Improper English by Katie MacAlister

danced my way downstairs, the sound of the Soul Bossa Nova drifting after me. I tapped at Philippe’s door, improvised a turn, and let my happy feet go wild while I waited for him to answer.
    I had just worked up a nice rhythm when Philippe appeared in the doorway wearing a thin white cotton shirt and matching pants. I bossa nova-ed a step to him, handed him the letter, and on the backswing explained it was delivered to my box by mistake.
    He looked at the letter, frowned at it for a minute, then tossed it onto a chair and stepped out toward me. I was just dancing my way back to the stairs when he grabbed my hand and spun me around. As I stepped back in surprise, he stepped toward me. Suddenly it struck me what he was doing.
    “You bossa nova!” I said with delight, holding out my hands to him as I gave thanks the CD was set up to repeat the song.
    “Doesn’t everyone?” he asked with a charming smile. I grinned back and we cut loose, dancing all over the landing. Philippe was a bit taller than me, had a lovely head of soft black curls, and skin the color of a double tall latte. He was from the Bahamas, Isabella had told me, and had an accent that could melt butter. He was also very, very thin, probably weighing a good thirty pounds less than me.
    A rush of warm air swirled around us as the door behind me opened. I looked over my shoulder and saw Ray Binder glaring at us with her hands on her hips. Behind her was a tall woman dressed in linen pants and a green raw silk tunic.
    “Sorry, the volume control doesn’t seem to work very well,” I called out to them as Philippe pushed me through a twirl.
    “What’s all this?”
    “They’re dancing, Bert,” Ray answered the tall woman, frowning a little at the sight of us.
    “We haven’t danced in an age, Ray.”
    The two women watched us for a moment, looked at each other, and with a shy little smile, Ray pulled Bert out to join the fun.
    “Don’t you know how to bossa nova?” I asked them when they did a sort of polka step around Philippe and me. “It’s easy. One step forward, pull in your other foot, do the same back, then repeat it in the other direction. Watch!”
    Philippe threw himself into the demonstration, bringing an elegance and sophistication to the dance that seemed to pass me by.
    Ray and Bert were just catching on when a young couple on their way down the stairs joined us. The woman, a short redhead, squealed when she saw us. “O-o-oh, Basil, look! Dancing! Right here on the stairs! How romantic!”
    “My apologies,” I said as Philippe twirled me past them. “The volume knob seems to be broken on my new CD player.”
    “Looks like fun. Shall we, love?” The squealer’s companion, a friendly-looking guy with a brown goatee anda little gold nose ring, grabbed her, and they joined in, laughing and trying to match our steps. It was getting crowded on the landing, but we were all having such a good time no one really cared. I switched partners and danced for a bit with Ray while Bert tripped the light fantastic with a glowing Philippe.
    “What—” Isabella suddenly appeared at the top of the stairs, followed by Detective Inspector Steamy Lips. Her eyebrows were raised in surprise, but other than that she showed no sign that the sight of her tenants having a mini rave on the landing was anything out of the ordinary.
    “Sorry. Little volume problem with my CD player. I’ll get it fixed as soon as possible.”
    I was dancing with Basil at that point, but he dumped me when Isabella set her bag down and stepped forward, her lips curving into a smile of delight.
    I grinned at Alex’s cool gaze, and danced over to him holding out my hands. If Isabella wasn’t going to dance with him, I sure as hell would. “Hi, Alex, your black eye looks better. What do you think of my hair? It’s kicky, huh? Come on, dance with me.”
    He shook his head and tried to step around me to the stairs going up to the next floor. “Your hair looks lovely, but I