No additional warnings for this scene.
The case was frustrating over the course of seven days, and five set of leads lead them in ten different directions. The Guv shouted himself blue and beat Sam near senseless and Ray ended up with a sprained wrist from mixing it up with a suspect who, it turned out, was the guilty man after all. So it was resolved and everyone was at the Railroad Arms drinking and slapping each other.
Phyllis was now master of the turntable, to unanimous acclaim as her choices of music were always fun and, Sam hated to think, groovy. As the night went on, though, she got nostalgic, and put in an old jazz album that no one quite recognized and everyone argued about. She swayed to the tune, lost in memories, and no one dared to interfere.
Except Chris, who was drunk enough to make a fool of himself, but not drunk enough to fall down. Sam watched gleefully, holding Annie up, as Chris spun across some empty space and then bumped awkwardly into Gene.
“Get yer paws off me, Ginger.” Gene smiled benignly and pushed, and Chris spun away again. Sam wondered what Gene meant, then remembered Ginger Rogers. Rogers and Astaire. Right.
“Stop!” Phyllis bellowed in a fair imitation of the Guv, and the entire place came to a standstill. Even Gene sat up straight, staring at her, and Nelson looked petrified.
Phyllis marched over to Chris and smacked him in the arm. Sam held his breath, expecting her to start on him for making fun of her music. She put her hands on her hips and glared at the boy, who appeared to be shrinking several inches a second.
“I know that move,” Phyllis said, and everyone exchanged confused looks while the music played in the background, sounding tinny.
“No, no, you don’.” Chris shook his head, flushing red, and Sam thought that he actually looked more embarrassed than he had ever seen him.
“I do.”
“Nope.”
“Do.”
Chris shook his head and then found himself in Phyllis’ grasp. She held his left hand out to the side and put her left hand on his right shoulder and stood still, staring at him. He glanced around in panic, bouncing his eyes from person to person, looking like a dog trapped at the pound. Sam and Annie exchanged looks, than peered at Gene, who shook his head in mutual confusion.
“Look. At. Me.” Phyllis growled and Chris snapped his eyes onto her obediently. People started to giggle, and Annie shook her head in sympathy with Chris.
Chris and Phyllis were staring each other down, but then it ended. Chris stepped out and as lightly as any professional ballroom dancer spun her around the room, turning her out and back into his arms, in perfect match with the music. It was almost as if they had practiced weeks for this, how smoothly he led the dance, steering her around and elegantly moving them into steps that no one could make up. He knew how to dance, and while Phyllis was clearly out of practice, he covered her missteps like a gentleman and made her look like a beautiful lady in his arms as he spun her.
No one spoke, or even moved. Ray was clearly dumbstruck, his mouth hanging open, and Gene nearly as much. Annie gasped and Sam looked at her, then around the room. Every woman in the place was glazed, mesmerized by the dancing couple, and sighing heavily when they could bring themselves to breathe at all. Sam looked back and saw that, in fact, Chris was outstandingly handsome just then: confidant, graceful, and completely focused on the woman he was holding.
When the song ended, Chris finished with a modest dip, Phyllis secure in his strong, young arms, and smiling at her like a lover. Then he pulled her up and the spell was broken as he tripped backwards over his own feet, obviously lost without music. He looked around and his gaze landed on Gene.
“Mum…made me take lessons…I don’t…” He stuttered, but Gene shook his head and just raised his glass in salute.
Annie gave a guilty look at Sam and stepped forward.
“Chris, can I be next?”