I Don’t Dance (I Love The Greek Islands)
A forgotten memory has just floated to the surface, brought there by some unfathomable brain collections as I read:
'Why are cats everywhere in Greece' *
It was at a party that met Jane. I couldn't help but say, you remind me of Jacqueline du Pré.
Flicking back her long fair hair, she replied – they all say that – I don't play the cello. I'm a concert pianist.
We talked, music mostly. And later she pulled me up from the sofa.
I don't dance, I said, but she held me close, too close, and whispered – this is a rumba, everybody can dance the rumba.
The party broke up, and she asked me to drive her home. I thought about it for a few seconds, and then reason jabbed me in the ribs with his pokey stick.
I'll get you a taxi I said.
I was flattered - but
I was intoxicated.
A week later, alone in my empty house, a Chopin Nocturne conjured her face out of the darkness.
I rang her number.
She answered with joy in her voice.
We talked, and talked, and I slowly became aware that I was in the dark, and she was surrounded by light, bubbling voices. I looked at my watch.
We've been talking for three quarters of an hour, there's a lot of noise at your end, is your radio on.
No, she laughed, they are all guests and my family. It's my 21st. birthday party.
Oh my God, I said, why didn't you tell me?
Why should I? I'd much rather talk with you.
Anyway, are you free next Tuesday evening, it's my graduation from the music Academy, I'll be playing at the concert.
I felt intoxicated.
I love concerts, but not if I'm alone. Although it was a three hour drive, I really wanted to hear her play.
All the graduates were very good. One, a petite dark hair girl, seemed a little shy, but quickly gained composure.
Then, Jane appeared, in a gorgeous royal blue gown.
She strode on confidently, perhaps too confidently, made a bow, adjusted the height of the piano stool, flicked her hair back over her shoulder and then, wiped the keys with a handkerchief, as if dismissing the sweat of last pianist.
Then, without a moments hesitation, we were plunged into one of the most difficult piano pieces ever written, what to me sounded like a faultless performance of the Chopin Etude number 25 'Winter Wind’
https://youtu.be/gZjdAWgjLx8?si=EyTikRwi0oqfisfR
The last performance was by a mature student who played the trumpet and also the Piccolo trumpet, which Paul McCartney had featured on 'Penny Lane'. But my mind was still on Jane.
At the conclusion of the concert, I looked around at all the little gatherings of families and friends, who had been invited to hear the contestants. I sat alone, my head still full of music, putting off the decision to go out into the cold, wet, winters night.
Suddenly, she appeared in front of the stage. Scanning the audience, she spotted me, and stepped smiling up to where I sat.
I'm so glad you could come!
How could I miss it? You were absolutely amazing.
My fingers were freezing, the girl who came on after me was in such a state of nerves, I spent 20 minutes walking up and down outside with her, encouraging her to come back in and play.
I was nearly late on ...
As we talked, the auditorium began to empty, and I became aware of a group approaching us.
This is my friend Tom – he's an author.
Pleased to meet you, said her father; a distinguished, almost aristocratic looking man. Her mother smiled. I nodded awkwardly. They were hardly older than myself.
Join us for a drink?
I could hardly refuse.
We wafted across the shining wet road and into an hotel lounge, like the entourage of a film star.
Later that month, I was invited to a party at a Greek restaurant.
At the end of a multi course meal, the waiters whipped the tablecloths away, and the bouzouki band played on enthusiastically.
From across the dining room, Jane caught my eye, my heart skipped a beat, she walked to where I sat, took my hand, and, ignoring the happy crowd, we stepped up onto the table.
I didn't care
I don't dance
I did that night
I was intoxicated.
