Daisy Gay, Belly Dancer

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Daisy attended the next gathering of Madam Time’s belly dance class and the next after that, then the next twenty-three without fail until Madam Time made her annual journey to the Middle East. “She can’t say exactly where,” the student known as Fatima whose real name was Sadie Glutz said. Sadie lowered her voice to the conspiratorial tone common amongst the students. “Madam pays extra to not have her passport stamped,” she said, “Even though it may be all right today, who knows what They will think tomorrow? And once they have made their mark it can’t be undone. They number the pages, you know, so you can’t take one out.” Daisy had risen quickly through the ranks of the belly dance class through the simple but effective method of doing precisely what she promised to do, if not a bit more. She had progressed swiftly through cleanup to pillow crew to the responsible post of wiping up tea from the table, important as the hot water if neglected soon left permanent rings on the dark wood. When the lady who lifted the awning hanger took a leave to have a baby Daisy was assigned this essential task on a temporary basis. Though Daisy was not particularly large she had surprisingly strong arms for one her size, and would make a chair of her thighs from which the tallest, slimmest student, one Gabriella, could reach the brass ring in the ceiling to hang the gauzy tea awning while Daisy encircled her waist. Daisy always went to Ricardo’s or Mutto’s Bagel Shop with the others after class and discussed their lovers, children, and husbands and other cares, joys, and woes. Soon afterward one might find hints that all of More knew the tale but Morons as a whole were a good-hearted bunch, how could they help you if they did not know where the trouble lay?, and one often found things arranging themselves fortuitously as if by magic. There were reasons so many psychologists and doctors stayed on after graduation, even though they could have made considerably more money in the capital.



The lovers, children, and husbands as usual came in all shapes, colors, and sizes, especially since the University brought in students and professors from all over the world. Sadie Glutz – no one called her Fatima. “She is Sadie Glutz through and through. One hundred percent essence of Sadie,” Rita Cosmides once said over a Scorpion Bowl at Ricardo’s, and everyone nodded – had been going for several months with a Tamil professor of Mathematics named Krishna Kis. “And can he ever.” she commented. “He can square my circle any time,” she added, leading to merriment concerning axes, circumferences and a radius into two pi. Rita was on the police force. “You get a whole new view of the human race on the police force,” she said. Rita seemed to prefer the company of women and more than once Daisy felt what in diplomatic circles are known as feelers from that direction. Daisy feigned not to notice and these initiatives petered away. Rita may have had a formidable look and while not at all shy she had no basic push to impose her will on others. Daisy thought this an excellent quality for a policewoman. Daisy held her own with stories of births and customers. While strictly this was confidential, who cared? There was nothing to be ashamed of about giving birth and the other dancers always listened closely, those who had yet to have children of there own and those who planned or hoped for more. This included almost all in the circle except Madam Time, and she never came to the gatherings in Ricardo’s Lounge, where alcohol was served. Madam Time sometimes was known to drop by Mutto’s Bagel Shop but not often, and seemed to do this to prove herself a good sport. Though never in a hurry Madam always seemed to be on an important errand, though no one else seemed to know what such could be.



The months passed quickly and lightly. Daisy asked her therapist whether it would be all right to drink socially and he thought it was OK to give it a try. Daisy got sloshed with the gang with the occasional Scorpion Bowl and it didn’t spill over into everyday life, so that was another success. One day Daisy looked into the full length mirror recently installed in her flat to see herself draped in the scarves of the Middle East, hair and makeup just so with a finely honed abdomen and overall glow of health. So far so good. Then she looked further into the mirror to see the new dark wooden wardrobe crammed with scarves and costumes, then the posters on the wall of Fatima Urquel and other leading practitioners of the art, beyond to the book shelf bearing numerous volumes with titles like Aramaic Hand Positions, Volume Two and Three Weeks To A Power Belly, and then noticed squeezed to the side a blue loose leaf binder entitled My Great New Social Life. Daisy began to think. Slowly she walked to the divan, long low-slung skirt to the floor swinging gracefully, and sat palms together. “Damn,” she said quietly. Daisy looked around at her flat, at the beaded curtains and the bare scimitar on its hooks in the wall, at the pillows and tassels and even the hookah she had purchased in a moment of madness since she never had smoked and surely would not begin now. “Damn damn damn,” she said quietly. Business had picked up a lot. Daisy had always been one of the best of More’s midwifes and now she never seemed tired like she sometimes used to and never had booze on her breath anymore. There was a boom in home births going on and business had picked up for everyone, and Daisy could have splurged a lot more than she had. Daisy appraised her own flat. It could have passed for a set of I Dream Of Jeannie if Jeannie had broken up with that weird Darren guy and made it on her own. “Damn,” said Daisy again, neither sad nor happy but thoughtful, “Damn damn damn. I’m hooked again. But this time,” she said slowly, “this time I don’t want to quit.” Her eyes filled then overflowed smoothly, without the jerky sobs of sorrow. “Why do things have to be so tricky?” She looked around the room again. “It’s going to be hard. But it’s all right. It’s all right.” After a while Daisy patted her cheeks dry on a scarf, cranked up the Dell, sent an email to her mother, and continued another ordinary day. Daisy had a new job to do.

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