Polka Dots and Skinny Ties

          Her dress was black with cream colored polka dots and her hair was pulled back away from her face except for wispy pieces that curved like crescents near her outer eye. Her lips were stained red. She sat at a table covered in white linen and newly polished silver. The glass dangling from the chandelier overhead cast a twinkle against the forks. She watched the couples on the oak dance floor, the women’s skirts grazing the floor as their partners twirled them. She watched as women pressed their blushed cheeks to their partner’s and men holding on to their date by the small of their back. One of her aunts swooped in behind her and grabbed her shoulders pulling her out of her haze.

            “Do you see that gentleman over there, Rose?”

            “No,” she sighed.

            “Well, look closer. He’s staring right at you,” her aunt insisted.

            “He’s dancing with another woman,” she said.

            “Never mind the other woman. She’s a stand in. I know his father. Nice man. Works at the bank. I think you should dance with him.”

            “His father?”

“Rose, be serious. It’s a shame you sitting here all by yourself,” her aunt said.

“I’m tired of being set up.”

            “Nonsense, it’s all been arranged. I spoke with his father before the reception. He’s all set to ask you. It took some convincing I might add, so lighten up or you’ll never get married.”

            “Aunt Mary, I’m twenty-four years old,” she said.

            “Don’t remind me,” her aunt said and walked away.

She searched the dance floor again for his face, not even sure why. The song had changed and slower melodic notes began to float out of the mouths of the trumpets and saxophones. Suddenly he appeared as the crowd began to disperse making room for some of the older couples who were more adept at slow dancing. He stood before her, smiling, holding out his hand.

“You must be Rose,” he said.

Giving him a bored sigh she said, “You’re smooth.”

He grinned and her stomach flipped. He sat down in the empty seat next to her, resting his arm on the table, his elbow knocking an empty glass over. She rolled her eyes.

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” she said, “my aunt can be a little high strong.”

“Well, so can my father,” he said moving the glass to the center of the table, “but he said I’d be doing him a favor.”

Rose turned to look at him this time. She noticed his eyes were a deep brown, almost black, and he had a small scar at his temple. The lines in his forehead deepened when he spoke.

“And what favor would that be?” she asked.

“Hell if I know,” he said, “he just said he owed a customer at work a favor.” He had a fork in his hand now, scraping his nail over the middle tine. 

“And he volunteered you?” she smirked.

“Is that a problem?” he asked, looking up at her.

His hair was graying at the sides as flecks of silver caught her eye. She smoothed the black chiffon in her lap with her hands.

“I’m no one’s “favor” so you’ll have to tell your dad he’s outta luck,” she said as she scanned the room for her aunt, ready when she spotted her, with a few choice words forming in her head.

“Listen, my father didn’t mean to personally offend you,” he said putting his hand on her knee, “he was just trying to do something nice.”

Her eyes darted from scanning the crowd to her polka dot covered knee his hand was now covering.

“First, you can remove your hand from my knee, thank you.”

He looked at his hand on her knee where he was rubbing the chiffon between his fingers. Her stomach flipped again. He rolled his eyes and pulled away slowly.

“Secondly, your father and I apparently have a different opinion on what constitutes doing something nice for someone else,” she said locating her aunt at table across the room, “so if you’ll excuse me I have a few words for my aunt.”

As she started to get up he grabbed her wrist and she looked down at his hand on hers. His palm was soft but the skin on his fingers that wrapped around her wrist was dry.

“Instead of doing all that, why don’t you dance with me,” he said now grinning, “despite your many apprehensions.”

“I think I’ve made it pretty clear that I’m not interested,” she said as she smoothed her hair with her free hand.

“Well, I think if that were true you would have left already,” he said.

“You didn’t give me much of a chance, “she said and she felt her cheeks warm as she slid her hand out from underneath his.

He stood next to her. Standing next to him she realized he was several inches taller than she was. He smoothed his tie, black and skinny.

“Come dance with me,” he asked again, “and at the end of the song you can make a scene on the dance floor if you want, hit me or something. Your aunt will be horrified. Call it payback.”

She looked up at his face and smiled. A man in a white tuxedo had made his way to the stage standing behind a skinny microphone. The band started to play. He held out his hand for her to take.

“You didn’t even tell me your name,” she said.

“Just one song,” he said his hand still extended.

As she took it the man onstage started to sing. The melody made her feel warm as the words wrapped around them. He slowly swung her around when they reached the middle of the dance floor. His arm wrapped around her waist and his hand laid flat on the small of her back. Her entire hand fit inside of his and her blushed cheek found its way to his.