“LaVonna, do you know elephants mate for life?” It was just past 8 p.m., and Cal and LaVonna were waltzing around her dance studio. He needed to fill the hours until the following morning, when he met JJ for their next astronomy study session.

LaVonna looked at him. “Good Lord, what made you think of that?”

“Oh, nothing.” One, two, three, up ... one, two, three, side ... “But it’s romantic, don’t you think?”

“No, I do not.”

“You wouldn’t want to mate for life?”

“Ray and I mated for 12 years. That was enough. Relax your arm.”

Cal tried, but he couldn’t control his arms or legs, or even his mind.

“You are hopeless,” LaVonna said, dropping his hand. “Go home and watch TV. That’s what I’m going to do. I’m exhausted.”

“But I’d rather be here,” he whined, desperate for company.

“What’s going on with you, anyway?” LaVonna called over her shoulder as she turned off the music.

He sighed. “I have too much time on my hands.”

“Then go cook something.”

“I’m not in the mood.”

“Then go invent something,” LaVonna said.

“I’m out of ideas.” Cal said.

“Then call Nikki.”

“No!”

LaVonna narrowed her eyes. “Why you little shit. You haven’t called her yet, have you?”

“I was going to, but I was busy.”

“You just said you had too much time on your hands.” He stared at the floor. “Cal, look at me. I said look at me. Good. Now listen. You’ve got to man up. You’ve got to call her.”

He nodded.

LaVonna slipped out of her dance shoes and into sandals. She dug into her purse and threw him a key. “Here, keep it. Stay in the studio as long as you want. Use it whenever you want. But please, call Nikki. I’ve never met her, but I can tell you this: She doesn’t deserve this treatment. You say you love her, then prove it.”

LaVonna left and Cal walked to the window of her studio. His loft was directly across, giving each a clear a view of each other’s spaces. Often they waved to each other or watched the other one work: LaVonna with her students, Cal with whatever he happened to be fiddling with.

Watching LaVonna was how they first met. He had just moved to New York and was staring out his window, his amazed eyes taking in the Williamsburg Bridge, the Lower Manhattan skyline, the colorful graffiti on the delivery trucks below … and LaVonna across the way. He had never seen a woman of her girth move so gracefully. He stood mesmerized until he realized she was screaming at him. He couldn’t make out what she was saying, however, so he opened the window and leaned out.

“What did you say?” he shouted.

“Get your pants on! I don’t want to see your goddamn joystick.”

Joystick? But he wasn’t playing a video game. And then she pointed to his penis. Heavens! He was walking around naked again. He covered himself with the closest thing in reach, the latest issue of Cooking Light.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize,” he shouted.

She put her hands on her hips. “One more time and I’ll call the police.” He didn’t doubt her.

The next day, to prove he wasn’t a pervert, he made her a scrumptious lemon mint sorbet. Before she could dial 911, he shoved it into her hands. “Zero grams of fat!” he stammered. “Only 195 calories per serving!”

LaVonna looked at him and the sorbet. Finally, after a frighteningly long pause, she let him in. She polished the dessert off within minutes.

The next week he brought her a spinach frittata that impressed her enough to offer him free dance lessons. Since then, LaVonna had become his confidant. He told her about Vacuum Boy and his break-up with Nikki, and now, she was telling him to man up and call her.

Well, maybe it was time to sign the dissolution papers, make the break official. The documents had been drawn up weeks ago, 16 pages of heretofore’s, pursuant’s and forever hold harmlesses. On the very last page, at the very bottom, two separate lines for two separate signatures: Nicole Wellington and Calvin Wellington, III. Why couldn’t there be a simple two-sentence agreement: “Cal is a shit. Give Nikki anything she wants.” It would take all of 10 seconds to sign.

Cal walked to the far end of the studio and flipped through LaVonna’s waltz CDs. Chopin, Tchaikovsky. Strauss. Too subdued. He settled on a collection of 80s pop oldies and cued in Anne Murray’s “Can I Have This Dance?” Perfect for a schmaltz waltz. Nonetheless, he liked Murray’s voice and the song was nice to dance to. He put on his headphones and began to move.

 Can I have this dance for the rest of my life?

You’ll be my partner every night …

 One, two, three … back. One, two three … side. Or was it front or back? Darn.

“You’re hopeless,” LaVonna had said many a time. It wasn’t because he was clumsy, however. He was simply straining too hard to hear the music.

“Don’t listen with your ears, fool,” LaVonna said, slapping his shoulder. “Listen with your heart. Imagine yourself holding the girl of your dreams. Think of the music flowing from your heart to your feet. Heart, feet, feet, feet. Heart, feet, feet, feet. Get it? This isn’t computer programming, Cal. It’s dance.”

Cal turned up the volume and let the music drown out his thoughts. At last he began to move less self-consciously, allowing himself to think of JJ’s red braid and lips he would one day make smile.

 Can I have this dance for the rest of my life

You’ll be my partner every night

When we’re together it feels so right

Can I have this dance for the rest of my life?

 Heart, feet, feet, feet. Heart, feet, feet, feet. Heart.