Seriously considering writing a season two for Perfect Harmony ala the Timeless fan project that's on here. I keep thinking about it. It's bugging me. Should I do it?
Summary: Arthur tries to convince Ginny that learning to dance can make her a better singer. She’s skeptical.
Note: I tried not to write anything for this show, I told myself it was only 4 episodes in, but I couldn’t help it.
*
Ginny stared at Arthur, then at her son, then back at Arthur.
“I have been on my feet for two straight shifts, still have to mop down the floor, and my last table left me a paperclip and two pennies for a tip. And you want me to try to learn dance moves?”
“Waltzing,” Arthur corrected. He was lounging in the Mooshine’s booth, wearing that insufferable expression that Ginny hated. The one that said “I’m going to get my way, so just go with it”.
“How in the h-“ she caught sight of Cash watching her, and reframed her question “-heck does me waltzing make me a better singer?”
“It’s meant to increase your ability to understand rhythm. I used to do it at Princeton all the time.”
“No,” Ginny said, walking back to the counter and picking up the rag she was wiping it down with. “If you want me to learn it that bad, then you can just wait for choir practice tomorrow.”
“I need your help teaching the others,” Arthur said. “I need a partner to demonstrate the dance with.” He stood up. “C’mon, don’t tell me you have dance anxiety, too.”
“I do not. I am just tired and ready to go home,” Ginny said.
“It’ll just take a few minutes,” Arthur said. He waved his hands around the empty diner. “Just pretend you’re Dolly Parton learning to waltz.”
Ginny glared at him.
“Shouldn’t Cash learn to be open to new skills?” Arthur asked.
Ginny threw the rag down on the counter. “I hate you.”
“ I can live with that.”
It took another few minutes for Ginny to finish cleaning up the Mooshine, but eventually she couldn’t stall anymore. She reluctantly went to stand in front of Arthur, arms crossed and a skeptical look in her eye.
“You’ll need to put one hand on my shoulder,” Arthur paused while Ginny did so, “and then your other hand will go on my right hand.”
“Alight, now I’m going to lightly touch your back,” Arthur said. Ginny appreciated that when his arm slowly wound around her, as though giving her time to adjust to the motion, his fingers only lightly touched the middle of her back, rather than putting his whole hand there. For some odd reason, Ginny had to force down a blush.
“Okay, we’re going to just try a few simple steps,” Arthur said, and they were off.
They moved in silence for a few minutes, Ginny determinedly staring down at her feet. It took a few tries (and a few muttered complains from Arthur about bruised toes), but after awhile, she was able to complete the dance without hesitating. Finally, she was able to look up, although as she did so she felt her cheeks flush again for some reason. She focused her eyes at a point just over Arthur’s shoulder, trying to stare beyond him.
“So how did you learn to dance? Was it an obligation to do fancy waltzes at Princeton parties?” she teased. She couldn’t picture Arthur as the dancing type, at all.
“My wife liked to dance,” Arthur said. Ginny was so startled that she finally looked directly at him. “She made me takes classes for our wedding, and after that we went out dancing a few times a year.”
“That’s sweet,” Ginny said.
Arthur shrugged, but Ginny caught the sadness he was trying to hide. She wished she could ask more, she was curious about what Arthur’s wife had been like, but she didn’t want to make him even more sad.
To her surprise, Arthur spoke again. “It was one of the few things I did for her. I wasn’t a great husband.”
“I’m sure that’s not true,” Ginny said.
Arthur scoffed, but Ginny continued.
“After all, you came back here, to this town, to spend her last weeks here. And then when she died, you were so upset that her last wish wasn’t able to be fulfilled that you agreed to train a bunch of random strangers to be a great choir.”
“I wouldn’t say you guys are great yet. I wouldn’t even say you’re good half the time.”
“But nevertheless –“ Ginny said, “you trained us. All so you could have revenge.” She gave him a smile. “It’s kind of sweet.”
“That’s me,” he said. “Waiting until death to be a good husband.”
Ginny sighed, shaking her head. “I just think you’re being too hard on yourself.”
Arthur didn’t say anything, except to raise their hands, allowing Ginny gracefully follow the moves of the dance and move under them. She kept her eyes fixed on his own, not wanting to let him get away with diving back into his own pain.
When she had finished the move, she lowered their entwined hands, but didn’t let go.
“Is this part of the dance?” Cash’s voice broke through the silence, and Ginny suddenly realized she had been standing there, staring at Arthur for awhile.
“No, it’s signs that your mother’s suffering from sleep deprivation,” Arthur said, letting go of her hands. “And that if she doesn’t get home, she’ll show up to choir tomorrow and snore through Ave Maria.”
Ginny rolled her eyes, once again on solid ground with Arthur. “Well, if you want me to get a decent night’s sleep, you could help me sweep up. Could help you learn the skills to keep your houseboat from being a living wreck.”
Arthur opened his mouth, probably to refuse, but Ginny thrust a broom into his hands.
“Just think of it as a new dance,” she said, “where you collect trash.”
