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Fiction by Jack Coey

VFW Dance

VFW Dance

by Jack Coey

He was boxed in by fear on one side, and desire on the other. Afraid of
women, he was; speechless most of the time, and when he did speak, soft-
spoken with erratic eye contact.  And, yes, sweaty palms. He lived alone,
and worked at the liquor store, not yet thirty, and not bad-looking either. He
could tell from looking in the mirror his ears were too big, and he kept his
red hair longish to keep that a secret. Yes, desire too; he looked at women
and felt stirring deep inside him. The newspaper lay open in front of him,
and he read the ad: Dance at the V.F.W. Friday Night @7:00pm. 128 Union
Street .

He thought:

Maybe I should go to the next town over so if something bad happens I
don’t have to see the woman at the bank or supermarket in the days
following, and have to suffer the embarrassment twice.

He thought again about that, and decided he was being foolish, and made
up his mind to go Friday night.

The first thing he noticed was how warm it was what with all those people
so close together, and the music was loud which he liked the same way a
fox likes the foliage he can blend into. He recognized some faces from the
liquor store, and had a smile to himself when he realized the pint he’d sold
them that afternoon was in their back pocket tonight. He watched the
couples dance, and pictured himself doing it. Even though he paid three
bucks to get in, he was already thinking about leaving rather than taking
the risk of asking a woman to dance. Then he saw her. She was standing
along the wall and she worked at the supermarket. She’d checked him
out several times, and she was always friendly. He felt he could talk to her,
but if he did, she would want to dance the same way he would figure that a
man wearing bowling shoes at the bowling alley wanted to bowl. It was
fraught with peril. Not only would she want to dance, but the music was so
loud, they couldn’t talk to each other without screaming. He decided not to
gamble, and on–cue, the music was turned down. He still had the obstacle
of dancing, and realized that risk was cut in half by the knowledge he could
fake a slow dance by pushing his partner across the floor like a punching
bag being careful not to step on her toes was all. He watched her for a few
more minutes; she looked lonely, standing by herself with a solemn look on
her face. Maybe he could make her laugh, and he could be exempt from the
dancing part. He joked around with the fellows at the liquor store, and
maybe she would enjoy his humor too. He took a deep breath, and said
“excuse me” to the guy in front of him, and walked across the floor. Her
face animated when she saw him, and she said her name was Lucile, and
he told her his name was Lyle. His face was flush, and he felt himself
sweat, and they paused, not knowing what to say next. After they paused
for a time, she said how she was waiting for someone, and he took that as
a brush off, and scanned the dance floor for another opportunity. She told
him he looked good in the shirt he was wearing, and that made him feel
good so maybe things weren’t as bad as he thought. She asked him where
he worked, and when he told her, her face smiled, and she asked if he knew
Ralph Bowler. He nodded his head as he remembered Ralph going on and
on about a woman from the supermarket who wouldn’t put out.    

“I’m thirsty,” she complained.

He pretended he didn’t hear. She wanted to sit at a table, and he looked
around, and saw a man in a Harley-Davidson leather vest and a red
bandana on his head, and his scantily clad, at least ten years younger than
he, girlfriend get up from a table.

“Come on,” he said.

He led her to the table, and she said again how she was thirsty, and all he
could think about was how fast the five dollar bill in his jean’s pocket would
disappear. He pretended he didn’t hear, and thought she’s going to think I’m
hard of hearing, and did hear a slow dance start to play, and thought, This is
it, Lyle. Ask her to dance.

“Wanna dance?”

She coyly smiled and stood up. They walked to the dance floor, and Lyle
felt the whole room was watching him, and he put his right arm around her
waist, and took her hand in his left. They slowly moved together, and he
felt her breasts on his chest, and he responded. He squeezed his eyes shut
hoping she wouldn’t feel him.

“You naughty boy,” she scolded as she straightened her arms to separate
them. They looked like Catholic middle – schoolers. Other couples watched
them, and several of the men thought: What’s up with them two?   The music
changed to a fast tune, and Lucile started gyrating, and waving her arms.
Lyle didn’t know what to do so he started wiggling his hips. Lucile laughed at
him. She exclaimed, “Oh My God! That dance was popular twenty years

He froze, and felt sweat on his forehead. He walked off, and she followed
him. They sat at the table. The dancing couples were smiling and talking
about them. After not more than a minute, the motorcycle man with his ten-
years younger, scantily clad girlfriend hanging off his arm like a Christmas
tree ornament were standing there.

“This is our table,” he announced.

Lucile and Lyle looked up at him baffled.

“We’re sitting here,” answered Lyle, his voice squeaky.

“We were sitting here.”

Lyle weakly smiled.

“Yes, but don’t you see that once you leave the table, it becomes vacant
again?” Lyle’s voice cracked. I sound like a pussy, he thought. Motorcycle
man grinned thinking the same thing.

“I wouldn’t want to see anyone get hurt over this,” threatened motorcycle

Lyle gulped. Lucile stood up.

“Go ahead. Just try it.”

Lyle emitted a squeak.

“Aw…come on, Buster, there’s a table near the jukebox,” said the Christmas
tree ornament.

“Good idea, Brewster, take a table that’s vacant,” said Lucile.

Motorcycle man scowled at Lyle, and muttered something. Christmas tree
ornament tugged on his arm and pulled him away.   

“What was his problem?” asked Lucile.

Lyle huffed.

“Bully,” he said.

And again she said,

“I’m thirsty.”

He had no money: six days to pay day and what am I going to do? he
thought. Hey, I saw that guy Pearson no, that’s not it, Preston earlier.
Maybe he would loan me five. He’s always friendly.

“Wait a minute,” he said and scanned the floor looking for Preston.

“I’ll be back,” he said. He walked around the floor looking for Preston . He
ran into motorcycle man and Christmas tree ornament sitting at a table, and
motorcycle man glared at him. He kept moving. He saw Preston with a
heavily made up woman with ample cleavage sitting at a table in the corner.
Preston looked up and saw him.

“Hey, man, how’s it going?” he exclaimed.

“Good…good,” said Lyle.

“Lyle? Right?”

“Yeah. That’s it….Lyle.”

“I didn’t know you came to these dances.”

“Well…it’s kind of a new experience for me.”

“Fun, huh? I always have a good time,” said Preston glancing back at the
painted face.

“Yes…yes, I can see that,” Lyle quietly said.

“Listen Preston , I was wondering if I could ask a favor...”

“Sorry, man, I don’t have any dope...The name’s Prescott by the way.”

“Oh, hey, I’m sorry Prescott . I don’t mean that. I was wondering if I could
borrow five bucks until pay day?”

Prescott looked left, then, right, then, asked,

“Five bucks?”

“I’m sorry to be a nuisance…”

“I understand, man. Say no more.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a bunch of bills. He counted out

“There are ways for you to pay me back.”

“What do you mean?”

Prescott looked to his left, then, right, then, said,

“You don’t have to pay me back with money.”

“What do you mean? How else would I pay you back?”

“Forget it, man. I’ll see you at the store.”

“Hey, thanks Prescott . I appreciate it. Sorry about screwing up your name.”

“Forget it, man. Forget it. I can see you’re clueless.”

Lyle bumped into people as he made his way back to Lucile.

She told him what she wanted to drink, and he bumped his way to the bar.
When his turn came, he ordered, and the bartender looked disgusted and

“Iced tea? Where the fuck do you think you are? The Ritz Carlton ? This is a
VFW hall we serve beer, whisky, and you can find water in the men’s room.
Now, what’ll it be?”   

“Rum and coke. Hold the rum.”

“Wise ass.”

He was served a coke, and handed the bartender two dollars.

“What? No tip?”

Lyle handed him another dollar.

“Hey thanks. The pleasure’s all mine.”

He doesn’t really mean that, thought Lyle.

“I wanted iced tea,” she said when he handed her the drink.

“They don’t have it.”

“What do you mean? They had it last week.”

“The truck didn’t come in.”

“What truck? What are you talking about?”

“The ice tea truck didn’t come in.”

“You’re weird.”

He shrugged his shoulders. The chaps at the liquor store think I’m funny, he
thought. Lucile’s face lit up and she waved to someone. Out of the crowd
came a round, short man with greasy hair and mustard stains on his shirt
front. Lyle saw his yellow teeth.

“It’s Marvin!” exclaimed Lucile. Marvin stood like a dork with a dumb grin on
his face.

“Hi,” he said.

“Oh Marvin, this here’s Lyle who’s an acquaintance of mine.”

Marvin stuck out a limp hand. Lyle took it in his and felt moisture. Gross, he
thought. Marvin had peach fuzz.

“Wanna dance?” he asked.

Lucile stood up and extended her hand. They walked out onto the floor and
began making big, bold, graceful moves. Other dancers stopped to watch
them. Lyle saw the sweat stains under Marvin’s armpits. Now I get it,
thought Lyle, he maybe fat and gross but he can dance. More dancers
stopped to watch them, and their dance floor became bigger and bigger,
and Marvin did not back down; he took command of whatever space was
given him. The dancers watched as if in a trance.  They ended in applause.
They sat at the table. Marvin took out his overstuffed wallet and thrust a ten
dollar bill at Lyle.

“Two cokes,” he said. He was sweaty and smelled. Fuck you, thought Lyle,
but he got up and went to the bar. He returned with two cokes.

“We should practice our tango,” Lucile told Marvin. Marvin grinned and said,

“I don’t do the tango. It’s a fag dance. Maybe Lyle will do it with you.”  What
an asshole! thought Lyle.

“Oh Marvin! I don’t know why you have to be such a prima donna.”    

Marvin waved his hand and said nothing. Lyle felt anger.

“Look at the cow herd,” said Marvin nodding toward the floor.

“Have you always been fat?” asked Lyle. Lyle’s hands were shaking and his
voice quivered. Marvin looked at him with contempt.

“Have you always been a fat boy with bad breath?” Marvin stood up and
Lyle stood up.

“What is going on?” exclaimed Lucile.

The two men were staring at each other.   

“Oh, sit down the two of you and stop all your posturing,” said Lucile, “or
maybe you can tango!” She cackled at this thought. Lyle and Marvin slowly
re-seated themselves.

“I don’t like you,” said Lyle.

“Nor I you.”

Marvin stood up again and motioned to Lucile to dance. I should leave,
thought Lyle, there’s no point to me staying any longer. He stood up and
walked along the wall to the front door. He was walking on the sidewalk
and thought, I don’t know why I worry about myself the way I do. I’m no
better or worse than those people in there. That Marvin guy is an asshole,
yet, I bet Lucile overlooks all his faults and sleeps with him anyway. In the
backseat of his cluttered fast food wrappers and empty soda bottles car no

He walked and it was a warm night and he saw fireflies in the distance. He
got to his apartment and climbed the flight of stairs. He turned on the bare
light hanging from the ceiling. He rustled through some discarded newspapers
and found the yellow pages and saw the ad: Individual or Group Dance
Instruction, Stardust Dance Studios, 51 Foster Street , and he thought, I’ll
show that bastard.

He looked out the window for half a minute, and flipped some pages until he
got to Oriental Sun Martial Arts Studio, Self Defense in two weeks!  He
smiled. Just in case, he thought.

Jack Coey lives in Keene, NH.
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Published October 13,  2016
Eleventh Transmission.
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