Chapter Five
New Under the Sun

“I have a plan,” she started. 

“Okay,” I smiled, genuinely, despite my typical distaste for anyone trying to celebrate my birthday.

“I’ll be there at ten,” she confirmed.  “Do you want coffee?”

“Handled,” I relayed. 

My niece, Victoria, had become more of a friend since graduating college than our age difference would have permitted in earlier years.  People said she was a lot like me, but I hoped she wasn’t.  I hoped she was better.  Sure, she followed a similar education and career path, but having watched her character and talents so closely over the past several years, my hopes rang true.  We spent so much time together during her college and law school days and I believed she was destined to enjoy some characteristics I considered strengths, but without some of my perceived pitfalls.

With my closest friends scattered across the country and spending many of my days, before finding friendship with James, with mere acquaintances, Victoria served as my go-to partner for anything fun.  We had these perfect days, the ones that started with a hint of a plan but somehow ended up as the best days filled with fun, food, shopping, entertainment and simple pleasures.  We’d arrive home with full bellies and shopping bags, having blown up our credit cards and our pedometers, before finding a silly movie to watch and somehow finding room for an impromptu dessert.  She was also my ideal companion for the annual off-season beach excursion, where, despite the decade and a half or so age difference, we always wanted to spend our vacation time the same way.   I was lucky to spend about five summers with her, first with her as my intern at the old firm, then when she stayed with me while interning in the City, and then when she stayed in the City while working at a big firm that would later provide her employment after law school. 

I had no idea what she had planned, but I didn’t care.  It was the first time in years that I was excited to celebrate my birth, or rebirth as I saw it, and any time with Victoria and the rest of my family would be perfect. 

We started with a manicure and pedicure at a favorite spot near my home, with my sister and her daughter joining in the fun.  The relaxing start to the day was followed by pizza at another favorite place, where we all used knives and forks to avoid messing up our still drying polish.  Then Victoria transported us to a local area for shopping.  Purchases were made, but the best part was the conversations while trying on various items in dressing rooms or walking from shop to shop on the perfectly sunny, Summer day.  Nearly six hours later, donned in garments we had only purchased hours before, Victoria and I joined my family for dinner at a local steakhouse, which was topped off by a vanilla bean crème brulee, complete with a lit candle and a tonally problematic birthday serenade.  Upon returning back to my home, where Victoria intended to stay the night, after a quick change of clothes and a walk around the neighborhood, we perched on the couch and found the most ridiculously cheesy series of movies available as we laughed ourselves to sleep. 

The celebration was perfection in its simplicity.  Victoria really did know me quite well. 

The next morning over coffee, she decided the celebrations should continue in a different venue and I agreed.  I followed her to the City and we found a perfect lunch spot on M Street before wandering the streets of Georgetown, adding to purchases from the day before and then creating our own walking tour of the monuments before heading back to the Waterfront near where we had parked.  A block before we arrived at our cars, music caught my attention, and then familiar movement.  As we approached, I recognized the steps and then, I recognized the DJ. 

“Hey,” Zeke called to me as we approached. 

“What are you doing here?” I inquired.

“I’m here every week at this time,” he said.  “Pretty cool, huh?”

“Yes,” I smiled. 

“Come on,” he put down his headphones and reached for my hand. 

“Here,” I handed my bags to Victoria with a grin.

“It’s her birthday,” Victoria hollered towards Zeke.

“Really?” Zeke responded.  “You know what that means.”

And I did.  I had seen it happen at many of the events I had attended and even a few times at the Academy classes.  A circle would form, I’d be in the middle, and everyone would take turns dancing with the birthday girl.  I assumed I’d be nervous, embarrassed, anxious or otherwise overthinking the moment.  But when it finally arrived, I actually just enjoyed it.  Strangers celebrated my presence on the dancefloor and did their best to lead me through Salsa movements, then Bachata, then a little Zouk, and finally, thanks to Zeke, Kizomba.  Victoria snapped pictures with her phone and I was surprised how she captured a look of sheer happiness and peace across a sun-kissed face. 

“Let me introduce you to my niece,” I suggested to Zeke when the birthday dance had ended and I had thanked the many partners.   

“Your niece?” he looked incredulous.

“Yes,” I confirmed.  “This is Victoria.”

“Nice to meet you,” Zeke smiled.  “Come on.”

“What? No.  Thank you. I’ll just watch,” Victoria responded shaking her head.

“Come on,” Zeke encouraged her, “just one dance.”

She looked at me, sighed and then handed me the bags.  “Okay.”

She looked a little nervous at first, but handled the dance quite well.  She too had a little dance training throughout childhood and caught on quickly to the movements.

“You should join me at an event,” I suggested to Victoria after her dance. 

“I’ll pass,” she frowned.  “It’s not really my thing.”

“Are you sticking around?” Zeke inquired as Victoria and I contemplated our next move.

“We are heading out,” I informed Zeke.  “But I’ll try to join next weekend.”

“See you then,” Zeke replied and then took his position behind the makeshift DJ station. 

We stopped in one more shop before we headed for the parking garage and while we perused the merchandise, Victoria asked, “do you have any interesting trials coming up?”

We had successfully avoided work talk for nearly thirty-six hours.  “Not really,” I responded. 

“That sucks,” she replied, in an unusually ineloquent way. 

“It’s okay.  I could use the break.”

“But I thought you liked being in court,” she inquired.

“I do.  Most lawyers do.  It’s just not fun for our clients,” I responded.

“That makes sense,” she confirmed. 

“All I have this week is a settlement conference.  That should be in and out.”

“Isn’t that where each side states their position and the Magistrate tries to help them settle?” Victoria inquired.

“It used to be.  Now each side files a Pre-Trial Statement and a trial date is set.  We rarely actually get to talk settlement.”

“Well, good luck with that,” she seemed unimpressed. 

She wrapped up another purchase, paying for two identical moisturizers, before handing me one and offering, “you said you liked the smell.”

I thanked her and hugged her before we each entered our vehicles and drove off in different directions. 

James had requested my presence at a birthday lunch, his treat, the following day and for a girl who disliked birthdays, I had somehow managed to enjoy an extended period of celebrations.       

“You seem happy,” James indicated as our favorite Princeton dip was placed on the table.  We had opted for a large booth instead of our typical spot at the bar. 

“I am,” I responded.

“I wonder how long that’ll last,” James half-joked.  “Are you coming to class tomorrow?”

“Of course,” I responded quickly.  “Why?”

“I just thought you were gonna ditch Salsa for those other dances,” he frowned.

“Just because I want to try to the other stuff, doesn’t mean I’m ditching Salsa,” I confirmed.  “Or you,” I added. 

“I was thinking about going to Resistance this week,” James referenced a Salsa event that took place every Sunday evening in downtown Bethesda.

“Really?” I was surprised.  “I thought you didn’t like that one?”

“It’s growing on me,” he smiled. 

“I can meet you there, but may be a little later than last time,” I indicated.

“You have a better offer?” James inquired.

“There’s an event outside on the Waterfront in Georgetown.  If the weather is nice, I am going to try it out,” I relayed.

“Let me guess, that Zoukie stuff,” he rolled his eyes.

“Actually, it’s a little bit of everything,” I took a final bite of dip perched on a chip as our entrees arrived.  “You should come.”

“I’ll pass,” James smirked. 

After lunch, we headed to the parking garage and I asked James, as I had done since about two weeks after we started spending time together, if I could drive.

“Some day,” he responded, as he often did. 

“Not today, though?  Not even for my birthday?” I inquired.

“Nope,” he shook his head and entered the driver’s side. 

I offered my best pout as James shifted gears and exited the garage. 

It was a beautiful day to walk to court and I felt a slight spring in my step of unknown origin.  This would be simple and straight forward, as each settlement conference had been lately.  File a document, get a trial date and I’d be back in my office in less than twenty minutes.  But apparently, I wasn’t the only one enjoying a renaissance.  Our assigned Magistrate, who I’d appeared before for years, was on the cusp of retirement and his mood was even more pleasant than usual.

“Let’s call the case,” he took his seat behind the bench which sat a few feet taller than the rest of us.

Each parent was seated at a table and I was perched in the middle of the first row of the gallery; no assigned seats for the extras. 

“Parker, nice to see you,” he nodded in my direction.

“You too, Your Honor,” I replied. 

“So, these folks got lucky, with you representing the kids, I mean,” he offered and I did not respond. 

“Does everyone have Pre-Trial Statements?” he inquired.

“Yes, Your Honor,” I responded and offered to take the documents from each parent along with my own up to the bench.  “May I approach?”

“Of course,” he confirmed.  “Thank you.”  After looking over the documents, he sat back in his chair and rubbed his chin.  He looked confused and yet I knew this case was not even remotely one of most difficult he had seen in his lengthy career.

I sat quietly, as did the parents who looked concerned.  They had each chosen to handle the case without an attorney and I could only imagine their stress inside the courtroom.  Not knowing what is going to happen with your family, your children, your finances, and leaving everything up to a stranger who only gets a glimpse into the reality of your life.  It was unnerving and if I ever went through it myself, I’d never have the court decide the fate of my family. 

I was the only attorney in the room and I couldn’t provide any advice.  I couldn’t tell these decent people that it was going to be okay and that there were solutions.  If they had gotten attorneys, perhaps I could have made more progress.  Perhaps we could’ve resolved their issues and they could move on with their lives.  Instead, I sat there patiently awaiting our trial date. 

“Let’s go off the record,” he motioned to the Clerk.  “Folks, you don’t know me, but I’ve been doing this along time.  I know Parker and I respect her work, but you don’t know her either.  She’s been appointed by this Court to advocate for your children and I’m sure she’s done a fine job.  But do you really want Parker deciding what’s best for your kids?  Or me?  Or some other random Judge in this Court?” his words hit home with the mom and she began to tear up.  The dad shook his head.

“Okay.  Well, I have a clear day.  You are the only case on my docket.  I’m willing to roll up my sleeves and see if we can help you resolve this.  How does that sound?” he asked and nobody responded. 

“Your Honor, I think it would be a great use of our time,” I chimed in.

“And how long do we have you today?” he inquired of my schedule.

“I’m clear,” I responded.

“Excellent,” he turned to the parents.  “So, here’s what I’m saying.  We can pick a trial date and I can excuse you and you can go on about your day.  Or, we can stay here and have discussions off the record and see if we can come to a resolution.  It’s your case.  It’s your family.  I’ll defer to you.”

“Um, Your Honor, um, I’d like to talk,” the mom spoke softly.

“What about your sir?” he inquired of the dad.

“I’d like to talk,” he responded nodding. 

“Okay.  Well, this is something a little different, so let me start with a few comments.  I’m not your trial Judge.  I’m not in charge of deciding your case.  And Parker doesn’t decide your case either.  She is here to advocate for the best interests of your children.  But what I think might be helpful is to have Parker start by telling you a little about your boys from her perspective, what she’s learned.”

Both parents nodded, but I looked at him with concern.  “Any concerns, Parker?”

“Yes, Your Honor,” I stood to address the Magistrate.  “I just want to be clear that I am not waiving the attorney-client privilege.  I cannot relay to the parents what my clients have told me.  And per the Order appointing me, I’m not a witness in the case, so I can’t testify.”

“Understood, Parker.  Let’s alleviate some concerns.  I don’t want form to win out over substance and I think we have an opportunity here.”  Turning the parents he continued, “let’s simplify all of the legal mumbo jumbo.  Parker is saying that what your kids tell her is confidential and she cannot repeat it.  So, she won’t be telling you anything your boys have told her.  And she won’t be testifying.  She’s not a witness.  And she cannot give you legal advice, and neither can I.  But I think she’s an asset for us today.  She’ll provide the information she thinks will help her clients, your children, okay? And maybe that information will help bring you to a resolution.  And since all of this will be considered settlement discussions, we will be off the record.  If we succeed, great.  If we don’t, no problem, we can go on the record and pick a trial date.  How does that sound?”

“I’m in, Your Honor,” I responded and each parent nodded, likely still afraid the record was on.

“I don’t want anybody to be confused by the fact that we are in a courtroom.  So, I’m going to come down there and take a seat and Parker, why don’t you grab that chair there.  We will sit in a circle as equals.  Camelot, if you will,” he added with a chuckle.

I was stunned at the turn my predictable, pro forma settlement conference had taken.  It was strange but invigorating. 

“Who wants to begin?” the Magistrate inquired and nobody responded.

“Parker, can you start?” he asked and I obliged.  “And I think it would be helpful to address the parents, not me, since they get to be the decision-makers today.”

“Yes, Your Honor,” I nodded and adjusted my gaze to the parents.   “You are lucky.  You have two amazing kids.  But your kids are lucky too.  They have two amazing parents.  They just don’t want to choose sides.  They don’t want to be in the middle.  And frankly, they shouldn’t have to be.  They just want you to figure it out so they can move on.  The not knowing what is going to happen is what seems to cause the greatest stress.”

“I imagine its stressful for the parents too,” the Magistrate added.

“I imagine it is, Your Honor, but you know what I’ve learned through my investigation?”

“What can you tell us?” the Magistrate inquired.

I turned once again to face the parents and said, “your description of the kids is quite similar.  And your description of each other’s strengths is more insightful than I expected.  It sounds like you had more positive things to say about each other to me than you’ve expressed to each other,” I added.

“Can you give us an example?” the Magistrate suggested.

“Sure,” I started.  “Mom, you talked about how much the boys love their father and how they look to him for guidance with school, with friendships and with sports.  Dad, you talked about how much the boys love their mother and how they rely upon her for emotional support and how she is always there for them no matter what, often knowing what they need before the boys themselves know it.”

The parents looked at each other and the dad smiled towards the mother of his children.  I paused and looked to the Magistrate. 

“Would you two like to use the room to talk?  Parker and I can give you some time,” the Magistrate suggested.

Both parents nodded and the Magistrate motioned for me to follow him into his Chambers.  He and I sat with his legal assistant for about three hours discussing the recent trends in case law, process and procedure, as well as his plans for retirement.  He inquired as to my background, how I ended up in family law and provided his best advice about how not to fall prey to overworking, overscheduling and forgetting to take breaks.  “I hope you have interests outside of law,” he commented.

“I do,” I confirmed.  “And I find that walking helps clear the head.”

“That’s good,” the Magistrate nodded.  “Just don’t let all of these other people’s problems become your problems.  They come to you broken and I can see you trying to help fix things.  That’s commendable, but not really your job.  Just don’t take everyone else’s stuff home with you at night and you’ll be fine.”

It was good advice, although I sometimes struggled to follow it in the years that followed. 

“Have you ever thought about becoming a Magistrate?” he asked me.

“No, I haven’t,” I shook my head.

“I think you’d be a good one,” he offered me an apparent compliment.

“I appreciate that, but-“ I couldn’t finish my thought.

“But you don’t want to give up your freedom,” he completed it for me.

“Pretty much,” I smiled.  “Plus, I don’t think I could do the things I love doing from behind the bench.”

“That’s true,” he nodded.  “A lot of people don’t understand that.  They think we have it easy.”

“I don’t know anyone who would call your job easy,” I alerted the Magistrate.

“I hear it all of the time,” he informed me.

“Those people must not be very bright,” I smiled.

“You’re very diplomatic.  Magistrate or politician, perhaps,” he suggested.

“No thanks,” I offered, “although I wouldn’t mind that pension.”

A knock at the door in the outer office ended our discussion.  “They are ready for you,” the legal assistant relayed to the Magistrate.

“Let’s go,” the Magistrate motioned to me. 

After we entered the courtroom from his Chambers, we both returned to our seats.   “Have you had time to talk?”

“Yes,” the mom responded and the dad nodded. 

“Okay, good.  How would you like to proceed?” the Magistrate inquired. 

“We wrote up what we’d like to do,” the mom held up a piece of lined paper.

“May I see?” I asked.

“Yes,” she responded and handed me the document.

I read the terms in silence and then looked up at the parents and then to the Magistrate.  “As the attorney for the children, do you have any problems with the terms?” the Magistrate inquired.

“I do not,” I smiled. 

“Okay,” the Magistrate nodded.  “May I see?”

I handed the piece of paper to the Magistrate.  He looked over to me after finishing his review and smiled.  “Do you want to go on the record and confirm these terms?”

“Yes,” responded the mom.

“Yes,” responded the dad.

“Okay,” the Magistrate stood and walked to his seat behind the bench.  “Madame Clerk, let’s go on the record.”

The Magistrate detailed the terms that had been developed by the parents for the record, voir dired each parent under oath, asked for my approval of the terms on behalf of the children, and formally accepted the agreement.  He commended the parents for their hard work and thoughtfulness in creating a plan for their children and then suggested they find a mediator to assist with resolving the remaining financial issues in their case.

“Resolving the issues amongst yourselves or with the help of a mediator is much harder than having a Trial and letting me or another member of the bench decide.  It may not seem that way, but when you make the decisions for your children, you take ownership, you take responsibility, instead of letting that stranger decide.  It’s smart.  It’s courageous.  And it’s the best thing you can do for your kids.  Parker was right, your children are very lucky.”

“Thank you,” the mom nodded. 

“Thank you,” the dad repeated.

“Good luck to you and your children,” the Magistrate offered.

“Thank you, Parker,” he added as I shoved my notes back in my briefcase. 

“Thank you, Your Honor,” I offered my most appreciative smile. 

I checked my phone and found a text from my paralegal inquiring as to when I would return to the office.  I responded with “on my way now.”

Upon entering my office, I caught an immediate whiff of sugar and the unmistakable scent of a match having recently be struck.  Turning to my right, I noticed my favorite cake, the go-to and yet hard to find Smith Island variety, with a single candle brightening the dimly lit room.  My team was ready to celebrate and the attorneys and staff still left in the office were joining. 

An hour later, after pleasant conversation with colleagues and my regaling my team of what happened in Court, I entered my office to find a package on my desk.

“What’s this?” I asked of nobody in particular.

“That was couriered over this afternoon,” Malorie responded. 

“Open it,” Rosie commanded and I obliged.

Opening the note on top of the box I found the words “practice on this and then you can try my whip” in James’ handwriting.  Inside was a remote-controlled car, the same make and model as James’ vehicle, and a package of batteries.  Laughing to myself I typed out a quick message to James, “thanks for the mini-whip.  I’ll be ready to drive the real one tomorrow.”

We both worked later than usual for a Tuesday and had no time for food before class.  We didn’t have time to test out my driving skills either. 

I found myself more relaxed in Salsa class, despite at times confusing instruction I’d received in the other genres.  James mentioned my distracted yet playful steps on the way to grab food later that evening.  We decided on pizza, finding seats on a heated patio outside a favorite happy hour spot a few minutes from our offices.  The late hour didn’t matter since the next day the courts were closed for the holiday, and we spent our time in a typical mix of banter and serious discussion until we each headed home around midnight.

My brother and his family were in town for the holiday and my parents had planned a low-key celebration at their home.  Victoria and I were in charge of picking up barbeque, while my sister cooked a few side dishes and my brother picked up a few groceries.  The amazing, crave-worthy food came second to my brother’s theatrical presentations of simple anecdotes turned comedic craziness.  He really did have a gift of storytelling and may have made a good lawyer, come to think of it.

“Parker!” he yelled in my direction as I opened the front door.

“What?” I responded in a similarly elevated tone.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“For a walk,” I responded.

“I’m in the middle of a story,” he complained.

“I’ve already heard that one,” I smiled.  “So has the rest of the family.”  Noticing Victoria approaching the door, I added “why don’t you come with us.”

“Walking is a waste of time,” he scoffed.  “If you were running, I’d join,” added my brother, the marathon runner and Iron Man competitor. 

“Suit yourself,” I shrugged as Victoria followed me outside. 

“He’s just messing with you,” Victoria suggested.  “He does it to me all of the time.  He even signs me up for competitive runs any time I’m back home.”

“I’m impressed that you all run.  It’s just not my thing.”

“My dad says running helps his back,” my niece commented.  “When is the last time you had back trouble?”

“I don’t remember,” I smiled. 

“That’s great,” Victoria suggested. 

“It is.  I credit the walking,” I relayed.

“And maybe the dancing,” she suggested. 

“True.  I’m sure any activity is better than sitting behind a desk all day.”

“I agree with that,” my niece nodded.  “You do seem less stressed these days.”

“I am.  Still trying to find the balance though,” I added.

“Aren’t we all,” Victoria commented.  “Do you remember when we’d be in the office until midnight the day before a trial?”

“It wasn’t that long ago,” I reminded her.

“And we’d be so tired, but we’d get up early and head back into the office and finish printing documents.”

“I remember.”

“And then we would leave for court and you’d play some music to pump us up,” she recalled.

“I still do that,” I assured her.

“Have you changed songs?” she asked.

“I’ve added to the list,” I responded. 

“I bet it’s not as much fun without me,” she smiled.

“No, it is not,” I confirmed.  “I’ve been thinking about partnering up with someone.”

“Really?” Victoria seemed shocked.  “Wait, is this that friend from law school that you’ve been talking to about partnering up with for about a decade?”

“Yes, although we’re really talking about it now.  We are talking actual timing and details.”

“That’s exciting,” Victoria offered.

“It is.  But there’s a lot to do,” I was really talking to myself. 

“So, you’ll have to cut back on the dancing, I guess.”

“Maybe, but I probably should anyway.”

“But you love dancing.”

“I do.  But it started as something fun to do on a Tuesday and morphed into something I do about six days a week.”

“What’s wrong with that?” Victoria inquired when I had all but forgotten that she had been raised by my overachiever brother.

“I just think sometimes I overschedule myself and forget about balance. I’d like to get better at balance.”

“That’s not a bad goal.  Definitely don’t say that to my dad, though,” she chuckled and I agreed that my brother’s success in many arenas likely came from his all-in, go hard or go home mentality.  “Is there anyone you know who has that balance?”

“Great question,” I responded.  “Not really.”

“Well, if anyone can do it, you can,” she suggested and I smiled at her sweetness. 

“Who are you calling?” she asked as I pulled out my phone.

“You remember that guy Zeke from the Waterfront?”

“Yeah,” she responded.

“I was hoping he could help me with Kizomba,” I relayed.

“So you’re efforts at balance includes adding more practice to your schedule?” she looked at me quizzically.

“Touche.”

I sent a text to Zeke.  “Any chance you do private lessons?”

“I don’t.  But I’d consider it,” he responded.

“How about next weekend?” I inquired.

“Sure.  I’ll send you the time and place,” he replied.

“Great.  Thank you,” I put my phone away as we returned to my parent’s home. 

My niece was right about adding something else to my schedule, but I had been experiencing a love-hate relationship with Kizomba and I wanted to really try to learn this intriguing dance before giving up completely.  Especially before I took on the responsibility of a partnership, which I knew would add working hours to my day, at least in the beginning. 

As with all dancers and instructors, Zeke arrived twenty minutes after the planned start to our lesson.  The studio was a good size and I was reminded of my first lesson with Bennett.  I hadn’t really thought through this private lesson scenario, but Zeke had always made me feel comfortable and despite he and Bennett’s similarly stellar skills, he was somehow less intimidating. 

There was a class going on in an adjacent studio and I could hear the sounds of Salsa music and an instructor calling out choreography.  After Zeke arrived, looking a bit nervous, he set up a makeshift DJ station in the corner of our space.  We chatted for a few minutes before he turned on a set that he informed me he had created for the lesson and let it play. I stood in the center of the dancefloor and awaited his instruction.  Our first partnered dance was a failure, of course, although he told me otherwise. 

“Don’t worry about the steps.  Kizomba is about connection.  You have to trust your partner,” he suggested.

“Oh, is that all,” I responded rolling my eyes.

“I agree with Elijah.  You need to loosen up,” Zeke smiled awkwardly at me. 

“I know,” I confirmed. 

“What kind of music do you prefer?” he asked and I remembered that first lesson with James when I asked a similar question.

“Anything is fine,” I shrugged.

“No.  It isn’t.  We need to find out what you respond to, what you can feel.”

“Feel,” I chuckled under my breath.  This was turning into an exact replica of that first lesson with James.  I wasn’t aware of any chickens needing a roosting session, but I was suddenly wracking my brain as to any other part of that James and Parker lesson that could come next. 

“You okay?” Zeke inquired noticing a pensive look on my face. 

“I’m okay,” I nodded, “just a little deja vu.”

“So, what about the music?”

“I don’t really know artists or albums or anything like that.  The music is still kind of new to me.”

“Did you hear anything at the events that you liked?” he asked.

“Yes, actually.”

“Digame,” he responded.

“What?” I inquired.

“You don’t speak Spanish?” he shook his head.

“Nope,” I shook my head.  “Not yet.”  And there it was, the final part of that original plan.  I never had actually gotten any Spanish lessons out of the deal.  I reminded myself to talk to James about that.  Perhaps I should sue for breach. 

“Describe the music for me,” he offered.

“Um, I don’t know how to describe the melody, but the lyrics were all in Portuguese, I think, except the phrase ‘I love you’,” I responded a little embarrassed. 

He smiled, walked over to his music set up and cued up a song.  Turning back towards me he asked, “this?”

“Yes!” I exclaimed.  “How did you know?”

“I know most of the music and that’s a popular artist.  I’ll send you some tracks after we finish.”

“Thank you.”

“Okay.  Allons-y,” he commanded.

“How many languages do you speak?” I inquired.

“Ah, you speak French,” he confirmed.

“Let’s go,” I repeated his command as he walked towards me.

“Five,” he said matter-of-factly after we had taken a few steps.

“What?” I couldn’t figure out if he was counting or instructing or just blurting random words.

“I speak five languages,” he confirmed.

I was impressed.  Linguistics was my second choice for higher education, coming in close behind journalism, although it was probably really a tie.  

And he was right about the music.  It was easier to follow his lead when the tunes inspired my steps.  The lesson lasted about ninety minutes and by the end, I felt far from that girl who had failed at that first class with Zeke at the Congress.  I was still a novice, of course, but it was easier to follow Zeke’s lead once I got used to the hold.  He used a similar technique to Bennett, talking through our dances and distracting me from intellectualizing the movements.  My success in that session was somewhat confirmed when a fellow Academy classmate stood in the threshold of the doorway to the studio, having participated in the class next door, and gave me a thumb’s up.  He later sent a picture he had taken of Zeke and I in what looked like an elegant hold but was actually Zeke catching me mid-fall when he tried a Kizomba trick before I was experienced enough to follow.

Before we left the studio, which was located in Northern Virginia, about five miles from Zeke’s home and twenty miles from mine, he had me download a music application and forwarded a link to a set he created with several songs by my apparent artist of choice.  I spent thirty minutes listening to Davi Stone, filling my commute home with his melodies, after which I confirmed several new favorite songs that I couldn’t wait to hear at the next event.  Luckily, I wouldn’t have to wait long.

The next big events was only three weeks away and for the first time, I did my research.  I made plans in advance, booked a room for three nights, informed James of my intention to soak up every day and night of the event and pleaded with him to join.  It was scheduled to take place only a few blocks from his apartment and he had no excuse not to join, or so I told him in my most stern voice.

I spent the days leading up to the event, which also happened to fall on a holiday weekend, making sure I was ahead on all of my legal and firm-related work and even checked in with Bennett, Elijah, Austin and Annabelle about the must attend classes and everyone’s plan for the weekend.  Zeke had suggested I enroll in a bootcamp course that was scheduled throughout the weekend with a celebrity Kizomba follow who would be teaching choreography that participants would perform on stage on the last night of the event.  I followed his advice.

Despite all of my preparations, I had no idea what the weekend would actually bring to fruition and could not have predicted that I would find not only that elusive connection, but connect with the lead who would forever change my Kizomba path. 

Time to meet the Architect.