Francis was petrified. On what should be the happiest day of her life, she knew in a few short hours her life, or at least her professional life would cease to exist. In the 20 years since Kellerman’s closed its doors, Francis, or “Baby” as her Daddy still called her, had moved on from the starry eyed innocent she used to be to become one of the hottest civil rights attorneys in New York.
It was the story in the Times that brought him back to her, her Johnny. When he showed up at the office 6 months ago, she was dumbfounded. He was just as beautiful and graceful as she remembered. Why wouldn’t he be? He was still teaching ballroom dancing to lonely corporate widows, and apparently none the worse for wear. His body was still as sexy as she remembered, and she had grown to know it well in these past months.
It was almost like 1963 all over again, and that was the problem. While Johnny had found a modicum of success with his chain of dance studios, he had never really grown up, intellectually, that is. He was still as stupid as a box of rocks, but Oh, that body.
She thought she could make it work, but this news would ruin it all. She knew he was out of her league in the beauty department. Even the nose job hadn’t changed her into a beauty, but what she lacked in looks, she made up for in brains.
How could she tell him she made partner? She knew that if he knew he would create a scene, and that was the last thing she needed. Over and over in her mind, she could picture it.
He would dance in, followed by a chorus of dancing fools, making a spectacle of himself, and embarrassing her into a puddle of goo. She could just picture him, all puffed up and macho, telling her boss, “Nobody puts Baby in a corner, office.”