Chapter 8

Speaking of dancing, I was actually looking forward to this evening, since it would be the first time for me to use my new-found skills since I started the class.

It seemed longer than just eight weeks, but part of that was because Stephanie and I had been practicing at least once a week on our own, sometimes more. A couple of times, our teacher Bob was around, waiting for another class to begin, and he would come in and help us out, correcting any bad habits that we might develop, and sometimes showing us a new dance, like when he gave us a short lesson on the 'Quickstep' a couple of weeks prior.

Bob and his wife had their own private dance studio, in addition to the teaching that he did at the college, and after the end of the semester, I was going to talk to Stephanie about continuing lessons with them. I think that we both enjoyed it so much.

Nevertheless, I was home in plenty of time, showered, shaved and ready for an evening out, just waiting for Martha to finish her preparation.

For the first time in, well, it seemed like forever, Martha came running into the master bedroom in nothing but her panties, bra and hose. I did a quick take, and then I realized that she needed to get her dress from the walk-in closet, that she had never given up when she moved out of the room.

"Oh, god, I'm running behind," she exclaimed, probably the reason that she would allow me to see her in such an unclothed state. I looked, and realized that she still had a very nice shape. She was larger in scale than Stephanie and her bust and hips were probably proportionately larger as well. She was a fine figure of a woman.

She ducked into the closet, and came out with a black dress, half on, with the zipper open in the back.

"Could you zip me up, darling?" she requested.

"Of course," I acquiesced as I zipped her up.

"That's a very chic dress," I remarked, "Have I ever seen it before?"

"No, it's brand new for tonight," she told me, sounding pleased that I'd noticed and said something nice about it. I stood back looking at her.

"It looks fabulous on you," I told her, since it honestly did.

She reached up and caressed my cheek, to my shock. She hadn't made a gesture of affection like that for a long time.

"Thank you, Mark. I hope it's alright for this evening," she said, and I wasn't sure if she was truly worried about it for some reason, or if she was just fishing for additional complements. It didn't matter because she immediately went back to 'her' room.

I finished dressing myself, and put my coat on to try it out for size. I walked out into the living room with it on, grabbing my wallet, keys and other necessities and distributing them into the various pockets.

"Oh, darling," I heard her voice from behind me, "you look dashing in that tuxedo. I'm going to be the envy of all the girls!"

"No worries on that front, Martha. I'm only there for you," I said, telling her the truth, because I was only attending because she had more-or-less insisted on it.

She came out into the living room and joined me. She was checking herself out in the full-length mirror. Her hair was perfectly coiffed, her make-up subtle, but effective, and the dress, perfect. She had a small matching purse, and a jacket that she could put on that went down to her waist.

Even in her fifties, she was a beautiful woman, and I could see and remember the girl who I had married all of those years ago.

Then she turned to me,

"Mark, I can't find the diamond pendent that you bought me for Christmas. Did you lock it up with my other jewelry?" she asked me, not actually asking as much as expecting me to fetch it for her.

It would have looked stunning with her outfit, I must admit.

"No, Martha. I took it back to the jeweler and got my money back," I stated, preparing for the storm to come.

"Mark, if that is a joke, it is in very poor taste. Could you just go and get me my pendent?" she insisted, her tone getting brusque.

"No, Martha, it isn't a joke. You told me to take it back if I thought that giving it to you entitled me to be intimate with you. I thought about it and realized that of course, expensive gifts that a man gets for his wife are, in part, a form of 'payment' for the intimacy and love that he gets from her. So I returned it," I concluded.

I wasn't sure of she was going to faint, or explode. I don't think that she knew either. But I was fortunate in at least one respect: she was too shocked to say anything. Not just her face, but her entire upper torso went red. She was literally as close to 'steaming' as I'd ever seen anyone. I'd always thought of that phrase as hyperbole. Maybe I should suggest that she see the doctor — it could be a sign of high blood pressure.

She turned, and walked back into her room, and returned a minute later with a string of pearls around her neck.

"Those are very nice, too," I said, knowing that they didn't even come close to the pendent. Nice, but not stunning. That diamond was so clear, and the light reflecting through its facets, were ... well, it was too late to worry about now.

"We will talk about this later," she hissed through clenched teeth, as she started walking to the car, her eyes straight forward so that she wouldn't have to look at me.

I got past her to open the door, and Martha, pushed my hand away from the handle as she grabbed it.

"I can open my own doors," she huffed, although, I stayed and waited until she had gathered her dress and feet entirely into the car, and shut her door for her.

The drive to the retirement party was done in complete silence.

To be entirely honest, I had a hard time not laughing, as I considered the fact that all that I had done was what Martha had suggested that I do. What was Shakespeare's famous phrase from Hamlet for that: hoist on her own petard?

Since we used the valet parking at the hotel, I didn't even try to open Martha's door, someone else got it for her.

As we entered into the Grand Ballroom where the party was being held, I discovered what an actress my wife could be. Despite being so angry with me that she was seething, as soon as we crossed the threshold into an area where she and I were expected to be a happy couple, she suddenly took my arm, and put a huge smile on her face.

"And this is my husband, Mark...

"I'd like you to meet our President...

"Thank you ... and your gown is lovely as well...

"We've been married for more than...

"Yes, my darling Mark is so handsome in a tux...

"Oh, these pearls are really nothing... (she elbowed me pretty hard when she was asked about the pearls)

So we circulated around the ballroom, meeting and greeting, at least she was meeting and greeting people, because I only knew a few of them. But I played along as well, smiling and saying all of the things that a spouse is supposed to say.

We were seated, and I seem to vaguely remember that the meal was adequate — I wasn't paying close attention to the food. I was just smiling and nodding my head yes at everything that Martha had to say.

We'd been seated at the table with the President of the company and his wife, the retiring Vice-President of Finance and his wife, Martha, the Director of Finance, and two other couples. In other words, we were with the mucky-mucks. Polite conversation was the order of the day.

There was a younger woman, whose husband was the Director of Accounting on one side of me. She was quite attractive, but seemed bored by the entire scene, and responded in a minimal fashion to any sallies that I made to include her in the conversation. On my other side, was the retiring Vice-President's wife, a slightly chubby lady, but with a charming and bubbly personality. She was quite personable, as was her husband. The President was a quiet man, and his wife, a slender woman, I would guess ten-years older than Martha, was reserved as well. But all-in-all, the dinner went well.

After dessert had been served, a small orchestra began playing, rather jazzy tunes, but with a beat that would easily fit into some of the dance steps that I'd learned. Always the polite husband, I turned to my wife,

"Martha, would you care to dance?" I inquired.

The look told me all that I needed to know. She would not be dancing with me tonight. She decided to have a joke at my expense.

"Mark, I didn't think that you could dance. It might be risky for your partner," she said with a laugh, that if I hadn't known how angry she was under her veneer of calm, I might have laughed myself.

I turned to the Vice-President's wife, recalling that Ellen was her name.

"Ellen, would you care to dance?" I politely inquired, with a smile on my face, looking directly at her.

She glanced back for a second to make sure that I wasn't joking, and then got up to join me.

"Darn right I'd like to dance with you! If I wait for MY husband to ask, I'll sit all night!" she said, and although the words sounded somewhat harsh, with Ellen, one could tell it wasn't meant as anything but fun. She turned to her husband and gave him a quick peck before we left for the dance floor, and he'd been laughing at her banter all along.

Ellen, it turned out, might be a called chubby, but she when I started to lead her in an East Coast Swing to the music, she was right there. And she was having a blast! It was pretty obvious that she enjoyed getting out there and kicking her heels.

We stayed out on the floor and Foxtrotted to the next tune.

Ellen was just laughing and talking and having a great time.

After we'd been out there for a few minutes, and Ellen decided that I was reasonably comfortable, she asked me,

"Mark, tell me — how come Martha doesn't know you can dance? Having you been keeping secrets, you naughty man?"

"I just started taking a class a couple of months ago," I confessed, "and this is my first chance to 'strut my stuff'"

"Well, you're doing pretty well. You must be practicing with someone," she hinted.

"My class had four men, including the instructor, and fourteen coeds," I put on a fake leer, "so it's a target rich environment for dance partners."

That settled, Ellen smiled.

"Now Mark," she told me, as we danced, "ask Eve, the President's wife to dance too. She used to adore dancing, but he's had problems as he's gotten older and can't dance anymore — his knees, I think. Anyway, you dance a couple with her, and you will be in her good graces for life!"

When we returned to the table, Ellen said, rather loudly,

"Martha, you've been keeping Mark's dancing skills a secret from us! He didn't step on my feet once — in fact, I think he's one of the better dance partners I've had!"

Martha was sitting there with her mouth half-open, in shock.

I think that she was going to say something, but before she had a chance, I turned to Eve, the President's wife.

"Eve, could I convince you to join me for a couple?" I asked, not forgetting Ellen's advice.

Eve's face just, well, lit up! She turned to her husband, and he smiled and nodded, first at her and then at me. I helped her rise from her chair, and we walked back to the dance floor.

As we started dancing, someone dimmed the lights, so that it wasn't quite so bright on the couples, and that made it more comfortable.

Eve and I danced silently together for a few minutes before she said anything,

"Mark, it is Mark isn't it?"

I nodded.

"I get the impression that your wife has been taken by surprise this evening. She doesn't know you dance?" she asked.

"No, I just started classes recently, and this is my first opportunity to test my skills in public," I responded.

"Well, you are doing very well. I'm so glad that you asked me. Bill — you know my husband — his knees have just given out, and at his age, he just doesn't have the strength anymore to dance. And I do love it so," she said.

There was a pause as Eve seemed to be thinking.

"Somehow," she continued, "I've always envisioned Martha as being to, well ... cool in her temperament, to really enjoy dancing."

"If you mean, is she frigid, you're probably right," was the rather brutal and honest answer I gave her.

Eve smiled at me again.