Doing the Dance

More Bruce and Clara.

Wherein nothing is explained . . .

David Handschuh

Or something similar . . .

Her hair was down.

It was never down. Usually, she kept it scraped tightly back into a rusty, greying bun on the back of her head.

I admit it. I stared.

“It’s you!” She cooed.

Did you know people can coo? Well, they can.

“Umm . . . yes. It’s me. The same person as yester . . .”

“Don’t speak!” Her large, surprisingly statuesque body slipped around the end of her desk. She slid red-tipped nails across its gleaming surface and her fairly prosaic print dress actually swirled provocatively as she floated toward me. “Just . . . be.”

I felt my eyebrows go up. “O-okay.” I glanced around. “Umm . . . be what?”

She laughed. A soft, throaty little burst of sound. “Yourself, darling. Just be yourself.”

“Oh. That. I think I can . . .”

“Don’t talk.”

“But how can I be myself if I can’t . . .”

She placed gentle fingers against my mouth.

“. . . talk?” The word came out justifiably muffled.

“Feel the music, darling.” She was starting to sway.

I frowned. “Music?”

“Hush.”

“Hushing.”

Her arms came out, one wrapping itself about my shoulders, the other reaching for my wrist. For several seconds, we swayed to some music that only she could hear. I could feel the heat of her plump arm where it touched my back. Her hand felt slightly moist on the skin just above my hand.

“Oh, this is it, darling!” she whispered.

“What?”

Just then, showing more moves than a mime and catching me completely unawares, she sent me into a dramatic dip.

I admit it. I screamed.

Chuckling, she set me on the floor and stepped across me, heading back toward her desk. “Bring me something exciting today, Bruce?”

“Umm . . .” I thought about that one. “Well . . .”

She picked up the package I had dropped when she grabbed me. “Oooh! I’ve been waiting for this one for a long time!”

I laid my head back against the cool granite tiles and thought seriously about asking for a transfer. Then I lifted the hand still carrying my clipboard. “Don’t forget to sign . . .”