Two To Tango is a draft.

112,576 words. It has some creaky plot points and some seriously bent out of shape arcs. But I can fix all that, because I’m wicked smart. What matters right now is that I HAVE A DRAFT. Of THIS NOVEL. God, I thought this book was going to kill me.

TWO TO TANGO HAS A DRAFT!

*enjoys moment of YAY*

And now I have two manuscripts to put together and sell.

*dances*

To celebrate, here’s what is currently the opening scene. first chapter.

***

In half an hour, everything was going to be great.

Right now Ed Maurer tapped his thumb against his steering wheel while he inched along I-94, sloughing off a rough afternoon as a corporate drone. Right now he still shook a little from watching three more people from his department clean out their desks, torn between feeling bad for them and feeling fucking relieved he hadn’t been one of them. Right now his neck was a little stiffer than it should be, especially since he’d taken four ibuprofen half an hour ago. Right now, even though the October sun was bright, Ed felt like everything in his life had a gray cloud around it, and even with The Black Eyed Peas enthusiastically belting out that they “got a feeling,” Ed stared out across the sea of cars and felt despair falling over his life like long, slow shadow.

But soon that was going to end. Maybe not forever, but for an hour, it was going to be great. Something new. Something different, exciting. It wasn’t his life’s dream or anything, but it was good.

It was great. It was going to be great.

On I-35E things cleared up a little, and pretty soon Ed exited and zipped down the streets of St. Paul towards Halcyon Center. His buoyant mood dimmed a little as he caught a glimpse of the playing fields off Payne Avenue and saw two guys he didn’t know but had seen before laughing and giving each other shit as they tossed a football back and forth. His gaze lingered there longer than it should have both for safety and for the preservation of his fragile optimism, and as if it knew what he was thinking, his neck sent a sharp twinge down the long, vulnerable cord of muscle.

Ed forced his eyes back onto the road and gripped the wheel tighter. No. He wouldn’t let the dark clouds get him, not today. It didn’t matter. So they were playing football. So what? He could still play football like they were.

If he was careful.

If he made sure nobody tackled him.

If he kept his mind so focused on protecting his neck that he never let go completely and lost himself in the game, ever, ever again.

The shadow of despair reached out again, closing over him.

Ed tightened his jaw and reached for the MP3 player hooked up to his stereo. Fumbling through the artists folder between glances at the road, he punched angrily through the list of artists until he found the one he was looking for. He stared hard at the road until a breathy voice declared, “It’s Britney, bitch.” As the familiar opening beats filtered through his ears, they bled out some of the tension and chased away some of the clouds. Within a few blocks he was singing along and tapping his thumb to the beat again.

He glanced over at the passenger seat, reaching over to lift his jacket and relaxing when he saw the folder with his notes inside. This was his first time teaching, ever, and he was a little nervous. He’d been doing personal training for a few months now, and his popularity was why Vicky had suggested he try his hand at a class, but teaching was different. This was a class.  Ed was a teacher now, as his mom reminded him every time he called home. God, she was telling all her friends he was an “instructor” now. But the thought made him grin, because he secretly liked the sound of that too, and he was really excited about this class. This could be really good. No—it was going to be really good.

Which was why he was determined not to screw it up. He’d gotten up at five this morning just so he could go over his notes again. He’d gone out to his car at lunch and reviewed them another time, just to be sure he had it. No way would he take them in to his desk, too afraid he’d accidentally leave them there and not have them for class.

His hope had been to get to the center early enough to sneak into one of the empty offices and do a dry-run, but the traffic between Bloomington and St. Paul had ensured this wasn’t going to happen.  Ed wasn’t going to let this ruin his first day as a teacher, though. He just turned up Britney, tapped his fingers against his leg, and did his best to think of this as prep time, running through his notes in his head.

At last, Ed pulled his Mazda into a parking spot, grabbed his duffel and his notes, then headed into the building, humming under his breath as he went. He winked at the receptionist as he passed back the sign-in clipboard, grinned at an old buddy and tossed him a cheery, “Heya!” and gave him a high-five as he passed. He was feeling good as he ducked into the locker room, and as he headed around the corner, he sang, “gimme gimme more” under his breath.

“Oh, fucking A, somebody’s singin’ Britney Spears. Look out: Maurer’s here.”

Ed laughed and waved in the direction of the voice without looking as he headed to his locker. “What’s up, Duon? You keeping out of trouble?”

“Fuck no.”

Ed saw the young man appear in the row of lockers and lean against the end row out of the corner of his eye, and he glanced at him, making sure he didn’t let his gaze linger too long, because Duon got mad when people checked up on him. But Ed let himself scan enough to take in the bruised cheek and the cut beneath his right eye marring the boy’s beautiful dark skin. Ducking his head to hide his grimace, Ed said, “Vicky see that shiner yet?”

Duon snorted. “Yes. Tried to call the fucking cops. Like they’re gonna care.” He rolled his eyes.

Ed knew this was his invitation to tell Duon that he could so trust the police, but he’d tangled with Duon before so he said, “Need to find yourself a big strapping boyfriend to protect you.”

“Fuck you, bitch! I’m the big strapping boyfriend!” He folded his arms over his chest and glared at Ed.

Which had been the reaction Ed had been hoping for. He fought a smile as he unbuttoned his shirt and shrugged out of it before hanging it on a peg in his locker. “So that mean you’re coming to my class tonight? Gonna come show me up?”

Duon came over to sprawl at the end of the bench. “Whatever. Damn, man, but I hope I can stay as buff as you are when I get old.”

That did make Ed smile, and he turned his head to look the kid in the eye as he explained that thirty-four was not old—

—but winced instead as his neck sent a shaft of pain up his head, over the top and down into his right eye. Pain exploded in his head, and for a few terrible seconds, he couldn’t see or hear anything at all.

When his vision cleared, Duon was standing in front of him, looking up at Ed with wide, worried eyes.

“Shit, man,” Duon said. “You okay?”

Ed nodded—carefully—and reached up to rub the cord of muscle. “Fine.” He shut his eyes and rolled his shoulder, feeling the inside of his skull light up the first time, but it eased with each successive rotation, and eventually it settled down to a dull roar. He opened his eyes again and turned back to the locker, reaching down to peel off his T-shirt. “I’m fine,” he said again, but even so, he took extra care in taking off the garment, sliding it over his head and down his right arm rather than lifting it up over his head.

“You need to get your ass back to that doctor, if you’re hurting like that still,” Duon said.

“I’m fine,” Ed said, a little more tartly this time. He pulled his muscle-T over his head—also carefully— and fumbled with the buckle of his belt. “It’s already settling down.” He started to nod at Duon, then changed the gesture to a wave of his hand instead. “Go on. I gotta get ready.” When he realized the dismissal was too rough, he added, “and swing by the copy room and find those waiver forms, will you?”

“Sure,” Duon said, clearly reluctant to leave Ed, but he did, and once he was gone, Ed let himself sag, briefly, against the locker next to his.
Then he squared his shoulders and his resolve and finished getting dressed.

His whistle was a bit forced as he finally ducked back into the hall, his notes tucked under his arm, but he kept telling himself it was going to be great. It was going to be fucking great, to quote Duon. It didn’t matter that this was twice now today his neck had bugged him and that the last one had actually been a little alarming. It was fine. It was great, it was all going to be great—

He turned the corner to the hall outside the weight room, and like a bad pass in the fourth quarter, the game turned, and his victory was over before he could even step foot in the game.

Music blared down the hall from the main gym, really shitty house music circa 1997, made even worse by its being pumping out through the PA system. To make things worse, over the top of it came a shrill, insistent call of “And one! And two! And three! Work it, ladies!” The nasal tones hit something primal in Ed’s hindbrain, making his neck light up all over again. But that wasn’t what bothered him right now. Right now Ed was staring at the door to the weight room, the music pounding in his ears mixing with the sensation of dread sitting like a ten pound weight in his stomach.

“No.” Ed clutched his notes tightly in his hand and double-timed it to the weight room. “No.”

But sadly, the answer was, “Yes.” The same ear-splitting cacophony that he’d heard in the hallway was blaring into the weight room, too, and unlike in the hall, the music wasn’t muted, because in addition to bleeding through the door, it was pulsing through the in-ceiling speakers. Nobody who wasn’t completely deaf could stand to stay in the room for more than five minutes, let alone teach a class.

Ed swore under his breath. Then he turned, headed back into the hall, and aimed himself at the stairs that would take him up to Vicky’s office.

*
Halcyon Center’s director was on the phone when Ed stuck his head through the gap in her door, but she waved him in and motioned towards the chairs on the opposite side of her desk without so much as missing a beat in her conversation. Ed entered, but he didn’t sit, choosing instead to make a study of the art on Vicky’s walls. He took in the smiling faces of the gymnastics team and a Minnesota Gophers basketball calendar, but he was mostly using them as focal points to calm his rage. Not even the sight of his old Lumberjacks poster could draw his attention. He couldn’t believe this was happening again. And of all the nights! Of all the goddamned nights!

Vicky hung up the phone and turned to Ed, smiling, but Ed was so agitated that he couldn’t even wait for her to speak.

“It’s happening again,” Ed snapped, pointing at the floor in the general direction of the gymnasium. “He’s playing music over the PA, and it’s piping into the weight room. It’s even louder than it was the last time.”

“What? They told me they fixed that.” Vicky pursed her lips and reached for a notepad. “I’ll have Bob look into it first thing in the morning. Again.”

Ed pointed at the clock. “But my class starts in ten minutes!”

Vicky looked at the clock, too. Then she sighed. “We’ll have to cancel it for tonight, then. And I’ll make sure they have it sorted out by next week.”

No! Ed wanted to shout, but instead he took a step closer to Vicky’s desk and tried to put on a charming face. “Why can’t he get cancelled and rescheduled for next week? He’s the one making all the noise, after all.”

“Because that class has ninety people in it, all paying $50 a head for eight weeks to hear him make his noise.” When Ed’s expression fell, Vicky looked at him over the top of his glasses. “I have to look after the bottom line, buddy. This place is non-profit, but tell that to the light bill. When your weight class brings in that kind of cash, you’ll get that kind of treatment, too.”

“Vicky, it’s my first class. And it’s never going to bring in money—I’m volunteering, and it’s all kinds with no money. Come on, Vic.” Ed held up his notes. “I’ve been looking forward to this for a month, and now you’re telling me, ‘Sorry, go home and watch TV?’ Come on.”

“It’s just for a week,” she pointed out.

Ed sank down into one of the chairs. “Vicky.”

She sighed and leaned forward at her desk. “I know, hon. I know you’ve been looking forward to this, and I know this has been a light you really needed. I feel awful, but I really can’t let him cancel. And it really is just a week’s delay. I’ll make sure it’s fixed next week. I swear. Even if I have to ask Laurie to cut his class short by a half-hour.” When Ed perked up, she held up a hand before he could ask. “I can’t ask tonight. He’s going to need to be finessed after how badly you riled him up the last time. If he even thinks this might be coming from you, it’s never going to happen at all.”

That humbled Ed a little, but it irked him, too. “I still don’t see why he can’t just bring in a sound system of his own.”

“Because it’s a huge, echoing gym, and nothing portable would work. And all we have to offer him is the PA. You know damn well that anything worth ten bucks around here gets stolen.”

“What about that old one? In the storeroom off the stage?”

“It shorts out half the time, which you well know.” Vicky nodded her head in the direction of the gym. “Not to mention that he does this practically for no money whatsoever, mostly as a favor to me, and, once again, because he—”

“—brings in a lot of money for the center,” Ed finished for her. He slumped his shoulders briefly in defeat, then rose. “Okay.”

Vicky eyed him suspiciously. “Now, I know you well enough, Ed, to know that I don’t get off on something this important to you with a simple ‘okay’. What are you planning?”

Ed held up his hands and shook his head. “Not a thing, I swear.”

Which was true. He didn’t know what he was going to do about it—yet.

“Hmm.” Vicky tapped her pencil on the top of the ledge open on her desk as she regarded Ed a little longer. “Can you make me a promise, Ed? Can you promise me I will still have my extremely lucrative aerobics class?”

“Oh yeah.” Probably.

“With my exceptionally afforable instructor still at its head?” she added.

“Not a problem,” Ed assured her.

Her eyes narrowed. “And that I will not be interrupted in the middle of my date tonight by a cell phone harangue about the bumbling neanderthal who doesn’t know his place?”

Ed’s eyebrows went up at the “who doesn’t know his place” comment, and he paused, because he really didn’t like to lie to Vicky. Finally, he nodded. “Okay.”

“Ed,” Vicky said, her tone full of warning.

Ed winked. “No calls, Vic. I swear.”

Vicky tapped her pencil a few more times, then sighed and leaned back in her chair. “All right. Then just make sure I have plausible deniability. But I’m serious about the phone call.”

“Promise,” Ed said, and grinned over his shoulder, pausing as he headed back out the door. “Who’s the date with, by the way?”

“Goodbye, Ed,” Vicky called without looking up.

Ed saluted, then headed back down the stairs and towards the gym.

*
La Bouche was playing when Ed pushed his way through the doors to the gym, some remix of “Be My Lover.” Generally Ed preferred to leave the nineties right where he’d left them, but he had to admit, this song had always made his toe tap.

Of course, not once in his memory had the song had a hyped-up chipmunk with a mic screaming, “And one! And two! And one!” over the top of it.

Laurie Parker was, Vicky had assured him, some big-time dance instructor from Edina, and really, that alone Ed had decided was reason enough to hate him. He’d told Vic they didn’t need some suburban snot coming over here to give them charity, but that had only made her mad.

“He’s a friend, Ed, so back off,” she’d said. “We were friends in high school, and we still get together every now and again to discuss our mutual love of Barbra Streisand. And don’t turn up your nose at me, Football-Player-Who-Listens-to Britney Spears.”

“She’s just misunderstood,” Ed had grumbled, and let the subject drop.

But Ed never got over resenting Laurie. Laurie. What kind of pussy name was that? Of course, it went with the rest of him. Laurence Parker was everything in a man Ed hated: he was rich, he was from the suburbs, and he was a freaking billboard for gay stereotypes. Which he knew didn’t mean Parker was gay—he was, he knew, because Vicky had initially tried to set them up.

That actually would have been okay, if Laurie hadn’t been gay, which was probably some sort of double standard, but Ed couldn’t help it. His whole life he’d been fighting the “gay is girly” shit, and he was damn sick of it. Gay could also mean a semi-pro football player. Who listened to Britney, yeah—but he knew a few of the other guys on the team who did too. Really, Ed was a pretty macho guy who just happened to be gay.
He’d give Parker credit for not mincing when he wasn’t leading aerobics classes, but that was about it. He was overly feminine both in his looks and his gestures. He was a dancer and an aerobics instructor. He fussed about getting dirty. He was stylish and graceful.

He listened to Barbra Streisand.

They weren’t great reasons to hate somebody, Ed knew, but that didn’t stop him getting his back up every time their paths crossed. The only good thing about Laurie was that he was always ready to fight back. So far in the two months Ed had been coming to the center, they’d fought over Ed’s mess in the locker room, space on the bulletin board, whether or not it was unhygienic of Ed to spit into the drinking fountain, whether or not everyone from the Twin City suburbs were pompous asses, the relative merits of dancing and football, and above all, the volume of the music Laurie used to accompany his classes.

This was not the first time the PA system had failed to work the way the maintenance people swore it was wired to. This was not the first time, either, that Ed had complained, and it was not the first time Vicky had said there wasn’t much she could do and the first time Ed had tried to take matters into his own hands. On other nights when he was just in the weight room with a client, he’d been content mostly to vent his spleen and get Parker as worked up as he was. Sometimes he’d managed to get the volume turned down, but that was it. Tonight was different, and so tonight he planned to make his approach differently.

But since no one had informed Laurie of this, he gave Ed a decidedly hostile glare as he wove his way through the throng of sweaty, flailing middle-aged women.

“No,” the instructor said as Ed approached the stage, flipping up the mouthpiece of the mic so his sharp retort did not carry through the PA. He didn’t so much as miss a beat, either, his petite, lycra-clad body still stepping from side to side and pumping his arms up and down in time to the music. “No, I will not turn down my music. No, it is not my fault the system keeps screwing up. No, I will not use a CD player, because I can’t. No, I will not at least listen to ‘decent music’ because this is the music that I have chosen and that I like. And yes, I have to count because that’s the way we do it in aerobics class.” He jerked his chin down and gave Ed a withering look. “Did I miss anything? Or have you thought up some new idiotic questions?”

“I’m teaching a class too,” Ed said, loudly, so there was a hope of being heard over the damn music. “In the weight room. In five minutes. Where right now no one can stand to be for more than ten seconds because it sounds like the aerobics class from hell.”

Ed would admit to taking pleasure in the way the jab made Parker miss a beat.

“It’s not my fault—” Laurie began through gritted teeth. But this time Ed interrupted him.

“No, it’s not,” he agreed. “But you’re the only one who can do anything about it right now, so I’m talking to you instead.” He put his hands on his hips. “I want to know what it takes to get you to use a different sound system just for tonight.”

Laurie pursed his lips. “There is no other—”

“There is, actually. It’s old, and it’s fussy, but it would work for one night. I’ll even help you set it up, and I’ll tear it down myself. Just for tonight. Vic says she’ll have it fixed by next week, and believe me when I say I’m going to hold her to it. But this isn’t like training somebody where I can go out to the hall and explain something and then use sign language to communicate in the weight room itself. I need them to hear me.”

“Tell them to come back next week when the system is fixed,” the instructor said, and Ed shook his head.

“No. I have as much right to be here as you do. You get your way every time this happens, dude. It’s your turn to bend over.”

The look Laurie gave Ed could have cut glass. “I am not—”

“I’m sacrificing too,” Ed said, quickly, because he honestly did not want to piss him off anymore. Not until he got what he was after. “So I want to know: what is it you need? Because everybody has a lever. Something here at the center, something outside of the center, something at your job: you name it. Your car washed and waxed while you direct me from a lawn chair, your flower bed dug up—hell, I’ll dress up in a monkey suit and deliver flowers to somebody, if that’s what does it for you.”

Laurie still didn’t so much as slow down his repetitive steps and arm pumps, but he did regard Ed thoughtfully for a few beats. “You really want it this time, don’t you?”

“I need it,” Ed corrected. He held out his hands. “Come on. Surely you can think of some suitably degrading task you’d love to give the meddling neanderthal in exchange for one half of one night on a sub-par sound system.”

Laurie blushed and looked away. “She wasn’t supposed to tell you I said that.”

“Well, she probably agrees with you.” Ed started to get nervous. “Come on. Come on. Give me something. Something really embarrassing. You know you want revenge, and I’m never going to give you a better opening. Anything, buddy. Anything.”

For a minute Ed thought this wasn’t going to work. But then a strange shadow passed over the instructor’s face. For a minute Parker looked haunted and oddly vulnerable. The part of Ed that felt the same way softened, and for the first time, ever, he felt bad for Laurie Parker, even though he didn’t know what was wrong. Without thinking, he started to reach for him.

The look disappeared, and Laurie looked down at Ed with a glint in his eye.

“Anything?”

Ed held out his hands. “Anything.”

“Hold on.” Laurie lowered the mic before shouting out some new commands, leading his flock into a new move, taking a minute to encourage them before he pushed the mic up again and turned back to Ed.

“What I need is for you to come one night a week for three weeks and be my assistant at my dance studio.”

Ed blinked. What the fuck? Dancing assistant? He tried to read Laurie’s face to gauge whether this was a joke, but no, Parker looked pretty damn serious. And weirdly nervous. “What night?”

“Thursdays,” Laurie said. “Seven to eight.”

Ed shrugged, then grinned. “Consider it done,” he said, and turned to make a beeline for the supply closet.

“There’s more,” Laurie said, his voice full of warning.

“Then tell me already,” Ed said, starting to lose his temper. “My class is about to start.”

“As my assistant,” he said, looking Ed right in the eye, “mostly you’ll be dancing with me.”

Ed’s eyebrows shot up. Then he shrugged. “Okay. Is that all?”

The instructor looked at him with extreme suspicion. “You will dance with me. Just like that?”

“Do I have to do it naked, or something?” Ed asked. “Or recite French at the same time? The French would be a problem, but I could get it if you gave me a few minutes to practice.”

“I’m serious about this,” the instructor said, starting to sound tart. “So if your plan is to just agree now, get your way and then stand me up—”

“I will get your phone number after class,” Ed said, “and give you mine. But if I’m not there, you can go to Vic to get your pound of flesh. You know she’ll be good for it. But there won’t be a need. Now.” He jerked his head at the back of the stage. “Can I get you the damn sound system now?”

When Laurie jerked his head in reluctant approval, Ed hurried around to the stairs and made his way onto the stage. He glanced at his watch before he started lugging out the speakers and started working faster, because the students were probably already there by now and wouldn’t hang out too long. But before he had even half of it out, he felt a hand on his arm, and when he turned around, the instructor was there, holding out a business card.

“You’ll lose half your class getting all that out,” he said. “I’ll do it myself. Here, take this, and go.”

Ed stopped with one speaker hoisted in mid-air and raised an eyebrow.

To his credit, Laurie only lifted his chin a little and pressed the card forward. “Seven p.m. next Tuesday at the address on this card.  Except actually why don’t you come at six forty-five so we can go over what I need in more detail. Wear comfortable clothing and dress shoes with a heel, if you have them. If you do this for me, it really will be a favor, and I don’t mind hauling out the equiment and pausing my class to do it. But if you don’t show up”—his chin came back down and his eyes acquired some very pointed daggers—“I’ll collect the pound of flesh myself.”

“Fair enough.” Ed put the speaker down, took the card, then stuck out his hand. “Thanks, buddy.”

Laurie put his hand in Ed’s, letting his slim fingers be swallowed up in Ed’s beefy paw. “You’re welcome.”

Ed shook his hand once, then let go. “See you at quarter to seven on Thursday,” he called out, breaking into a jog and vaulting off the edge of the stage.

38 Comments on “Two To Tango is a draft.

  1. Congrats! I’m not going to comment on the opening scene because, um, I don’t like to read bits of stories. All or nothing, that’s me. πŸ™‚

  2. Congrats! I’m not going to comment on the opening scene because, um, I don’t like to read bits of stories. All or nothing, that’s me. πŸ™‚

      • That’s so interesting about the interstate. I’m trying to think of what we do here. I call it I-35 a lot, and it’s almost always “Highway 30,” but in Des Moines I hop on 235.
        Noted, and thanks.
        This mean you’re going to beta read for me so I don’t screw up the local stuff?

      • That’s so interesting about the interstate. I’m trying to think of what we do here. I call it I-35 a lot, and it’s almost always “Highway 30,” but in Des Moines I hop on 235.
        Noted, and thanks.
        This mean you’re going to beta read for me so I don’t screw up the local stuff?

  3. I’m kinda loving that this is set not that far from me and I get the references. And Ed’s character intrigues me. I want to know more about him. VERY much looking forward to this. πŸ˜€

  4. I’m kinda loving that this is set not that far from me and I get the references. And Ed’s character intrigues me. I want to know more about him. VERY much looking forward to this. πŸ˜€

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: