One Big Happy Family

家庭

Reading out loud, “Kung Fu San Foo. This must be the place.” I opened the door and stepped inside to the small front entrance of a karate studio. With its white walls covered in what appeared to be competition posters, plaques and trophies in Chinese, it had the feel of authenticity.

“May I help you?” asked the desk attendant behind the plain linoleum counter. A clear look of confused arrogance about why I was here, showed clearly across his face. Apparently, he thought I was either lost or nuts. He only looked to be about fifteen, but his attitude conveyed he wanted to appear to be older than his short years.

“Yes, I heard that you have a studio to rent out. Is it still available?” I replied, in a professional voice as I restrained my indignation. I may look like a rich ditz, but with all my schooling and work experience, I could have this twerp mentally flat on his back in 10 seconds if he continued to cop attitude. I admit, it’s my downfall, I hate people thinking I’m stupid because of my wheat blond hair and nice clothes.

Taken back, he stuttered, “Uh, um, let me check on that for you,” as he hurriedly disappeared around the corner to what I assumed was their studios.

“Yeah, you do that,” I whispered to myself, “arrogant prick.” Continuing to look around, I hoped this wasn’t going to turn out to be a dead end as well. While I may have a rich Daddy, he kept a tighter leash on my spending then a twice-bucked horse rider. Having looked at over fifteen studios that were ruled out for various reasons, such as too expensive, small or just seedy, I was tired of driving all over Southern California. Unfortunately, I knew this was causing my attitude to snap and I tried to rein in my surliness. Taking a deep breath, I forced my emotions and frustrations back into their well-frequented bottle deep inside of me. What can I say, Daddy doesn’t appreciate emotional outbursts. I’d experienced many bruises and other assorted injuries from him to drive that point home.

Rushing back around the corner, he bowed at me, “This way please.” Straightening up, he nervously ran his hands down the sides of his white martial arts suit, and then motioned down the hallway he’d just come from.

“Thank you,” I replied in a clipped voice. I didn’t quite trust myself to say anything more to him. Passing a huge open studio on our right, where I could see they had their main classes during they day. Since it was close to the end of their business day, no one else was around. We reached the end of the hallway and stopped in front of a door to our left. I could see through the small window that it must be the inquired studio. Stepping to the side to allow the boy to open the door, he fumbled with the keys until he found the right one. Unlocking the door, he motioned for me to go in.

Walking in, I heard him say behind me, “Feel free to look around. If you like it, we have a paper you have to sign-up front.”

Not bothering to glance back at him, I responded, “Is the price still the same, $50 an hour, with a minimum of 3 hours per day rental? And how often is the floor cleaned?” Scanning the room, which was about the size of a high-school classroom, it was complete with mirrors on three walls and the padded door wall.

I could almost hear his inaudible gulp behind me, “Um, yes, and uh, once a week.”

Hmmm, it’s a little smaller than I would like, but it’ll do. Plus, I’m running out of options and at least it’s in the budget.

“I’ll take it. I’ll want to read the contract first of course,” I informed him as I spun on my heel to face him. Relief flooding me after a whole day of searching, I couldn’t help but release a mega-watt smile. I almost chuckled as I saw the tension seem to melt from his body because of my changed demeanor. Thank goodness for charm school.

“Sure, right this way please.” Following him back out into the hallway, he asked, “How often do you want use it?”

Reaching the front entrance room, I accepted the contract he handed me and began to scan it. Continuing to read, I replied, “Monday, Wednesday and Fridays, from 7 to 10 p.m. I might need it some Saturdays, and I’ll let you know that ahead of time as much as possible. Is the security deposit refundable at the termination of our contract?”

“Yeah, as long as, you know, there’s no damage, um…” he trailed off as I looked up and shot him a pointed look at his train of speech.

“Of course. Ok, I’ll start using it tomorrow night. Do I pay by the week or month after the deposit and first week’s rent?” Bringing my purse up to my side, I found my wallet in the neatly organized Dolce & Gavanna purse.

“By month is fine,” the boy replied as he took my credit card. Handing me the receipt, I signed and gave him back the merchant copy.

Sticking my copy in my beige wallet, I closed my purse and gently pulled my Dior sunglasses off my head. Flashing another model-inspired smile I replied “Thank you,” and walked out the door.

My green eyes squinting against the sun, I quickly put my sunglasses on. Clicking my car key beeper, I got into my 21st birthday present of a black Jaguar and headed home.

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Walking into the studio the next night, an elderly Asian man greeted me. I figured he was the owner. In business clothes after finishing work up at the law office, I looked forward to exerting some of my frustrations in dance tonight. After a slight bow, he held out his hand and introduced himself in broken English. “Hello. I am Sam Wong, owner. Welcome, please accept keys for studio.”

I bowed in replied and said, “Thank you Mr. Wong. May Lee, nice to meet you. I’m glad to do business with you. You have a very nice studio.” I accepted the proffered keys and glanced at the three different ones.

“Thank you. First key, is front door. Second key studio. Third key showers. We close at 7. You lock front door?” Sam motioned to the entrance.

“Sure, that won’t be a problem. Do I need to wait another fifteen minutes until 7 to look around?” I asked. Giving him my best sweet smile, I was hoping he’d say yes. In my frustration of the studio search and then genuine relief at finding this place, I’d neglected to scope out the rest of the building.

“Sure, sure, no problem. Look around, let me show,” replied Sam. Following him around the corner, he turned down a different hallway from yesterday. Pointing to a door with his name on it, he said “My office. I work there.” Passing another door with a multi-gender sign, Sam explained, “Showers. Two, but you need key. No one here at night, only you use.”

Thanking him, I opened the locker room door with the proper key as Sam excused himself. Choosing the closest of the small dozen lockers, I put my purse inside and opened my clothes bag. Pulling out my black dance stretch pants and blue form-fitting tank top, I switched out of my black business pantsuit. Putting the hanger with my suit on another locker handle, I reached for dance heels. Hearing a sharp rap on the locker door, I stood up with my heels still in my hand.

“May, are you in there? I need to change,” the knocker asked. Opening the door, I saw my dance partner Richard. With a quick flip of his head, Richard moved his foppish dark red hair out of his eyes. Briskly brushing me out of the way, he plopped his stuff down on the bench next to mine.

“Hello to you to Richard. Thanks for dropping by.” I drawled as I sat back down to finish putting my shoes on.

“Hello. Nice to see you. Now cut the chit-chat, we still need to polish our routine if we want to be ready in two weeks for the competition. You know if we don’t do well, we won’t be invited to the qualifiers in two months. We don’t have time to waste.” Stripping down to his boxers and dressing efficiently in his dance practice clothes, Richard was ready in two minutes while I put my heels on.

Rolling my eyes, I grabbed the CD boom box and keys, and led the way to our studio. Walking in, Richard groaned beside me, “Is this the best you could do?”

Throwing him a sharp look, I retorted, “You want better, you pay for it.”

With a dignified snort, Richard replied, “You know I can’t. My money is cut off for another month until all the damages are paid for.” Richard’s parents were just as rich as mine. However, he had a little bit of a temper to go with his red hair. After a drunken spree last week, he had managed to wipe out an entire bar and total his Mercedes. His parents were withholding any “spending money” until then. Since 27-year old Richard worked for the law-firm our parents co-owned, that meant no income. The legal bill alone had sent his parents ranting at Richard through an entire night of our scheduled dance practice.

Pressing play, Richard went to the middle of the dance floor in the studio and stood in position for the start of our West Coast dance routine. As the music rolled out, I forced the day’s work out of my mind and focused on the hours of practice ahead of us.

An hour into the routine, I already needed to smooth talk Richard back into a calm state of mine. “I can’t believe you messed that part up again! It’s not that hard, watch!” Stamping out the footwork as if to emphasis his point, he completed the sequence.

“Richard, it’s not going to work. It’s not a matter of it being too hard, it just doesn’t fit. The section before and after it just make this part awkward.”

In a flash, his face was leaning down to mine, his 6 foot 3 frame towering even over my 5 foot 9 inches. “Are you saying my choreography isn’t good enough?!” I did my best to hide my fear, though I knew I couldn’t hide my face as it blanched underneath my California tan. With his temper, Richard followed my dad’s footsteps since childhood of taking his anger out on women.

Swallowing and taking a deep breath to make sure my voice was calm and collected, I replied “Of course not. All I’m saying, is that I think the dance would better with maybe one of the new sequences you showed me the other day. It would blend together better, and get to show off your new moves.” Having been forced because of our parents “friendship” to grow up together, we’d always had to take dance classes as partners. Even from adolescent years, Richard had shown a flair for dance and so now demanded always to be praised for it. With a knack for it myself, our parents had put us through every kind of dance until they found the one they thought fit us best and would win the most accolades for them - West Coast Swing.

Coming out of the Lindy Swing movement in the 50s, West Coast Swing had modified Lindy due to crowded dance floors. Evolving West Coast into a slot-based dance meant you danced in a straight line instead of like Lindy, where you could go anywhere. The music faded its hardcore Lindy swing roots, and grew to incorporate contemporary popular songs with a slower beat and more of a bluesy feel. After a year of Richard and I only being allowed to learn and practice the basics from a private instructor, we’d finally been allowed to start learning a routine. After continuing to interrupt the dance instructor with his better ideas, Richard became our choreographer and proceeded to win us first place at our first dance competition. After that, there was no question of who’d be controlling our dancing.

You might ask why my parents dictate so much of my life now that I’m 24. Well, let me put it this way. After being sent to the same European boarding schools with Richard, I was sculpted to be the perfect daughter at charm school until I was 18. Then, my parents sent me to USC only on condition that I went to law school since they paid the tuition. Due to how much they make, I would never have been to study anything else and get financial aid for it. So, I completed undergrad and law school, and started working at the firm for them after passing the California bar. With the dangling bait of a promised no-strings-attached inheritance of one million when I turned 25, I was counting the days until I was free. Literally. While I wouldn’t get the rest of the millions until they kicked the bucket, at least I could finally have a life of my own with that somewhere else. I didn’t tell them that of course, or they’d find someway to back out of their contracted inheritance. So after years of obedience, first from thinking I could earn their love, then to fear of my father’s fist, the lasting lure was the promised freedom of being able to disappear from their radar once I had it.

“Right, I’m glad you think so,” Richard responded as he proceeded to show me again the new moves he had made up. Buffon, was the nicest word I could think of as I mentally zipped my mouth shut. The last thing I needed was a well-placed bruise or a backhanded blow to my head. I had a headache for three days the last time I pushed him past his boiling point, along with a small bump hidden in my hair.

Why keep Richard? Oh yes, he’s my fiancé since I was 12, as part of the promised inheritance. Arranged by my thoughtful money-society-ladder driven parents. Though, of course the parents didn’t announce it as official until my birthday this year. Some birthday.

Rolling my shoulders, I put my hand in Richard’s as we started to practice our routine again. At least that pacified him. Letting go of my anger and thoughts, I submersed myself in the sensation. I love dancing. As much as it irritated me sometimes to have to dance with Richard, I admit that our lifelong association made us good dance partners. I love the feel of my body responding to the music, though I made sure to only follow his led dance moves. I once tried to improvise during a great break in a song during practice and got a bruised rib as my reward from Richard. My creative outlet was restrained only to when we went to a West Coast dance club once a week to keep in contact with the dance crowd. I got to dance with whoever I wanted, and I relished the freedom. Dancing with the different men, feeling myself respond to their different styles and leading, it was exhilarating. Oh, and we were supposed to size up the competition of course.

“Earth to May! Start again, let’s take it from the top,” Richard demanded.

Glancing at the clock, I saw that it was already five past ten. “Richard, we have to go. We only have the place until 10.”

“It’s after 10?! Why didn’t you tell me? Now I’m going to be late in picking Diana up. You know how she is, if she already left it’s your fault.” Grabbing his bag, Richard slammed the studio door as he left me. Oh yes, Richard has a girlfriend. Since we’re not married, he said he can still legally do whatever he wants. Welcome to my world.

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Author's note: This is a lot different feel than I'm used to writing, so I look forward to hearing what you think! Please review and spill your thoughts, even to just let me know that someone is reading this, lol. :D