Chapter 6: Music and Dancing

Interlude: 25^th Anniversary

Cindy:

The preparations peaked on Wednesday. By Thursday the major projects were done and the detail work started. It was also the day the press started to break through. Aunt Francine was back. She never met an interview she didn't like. There were Jeff Winston's appearances on Today and Good Morning America. A select handful were allowed inside the gate. Dad said he thought they had a handle on the amount of interest. Wrong.

But that was later. Wednesday night Dad took Mom out to eat. When they came home, Mom showed Aunt Jo how to dance. Dad still has the picture on his desk.

Siobhan:

To some degree, the highlight of the whole week was when I showed the Amish woodworkers Grandfather's yacht. There was a man named CR who was taking measurements. Sean had hired him to oversee the refit. At first the Amish were stiff and formal, but soon their hands were caressing the wood, while CR explained what needed to be done. As usual, Sean had a good man on the job.

Elsewhere things were beginning to assume their final positions. All the carts, stalls, stands and tents were in place, though not all finished. Ropes and fences were up. The dozen benches I had requested had swelled to three times that number, set in any shred of shade. A great deal of work still remained in the yard, but it was finishing work. Other than the seating, the heavy work was done.

It was past nine o'clock when I called it a day. As I had expected, my grad students had thrown themselves into the preparations. In later years they would all be able to point with pride to their corner of the project. Justin's pictures assured it. Everyone had a folder of pictures of themselves in front of their work. Often, I was asked to be there as well.

Justin Immons was exactly what I expected from Sheila's description. He was everywhere, into everything, always with the Nikon clicking. Sheila had given him one of the guest rooms for his stay. It was a measure of her place in the house that no one had checked with Sean or me. We were informed, not consulted.

As I have been unabashedly lesbian, so Justin was openly gay. He was like some of the straight girls I knew—very comfortable for chatting. We were chatting outside the Ballroom when Sean and Sheila returned, rather earlier than expected. I waved, then told Justin where the liquor was kept and asked him to pour a set.

It is odd how very familiar things can suddenly become like new, because you focus your attention. Sean has been my big brother all my life. He protected me from the bullies in school, til he bowed to my request to back off. Sean took over the company when his diploma was still damp. In the decade since, Richards and Sons had become Richards Enterprises. The size had tripled and profits had gone up even more. Whatever George and I needed, Sean provided. He was not to blame for my unhappy childhood.

Seeing him walk up the steps from the garage, I was struck by the man he had become. God knew Sheila had impressed me. She treated Sean as her Lord and Master. That was only half the equation. With Sheila, Sean became complete. He needed to protect and care; it was his nature. Sheila gave him someone who needed that, but could also challenge him, talk to him—and talk for him.

As soon as I thought it was a match made in heaven, my thoughts turned to things with religious connotations. The traditional vow of love, honor and serve would be no joke to Sheila. The man's vow was, "as Christ loved the Church." Christ went willingly to death for the Church. No joke there either. It went without saying, "til death us do part." Of such examples, traditions are made.

Marriage is found in every culture. Every religion prizes it. Human nature being what it is, most people cannot do marriage well. Sean and Sheila were not most people. Even excepting her chosen profession, Sheila was exceptional on many levels. Francine's word was bandwidth. Bill Gates would love Sheila. Just yesterday, I had seen a great man refer to her as a goddess. At the time, I had been awed by Angela Molinari. Increasingly my thoughts turned to her clear deference to her husband—who called himself a poor worker from the sugar cane fields.

Pedro de la Garza turned my thoughts to my brother. The parallels were there to see. Sean had taken a staid, hidebound, antiquated old family company and turned it into a multinational group of businesses that no one took lightly. It was already clear that Sheila would be famous, but no fame she attained would faze Sean. Like Pedro de la Garza, Sean had an uncanny eye for talent.

Which brought me back to me. Pedro de la Garza considered me to have potential. Since he clearly did not mean my academic accomplishments, that left the physical. Just thinking about it made me stand straighter. A pop between my shoulder blades told me I had gotten lazy. Frau Doktor Richards would not do such a thing. Which led me to Lars Gunter. My phone was in my hand before I thought about it.

I punched in Lars Gunters' number.

Phone: Hallo.

"Lars Gunter?"

Phone: Ja.

"Hier ist Doktor Richards. Hold for Mein Bruder."

I handed the phone to Sean, who had just reached me. "Lars Gunter. Invite him to the wedding." Sean's German is much better than mine. Sean took the phone. There was a bit of twinkle in his eye.

"Herr Gunter. Ich bin Sean Richards. Wir haben beide zwei Vornamen." That was something about two names.

It seemed to be a joke, because Sean laughed. After a moment, he spoke again and the tone had relaxed quite a bit. The conversation soon lost me, but eventually Sean agreed to a couple of things, said thank you, good night and ended the call. The glint was still in his eye, but Sean played it straight. "He's coming. He thinks you are very German in your attitudes. He also loves Wagner." Out with it. There is another shoe coming. "You get to tell Gerald." Blast you Sean. Even Sheila laughed.

Playing chicken with Sean is an old tradition. The practice has stood me well in academic politics. I have security on my phone as 511. Gerald is 666. I let Sheila see that as I made the call. He would not be in the office and I wanted him to get this unfiltered. "Gerald, look up a Lars Gunter, Siemens Financial. I invited him to dance with me at the wedding. I hope I did not ruin your evening."

Sheila looked amused. Sean looked at her and said, "You've been giving her pointers." Sheila was even more amused. "She's a quick study. It only took her two days to learn to stand upright." Damn Sheila was good at banter. The logic on that gibe went around the tree four or five times. I doubt I had ever received a nicer compliment. Unfortunately, it did not end there. Sheila looked at me and her eyes narrowed.

Rather than speak to me, she looked at Sean. He said, "Music." Sheila cocked her head. Sean knew better than to claim he was not a lackey. "I'll be right back." Love, honor and serve cut both ways. Then Sheila addressed me. "We will keep this simple. You had several months of Oskar Gruber's instruction. He may have been a cold hearted bastard, but he could teach ballroom dance. You already know the basics. We are just going to walk through them again. Rather than recall the steps, pay attention to your balance." She looked down at my walking shoes. "Tomorrow night in heels. For you, it will be easier that way." Huh?

Not waiting for Sean, Sheila positioned me in a vaguely familiar stance, then pulled me with one hand while pushing me with the other. This slid me to another familiar position. Again she adjusted, then a third time. This brought me back to the starting position. The second time through was much quicker. Then Sheila positioned herself as my partner. Twice more through the sequence made it seem almost ordinary. I was beginning to feel some accomplishment when Sheila released my hand. Before I could fall, she grabbed my shirt and pulled me close. Almost chin to chin, she said "Balance, Siobhan. Slower this time."

I knew that Francine was a good teacher. Sheila was no slouch herself. Sean soon returned with a boom box, but it turned out it was not for me. Sheila moved me through the three box steps several times, then had me turning both directions. Sean began to clap the the meter. 1 2 3, 1 2 3. This went on for many minutes. When she stopped, Sheila waved Sean forward.

I felt acutely embarrassed, but Sheila gave me no time. She called the time, then started clapping as Sean had. It was immediately apparent that Sean was not the dancer Sheila was. Very few would be. However, Sean was competent at this level. He also had a much firmer lead. Perhaps that was Sheila's point. Remembering to focus on my balance, I tried to respond to Sean's lead, rather than fight it. Unpleasant memories rose, of Herr Gruber forcing me through these same forms. I fought them for a moment—which was too long.