The Right Spot

As they stood on the sidewalk outside, waiting for the dancers to change out of their costumes, Horner spotted a serious-looking woman named Isabel, from Portugal, a member of the expat-bohemian set that often included French and Germans as well. Even though it had been a year since he’d last seen her — thus Horner assumed she wouldn’t remember him — he said hello. After a moment, she remembered, or pretended to remember him, and they fell into conversation about the performances, with Horner anticipating she’d be very critical of them.

She was critical. Especially of Kayla’s cabaret piece, offering a detailed explanation of what had bothered her about it. Horner nodded along, grinning, listening more to the soft cadences of her accent than her complex ideas. In his elated frame of mind, she even struck him as attractive, despite her crooked teeth and serious, critical expression behind thick, square glasses. He thought of inviting her along to the bar. But in his mind, he began to sketch out the disasters that would ensue, sure she wouldn’t censor herself in front of the very artists she was disparaging. So, he said nothing.

Horner extricated himself with a promise to come see her recent film and stepped over to where the whole gang stood haggling over where to go next.

Some of the dancers wanted to find a club to go dancing, but others were all for heading to the Rite Spot. There were a lot of dancers. In addition to Kayla and the woman in the bowler — her roommate, as it turned out — there was Hannah, and a couple of Germans, Nana and Ilhelm. Eventually, the convenience of the Rite Spot, just a block away, won out. Horner offered his arm for Nana to take and addressed her and Ilhelm in his rudimentary German: “Kommen Sie mit?”

“Oh, do you speak German now?”

“Well, a little.”

Nana was sparkling. It was good to see her. She was yet another dancer about whom he’d entertained vague fantasies but never acted on. Just before she’d left last fall, she and Hannah had performed together, and it seemed in retrospect that something may have been happening between them. Now here she was, but only for a week or two before flying off again. As they strolled along arm in arm, she lifted her face to Horner’s, trading jokes with him, raising her eyebrows in a characteristic way that struck him as hilarious and erotic all at once, her compact, muscular body moving against his side.

Ilhelm, by contrast, was a sad, quiet type. She could hardly speak English at all and seemed bewildered by the Americans pulling her into the wild night of this strange town. Horner tried talking with her once they’d entered the bar, making some use of his German and coaxing a few words of English from her as they stood crammed between crowded tables waiting for their drinks. It was very noisy, and Horner felt he was falling in love with every face he saw.

Hannah and Alan materialized next, but the group still hadn’t secured a table. The place was packed with folks from the performance and other theaters nearby. Ordinarily, it was a good place to talk and listen or not listen to music. The tables were draped in white linen, candles perched in the center, throwing shadows on the ceiling and walls. Specials were chalked on a board near the kitchen, though few people actually ate. Now it was Saturday night, and a band crowded close to the upright piano, featuring a well-known local trumpet player, their music prompting some folks to try swing dancing in the narrow path to the bathrooms. Horner spotted the blonde dancer he’d seen earlier as he and Milo had peered through the theater window; he waved at her across the room. She waved back, but in such a way that he immediately understood (just as he’d prophesied) she had no idea who he was. Nevertheless, he fell in love with her, too.

A long table opened up, but several parties eyed it, and they ended up sharing with a boisterous group. By this time, Kayla was back, with her boyfriend John and her roommate, the small, dark one in the dandy suit, still wearing a feather boa and bowler hat. She’d been so spot-on with the Cockney phrasing that Horner was surprised to hear her speaking in a generic, American accent. She tried Irish and Scottish accents, but they weren’t nearly as good. Horner, laughing and feeling good, tried to snatch the bowler off her head, at which she hissed and shrank back like a man protecting a precarious toupee.

This was the evening Horner learned that some people had been dropped from the Alice Project. The group was crammed so tightly that Hannah and Kayla practically sat on his lap as they chatted. Horner mentioned Liza — she hadn’t come to rehearsal in several weeks.

“Ah,” Hannah said, “she wanted to just do theater, I didn’t want her to just do theater, so…” and she waved her hand to show she hadn’t been sorry to see her go.

Horner asked about Jamie; no one had seen her around in a while. He realized he’d never returned the Eileen Myles book she’d lent him.

“Oh, her,” Hannah laughed, as though she’d forgotten her completely. “I kicked her out — it’s better not to even talk about that.”

This was the first time it occurred to Horner one could be “kicked out” of the Alice Project. Rehearsals often seemed like a bunch of eccentric children getting together for a play date — exhilarating, free, and sometimes unexpectedly cruel. In that light, it made sense that as easily as one could be welcomed in, one could also be excluded. Horner felt he was always learning about things long after the fact: “Oh, you mean you didn’t know? I thought everybody knew.”

Somehow, he kept missing out on key information.

Later, standing outside puffing cigarettes, Horner shared his observation with Kayla: that everyone seemed to have gone monogamous over the summer. She looked at him with eyes wide, blowing smoke.

“I don’t know who you’re talking about, but it’s not me,” she murmured, as though calling her monogamous were tantamount to accusing her of a crime. “No, no… it’s very important to keep things open. I just had a date last week with a French guy I met on a plane. As a matter of fact…”

Just then Milo stepped outside. She stood close to him, and in the circle of bodies laughing and talking, she remained very aware of him. Someone said something, and he laughed, and Kayla remarked, “I’m always trying to figure out what’s going on in that head of yours, Milo, and I don’t think I ever will.”

“I don’t think I ever will, either,” he said, grinning.

Horner realized something had happened, or was happening, or was about to happen, between Kayla and Milo, and he felt a painful twinge inside him just below his heart. What did it mean? He felt a proprietary longing toward both of them. He and Milo had been hanging out, talking about art and music, sketching trips and apartments they might share. Kayla, he saw now, was the Alice Project dancer he’d connected with most deeply. He recalled sharing rides with her to and from rehearsals, laughing and talking easily. He thought about Hannah, whose image hovered over everything, and Rachel, with whom he’d had so many sticky encounters. But here he was with Kayla and Milo, and Kayla was smiling up at Milo, and maybe the problem with me, thought Horner, is that I give myself away too easily, or there just isn’t that much to give.

Horner and Milo left the sidewalk crowd after several futile attempts to rally them for a late bite.

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