[Eleanor]: 668.Contest entries.Famous First Lines.May 2011

There are some things I fancy about Valentine’s day, but I'm not sure fancy is the right word for it. The dictionary defines “fancy”, the verb, as forming a conception, to believe without being absolutely certain, or to take a liking to. So which do I mean?

Ever since Virginia walked into and out of my life, Valentine’s Day has never been the same. Before I met her, I was the one standing outside the Student Union Building, handing out cards on which I’d written such delightful statements as: Your cat will have kittens and they’ll all die; or May you ace your next essay and then get caught for plagiarism. You know, anti-valentines. I was not a happy person. Quite the opposite, in fact.

Valentine’s Day was the day all my friends suddenly turned into sappy morons, rushing out to buy flowers, or candy, or both, or diamonds, for Pete’s sake, so they could propose to their girlfriends. I didn’t have a girlfriend. I think in my whole life, which was from birth up till my junior year, I had had two, and they had both lasted for a sum total of three weeks. The worst was Jenny McPherson who dumped me right after the high school prom. Not the next day, but right frickin’ after, and went off with Cal Somerset the football captain. No, you might say that I hadn’t had much luck in the romance department.

But then Virginia Sinclair waltzed into my life like a warm spring breeze scented with orange blossoms. Seriously. It was her perfume of choice. I’d never smelled anything like it before and I was smitten immediately. I don’t know how I let my best friend Jeremy talk me into it, but we both signed up for a ballroom dancing class, on the pretext that it would help us meet chicks. Jeremy was like me, unlucky in love. But unlike me, he was overweight, wore nerdy glasses, and didn’t bathe very often. At least I was conscientious about hitting the gym, where I could shower regularly, and poverty kept me from overeating. Not that I was anyone’s idea of Prince Charming. Hell, my track record with girlfriends is enough proof for that.

So, here Jeremy and I are in this huge room with all sorts of couples, and right away I see we’ve made a terrible mistake. We’re two single dudes, and there isn’t an unattached girl anywhere in sight. I take a good look at him, greasy hair, B.O., dirty T-shirt, and think there’s no way I’m going to be this guy’s dance partner.

Just then Virginia waltzed in, literally. She was our instructor, it turned out, and had brought an assistant with her, Peggy. They were like Barbie and Midge; Virginia was tall, voluptuous, long red hair, brilliant blue eyes, and Peggy was plain, freckled, and wore glasses. But man, that girl could really dance. I didn’t realize that until later, of course.

So, seeing as how Jeremy and I were the only ones without partners, they picked us and used as their guinea pigs. That would have been downright embarrassing if I hadn’t been so entranced by Virginia. She was gorgeous. When she danced with me, I felt I could do anything. I could be a virtuoso, enter contests, win prizes. She was amazing. After that first class, I plucked up the courage to ask her out for coffee, and to my utter surprise and amazement, she accepted.

We went to the Starbucks around the corner and talked. Well, she talked. I just gazed at her rapt the whole time, feeding her lines when she ran out of steam. She told me about her dreams to be a great ballerina, how her father had died when she was a teen and there was no money for her to fill that fantasy, and how she finally realized at least one goal and opened a dance studio. Apart from that bit about her dad dying, I didn’t really get much more personal information. But I didn’t care. I just wanted to watch her and hear her speak.

Jeremy and I kept going to the class, and we actually got pretty good. In our dorm room, we’d sometimes push the beds out of the way and practise the steps we’d learned. He wasn’t enamoured with Peggy like I was with Virginia, but it turned out she was a really good teacher and he was becoming a very decent dancer.

After that first “date” for coffee, I regularly took Virginia out after class. It turned out that she didn’t eat beforehand, so it soon became supper, and then a movie and then she asked me back to her place. And yeah, the inevitable happened and I could quip that Virginia had removed me from that particular state. Of course, it was a pretty lame joke, but I felt great. I was so much in love, I would have done anything for her.

And then Valentine’s Day came around. We were pretty much a regular item by then and I had no idea what to do. Remember me? The guy with the anti-valentines? I certainly didn’t want to propose, no matter how deeply smitten I was. But flowers and candy seemed to be a fair compromise, so I went to a florist and bought a bouquet of assorted blooms and a box of chocolates. Then, after our next dance class, which just happened to be on February 14, I was all set to give them to her, when my life got turned upside down.

A tall woman came into the studio, perhaps in her 30’s, dressed in a very expensive tailored pantsuit, wearing a fedora. She looked like a female version of Humphrey Bogart and I was all set to snicker, except Virginia suddenly dropped everything, ran at this stranger, and threw her arms around her. The next thing I knew, they were kissing, not like relatives, but like lovers, and I felt sick to my stomach. Like I was going to lose my lunch sick. Luckily I hadn’t eaten all day, so there was nothing to vomit. But still.

I turned away, and there was Peggy watching me. Well, watching Virginia, too, but me mostly. The look on her face was one of sorrow and pity, and she shook her head slightly like she knew this was going to happen all along. She held out her hand to me and, dazed, I took it. Without looking back, I let her lead me out to the street where snow was falling out of the night sky and she looked up, letting flakes land on her glasses where they melted.

“I’m sorry, Ricky,” she said. “You couldn’t have known. You didn’t stand a chance,” and she squeezed my hand.

“Thanks, Peggy,” I said, tears choking my voice. “It’s cold out, we should get our coats.”

So we went back inside and put on our winter jackets. I saw the flowers and chocolate I had meant to give Virginia and picked them up. As Peggy was putting on a knitted toque I had an idea. “Hey Peggy,” I said, “are you busy? I could really use some company right now if you’re not.”

She smiled. “I have no plans,” she said. So she took my arm and we went to a nearby greasy spoon restaurant and ordered burgers and fries and I gave her the flowers and chocolate, and she told me about Virginia and Svetlana her lover who left town for months at a time, and then returned to break the heart of whichever young man was doting on the dance instructor at the time. Without fail. I felt so stupid. Used. I was angry at Virginia for leading me on, but I was also angry at myself for falling for it. Such an ass.

As it turned out, Peggy and I had a lot more in common that her boss and I ever did. We were in the same programme at the university, but we had never had any classes together. She was a really talented dancer, but had never had the proper body type, so could never hope to make it in the profession. But she could really teach, as Jeremy could attest, and she became my new partner. And my last. 

We got married two years later and I have to thank Virginia for making me turn around and finally see Peggy. So, as for fancying Valentine’s Day, I still don’t know what I mean. But I do know that I’ve never had to spend another one alone, and my anti-valentines are a thing of the past. But I still can’t watch old Humphrey Bogart films without a certain twinge in my stomach. And that’s a drag.