A Nerd, a Tough Kid and the Wonder of Dance

Chapter 22: dinner and beyond

The dinner was great. There was a celebratory feel about it - a lot of chat and a lot of laughs, and a glass or two of red wine for each of us. Jena came out of her sulk and joined in. It was fun.

At the end, Ray said, "We'd better have a port." He was on a roll.

"Not for me," Gladys declared and Jena shook her head.

Ray poured two small glasses, one for himself and one for me. Then Jena got up and announced, "I'm going for a smoke."

Well, that was a dampener. The rest of us looked at each other. I took a big breath, picked up my port and followed Jena outside. She was probably expecting me to follow her because she was standing there smoking and looking defiant.

"Jen, you're my dance partner. I need you, and I need you fit and healthy."

"It's not affecting me, Garth. I don't smoke much."

"Jen, I can't dance with anyone else the way I can dance with you, I can't."

Huff, "You managed to dance with Sapphire quite nicely."

"Yes, that's what it was - nice. With you, it's amazing. I don't know what it is, Jen, chemistry or something, but it's you and I . . ."

"I know, I fucking know, of course I know." She'd broken eye contact with me and was glaring all over the place, but not at me. She looked to be in a real fury.

I felt quite tense. Was I messing this up?

"You're a bastard, Garth."

Pardon!!!!!!!!

I could feel my anger rising, but I held myself in check.

"Anyway, I've broken it off with Stefan, it was becoming too awkward," She declared irritably.

"Oh, sorry," I responded wondering why she had suddenly bought this up, and frankly feeling glad that she'd dumped him.

"Sorry?" She scoffed, "Are you? Why?"

My anger level increased and I didn't trust myself to answer. She resumed in bitter tones.

"Garth, I know I'm not beautiful, not like Sapphire and some of your other girlfriends. But even so, I don't want to look like some stupid school kid. When I smoke, at least I look a bit more mature and sophisticated."

What the hell was all this? I was having trouble following what Jena was on about, and I was continuing to feel pissed off. Still, I tried to be positive.

"Jena, you are beautiful. You have a terrific shape, a dancer's shape. Your face has character and life, and you have the best smile I've ever seen. Jen, you're not beautiful like Sapphire, you're beautiful like Jena."

Still looking away, she shook her head and shoulders as though dismissing the idea.

"I don't suppose it matters anyway, I'm just your dance partner, that's all I am," she snorted with a catty pout.

"Fuck this," I expostulated, finally getting fed up with all this drama queen bullshit.

"Jena, just what the fuck is your problem? We've got history, you and me, a bloody lot of history. Sure, some of it may not be so good, but a hellva lot of it is. You are much more to me than just my dance partner, you should know that, you're . . . you're . . ." I stopped.

Jena was standing there, looking away, but giving me quick, and maybe slightly anxious glances. Then it was my turn to let out a snort because she was beautiful; her big eyes, her neat regular features, her fair hair drawn off her face into a ponytail, that slender, smooth strong body, the body that I knew as well as one could possibly know someone else's body without being sexually intimate. She was . . .

I shook my head with ironic derision and laughed at myself, but out loud. It struck a completely incongruous note and Jena looked at me sharply.

Maybe I was beginning to understand, maybe. Then, "Er, Jen, you'd better put that cigarette out before it burns your fingers."

She had been standing there for a while now, simply holding the lighted cigarette at her side without actually smoking it. It was nearly burned down.

"Ow," she jumped and stuffed the butt into the ashtray.

I was studying her with a searching expression, but before I could say anything, I saw the scowl leave her face and she suddenly rushed out with, "Garth, I shouldn't have called you a bastard. I didn't mean it, you know I didn't mean it. I'm sorry . . ."

"Okay," I said nodding and starting to smile as I could feel my anger slowly dissolving, "Now, would you please go inside and wash your face and brush your teeth, then come back here."

"What?"

"Go, Jen, now." I ordered as I gently, but firmly guided her towards the door.

I picked up my glass of port and took a small sip; I turned away and stared out into the darkness of the night.

It had to be, it just had to. I released my tension with a long, slow sigh. I felt a growing sense of relief . . . and expectation. Yes, expectation. I turned back, waiting for Jena to return.

She wasn't long.

"Garth, what is this? Why did you . . ."

I gave her a knowing smile, and with a shrug said, "I don't want to taste cigarettes when we kiss."

"Kiss?"

"Yes."

"Oh."

I nodded, beginning to smile more.

"You want to kiss me?"

"Yes, that's right. I am going to kiss you."

"Oh," again, as she cast her eyes down like some demure maiden. A smile was forming on her face and her mouth was working. She gave me a sly glance.

"So what is this, you'll get a nice toothpaste taste while I'll get a port taste." She nodded at the half empty glass in my hand.

I gave her the glass and she swallowed the wine down in a gulp.

Port kisses are quite scrummy.