Free Mama B - A Time to Dance (Book 2) by Michelle Stimpson

feet and
listen to Him all day, like Mary. Make you want to poke Gabriel in the ribs and
tell him to blow the horn already.
    Still, I got a
life to live for Him. And, apparently, this life now included dancing.
    Debra Kay
convinced me I needed a pair of dancing shoes. Black jazz shoes, she said. I
like jazz. But when I got to the dance store and took a look at those
plain-Jane flat things for almost forty dollars, I had a change of heart. Might
as well put on a pair of moccasins!
    This dilemma
forced me to give Dr. Wilson a call. I got his voicemail and left a message
hoping he’d get back to me before I got out of the shopping center. In the
meanwhile, I ducked into a few ladies’ clothing stores and picked up some pieces
for fall. Purple was back, to my delight.
    Dr. Wilson
caught me just before I got back into my car. “B, how are you?”
    “I’m well, thank
you. You got my message, I see.”
    “Yes. Don’t
worry about getting special shoes. Just wear something comfortable,” he put an
end to my quandary.
    “Okey-dokey.
That’s all I needed to know.”
    “I look forward
to seeing you again Friday.”
    “Same here.”
    An unmistakable
flutter hit my stomach. This time, I couldn’t blame it on nervousness or fear
of what Albert might think or even a should-be rated R movie. Plain and simple,
this was just me excited about going dancing with Dr. Wilson.
     

Chapter 15
     
    You coulda
bought me for a quarter after I seen all those folks my age in the dance class.
Where did all these people come from ‘cause they sure wasn’t at Mt. Zion or any
of the places I visited regularly. Black folk, white folk, red folk – I
mean, this was a little bit of every group over the age of sixty-five.
    The dance room
was a big rectangle with a wooden floor. One of the long sides was nothing but
mirrors. The opposite side had windows, but the curtains were closed to give us
privacy. On one of the short sides was a row of tables we signed in at. And
opposite, the teacher had all her sound equipment; big old speakers and such.
    Frank introduced
me to everyone he knew, which was about two-thirds of the people there. I
gathered he’d been dancing for a while. They all called him “Frank,” which let
me know he wasn’t hung up on the fact he had a medical degree. This was good
news to my ears ‘cause Idone met folk
who would just about cuss you out for not addressing them as “Doctor” or
“Bishop” so-and-so. And half the time the so-called credentials they got come
from somebody they ain’t never met from some place ‘bout no bigger than a snow cone
stand!
    Yep, them the
ones you got to watch out for.
    Not Frank.
    Our instructor,
who introduced herself as Gavina, was a tall, lean, ballerina-type woman. She
looked to be in her mid-40s. “We’ve got quite a few newcomers tonight, so we’ll
start slow with a cha-cha step.”
    Gavina started
the music. Frank offered his arm, and I followed him to a spot on the floor.
Oh, I had the cha-cha down by the second 8-count.
    “You got some
rhythm in your feet, I see,” Frank said to me.
    I sassed, “I’ll
try to slow down so you can keep up with me.”
    “Watch out now,”
he edged me on.
    We cha-cha’d, we
samba’d, we salsa’d ‘til I was almost worn out! I was so glad I’d listened to
Frank and worn something simple. A warm-up suit and slip-on tennis shoes. Who
knew dancing was so much exercise ? Good thing I was already in good
shape because of my walking three times a week. Else, I would have run out of
gas like some of the other new folks.
    Frank’s T-shirt
had dampened in a few spots. He was getting a good workout, too, I saw.
    He did have
occasion to put an arm around my waist a time or two, but since every other man
in the building was doing it too, I didn’t feel antsy about it. Really, I
didn’t feel anything but free and relaxed.
    This was
definitely something we could do with Peter and Libby—if Peter would ever
agree to it. He still kind of old school