Page 111 of The End of Summer

I got the idea for the studio from Gretchen when she started her gig as a nanny for Kit last September. They had just moved here from Arizona, and Arrow turned herself into the Wellingham police. She was arraigned and went to trial, and her attorney offered a plea bargain to the judge. In exchange for a reduced sentence of three months at Barnstable County Jail, Arrow would commit to 200 hours of community service in the town of Wellingham, along with payment of a $30,000 fine. It would wipe out about half of what remained of her savings, she later told Gretchen, butshe didn’t need the money as much anymore now that she had her family with her. Besides, she wanted to work closer to her home in Plymouth, so that she could be actively involved in Kit’s life.

Gretchen’s deferral of her final year of graduate school became permanent after her trial. She pleaded not guilty to the charges brought against her, and even though she won the case, the local schools were all aware of what had happened and the fact that one of the people responsible for operating the club was the daughter of the Eastport Police Chief. So she gracefully decided not to drag her father’s name through the mud or bring any further speculation to her family or the town, and instead figured she would begin to think outside the box about other potential career paths she might be interested in exploring. She wanted to give back meaningfully to the community that raised her, she said. She told her mom she really loved the self-esteem she felt from dancing, and I took it upon myself to do a little market research analysis during my extremely lengthy commute.

Turns out, the market for youth dance programs on Cape is fairly saturated, in that there are a good amount of studios. But most of them focus on competitive dance, and all of them are very expensive. A few have scholarship opportunities, but nothing is low cost or donation-based, except for the one-off programs offered at the Boys & Girls Club or the YMCA. Which meant there was plenty of room for local arts grants to help support a new not-for-profit venture to bring dance to all local children in an equitable way, without cost to families who couldn’t afford to otherwise sign their kids up.

The first thing I had to do was find a space. I wanted an affordable location for a start-up, where the investment wouldn’t be too overwhelming. I looked into storefront rentals, but the real estate market in the Cape is wild, as I’ve mentioned before.

It was actually Max who reminded me about the Harwich Cultural Center. It used to be a school, so it’s filled with classrooms and there’s even an auditorium there. You can rent a classroom for $15 per three-hour session, because the Cultural Center is supported by local grants as well – in turn, making the arts available to the community via low cost rentals.

I had to file for non-profit 501(c)(3) incorporation, along with a business license. The most expensive investment was insurance, which was needed in order to rent the space. And, of course, my background check, which was crystal clear. I put everything in my name and rented the space with the sprung studio floor that me and the guys had used for practice. I even had the ability to rent out their auditorium in the event that we were planning to have a recital.

I saved up $2,500 from my first several paychecks and spoke with my company about donating a match for a startup non-profit. They said yes, so I had $5,000 in capital to get All-In Dance Studio off the ground.

I did it all on the train, and all without Gretchen’s knowledge.

On Christmas Eve, Gretchen and I slept (in separate rooms, obviously) at her parents’ house. We wanted to be together on Christmas morning, and since she’s never had a Christmas without her parents, that was the only choice. But it worked out, because her mom and I had become rather adept at cooking up surprises for Gretchen, and this one would be one of those stories she’d be telling to our grandkids someday.

I woke up on the couch in the living room at the Andrews’ house. The Christmas tree had been left on all night, and the rainbow colored lights, along with the (mostly handmade) ornaments reflected the love that lived within the little Eastport cottage. Some people like their Christmas trees flashy and showy, or worse, stoic, with simple white lights and not much decoration, in an effort to appear elegant. This tree was a testament to a lifetime of family memories, starting with baby footprints pressed into clay and including beaded garlands made over the years by a much younger Gretchen and her mom. There were tons of pictures that had been turned into ornaments documenting happy times, vacations, summer days. There were even craft stick, tree-shaped picture frames surrounding some of Gretchen’s old school photos. A tree like that is more than just decorative. It’s a living tribute to the power of family.

And under that tree, amidst the wrapped packages and shiny bows, sat a modest box. I didn’t want it to look like anything jewelry-related, because the last thing I wanted was for Gretchen to be disappointed by what was inside.

Later that morning, with warm mugs of coffee in our hands, the four of us took turns opening gifts, and I handed Gretchen the box. It was about the size of a ream of paper.

She opened it slowly. Once she pushed back the tissue paper, she found a business plan and incorporation papers for All-In Dance Studio, along with a key to room 127 at the Harwich Cultural Center.

“What is this?” she asked. Amusement played on her face.

“It’s a fresh start,” I said.

Now, just six months later, on the last Friday in June, here we are, hosting a dance recital for the community.

Business is going well. The plan is to stay at the Harwich Cultural Center while we diversify and develop our funding sources, and eventually to run a capital campaign for a brick and mortar space with multiple rooms inside.

I’m still doing my thing in the city, and it’s not perfect, but it’s definitely a career path and a fantastic learning experience. I don’t mind the grind for now with all the travel, especially since I use that time wisely, planning surprises for my girlfriend, planning for our future, you know. Typical commuter-type stuff.

Gretchen handles the day-to-day operation of the dance business, and she still helps out with Kit in the mornings. There are 12 classes a week – three for each age group – and they all happen after-school and on the weekends, so Gretchen has some time available during the day. Arrow works for us, now, in addition to filling her time with a variety of community service projects on the outer Cape. She puts together the dance routines, teaches them to Gretchen, and Gretchen teaches them to the kids. I help out with the older kids, especially the boys. It’s empowering for children to see that dancers come in all shapes, sizes, and genders.

She’s beaming, watching the littlest dancers in our studio perform a routine they’ve practiced for months onstage in front of their proud families. The little girls have on bright red lipstick, and their excitement is palpable as they hop, pose, create lines and very simple formations in groups and work through their moves. When they are finished, no one cheers harder than my girl.

She looks absolutely gorgeous in her costume. I’m simple; I’m in black pants and a form fitting black v-neck t-shirt. But Gretchen’s my star, so when I came up with my most recent big idea, I had to get her something incredible to wear.

The dress is black with silver ombre, covered from the neckline to mid-torso in sequins. It hits at her mid-thigh, so it’s sexy without being too revealing. The shoes are proper closed toe, t-strap ballroom shoes, appropriate for Latin dance. The heel is low and they’re comfortable, which is the most important thing.

The groups of kids go out in succession, like we rehearsed, and I can tell Gretchen’s getting more and more anxious. When the teen group goes up, Gretchen rejoins me by the side of the stage at the curtain. She rubs her hands together. “I can’t believe we’re actually going to do this,” she whispers.

“Nah,” I say. “It’ll be fun. Plus, I feel like this is one dance thatyouactually oweme.”

“Depends on how you look at it, I guess,” she replies, smiling at me. “I mean, you’re the one who broke my toes.”

“Pretty sure I’ve repaid that debt.”

I slide my arm around her, hoping she can’t feel the bulge in my pocket.

After what feels like an eternity, our High School Musical group is done. “Come on,” I say, holding her hand. “Let’s do this.”

Arrow steps out on the microphone and says, “We have a very special final production for you this evening. Our owners, Brady and Gretchen, have put together a number for you. This is a rumba, but they’ve added some hip hop and their own little flair to it. We hope you enjoy.”

The audience applauds, and the lights turn red.

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