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Authors: Annabel Smith
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would be simple for someone like Whiskey. He would ask one of the pretty, popular girls, and she would say yes. He wouldnât have to agonize over it as Charlie was.
The way Charlie saw it, timing was everything. If you asked too early, the pretty girls would be waiting to see if they might get any better offers. They would tell you they wanted to think about it, and then you would be in limbo. You might be lucky, and no one they liked more might ask them, in which case they would come back to you with a halfhearted yes. On the other hand, they might keep you in suspense for a few weeks and end up saying no, during which time your third and even fourth choice might have been snapped up. In this regard, the efficiency of the school grapevine was both a blessing and a curse. If you were rejected, you would rather it wasnât common knowledge. But it was helpful in keeping abreast of who had asked whom, who had accepted or declined in order to assess the market, to judge the best time to make your move.
x x x
Though there was a student committee for the school prom, the teachers, as always, had the last word, and it was the teachers who had decided that in order to set the right tone and avoid too much bumping and grinding later in the evening, as Mrs. Gill apparently put it at the meeting, there would be an hour of ballroom dancing before the DJ arrived to play the music the students wanted to hear. Of course, none of the students knew how to ballroom dance, so it was arranged that twice a week, throughout first term, they would learn ballroom dancing instead of their usual phys ed activities.
It was widely known that Mr. Baxter had represented the state in ballroom dancing, but the teachers were apparently smart enough to realize that the students would not have taken one of their own teachers seriously. So outside instructors were brought in, a young guy who was introduced to them as Mr. Randall, and a very beautiful, voluptuous woman who was not introduced. Charlie did not know about the girls, but none of his friends wanted to learn ballroom dancing. They thought ballroom dancing was for sissies and would rather have been playing sport. Mr. Randall seemed to sense this and took control as soon as their phys ed teacher had left the room.
âYou can call me Mr. Randall, if you want,â he said. âBut I would rather you called me Mr. Bondâ¦James Bond.â He said this with just the right amount of drama, and there was laughter all around.
âOf course, if youâre going to call me a ridiculous name, youâll want to know the reason why. So Iâll tell you. How many of you think ballroom dancing is only for gay men?â
There was snickering and muttering through the gym, though no one spoke.
âHow many of you boys think that by taking part in a ballroom dancing class youâre in danger of becoming gay?â He paused knowingly. âLast question: How many of you are wondering if Iâm gay?â
Surprised laughter followed this question.
Mr. Randall smiled. âIf you want to know that, the best person to ask would be my wife, Carmel.â Here he gestured toward the woman he had arrived with. She gave a curtsy and a small twirl, just enough to show a bit of leg and reassure all present that Mr. Randall, or Mr. Bond, or whatever you wanted to call him, was most definitely not gay. There was laughter, applause, a wolf whistle from the back of the gym.
ââThatâs all well and good, but why James Bond?â I hear you asking. Well, let me ask you this. Who else but James Bond can wrestle a giant on top of a train and charm a lady without appearing to even try? Does anyone look better in a tuxedo? Do you think James Bond knows how to dance? You bet he does. So, for the purposes of these classes, not only am I James Bond, but I encourage each of you gentlemen to think of yourselves as James Bond also. Ladies, if you wish, you may call your partner Mr. Bond.
The way Charlie saw it, timing was everything. If you asked too early, the pretty girls would be waiting to see if they might get any better offers. They would tell you they wanted to think about it, and then you would be in limbo. You might be lucky, and no one they liked more might ask them, in which case they would come back to you with a halfhearted yes. On the other hand, they might keep you in suspense for a few weeks and end up saying no, during which time your third and even fourth choice might have been snapped up. In this regard, the efficiency of the school grapevine was both a blessing and a curse. If you were rejected, you would rather it wasnât common knowledge. But it was helpful in keeping abreast of who had asked whom, who had accepted or declined in order to assess the market, to judge the best time to make your move.
x x x
Though there was a student committee for the school prom, the teachers, as always, had the last word, and it was the teachers who had decided that in order to set the right tone and avoid too much bumping and grinding later in the evening, as Mrs. Gill apparently put it at the meeting, there would be an hour of ballroom dancing before the DJ arrived to play the music the students wanted to hear. Of course, none of the students knew how to ballroom dance, so it was arranged that twice a week, throughout first term, they would learn ballroom dancing instead of their usual phys ed activities.
It was widely known that Mr. Baxter had represented the state in ballroom dancing, but the teachers were apparently smart enough to realize that the students would not have taken one of their own teachers seriously. So outside instructors were brought in, a young guy who was introduced to them as Mr. Randall, and a very beautiful, voluptuous woman who was not introduced. Charlie did not know about the girls, but none of his friends wanted to learn ballroom dancing. They thought ballroom dancing was for sissies and would rather have been playing sport. Mr. Randall seemed to sense this and took control as soon as their phys ed teacher had left the room.
âYou can call me Mr. Randall, if you want,â he said. âBut I would rather you called me Mr. Bondâ¦James Bond.â He said this with just the right amount of drama, and there was laughter all around.
âOf course, if youâre going to call me a ridiculous name, youâll want to know the reason why. So Iâll tell you. How many of you think ballroom dancing is only for gay men?â
There was snickering and muttering through the gym, though no one spoke.
âHow many of you boys think that by taking part in a ballroom dancing class youâre in danger of becoming gay?â He paused knowingly. âLast question: How many of you are wondering if Iâm gay?â
Surprised laughter followed this question.
Mr. Randall smiled. âIf you want to know that, the best person to ask would be my wife, Carmel.â Here he gestured toward the woman he had arrived with. She gave a curtsy and a small twirl, just enough to show a bit of leg and reassure all present that Mr. Randall, or Mr. Bond, or whatever you wanted to call him, was most definitely not gay. There was laughter, applause, a wolf whistle from the back of the gym.
ââThatâs all well and good, but why James Bond?â I hear you asking. Well, let me ask you this. Who else but James Bond can wrestle a giant on top of a train and charm a lady without appearing to even try? Does anyone look better in a tuxedo? Do you think James Bond knows how to dance? You bet he does. So, for the purposes of these classes, not only am I James Bond, but I encourage each of you gentlemen to think of yourselves as James Bond also. Ladies, if you wish, you may call your partner Mr. Bond.
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