Chapter 1 "T'Aint Watcha Do"
Mia walks past the bar. She sees the entrance across the road, peeks through the open door at the crowd and continues walking without hesitation.
She tells herself this is all part of how a prudent person should scope out a new venue in an unknown city. She feels just like a spy.
Then the music reaches her ears. Yes, she can feel it in her body. It is the type of upbeat Lindy hop classic that just makes her feet move, whether she wants to or not.
She briskly walks to the corner of the street, casually pulls out her phone, as if responding to a message, and takes a deep breath.
Well, maybe that breath would give her away if she were an actual spy.
She is nervous.
Her heart is pounding. She is about to, or so she hopes - if she doesn’t chicken out now - go for a swing dance social, where she knows no one. Not. A. Single. Soul.
Her mind is racing. When did she last dance? Half a year ago? Maybe she doesn’t know the steps, and she’d waste everyone’s time.
“Stop it! You know this will be good for you”, Mia whispers to herself to try and shut out the critical voice at the back of her head.
What if she goes, stands awkwardly in a corner all night to disapproving looks of strangers, and just embarrasses herself?
Unlikely, she reasons.
Once the music takes hold of her, she doesn’t care about what others think or see. She is free in that one moment in time.
“Yes, one more deep breath and in we go!”, she blurts out louder than expected.
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Mia steps into the bar. It is packed. A few couples are on the dance floor. More people are crowding up on the sidelines and chatting.
Dang, everyone looks like they know someone here? Probably the swing community of Geneva is as tight knit as its native inhabitants. Mia feels her anxiety rise up again.
Now, normally, she doesn’t drink much alcohol at all. She doesn’t really care for it. But here, a glass of wine (yucky, but the menu doesn’t feature much else!) can’t hurt to help her open up a bit. Relax a little.
So Mia makes her way through an ever increasing crowd to the bar. Wine glass in hand, she turns to observe the social dynamics in and around the dance floor.
If only she can get onto it for one dance, then she’ll find a way to stay there. She needs to find the guts to ask someone for a dance. Just that one, first dance.
Mia scans the room for somebody who looks approachable, enthusiastic to dance and energetic enough to know they’ll have more than one opportunity to dance tonight, even if the one with her flops.
Before she realises it, she’s gulped down most of her wine and can feel it hitting her head with a nice breeze of ease.
It’s now or never.
She swallows hard, puts down her glass and just as the current song is about to end, locks eyes with her victim.
Yes, that should do.
She walks toward a young man, about her age, mid-twenties, with curly dark blond hair and a big smile across his face. She’d seen him do a few dances before and judges that he’s here for some serious dancing business.
“Would you like to dance?“, Mia asks before she can reconsider her confidence levels.
She ventures a little smile that hopefully doesn’t give away how nervous she really is. He smiles back and just then the next song starts to play. She can see him perk up and listen closely for a moment.
“I’m not that much into this song”, he concludes and she feels all her bravery, fuelled by that awful wine, wane.
Before she can turn around and run however - and she really wants to right now! - he says: “How about we catch the next one?”
He gestures for her to come stand with him on the side of the dance floor. He must read the disappointment in her face.
“It’s a bit slow. Can’t dance much to this”, he continues to justify.
Then he stretches his hand out towards her and says: “I’m Peter by the way. Are you new to Geneva or new to swing?”
“Geneva”, Mia says and shakes his hand.
“Cool, and what’s your name?“, he asks with a little smirk.
“Oh”, she face-palms herself involuntarily, “Sorry, how rude! I’m Mia.”
“Pleasure, Mia”, Peter grins with amusement at her. “Have you been swing dancing for long then?“.
“Well, yes and no. For a few years, on and off, but lately more off than on. Just to say I’m rusty, so thank you for your patience in advance”.
Mia is sliding into territory she can maneuver. Poking fun at herself is like putting on a well worn pair of shoes.
“Ha, I’m sure you’ll be fine. I saw you tapping your feet back there. It looks like you just enjoy the music. That’s the key really!“
He saw her at the bar? Oh oh.
Mia makes a mental note that she’s clearly not the only one observing others. She should think about what she looks like if observed. Should she though?
“Yes, I do love the music. Just makes my legs want to move.”
Right on cue the song finishes and Peter offers his hand to her and lightly pulls her onto the dance floor.
They hear the first notes of the next song and her heart jumps for joy. It's T'ain’t whatcha do! And maybe she jumps in real life too, because a little laugh escapes Peter.
“Well, good we waited for this one then”, he comments.
Off they go. Mia tries to switch off the part of her brain that wants to control everything.
Let him lead you. He’s the better dancer. Just enjoy the music.
They move through the space and to the rhythm. Peter is a good lead indeed, and she loses herself in the music.
The song is over sooner than she hoped for. Panic rises in her. Her chest tightness. Dang! She forgot to find her next target to stay on the dance floor with. Who can she ask now?
Mia can see Peter assess the situation, and maybe he's assessing her too.
“One more?“, he asks.
“Would love to”.
Mia struggles to contain a sigh of relief. Okay, now you need to develop an onward strategy! Peter, for sure, won’t ask again and save you. That’d be creepy, or show too much interest. She’s not ready for that kind of interest.
Out of the corner of her eye, Mia tries to identify some potential marks to ask for her next dance, but soon can only focus on the music again.
She loves this union of body and mind, music and movement. She thinks she’s euphorically smiling. Yep, that dance high is setting in.
Peter and Mia exchange some glances, and she can see he’s fully absorbed too. The song finishes. Peter lingers with Mia in his arms for a few seconds too long.
“Now that was fun. I really enjoyed dancing with you. Let’s change partners for a bit, but I’d love to do this again tonight!” He beams at her.
“Sure”. Good start to the evening. Good start. Mia glances around the dance floor.
“Target identified. Approaching. Ready to lock them in”, Mia thinks of the voiceover to her non-existent spy movie, as she sets her eyes on another unknowing victim, erm, dance partner.
He sports a t-shirt that would be way too tight, if only it wasn’t perfectly hugging his six pack. Six pack? What is she doing walking in his direction?
She tries to back up but it’s too late, he is now walking towards her. “Mayday, mayday”, the alarm bells in Mia's mind go off.
It's too late. He’s already right in front of her.
“Tu veux danser?“
