like Lenny — so not me.

"Lenny was interesting. He's involved in some kind of security investment company in Montreal. He wants me to come there for the weekend." This Lenny fellow didn't waste time. One caffè latte and, hoopla, an invitation for a weekend in 'gaie Montreal'.

"Did you agree?"

"Agree? To what, sweetie?"

"To go to Montreal for the weekend, like Lenny suggested?"

"Honey, of course not. I have to think it over, you know. I don't know much about him. I think he should come here first. Then we'll see." I, too, had some investigating to do. Security investment company. This was just the sort of dirt Billy — my partner in the restaurant and a lawyer — likes to play around in.

We began to dance again. What was there about Katie that made me feel all warm and tingly? When we danced it was like being ... home. I'd always been one for staying put, not needing to go anywhere. If I had what I wanted, why go somewhere else, searching?

***

“Can you get the story on this guy?” I asked my friend, Billy, when we met in his office. I had to plan — to expose Lenny — for I believed he wasn't what he had led Katie to believe. To me, Lenny was a fraud.

“Any reason why you want me to expose him?” Billy asked.

“Katie met him at a yoga retreat in Newburyport, Mass. He told her he was in the financial field, had a security investment company of some sort. Katie's totally innocent about these things, so I thought it best to find out if the guy's legitimate.”

“Sure, Aaron. Give me a couple of weeks.”

***

"Hi honey."

Katie was back and it was ‘our’ Tuesday. Actually, she hadn't gone anywhere; I was the one who had been away this time.

"Hi Katie. It's good to see you. It's like forever since we danced." I was truly glad to have Katie back in my arms. "How was your weekend?" I asked.

"Wonderful. Lenny was very sweet. We had the kids with us."

"Why was that? I thought your ex- took them on weekends."

"He does — three out of four — and last weekend was the fourth."

"Why didn't you switch with him? Having the kids around rather complicates things, I should think." Not only that, my dear, but what about Lenny? I wondered what he must've thought, having planned a nice, quiet, romantic weekend with somebody special, and she brings along her kids? That didn't sound too cool to me. But I wasn't going to offer my opinion.

"What did Lenny think, I mean, having the kids around?"

"Oh, he didn't mind. The kids cleared out of their room so that he'd have some privacy."

"Where did they camp out, in the living room?"

"No, no. They came into my bedroom and slept with me. It was rather cozy, like a real adventure." I bet ... for Lenny. Once more, Katie had taken me to a new level of understanding women. I was beginning to see the point of the comment she had made weeks before — that I didn't, understand women, that is. "So, you played house, the five of you."

" It was fun, really. Lenny got to see what home life is like. And my house, well, you know what it's like, chaos — slightly controlled chaos. But he survived."

I decided to be discreet, and not ask if .... Sometimes I could, you know, I mean, be discreet, in spite of my better judgment. And, if I waited — patiently — I'd be told; myadvice would be sought.

“Why don't you and Lenny come to the restaurant the next time he's visiting? It would be a night out for you,” ... and I would meet and have a good look at Lenny.

***

"Sweetie. I have soooo much to tell you. Guess who's been calling?"

It was once more ‘our’ Tuesday. We were practicing barridas. I bent my left leg, turned, in preparation to catch Katie's right foot. Applying a slight pressure, I slid Katie's foot to meet my left foot, then, straightened up so that we were now face to face — or, chest to chest, actually.

"Larry, Moe, and Curly." She really looked terrific, but when hadn't she? It had been almost two years since we had first met. Somehow Katie looked better now; she was in perpetual bloom. When had I ever known her to be down or depressed, mad, or angry, unduly upset, distraught, or moody? Was that the reason I always looked forward to Tuesdays? No matter what had happened all week since we had last met, Tuesdays I could expect to find a cheerful person, a smiling face. What would it be like, just Katie and me; of course, there would be the kids and my pets, but I liked her kids and they liked me. Were we right for each other? We came from different worlds — almost — and different generations. Did any of that matter when two people enjoy being together?

"Cute, very cute. Almost. Barry, Ernie, and Lenny ... every day.” Here I thought I was through with hearing about Barry and Ernie .... “I want to blow your mind away, and you couldn't care less." Now, that wasn't true. If anyone cared, it was me. I did care, more than she probably realized, more than I would admit to myself.

"Now, sweetheart," and I folded Katie in my arms and continued dancing to di Sarli, very dramatic and sensual, "don't say that, because you know I do. And anyway, does it make a difference?" That ... was a loaded question, but I had gotten used to treading on thin ice. Katie stopped dancing, abruptly.

"What do you mean, does it make a difference? Of course it does. Who else can I tell? And who would listen? My mother? Forget it; she has her own problems. My ex-? A lot of good that would do me. You're the only one who'll listen — and hear what I say.” I could feel the emotion of Katie's words throughout her body. Was she telling me that I meant that much to her? I hoped, how I hoped.

I felt I was living through the wives of Henry VIII — except, in Katie's case it would be the loves of Henrietta the Pure, for, despite all the comings and goings in her life, Katie was an innocent, one of those rare creatures that life — and all its ugliness — never touches.

"What about Lenny? What did he have to say for himself?" If I didn't keep this litany of corpses moving, we might have been there until the following Tuesday. Now, that's a thought.

"Oh, well, Lenny invited me to Montreal. It seems there's a big party he wants me to attend with him."

"And, did you accept?" I wasn't sure if I liked the idea of Katie being Lenny's date at a big affair. It could be misconstrued, unless ....

"I asked him to give me a few days to think it over. I plan to call him tonight."

"What'll be your decision?" Was I hoping Katie would refuse? I didn't know.

"I think I'll go. After all, it might be fun — being in Montreal, meeting his friends and family too, probably." I still wasn't convinced. Was Lenny the right person for Katie?  I couldn't — no, I wouldn't — allow myself to believe this. He had to have a flaw — but what was it? I wouldn't rest until I had uncovered what it was and exposed Lenny for what he had to be — a fraud.

"Where will you stay?" Was I being a busybody? What business was that of mine? I wanted to know ... but I didn't.

"Lenny said he'll get me a room at the hotel where the party's taking place." Well, a little class there. It was useful that I asked. Now I felt more positive towards old Lenny. Sometimes it takes time ... to develop hatred.

"When is this big weekend?"

"In three weeks. I'll spend the weekend. The party's Saturday, and Friday ... well, I don't know. I imagine Lenny has plans." I sensed hesitation; hesitation meant hope — for me. I had work ahead of me. With Lenny came weakness ... somewhere. This was Billy's forte. Given time, Billy would find out, and then ....

***

The weekend in Montreal was on us before I had a chance to regroup. I worried how Katie would fare at the big party Saturday night. What would Lenny's friends and family think of her, and how would she react to them? I called Billy, to learn what, if anything, he had uncovered about Lenny.

“From a business point of view this guy Lenny is a small fish,” Billy told me. “Aaron, he doesn't amount to much, really.” I was a little disappointed. “But that doesn't mean he isn't successful, because this guy is.” I didn't want to hear any more. “He runs an outfit whose focus is on families — his and other members of his community — and some of them have money, lots of money.”

“Are you telling me that Lenny is legitimate?” I asked. For Katie's sake I was hoping he was — but not for mine.

“Listen, Aaron, I don't know what skin you have in the game, but your fellow Lenny makes a good living. I don't know any of his clients personally — the businesses of some being borderline illicit — but the guy's okay.”

After hanging up with Billy I had a headache. I had expected Billy to tell me that Lenny was a phony, a two-bit hustler, perhaps one of those Wall Street shysters who make a living putting deals together, taking a cut but never actually creating anything. Or that he was running a Ponzi scheme. But not to tell me Lenny was legitimate, an adjective I didn't expect — nor want — to hear.

I called my mother, to ask if she knew Lenny or members of his family. While it was quite possible — as everyone claimed to know my mother — I needed her confirmation, as well as her opinion should she be acquainted with them.

“Why, yes, Aaron,” she said, “I know Lenny's parents, more his father than his mother. Lenny's father was president of their synagogue when I was president of ours, so we met quite often, more as representatives of our respective congregations than socially. Why do you ask?”

“Lenny has been seeing Katie, the person I dance with. I wanted to know if his family was respectable, that's all.” What she told me backed up Billy's report on Lenny's business affairs. So far, I hadn't found a flaw that I could somehow scheme to incubate. Lenny appeared to be a solid member of the community and that disturbed me.

Then it was the weekend.

"Hi sweetie," Katie called, Saturday morning from Montreal. I wondered why?

"Hi Katie. What's up? How's Montreal?"

"Fine, just fine. I had some time to myself, so I thought I'd call." That was encouraging — for me — but where was Lenny?

"Are you all set for tonight? What did you do last night?" Was something wrong, or was I being optimistic, reading something in Katie's voice that, in reality, wasn't there?

"Actually, I'm waiting for Lenny to pick me up. He wants to go shopping."

"That's exciting."

"Yes, it is, isn't it? Last night we went to this very small, very French restaurant in old Montreal. It was all very lovely." I didn't detect anything troubling in Katie's voice, but ... I had these feelings. I couldn't explain them; I felt them — or wanted to feel them.

"Let me know how everything goes, tonight I mean."

"Oh, I will. I'll call you just as soon as I get back to Vermont. 'Bye honey." I was troubled. Katie hadn't said anything to cause me to feel this way, it's just that I was uneasy.

When Katie called late Sunday, I was out.

"Hi sweetie. It's me. I'm back. Everything worked out fine. See ya Tuesday.”

Then it was ‘our’ Tuesday and we started to dance.

"Hi sweetheart. You haven't changed too much."

"Hi sweetie. What do you mean?" I could feel tension in her question, in her body. Had I touched something sensitive, without knowing it?

"What I meant was, you look terrific. I just don't tell you as often as I should." We continued dancing.

"But you notice a change, don't you?" We stopped dancing. I looked. — A haircut. Whenever a woman does something, it invariably involves a haircut; my sister, Rachel, told me that. I bet that's what Katie had done.

“A haircut; you had your hair cut.” I could've been wrong, but at least I'd showed I'd noticed — something. We started dancing, again.

"D'ya like it?" We paused in our dancing. I looked; to me it looked the same — but I wouldn't admit it. After all, I knew that when a woman tells you she's done something to change her hairdo, you must acknowledge a change, admire the change, otherwise you may have an emotional eruption on your hands — and it'll be your fault too.

"It looks great, really. Did you get a cut in Montreal?"

"Yes, but ...." That — “but” — was telling me something. What else do women have done to their hair? A perm? No. Katie's hair was straight; it had always been that way. Style, a new style. But Katie's hair really looked the same as it had the week before. Color, a change of color, or highlights, tints here and there. I looked and, yes, I could see — but they could have been natural. They looked natural. I could say that I noticed some color changes, and if I were wrong, I could always add that they looked so natural; perhaps she had been out in the sun Saturday and Sunday. I hoped it had been sunny in Montreal.

"Of course, it's highlights. You've added some highlights."

"Oh honey, you're soooo observant. Lenny thought I should streak my hair — but I wouldn't go that far.” I relaxed. “So, I had some colors added — mostly on the top. D'you like them?" What could I say? Now that Katie mentioned it, I did notice some added tints.

"They're a change, and changes are always good ... now and then.” It all depends on whether you wanted them. “What do you think?"

"I don't know. At first, I thought I'd go for it, at Lenny's urging.” My ears picked up, again. “But when I did it, I had second thoughts. That's when I called you, remember?" I knew I had detected something uneasy in Katie's voice Saturday when she called.

"Well, you could always dye it out, or leave it to just grow out, if you really don't like it."

"That's what I thought. I'll see if it grows on me. For now, I'll leave it. It's just, well, I liked my hair the way it was, before Lenny suggested I have it tinted."

We danced. Nothing had changed, really. It was only that Katie was beginning to understand who she was — and liking what she saw — and this made me relax.

We paused as we danced. I looked at Katie.

"Katie, you still haven't told me much about the weekend. Did you enjoy it as much as you thought you would?" I was more than merely curious. Lenny had given Katie a big rush. I didn't want her to be let down.

"Well, I told you about Friday night. After dinner Lenny brought me back to my room — and then he left. I was glad, 'cause I really didn't want to sleep with him, — not yet anyway." Why was I so suspicious? It made me feel so mean, especially when Lenny had been quite considerate. "Saturday, we went shopping, like I told you, and before that I had my hair cut, and the tints added. Back in the room I tried on the dress I had brought and decided I looked pretty good in it. Did I ever tell you I used to have a weight problem?" I looked at Katie, hard. Problem? Jane Fonda should have such a problem.

"No, I don't recall your telling me." Katie had a way of changing the subject — and have it appear natural.

"It was after Poppy was born. I lost exactly what she weighed, 10 pounds. Would you believe that I weighed 142 pounds?" On Katie that was hard to believe. At the time, I only weighed slightly more.

"Katie, that's impossible. I mean, I can't imagine you as plump."

"Well, I was, and I couldn't lose it. I didn't want to be like most women, you know, exercise so that I could eat whatever I wanted. I went around somewhat depressed, feeling lousy about myself — which couldn't have been an upper for my clients. Finally, I made a decision — a life changing decision. I decided that dieting wouldn't work. Too much up-and-down business. I wanted to have a body that stayed put. I cut out eating all leftovers from preparing the kids' meals — like peanut butter, jelly, cookie dough. After a month I returned to my doctor for a checkup and, guess what? I'd lost seven pounds.” Seven pounds! Who'd get excited over losing seven pounds? “Then I decided to really get serious. I started eliminating foods with high fat or carb content — like most dairy, bread, you know what I mean. I continued to lose, but I also exercised, daily. Now I won't let a day go by without some form of exercise. You know, I have a very average body." Yeah, like Marilyn Monroe.

"Katie, let me tell you something. Averages are made up of putting together extremes. It doesn't mean that anyone is average — because hardly anyone is. Practically everyone is on one or the other side of average — thinner or fatter. But whatever the average is, you are not it, believe me. There is no word yet invented to describe you." And I was speaking the truth. I didn't have to lie — or exaggerate — because Katie looked fabulous, no matter what she had on.

"Sweetie, that's soooo nice of you. But I'm not finished yet. This," and she pointed to herself, "is a work in progress. I'll always be trying to improve myself, always." Amen. How could I disagree, or protest? I believed exactly the same — although for me it was more cerebral than physical. That was what life was all about, I mean, improving what exists and what you start with. If you don't — if you don't make any attempt to build on the past or the given — I felt you had failed as a human being.

"So, when I stepped out of the elevator to go to the party Saturday night, I felt pretty good about myself, about how I looked, you know, very little jewelry — where would I get that? — no make-up, just me. Well, I could have been blown over by a mistral." Where had Katie heard of mistrals?

"Why?"

"When I stepped out of the elevator I got cold stares, when I expected warm greetings. I thought, — 'Maybe your slip is showing, Katie' —, until I remembered I wasn't wearing one. Or, — 'Maybe your lipstick's smeared, Katie' —, until I remembered I don't use lipstick. Perhaps — 'You have tear in your dress, Katie' —. I walked to a full-length mirror, to inspect myself. When I looked into the mirror I saw me — and a few other ladies who were standing in back of me. Then it dawned on me: I don't look like them.”

"I don't understand."

"Well, I had on this, I think, rather attractive dress I had picked up at, you know, the Almost Newstore in town." I didn't, but that didn't matter. "It was a bright blue, almost a peacock blue, clingy that showed off my figure, and it was short, you know, above my knees, so it showed off my legs. I know I'm not Charlotte Simmons, but I looked good. I had never see myself like I did in that mirror. And, right there, in back of me, were several women — a little older perhaps — wearing these long, and I mean long, gowns. Gowns, can you believe it? Down to their ankles, all covered with beads and sequins. And the colors! White and beige and ochre and navy. Nothing with any life — except their faces. Those were painted. I mean, painted: all shades, from dark purple to pale pink. Lips, eye shadow, rouge, eyebrows; the whole bit. And the hairdos! I thought the tints I got that afternoon made me look, well, unnatural. You should have seen these women. All shades of the rainbow: blondes, redheads, orange, burgundy, jet black. Not one natural head in the mirror. I turned around; my face must've been burning because Lenny asked me if something was wrong. Of course, I couldn't tell him, not then."

"Why? He may have given you some support, you know, moral support." I thought I owed it to Lenny to suggest it.

"No, I couldn't. I realized, looking in the mirror with all those other women peering at me from behind my back — the people Lenny knew, probably part of his family — that this was Katie I was looking at. Not a makeover, not a city lady, not a sophisticate: just Katie, and no matter who thought differently, I liked what I saw. When I stepped off that elevator, they probably said to themselves, — “Humm, Lenny has brought a country bumpkin to the dinner,” — but at that moment I didn't care. I decided to have a good time. I may have been flushed — it happens to me when I'm in an awkward situation — but I got over it."

"How?"

"I turned 'round to Lenny, took his arm and said, — “Let's join the others, shall we?” —, and we did."

"Sounds like a long evening to me."

"It was — and it wasn't. Lenny introduced me to his friends and to his family who were there — his parents, his brother and sister and their spouses, and to a lot of other people. We talked, you know, light stuff, danced; Lenny's not like you, sweetie; he has two left feet — if you know what I mean." That was good to hear.

“But tell me, what did you and the other guests talk about?”

“Nothing serious; their kids, the school their kids go to; you know, all of them send their kids to the same school, some sort of parochial school; meeting with the other ladies over tea and crumpets. Sweetie, what are crumpets?”

“I'll tell you another time.”

“... their shule — I think they meant their synagogue — the preparation of Friday night meals ....”

“Sounds awfully boring, actually.” And very monochromatic.

“It was. I didn't say much. What did I have to add? My life — aside from having kids — is totally different from theirs. I work, I raise chickens and collect their eggs, I eat sensibly, I exercise, and I dance with you, honey. So you see, there would be nothing to add to the conversation.”

“What did you do all night? I would have fallen asleep.” Katie put her arms around my neck, and we danced. And as we danced, with her head gently resting on my chest, she continued.

“I turned inward — that's what they teach us in yoga classes — and thought of you and being here dancing.”

***

I had invited Katie to a local benefit. We would be amongst locals, many were friends and acquaintances; a time for us to be together — without thoughts of Lenny. The harlequin skirt I ordered from The Peruvian Connection arrived, and on Tuesday I gave it to Katie.

"Oh, honey," the wrapping quickly disappearing from a box which itself was torn into like a lion devouring a gazelle. "It's bee-u-tiful. I'll put it on now," and before I could breathe, Katie had taken off her jeans and replaced them with the skirt.

"What'd'ya think?" she asked as she twirled and twisted between me and the wall of mirrors, looking at herself this way and that, swishing the material as it boleo'd around her legs. "I love it. How did you know it would look so good on me?" I didn't, but when I saw it in the catalog I immediately thought of Katie, because it was natural, unadorned, and unpretentious — like Katie herself.

At the Benefit we danced, Katie preoccupied with her new skirt — how it looked when she danced ochos and boleos, how it moved as she moved. I could have given her a Mme Grès Grecian creation or an Yves St Laurent, but to Katie it wouldn't've been any more special. This simple creation — a gift from the llamas in the Andes — and Katie complemented one another. As the mirrors lined one wall only, I had to constantly turn and lead so that she could see herself — distracted but charming. What did I care; I was dancing with Katie.

The evening was special. In some ways it was a date. Was it our first? An evening socializing with friends — in public — not practicing at my restaurant. When I invited Katie, I didn't have this in my mind — or did I? but that's what it was, really. Did Katie think of the evening in the same way?

But now there was Lenny, and with Lenny in the picture, was there room for me, and would it feel crowded — the three of us? Lenny could give Katie the security she deserved — if that's what both Lenny and she wanted. Perhaps I had experienced too much of life to make a spontaneous decision, easier when one is young and has a good part of life yet to live. I didn't have that luxury. Most likely mine would be the last decision I would make. That's how I felt, and that gave me a solid foundation on which to make it.

"I had a wonderful time; how can I thank you?" Katie said, as I put her in her Honda wagon and watched her sail away ... reminding myself that it would be Tuesday again, soon.

***

It had been barely two days since we had seen each other at the Benefit, but, for me, it seemed like a month — or two minutes. I was confused. Before Katie came into my life, I thought I was fairly well settled. I had had an amicable divorce, and Jeanne — my ex- —and I had become each other's closest friend, sharing our pets as well as years of memories. The restaurant occupied whatever practical needs I had. Life was calm and I thought, this was how it would be ... until the end. But then, I had begun to have feelings for Katie other than as a dance partner. I cared for her; more than cared, I began to realize. But Katie had a life, a life apart from dancing with me every Tuesday. It didn't feel right — for me — to interfere in, or change, her life — nor was I ready to change mine. Changing one's life is different from changing one's hairstyle. It involves emotions, and often other people, and the fragility of both caused me to be cautious.

"Hi Katie, what's doing?" That ... could be a leading question.

"Nothing. Does that surprise you?" Katie had on an ageless expression of innocence that so moved me. I just wanted to crush her in my embrace. It confused, challenged, bedeviled me — and made my head spin.

We danced to Piazzolla, one of our favorites — the recording with Gideon Kramer playing violin. The haunting reed-like quality, conjuring Swendenborgian mysticism of sensuality, demanded the intertwining of bodies. Katie started twisting and turning her legs — wrapping around my body, in and out and between my legs — forgetting all the discipline I had tried to force on her. Katie — emoting — loosened her frame, forcing me to remind her — as though she were an undisciplined child — to remember the rules.

"You're emoting, sweetheart." 

"Oh, phooey. You always say that, just when I'm enjoying myself. Can't we relax, just a bit?"

"No, we can't — or shouldn't — at least not while we practice. We can express our emotions from within, but we must maintain the structure of our bodies. I feel what you're feeling; it'll come through — in our feet, in our bodies and, yes, even in our arms." I looked at her, to see if any of what I had just said was sinking in, or just rolling off her emotional back. By her expression, Katie must have been very far away indeed. I didn't disturb her further. What would be the point? The structure — or intent — of tango could wait, for her to return from wherever it was she was visiting. I didn't change the disk. Katie was meant to be natural — to be left as you found her. She wasn't meant to be molded into anyone else's conception or needs. I didn't want to lose her. I wanted ....

"Okay, sweetie, let's change the disk and practice." That's the way it was. Katie had awakened — and returned from wherever — and was ready to work.

"By the way, did I mention that the kids are with me?”

"What's the occasion? Planned hooky?"

"No, they have some sort of holiday this week. I never can keep up with the school agenda. They seem to be home more than at school. I should try home-schooling."

"Katie, you want to go mad? With the chickens, the ducks, the goat, the dog and the cat and three kids, are you serious?" I could never tell with Katie. She just might have been.

"I only mentioned the kids 'cause I promised them a treat after our dancing. D'you want to join us for something across the street?" As Katie and I generally danced on Tuesdays when her kids had school, spending time with them — other than the occasional weekend day — was a treat ... for me.

"Sure. Let's go now." And that began our having lunch together every Tuesday after dancing.

"You know, honey, why did it take us so long to think of this? Willie, why don't you and Poppy choose your treats? There's a whole counter of all the things you like."

"I don't know. I always thought you are in a hurry ... to get back home, I guess."

"Oh, sweetie, noooo." And here Katie's hand reached over, and covered mine.

"By the way Katie, there's a concert up at the Mountain next month, a pianist — Jonathan Biss. Do you want to go?”

“Oh, honey, that would be wonderful. Do you know the program?” Katie's eyes shone, and she bounced up and down on her chair with excitement.

“It's an all-Beethoven concert, four sonatas including the Wallstein.” I had been waiting to tell Katie ever since she told me that the Wallstein had been her father's favorite sonata. I had already purchased the tickets knowing it would delight her. What fun for me, to watch her face transform to total happiness at the thought of hearing her father's favorite piece, for it to bring back memories.

"This is just what I want," she said, her hand resting on mine.

Katie could read my mind, for that moment was just what I wanted too. Why couldn't others see and appreciate what I held in my arms every Tuesday — and thought about every minute between?

"I'm seeing Lenny this weekend." Apropos of what?

"Here?"

"No, I'll be going to Montreal."

"You know, Katie, I've never met Lenny." I wondered if I had been hidden or had been reserved for a future encounter.

"That's right, you haven't. Well, one of these days — if it lasts. You remember the party I went to with Lenny a few weeks ago? Well, it seems I made quite an impression on his family — the ones who were there — particularly with a couple of aunts, his mother's sisters."

"I guess these aunts must not have been among those you saw reflected in the mirror when you got off the elevator?" I recalled Katie telling me about the mistral-like atmosphere that greeted her at that time.

"No, no. That was a bunch of friends and acquaintances. I was introduced to these aunts a little later, when we were about to sit down for dinner. Anyway, they raved about me to Lenny.

They told him not to do anything stupid that would frighten me off, and they told him I was a keeper ..." Sounded to me like they looked at Katie as a fifteen-pound trout. "...  that he should treat me well ...." I wondered if Lenny was a woman-beater? "... and give me everything I want." Like an animal in a petting zoo? "And it seems that his aunts told this to Lenny's mother." Talk about meddling ... and I thought I had cornered that market. "She then talked to Lenny. Well, what d'you think?"

What did I think? I thought that if a 47-year-old man has to be encouraged by his meddling aunts and interfering — if not overbearing — mother to be serious about a beautiful, charming, intelligent, talented, sane mother of three teenage children, the man must be either stupid — in which case no amount of encouragement by the Andrew sisters could alter his deficient set of genes — or he was totally self-centered — in which case the aunts might as well have been talking to a concrete wall — or Lenny was blind — which would be the only legitimate excuse for his behavior — and theirs.

I agreed with Lenny's aunts — but I wouldn't tell Katie. Why sabotage my own interests, sacrifice my potential happiness — for what? I would never stand between Katie and her happiness — but, to me Lenny wasn't happiness. Putting my self-interest aside for the moment, I gave Katie my opinion — because I wanted her to be in a happy relationship.

"Sweetheart, you want to know what I think? I think the man's a jerk." There, I gave my opinion.

"Sweetie, I knew you'd say something like that." Katie then put her arms around me and we started to dance. It was the kind of dancing you do when you only want to hold in your embrace the person who means the most to you — to protect her, and assure her that you're there for her, and only for her, that you'll never leave her ... ever.

"You're soooo ferocious."

Was I ferocious? I didn't think so; I was being honest. I knew Katie wanted me to tell her that the aunts were being supportive, considerate — the sort of thing family members do for, or to, one another. But I saw it differently. I considered it meddling in somebody's personal life — gossip, the subject of small-talk amongst intimates at a later time. Could I have said these things to Katie and not lessen the value of what Lenny had told her about his aunts? No, — so I didn't. Her arms felt soothing, comforting, telling me more than her words could — ever.

Katie seemed far away, somehow — distant, and forlorn. The music reflected her state of mind — for it too was baleful, as though it spoke of foreboding.

"Cheer up, sweetheart; tomorrow's another day."

"You're right. Let's go for lunch." We put our shoes in our tote bags, and, like nomads, crossed the street for a sandwich — which we shared.

***

I had invited Katie to a party but hadn't told her that the evening would be black-tie. I didn't want to worry her, as I knew she would be overly concerned about what she would wear. In my mind I saw her in the harlequin skirt and form-fitting top, which would be perfect for a tango party. There she'd be, like Cinderella at the ball, everyone looking, and wondering who she was. I would be her prince, saving her from the clutches of the likes of Lenny and members of his interfering — though well-meaning — family. At midnight I would whisk her away, away from those who weren't worthy, away from the worries of a precarious life filled with responsibilities — to the security of my embrace.

Seeing Katie on the night of the party — fresh, provocative, bubbling over with gaiety — left me awed. Before me was the princess of my dreams, out of reach — yet within my grasp. I took her in my arms.

"Sweetheart. You look, well, good enough to eat." Aaron, what more could you want? And you said Lenny was a jerk?

"Honey, you look so handsome. I've never seen you in a tux. Is it new?" New? Should I have confessed that it was at least 25 years old? I knew its age because my tailor always marked the date the clothes were made on the inside of the jacket pocket.

"No, not very. It's that I don't often get an opportunity to wear it.”

Katie pulled me onto the dance floor. I closed my eyes and we were far away, without cares, without any thoughts of others who enter — and exit — our lives without leaving a trace —interludes all. I looked at Katie — secure in my protective embrace — and smiled, knowing I had what I wanted, what I had been searching for. We didn't stop ... dancing tango to salsa, to marimba, to jitterbug, and to the Charleston. Why did I wait? What held me back? I had promised myself to never interfere in her happiness. Offer my opinion — even unsolicited — I have, but ultimately it had to be her choice.

I looked at her and suddenly felt warm. I adored Katie. The last chapters of my life passed in front of me. I didn't know how many more there would be ... but I now knew I wanted to spend them with Katie.

I loved her. I loved her. I LOVED HER.     

E.P. Lande, born in Montreal, lived in the south of France and now, in S. Carolina, writing and caring for 100 animals. Previously, as Vice-Dean, he taught at l’Université d’Ottawa. He has owned country inns and restaurants. Since submitting three years ago, 135 his stories and poems have found homes in publications all over the world, “Expecting” nominated for Best of the Net. His debut novel, “Aaron’s Odyssey”, a gay-romantic-psychological thriller, and “To Have It All”, a psychotic thriller, have been published in London. “Dancing With Katie”, an Argentine tango sweet romance will be published this year.