Love in Strange Places. Anonymous
I have some really special car thieves and pushers! There are times when I wish I’d listened to my mother and flown airplanes. Much safer!”
We’d grin at each other. Then I’d go back to running lines with Red, who’d be following this exchange with great interest, and Finn would go off to warm up his long limbs for a dance number. Until the next topic.
“So, Finn—I hear you’ve been dating Shawna.”
“You are so far behind the times, Belinda. Shawna was last week. This week it’s Melanie.”
“You’re good. We’ve only been in rehearsals two weeks.”
He bowed, then leaned over and kissed my hand. “You’re no slouch yourself. I hear you and Robby went out two nights running last week.”
“Old news. It’s over.”
We gazed admiringly at each other. Two of a kind. Red looked at us with amazement.
“You two are incredible. Have either of you ever sustained a romantic relationship for longer than two months—ever?”
Finn looked at me. I looked at him. We both looked at Red.
“Go ahead.”
Finn was being gentlemanly with the ladies first bit. I wrinkled my nose at him.
“I believe I managed to keep a young man around for a year once. Of course, that was grade school, and he liked to come over and play baseball with my brothers. Does that count?”
Red and Finn shook their heads. Red wagged his finger at me.
“We’re talking adulthood here, Belinda. Sorry. Okay, Finn, your turn.”
“Five months. But she left to take a job in London, so who knows how long it might’ve lasted?”
I shook my head. “I’m not buying the London bit, Finn. Plenty of people have conducted successful, long-term, long-distance relationships.”
Finn grinned. “Well, come to think of it—we were on the verge of that last good-bye about a month before she left.” He turned to Red. “Let’s face it, Chekhov, Ms. Montague and I are not known for stability in our love lives. So, everybody going dancing Saturday night at this new disco club? Belinda? You up for checking this place out and giving it our stamp of approval?”
“Already planning on it. I even raided my mother’s closet for vintage Seventies disco dresses. I found a sexy black number that’ll knock those plaid socks off your feet.” I couldn’t believe he was actually wearing plaid socks with red sneakers. I couldn’t believe anyone actually made plaid socks these days! I also couldn’t resist a tiny jab at the lady-killer.
“So—how’s Heidi? I hear she fell during the chorus rehearsal for Farmer and Cowman.”
Finn smiled sweetly at me. “Well, according to Heidi in one of her fourteen daily phone calls to me, she’s in terrible pain. I suggested that she rest at home when we all go dancing this weekend, but she immediately said she was sure she’d be in perfect shape by then! And how’s Brendan? I hear he had a virus.”
I smiled sweetly back. “A case of poison ivy, actually. It should render him inoperable for about a week. Untouchable, too!”
I liked Finn more and more. He and I shared a sarcastic sense of humor, enjoyed the same movies, books, shows, and foods. We’d argue over politics, and we both loved to dance. We’d really become good friends in the three weeks we’d been in rehearsals.
The nightspot Finn had referred to was Taste of the Seventies, a Seventies, disco-style dance bar. A bunch of us had been waiting all week to let loose at what promised to be the hottest new club in town. First, though, we had to survive a very long rehearsal. Saturday’s posted schedule included two hours of dance, two hours of music, and four hours of scene staging.
One of those scenes was the very funny, very intense kiss between Ado Annie and Will Parker. It’s known as the “Oklahoma Hello!” and I’ve seen it done several ways on stage, and onscreen in the 1955 movie version. Generally, Will grabs Ado Annie, throws one leg over one side of her, tilts her down like a slant board, and then lays a big, sloppy smooch on the enthralled vixen.
I was really looking forward to it.
The vocal and dance rehearsals went well. Even though I consider myself a dancer first and an actress/singer second, the part I was playing didn’t call for a lot of dance, so I got to watch the others rehearse the “Dream Ballet.” Heidi was in that number. She danced like she sang—without feeling. Brendan was also trying to master the intricacies of the choreography without much success—and without getting touched in any areas afflicted with poison ivy. It was not a pretty sight.
Finally, at about three in the afternoon, Corky began to work the kissing scene. I think the entire cast was waiting to see the sparks fly. The “Oklahoma Hello!” comes right after Ado Annie’s been kissed by Ali Hakim in the “Persian Good-bye!”
First kissed by Red, then by Finn—
No wonder every girl there had wanted the role!
We began the “Persian Good-bye.” Red dropped little kisses from my wrist to my shoulder, finally ending in a very nice one on the lips. But it was very much a stage kiss—enjoyable, to say the least—but not a lightning rod of electrical current.
Then it was time for the “Oklahoma Hello!.” Finn and I recited our lines. Then he threw me into the diagonal pose, tossed one of those long legs across me, and held me firmly in his capable arms. When his lips met mine, I swear I heard an explosion rock the back of the theatre. I also heard Corky talking into his headphones, but I ignored his voice. So did Finn. We stayed locked in position. Finally, I heard Corky yelling.
“Hey, you two! Newman’s just informed me that one of the air conditioners has blown! Talk about generating heat! Keep it up and our G-rated show will turn into a triple X! This is just the ‘Hello!’ okay? It’s not the ‘Hello, let’s get it on!’”
Finn released me. We looked deep into each other’s eyes. I could fall hard for this man; I knew it, and it didn’t make me happy. I was the “man-eater,” after all. I wasn’t about to get involved with a “ladykiller.”
After Saturday’s strenuous rehearsal, we headed straight over to Taste of the Seventies—nothing like a little more dancing to help you let off steam! Dubbing Red and Newman as the designated drivers for the evening—they didn’t drink, anyway—ten of us squeezed into two cars and took off. Nobody seemed to own a car larger than a Volkswagen bug. Even Finn, at six-feet-five, drove a Mazda Miata!
We arrived at Taste of the Seventies at about ten-thirty, just as things were really starting to move. We paid, strolled in, and then stared, numbly frozen in place by the sight of the ugliest décor I’d seen outside of a New York City graffiti-filled subway car. Green and yellow neon paint; posters of John Travolta, Donna Summer, and the Village People tacked onto the walls. A deejay booth painted purple with an orange banner over it proclaiming “Dr. Heat” held two huge turntables and a gentleman who looked like he’d been sent by central casting after shooting Saturday Night Fever! A final touch was the mirror ball hanging over the ceiling. It was all delightfully tacky.
Dr. Heat was playing some great songs. My parents had brought me up on every kind of music imaginable, from Verdi to Van Morrison, from Glenn Miller to Steve Miller, and from Tchaikovsky to the Trammps. The songs blaring from the deejay’s perch were more than familiar to me; my mom had taught me how to dance to Gloria Gaynor’s, “I Will Survive.” I loved this stuff!
Apparently, Finn loved it, too. While the rest of the Oklahoma! crowd found a table and ordered a round of beers, he grabbed my hand and rushed me onto the dance floor. Donna Summer’s, “I Feel Love” was setting that mirror ball spinning. I was soon spinning, as well. Mom would’ve been proud.
Finn