Genevieve
Copyright© 2023 by Old Man with a Pen
Chapter 12
“Genevieve? Do you dance?”
“Yes, Doctor, I dance,” she said.
The band, a quartette, had begun a waltz.
The small floor was empty. They would be ... exposed. Exposed to the ridicule or approbation of some of Detroit’s upper crust.
He stood, held out his hand, she slid her chair back and took the offered hand. They moved to the floor ... and all the years of lessons proved that she could ... dance. And it was fun. A father daughter ... or so it appeared to the diners.
Soon, a gray headed couple, husband and wife, celebrating the anniversary of their fortieth, joined them.
And then the upper crust ... danced.
The quartette continued the waltz much longer than was the norm.
Detroit ... and its environs ... is manufactories. As is normal ... there was a need for skilled employees. The skills were imported. Artisans from Poland ... Germany ... Switzerland. Some of those imported had ideas and those ideas had made a few of the imported ... wealthy. Wealthy parents were careful that their children married wealth. Detroit ... in 1971.
The quartette broke into a polka. Polish, German, Swiss ... if there is one dance they know ... polka.
In the morning, Genevieve Austin, still bubbling from last night, interrupted her daddy in his office. Daddy was doing ‘nothing,’ Nothing so important as to deny his darling daughter.
“Daddy ... it was sooo much fun,” she said. “One staid matron polka’d so hard her triple strand of pearls broke and scattered. She probably lost half of them to crushing shoes.”
“Fun?”
“Pete ... excuse me ... Pierre, the ... ah ... oh so French Maître d’, is from Oklahoma. In real life he’s a caller ... we square-danced. Almost caused a riot.”
“Square dance?”
“Like ... aliemande left.”
“What?”
“Daddy? You’ve never square danced? Aliemand left is a square dance figure in which two facing dancers take left hands or forearms, turn halfway around to the left, let go, and step forward, the move generally continues around the square until you meet your original partner ... where’s George?”
“George?”
“The chauffeur. Your education is sadly lacking? Where did you go to school? Don’t answer ... rhetorical question. Come on.”
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