“If I had a son that could dance like Willie here, that boy would have been on the road before his mama got him out of diapers. Because this boy’s got it, Ginny, that’s what you and William never seem to get. I’m not just talking about any boy. He’s really got it, and if that big bull—”
“Dipsey!”
“—bullheaded husband of yours could just see that. Scared you, didn’t I?” Dipsey laughed his good laugh.
Willie couldn’t believe his ears. He knew how his mother and father felt and he knew how Dipsey felt, but he had never heard it all out in the open like this.
“He’s not bullheaded!” Mrs. Sheridan was getting angry. “You’re making too much of this . . . this talent Willie has. It might occur to you that it’s looking at you that makes William not want his son to grow up to be a dancer.”
“What’s the matter with me?” Dipsey stared at her openmouthed. He turned to Willie. “You see anything the matter with me?”
Willie laughed, but he was getting nervous. What was the matter with dancing? He had the feeling that if he stuck with Dipsey, Dipsey would win out over everybody—but maybe he shouldn’t be wanting to win this fight. Maybe his father knew something that he didn’t, something even Dipsey didn’t know.
Dipsey got up and strutted around the room. “He couldn’t possibly find anything wrong with me!” He did such a funny little step that even Mrs. Sheridan laughed delightedly in spite of herself. He ended up right in front of her, stopped suddenly, and pointed a long skinny brown finger right at her nose. “You know and I know and even Little Willie knows that William thinks Dancing Is Sissy!”
“Well, I’m not sure that’s the—”
“Don’t you not-sure me this and not-sure me that. You know like you know my name, and I know too, what’s bothering old William. Now I ask you . . .” He hunched his shoulders and towered over Mrs. Sheridan. “Am I sissy? Do I really look to you like I’m swishing round here?”
Willie laughed. Mrs. Sheridan began plaintively, “Dipsey . . .”
“On the other hand,” said Dipsey in a high, fluting voice as he pirouetted across the room, one hand on his hip, and did a high chorus walk back toward them. “Now some of those gypsies in the chorus, ooooh, Mary.”
Mrs. Sheridan stopped herself from laughing and frowned severely at Willie, who was holding his belly and laughing uncontrollably. “That’s just the kind of oversophisticated thing that William is talking about that you want to go and expose him to. Look at him. He doesn’t even know what he’s laughing at.” She pointed to Willie, who was still writhing around, giggling.
“He knows, oh mama, he knows. He can’t be in school two days in New York City and not know that.” Dipsey flopped down on the couch, giving Willie a shove on the head. “Ginny, what’s happening to you? You and me used to laugh at William and how stuffy he was. Now you getting the same way.”
“Dipsey, I’m warning you . . .”
“Okay, okay, but let’s look at this thing sensibly. What is a man? A man does what he wants to do, and if he does it well, ain’t nobody going to say he ain’t a man. And if what a man wants to do is dance, then he better dance better than anybody. I know, baby, I know because I’ve lived it.”
“You’ve lived it. That’s just my point. It’s your life, not necessarily Willie’s. And he isn’t a man. Really, you’re being melodramatic and absurd. He’s seven years old.”
“And how old was I? You remember? You were there cleaning my ears. How old was I?”
“Three, but Daddy was in show business. Momma and Daddy had an act. It was different! And besides, that’s your life. You think you’ve had a particularly good life? Now, be honest!”
“Honey. It don’t matter a bit what you say. I’m just trying to save you a lot of grief. When somebody has got what Willie here has got, they know just where they’re going and there’s just no point in trying to stop them.” He looked at Willie, who grinned at him. “Where you going, Willie?” he asked.
“Broadway,” said Willie, grinning.
“Oh, this is ridiculous,” said Mrs. Sheridan. “He’s a child. His mind is being formed this very minute. How can you fill him up with dreams that will hurt when they don’t happen?”
“Have you taken a look lately at all those people walking the streets that don’t have any dreams? It’s better to have a busted one than none at all, and his isn’t going to get busted. He’s going to make it. Why can’t you understand that? Let me have him just this one summer—”
“He doesn’t know what he wants, Dipsey. His father wants him to be a lawyer just as much as you want him to be a dancer, and I want him to be happy.”
“One summer, just one summer in stock, and after that we’ll talk again.”
“You know and I know that what his father is worried about has some validity, that if he spends one summer in stock he may never be the same again. Things happen. Think, Dipsey, think!”
Dipsey stood up. He appeared to be leaving. “You know, Sis,” he said slowly. “I just got me an idea. I think old William and maybe you are scared to death that this boy here is going to have more fun in life than you’re having.”
Emma was standing and looking into the refrigerator when her mother, infuriated by Dipsey’s last statement, came into the kitchen.
Emma jumped as though she’d been caught nude.
Mrs. Sheridan looked at the remains of what Emma had already eaten. She looked at her daughter in despair.
“Darling, that’s enough for breakfast. You don’t want to grow up to be a fat woman. If you keep on like this, it’s only going to be much harder when you get older. Why do you do this?”
Emma didn’t say anything. Her mother’s face was worried, but her eyes were loving. She’s looking at me, Emma thought, like I’m a word that doesn’t fit the crossword puzzle.
“My teeth were itching,” said Emma unexpectedly.
“Darling.” Mrs. Sheridan put out her hand to touch Emma’s head.
“Ick. Mush,” said Emma, and thumped heavily back to her room.
That afternoon Willie did a fast shuffle down the aisle of the school bus, then a big leap out the door. The other children laughed and waved at him. He did a time step for them until the bus roared away.
He looked up Eightieth Street. The garbage truck was standing at the corner. Charlie, the big fat guy, waved at him and did a funny little tap. Willie did a little tap back like an answer. Nick, the skinny one, yelled, “Hey! Willie!”
Willie danced over to them, trying to wave his briefcase like a straw hat. Charlie emptied a can into the churning back of the truck, dropped it with a clatter, and started to dance like crazy, flopping around and twirling his arms like big pinwheels.
Willie kept up a fast time step, dropped his briefcase, and clapped his hands, humming “Way down upon the Swanee River.” Nick slapped down another can, ran over to Charlie, and they did an old vaudeville exit like two hoofers with canes. They were all three shouting the song, screaming and laughing.
Nick came running back from around the truck where they’d disappeared, and started shuffling like a mad thing. “That’s a shag, baby, ever seen the shag?” He panted, he was going so hard.
The truck door slammed and the driver came bowling around the side. It wasn’t Frank, the regular driver. It was another man,