The Irresistible Muse of Jack Kidd by Chris D. Dodson

Author:Chris D. Dodson [Dodson, Chris D.]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, mobi, epub
Publisher: UNKNOWN
Published: 2017-07-12T04:00:00+00:00

26

My regular evening dance class was at 6pm with Angela Bashir. As I opened the door and entered the building, a woman’s voice spoke from the shadows, “Are you ready, Jay?”

After my eyes adjusted from bright sunlight to a dimly lit staircase, I noticed Angela sitting alone on the stairway. “Are we training here on the stairs today, Angel?” I asked in jest.

“We are.”

I assessed the location: the old staircase that climbed to Brenda’s studio with its dated carpeting, wood fixtures, and ancient, briny odors.

“The stairs will help with your Latin steps,” she said. “Take my hands.”

I did and stood below her on a lower step.

“Remember your posture—a slight lean forward—plow your toes ever so subtly. On eight: five, six, seven, eight...”

“We’re missing music,” I said.

“No music is needed. It’s all about posture.” She continued to count.

As I did what she told me and plowed my feet along the edge of the stairs, I couldn’t help but notice her low-cut blouse with shadowy line of cleavage bobbing in front of me. She had a fragrance today, cologne or body spray, I wasn’t sure, but there was a scent about her, pumped and pretty, seemingly flaunting.

“Lean forward, Jaywalk,” she commanded. “A little more, there, now move your feet the way I taught you.”

The wobbly placement of my feet along the edge of these worn stairs was difficult enough, to say the least, and not so much because of the exercise but more because of how my paws ached to grasp softer, more rounded places. I looked up, searching for her eyes in the dark shadows.

“Five, six, seven, eight; five, six, seven, eight...”

All I could see was her bouncing cleavage and her moist and appetizing mouth. We moved to another flight of stairs and proceeded.

“Is it true what I’ve heard about you, Jay?”

“Most likely.”

“That you sell real estate for sex.”

I stumbled and didn’t respond. We reached the top until she led me down a few steps and started over.

“You hate women, don’t you?” she said. “Five, six, seven, eight—or you wouldn’t do what you do. You’re a misogynist. I’ve read about men like you, although I’ve never met one.”

“You do know that men become misogynists because of women, right?”

She ignored that and kept counting, enticing me up more stairs. I thought about William’s wizardry at bugging this place and concluded he’d have no reason to wire the staircase, unless, of course, Angela was an accomplice. She did seem a little chatty today. I casually brushed my hand along her back to detect a wire. She was clean. I then made a more intense scan of her bobbing breasts, detecting nary a wire or recording device. I added, “You’re young. I doubt you’ve met that many misogynists.”

“Are you insinuating that I’ve never been with a man?”

“It’s hard to dance this way.”

“It’s necessary.”

The muscles in the middle of my back began to cramp, and so I stopped.

“Keep moving.”

“I’m finished with the stairs. Let’s say we head up to the dance floor. I perform misogyny better on flat surfaces.

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