CHAPTER NINE
KATHARINE agreed to meet me at the Boatshed Cafe to do an interview for my university assignment, an article for a women’s magazine.
This was my first interview outside of the practice ones we did in our course and I felt nervous. Also, I was totally in awe of Katharine – a professional dancer and teacher from New York, a city I longed to visit.
Arriving early, I opened my backpack and took out the notepad on which I’d scribbled questions. When Katharine arrived I stood up to shake her hand, knocking over a glass of water. The water went all over my notepad, blurring the questions.
Katharine called the waitress, who wiped the table and took our coffee orders.
‘I’m sorry. I’m super clumsy.’ I scrambled in my backpack for another notepad.
‘Me too, Melissa.’ Katharine’s soothing voice helped reassure me.
‘Thanks. Truth is I’m a klutz when I’m not on the dance floor. I still feel like an awkward teenager.’
‘I feel like that. I’ve made such a mess of my life. Nearly ruined it.’ I realised I was babbling, but couldn’t stop. ‘I had a drug episode when I was seventeen. It was surreal.’
‘You did? What happened?’
‘My boyfriend and I were at a party at his mate’s place in Melbourne. The drugs were stronger than the ones I was used to, and I OD’ed. He called the ambulance and then disappeared.’
The social worker at the hospital booked me into rehab, but I escaped to find my boyfriend. I told Katharine how I’d roamed the streets of inner Melbourne for weeks trying to find him. In desperation, I knocked on the doors of his mates, checked out the squats and couch-surfed where I could. No one knew or would tell me where he’d gone. I even stole to survive, and one night when I was sleeping under a bridge the cops picked me up.
‘By then my parents were pissed off, and they didn’t want me around.’
‘I’m so sorry to hear that,’ said Katharine. ‘My parents always said home was home no matter what.’
‘If it wasn’t for Grandma, I don’t know where I’d be. She paid for me to fly up to the Sunshine Coast from Melbourne and helped me stay clean.’
‘That’s Maude, isn’t it? She seems nice. She reminds me of my mother … my adoptive mother.’
‘Don’t let her fool you. She looks soft and cuddly, but let me tell you, she’s tough. Just what I needed. She got me through the rest of high school and I’m definitely not gonna let her down.’
My whole body was desperate for a cigarette. I’d promised Grandma to give up smoking and was two weeks into going cold turkey. Most days I did all right, but now, raking over the past, I could’ve killed for just one more.
‘My family was amazed when I made it into uni to do journalism. Getting the work with the local paper was a real break, even though I’m sure Grandad pulled some strings. He said that who you know might get you in the door, but it won’t keep you in the room.’
Katharine agreed to let me turn on the recorder, which I took out of my backpack, and I tried to recall my questions.
‘How did you become a tap dancer?’
‘When I moved to the States, I fell in love with tap dancing,’ said Katharine. ‘It was the sound the taps made on the floor, as well as the rhythm and the energy. I spent every spare moment practising and danced in school musicals.’
‘Grandma is always playing tap-dance scenes from old movies.’
‘Then you’ve probably seen Bojangles dancing,’ said Katharine.
‘Not sure. Who is he?’
‘His real name was Bill Robinson and he made a huge contribution to tap dancing. In the US, we celebrate National Tap Dance Day on his birthday, which is 25th May.’
‘Hey, that’s in a few weeks. We could celebrate it here. Maybe have a morning tea. Grandma’d love that. And you could come and tell everyone about the day. Of course, that’s if you want to.’
‘Sure. We usually have a celebration at our dance studio and we do the shim sham shimmy, which is the national tap-dance anthem. It’ll feel like home.’
The waitress cleared away our empty coffee cups and I thought of more questions.
‘Is tap dancing in New York the same as tap dancing here?’
‘From what I’ve seen so far, Valerie teaches what we call Broadway style, like in the old musicals.’ Katharine sounded so knowledgeable. ‘This borrowed steps from other forms of dance, such as ballet and ballroom dancing. In our studio in New York, we focus on what we call the rhythm, or jazz, style.’
‘What’s that?’
‘It’s closer to the main sources of tap dancing, which were African American and Irish dancing and pays more attention to precise foot movements with fewer body and arm movements.’
‘That sounds incredibly exciting. Hey, I’ve got an idea. Why don’t you train the Tap Cats for the regional competition?’
‘Whoa, slow down a bit. You really think that’s a good idea?’
‘Absolutely. It’d be the best and I’m sure the Tap Cats would win if you taught them.’ I imagined writing a series on the training sessions with snippets of New York stories. ‘Would you do it?’
‘Well, I’m not sure I’d go that far,’ said Katharine. ‘But I am going to help Carol and Sofia out with their steps, while Valerie is away.’
We wrapped up the interview but kept chatting for a bit.
Grandma was sitting on the lounge with her legs up in front of the TV and her tabby cat strewn across her tummy when I returned home. She clicked the remote to pause the video and I plonked down beside her.
‘Have you heard of Bojangles?’
‘Sure have. He’s on this video.’
Grandma replayed the section of the movie which showed Bojangles tap dancing up and down a wide staircase with a curly-haired child.
‘There he is dancing with Shirley Temple,’ she said. ‘Bojangles taught Shirley Temple how to dance like that. Tap dancing isn’t easy you know, it takes a lot of practice and time. He told Shirley she had to get her feet attached to her ears.’
Grandma showed me the movie based on his life, which was amazing.
‘I know, we could play this at the morning tea for Tap Dance Day. And oh! Katharine could help the Tap Cats win the regional competition.’
‘What? How?’ asked Grandma, looking worried. ‘Before you tell me, can you fetch puss a bowl of milk?’
I went into the kitchen, took the milk from the fridge and poured it into the cat’s bowl, which I placed on a newspaper on the floor. Puss leapt off the lounge and slurped at it.
‘But what about Valerie?’ said Grandma. She’s been our teacher for so long. How would she feel if this Katharine just came in and took over?’
‘She’s not exactly taking over,’ I replied. ‘She’s teaching Carol and Sofia some new techniques and steps. You should join them. You want to win, don’t you?’
‘Of course, I’d love to win. But you’re getting way ahead of yourself,’ said Grandma. ‘For one thing, I don’t want to go upsetting Valerie.’
‘Wouldn’t Valerie want the group to win? And think how good it would be for your dancing. I could write about Katharine helping for the local paper.’
‘Yes, there is that.’
‘Well then, it’s settled. I’ll let Katharine know you’ll join the group.’
‘No, wait. How about I talk to Carol first? And you can’t put anything in the paper until then,’ Grandma cautioned. ‘It just wouldn’t be right.’
The piece I wrote about the morning tea for National Tap Dance Day didn’t make it into the local paper. The editor said ‘less is more’ and suggested I rewrite it from a different angle. My article for the women’s magazine received a credit, but wasn’t published either. Our lecturer reminded us that if we want to be writers we have to get used to rejection.