“Yes, I guess so,” Andy said. It wasn’t going too badly now. If he just shut up and listened, everything was all right. It was when he opened his mouth that things began getting hard.
“You didn’t dance at all, huh?” Reen asked.
“No,” Andy lied, wanting to forget Rose completely, and then looking toward Bud, hoping he would not be contradicted. Bud said nothing, letting the lie pass, and Andy felt a sudden exultance from knowing he had an ally in the room.
“Yeah, well that’s why you didn’t care for it,” Reen said. “It’s really not so bad. It’s not the Dance Palace, but it’s not so bad.”
“Oh, it wasn’t bad at all,” Andy said agreeably, not wanting them to get the wrong idea. He had, after all, been their guest — sort of.
“You want to take my hand, Frank?” Bud asked suddenly.
“Whose money?” Frank asked.
“Play with mine. I’m ahead, anyway.”
Frank shrugged. “Why?”
“I’m gonna teach Andy to dance,” Bud said matter-of-factly. “You want to learn, Andy?”
Andy felt his heart quicken. He did want to learn. More than anything else in the world, he wanted to learn. But the suddenness of the suggestion took him completely by surprise. Not in his wildest imaginings had he figured they’d offer to—
“Of course he wants to learn,” Reen said. He leaned back in his chair. “This is the best dancer in Brooklyn, Andrew.”
“Sure,” Bud said deprecatingly.
“Go on, teach him,” Reen said.
“What do you say?” Bud asked.
Andy touched the ring of muscle with his tongue. “Well, I... I don’t know,” he said. He tried a smile that froze horribly on his face. “Do you... you want to teach?”
“He taught Gene Kelly how,” Reen said.
“Oh, sure,” Bud answered.
“You taught Alonsobrigazzo,” Frank said, unwilling to accept Bud’s self-belittlement. “Go on, Bud, teach him. I’ll take your hand.”
“Okay?” Bud asked. He raised his eyebrows questioningly and then stood up, putting his cards face down. Frank took his chair quickly.
“All right,” Andy said, hoping he hadn’t said it too eagerly. Their casual complacency amazed him — as if learning to dance were a common occurrence, a thing they did every day of the week. Oh, this was going wonderfully, this was marvelous!
“Show him the fox trot,” Reen said, discarding. “That’s easiest.”
Frank picked up the card. “Once he’s got the fox trot, he can handle anything,” he said. “Gin.”
“What?” Reen said.
“Gin,” Frank repeated, laying down the cards.
“Son-of-a-bitch! I should have knocked.”
“You should have. I just won you a dime, Bud.”
“You deal,” Reen said sourly. “It must be that goddamn seat. You want to change seats, Frank?”
“No changing seats,” Bud said. He turned to Andy. “Do you know anything at all about the fox trot?”
“A little.”
“What do you know?” He went to the radio and fiddled with the dial until he got a slow tune.
“Right, left, over, cross,” Andy said, trying to be offhanded. “Right, left...”
“Bull,” Bud said. “Come on, I’ll show you.” He stepped up to Andy, completely unself-consciously, listening to the music. “I’m the girl,” he said.
Andy expected one of the boys to whistle or wolfcall. He was surprised when they didn’t. He realized then that they took their dancing seriously, and that they’d probably played the girl’s part often in learning new steps. His respect for them increased immeasurably. He gave Bud his undivided attention, not wanting to miss a word he said.
“Your right hand in the small of my back,” Bud said. “Your left hand out here, holding mine.”
“All right,” Andy said nervously.
“Now listen to the music. That shouldn’t give you any trouble at all.”
“Not the way you blow that horn,” Reen said in admiration.
“Now,” Bud said, “instead of starting from a dead stop with both feet glued to the floor, you do this. The minute the girl is in your arms, you dip. That means you pull the girl toward you while you move your right foot back. Try it.”
Andy tried it, his feet tangling up miserably. “I... I’m sorry. I didn’t—”
“You’re worrying too much about your goddamn feet,” Bud said. “Forget you got feet. Look, just move your right foot back, that’s all. And a little pressure on the small of my back. Remember that the chick doesn’t know what the hell you’re going to do unless you tell her. You can’t tell her with your mouth. You can’t say, ‘Honey, I’m going to dip now,’ so you tell her with your hand. You just increase the pressure a little, toward you, and at the same time you move your right foot back, and if the chick isn’t a Mongolian idiot, she does the natural thing — she moves forward. Now try it again. Just move your right foot back, arch your body a little, and remember the pressure. That’s it, that’s it. All right, let’s try it again.”
Andy nodded, remembering his ordeal with Rose, thinking how different this was, feeling he was really learning something, the happiness inside him ready to burst out the top of his skull.
“This accomplishes two things at the same time,” Bud said, as they went through the step again and again. “First, it leaves your left foot in the starting position automatically. You don’t feel like a wooden Indian when you get on the floor. And, second, you know just where you stand with the chick, right from go. You start with a dip, and if she gives you her headlights—”
“What the hell are you teaching the kid?” Reen asked, looking up from his cards.
“Only what he has to know,” Bud said professorially.
“You’d better pay some attention here,” Frank said, “or I’ll run away with this one, too.”
“In other words,” Bud said to Andy, “you both know the score right from that first dip. Now you’re still in the dip, with your right foot back, you see? All right, you just slide your left foot forward a little, just a very little because it’s forward already, you see? That’s the first beat. That’s it, that’s the way. And for the second beat, you slide your right foot forward, as if you’re walking, just as if you’re walking, except your feet are flat on the floor, and you’re sliding them. Come on, do it, that’s the only way to learn.”
Andy nodded, unable to keep the smile off his face. He looked at his feet while Bud moved back, actually leading him while playing the follower’s role.
“What are you doing?” Bud asked.
“Huh?”
“Don’t look at your feet.”
“I was just—”
“Don’t look at them. And don’t count in your head. You’re going to have to talk with the chick while you’re dancing, and you can’t talk and count at the same time.”