Next Steps

The day after the dance contest

Madge and Ronnie hid the truth in order to take part in a dance marathon in Chicago, for the sake of propriety,

Madge felt she could have slept for days, and perhaps she would’ve if she lived somewhere else. Instead the clanking sound of the plumbing brought her rudely to wakefulness, protesting as it always did at her neighbours’ requirement for water with which to flush, shave, bathe and cook. All around her, apartment doors began to open and close as her neighbours awoke. Feet clattered on the winding staircase. The street door slammed frequently. People living hugger mugger, who had made their morning ablutions, set off to catch buses or the train to work.

She threw an arm over her face, shielding her eyes from light that streamed in through her narrow window. God, even that limb felt leaden. Madge’s legs were worse, her knee and hip joints felt like they were sandwiched around crushed glass, Every moving part of her screamed from overuse, even her cheeks ached from smiling. Worst of all were her feet were throbbing like a flashing red light, no less insistently than when she’d slipped off her dancing shoes the night before.

But we won! She reminded herself.

Madge rolled over stiffly, reaching with one hand to check the money was still safe where she’d stashed it under her mattress, folded into her winter muffler. She was wide awake now, her ambition tugging her up the next hill like ‘the little train who could.’ Her mind already gnawing at the problems presented by their next competition. White City Amusement Park was a step up, and they would need a new routine, maybe even better clothes, but there was a bigger obstacle: Pretending to be married. The deception didn’t sit easily with her. She chewed her bottom lip, tugging on a piece of loose skin, then feeling a sharp sting when she pulled it off.

Ronnie was a dreamboat, and a lovely dancer for sure, but what did she really know about him? Nothing except that he had nice eyes and he came from Cleveland.

She rolled onto her back and stared at the brown shape on the ceiling, a water mark that predated her rental agreement. She blew out a breath and slowed her racing thoughts, forcing herself not to let them spiral. Ronnie was meeting her at the diner for lunch, she could put him through the hoops then, find out his intentions and prospects. Pulling the thin blanket over her head, Madge squeezed her eyes shut. She was determined to grab another hour of rest now the apartments around were more or less empty and the grumbling water tank had fallen silent.

***

He was matinee-idol cute. Madge couldn’t help returning Ronnie’s smile as he approached, and took the seat opposite her in the booth.

“Morning,” he said softly, acting as bashful as she felt.

Strange wasn’t it? That they had danced together for nearly four days, cheek to cheek, hands clasped, gazing into one another’s eyes. Pretending they were a couple had allowed them to hold each other close, offering physical support when exhaustion tweaked their spines, made their feet throb and their limbs sag like cooked spaghetti. Now, after being apart a few hours, they had reverted to near strangers, giving each other sidelong glances. But Madge was wearing a grin so wide she could barely form words.

“What can I get you?” The waitress who came to their booth looked listless, her hair scraped back and her apron bearing a splash of gravy, presumably from today’s special, Irish Stew.

Ronnie looked expectantly at Madge, ladies first his eyes said. She awarded him points for politeness.

“A plate of the stew please.”

“You want that with potatos or cornbread?”

Madge chose potato, mopping up sauce with bread seemed unladylike, and she desperately wanted Ronnie to think of her as a lady.

Ronnie ordered the same, but with cornbread and collard greens.

“Coffee?” the waitress asked, and when they both assented, she brought two large white saucers with cups that she filled to the brim.

Adding creamer and sugar, Madge sipped at the hot drink and found it revived her. It also provided a chance to study Ronnie over the cup’s rim, to notice the velvet depths of his brown eyes and how his cheek dimpled when he smiled.

“So — what next?” she had to ask.

“Find a job, then lodgings, I guess,” Ronald shrugged.

“What do you do?”

“I’m training to be a butcher,” his eyes flicked to hers, gauging her reaction.

“So we’ll dance in the next round?”

“Why not? We’re good together, my brains and your beauty.” He winked. “Winning that marathon means we’ve got a chance in that competition; coming first second or third could take us a rung higher. We could make a go of this.”

He looked straight at her as he lowered his cup with a clink, then leaned out of the way for the waitress to set wide brimmed bowls in front of them. The rich gravy steamed and settled round slow cooked carrots, beef and onions. Madge’s stomach growled loudly, and both of them laughed.

“So you plan to stay in Chicago?” she asked once she’d swallowed her first mouthful.

“Sure,” he nodded, “Can’t exactly travel back and forth.”

She looked down at her lap, feeling her leg tremble. “What about what the promoter said — better if we were married?”

Ronnie chewed his mouthful maddeningly slowly, while Madge’s toes curled in her shoes. Finally he raised his eyes to hers, dark brown meeting green with gold flecks.

“That wouldn’t be so bad.”

Madge’s stomach gave a swoop worthy of a ride on the big dipper.