Free Walk on Water by Josephine Garner Page B

wasn’t the boyfriend in the first place.
    When I arrived at the club, there were a couple of cars ahead of me in the valet line; one of them belonged to Melinda. Good, I thought, we could go in together. I handed the valet a two-dollar tip and hurried to catch up with Melinda as she was paying the cover. The pulsating music was muffled until someone opened one of the heavy double doors separating the club interior from the entrance foyer. I tapped my friend on the shoulder and she turned around.
    “Hey girl!” said Melinda as she stuffed her credit card back into her pocket. “Don’t you look good!”
    “You do!” I returned the compliment. “I love those pants.”
    “Pockets, girl. You can’t go clubbing without some place to keep your stuff.”
    Melinda was the fashionista in our office, the pinnacle point on the yardstick by which a lot of us measured ourselves, making her both an inspiration and an aspiration. Tonight she was wearing a red silk blouse, pulled in at her narrow waist with a gold belt. Her shiny black sateen pants hugged her tightly and beautifully all the way down to her red stiletto peep-toe heels.
    “I know what you mean,” I agreed. “Purse-duty is no fun.”
    I had known what it was like to be left to it on more than one dreary occasion. Tonight I was carrying my money, driver’s license, and cell in a small pouch that I wore cross-wise like a very miniature messenger bag, the leather strap falling right between my breasts. I paid the cover and we went inside.
    It was still early and the dance floor was pretty empty, but it wouldn’t be for long. Inside the music beats became tangible, not just something you heard but something you felt. Could Luke feel the music anymore? I had read that deaf people could feel the vibration of music and dance to it. Could Luke feel vibrations? When we were in college he had been a sublime dancer. So supremely confident of his masculinity, he would simply have fun, giving himself over to the music, spinning and dipping, rocking and gliding wherever the music took him. Luke doing the Moonwalk would have made Michael Jackson proud. But that was gone now. What must it be like to have lost it?
    We saw our group, which included, Corrine, Becky, and Sandy. They were holding two tables, pushed together to make one, next to the wrought iron railing that bordered the dance floor. Sandy was waving at us. We were supposed to be six tonight, but Sophia, the sixth one of our group, arrived everywhere fashionably late , including to work.
    When I ordered a white wine spritzer, Corrine rolled her eyes.
    “What?” I asked.
    “Live a little, Rachel,” Sandy said.
    “Yeah, get something fun!” Becky chimed in. “They make the best appletinis.”
    “I’ll have a cosmopolitan,” I told the waitress.
    “Now you’re talking!” said Melinda.
    “I do have to take my mother to church in the morning,” I reminded everyone.
    “So it’ll be ginger ale the rest of the night,” said Sandy.
    “ Diet ginger ale,” Corrine corrected her laughing.
    “Well all I’m saying is God bless Spanx !” Melinda raised her glass.
    And we all toasted the miracle of spandex.
    By the time Sophia showed up, which was of course after ten o’clock, the music was much louder and the dance floor was jammed with sweaty, writhing, wriggling bodies, the six of us among them. Our table was popular. Somebody—we didn’t know who yet—seeking to impress one of us—we didn’t know whom yet—had bought a round a drinks for all of us.
    I loved to dance, and as long as I was alone in my room or anonymous in some exercise class, I would give myself over to the music too. Tonight being jammed up on the crowded dance floor of Sensations was providing just the kind of cover I required to let loose. As one song ended another one began, and the dancers, as if we were all parts of one big body with many arms and legs moved to the repetitive rhythms practically in unison. There was something