PYROTECHNICS AND THE SOFT SHOE SHUFFLE

                                     

                                 

I soft-shoe shuffle in my patent leather pumps up to the entrance of the Wick Theatre in Boca Raton. And why not? Tonight's show, Hot Shoe Shuffle, is dubbed a tap dance extravaganza. My husband, Eric, hangs back and rolls his eyes as someone stops me. "They want to keep this area clear," he informs me. "They're bring in pyrotechnics." My brow furrows, as I think of the odd combination of tap dance and fireworks.  "Oh," I nod slightly and reply questioningly. "Uh, cool?" In turn, his white bushy brows shoot up and he shakes his head. I overhear an usher telling someone, "seating in the theatre has been halted temporarily."

The large foyer of the theatre has café tables with spray-painted gold bamboo chairs scattered about. Eric, who is gawking at the over-sized crystal chandelier, leads me to a chair.

"Did you hear that? Pyrotechnics!" I tell him excitedly, now warming to the idea of Roman candles, M-80's, and tap dancing. Had my teacher used this combination 40 years ago for my dance recitals, the audiences might have consisted of more than just guilty parents and cranky siblings!

Eric gives me the same look as the old man, manning the entrance. "Par-a-med-ics!" He stretches out the word like I'm a five-year-old child. "Not pyrotechnics!"

"Oh, I see." I nod my head slowly, disappointed. "Paramedics." I glance around the room at the blue-haired, white-haired, and no-haired patrons milling about. "Mmm, that makes more sense." I knew when Eric and I decided to try "Florida Living" for a couple of months that it would be different than the Upper West Side. In New York, I dance around Bugaboo baby strollers and e-bikes. Here, I run interference with wheelchairs and walkers.

"Everyone seems pretty calm," I say, as I look at the clock on my phone. "Show time is in twelve minutes. Not good." Eric is eye-balling an appetizer menu on the table. "We just ate! Is this place a restaurant or theatre?" I wonder out loud.

He sets the meu down. "Well, it probably happens often," he says quietly. "You know...the paramedic thing."

I watch a woman in a silky, colorful dress, draped in pearls, but wearing sensible shoes, maneuvering her walker across the faded, red carpet. "Yeah, I suppose so." I sigh, wondering about my own future.

I grab Eric's arm in alarm. "Geeze, we're thinking it's one of these old people. What if it's one of the dancers? Do they have understudies?"

He doesn't respond as we watch the paramedics wheel the stretcher into the theatre. After several minutes tick by, the usher announces, "We will continue seating people." I spy the paramedics with a patron on the gurney, exiting stage left.

The show goes on.