Dead Man Dancing (14 page)

‘Seems like a cheap way to get a laugh,' I said.

Hutch agreed. ‘Well, neither Melanie nor I is going to throw up, I assure you. And they're certainly not going to say we're lousy dancers. We might not make the cut, but if you have to act like an nincompoop in order to see yourself on television . . . well, we'll just say thanks, grab the souvenir T-shirt and get outa' there.'

Kay squeezed the clip, slid the application forms off her clipboard and handed them to Hutch. ‘Remember, you need to set aside three days for this. If you make it through day one, there may be a call back.'

Hutch fanned through the pages, divided them, and gave half to Melanie. ‘That's not a problem for me. Melanie?'

Melanie shook her head.

Kay blew a sigh of relief. ‘Well, that's it then. The only thing left to talk about is your costumes.'

I had hoped that by arriving early, we'd get a sneak preview of Hutch and Melanie's routine. Hutch had been maddeningly hush-hush about it, forming a cross with his index fingers when I asked, and saying, ‘Jinx, jinx!' What with maneuvering Ruth and her unresponsive leg into the car, we'd arrived too late for a preview, of course, but if I managed to get Melanie alone, I planned to pump her.

They'd be dancing a tango, that's all we knew.

In the alcove behind us, Chance flipped a couple of switches and ‘Hello Young Lovers' came wafting out of the nearby speakers, presumably the last selection of the practice session before Alicia arrived to turn us into tangoing fools. I felt a hand on my shoulder, Paul's breath warm on my ear. ‘May I have this dance?'

I slid into my husband's arms and waited, counting along with him – one-two-three, one-two-three – until, whoosh, we were off, whirling in a surprisingly competent way counter-clockwise around the floor. ‘You've been practicing,' I accused Paul as he expertly avoided a collision with Daddy and Neelie who were, quite frankly, paying more attention to one another than to the line of the dance.

‘Not really,' Paul said a bit breathlessly. ‘It just suddenly clicked. I think I've got it.'

I locked my jaw and said, ‘Oy think he's gaw'tit.'

‘At least until Mizz Alicia shows up to browbeat us into the tango,' Paul panted, leading me gracefully around the next corner.

‘I feel like Cinderella at the ball!' I giggled as we spun past Tessa's mother, circled around Daddy and Neelie again, then took off on a diagonal, following Tom and Laurie. It was exhilarating and, like Cinderella, I didn't want the ball to end.

I was so preoccupied that I didn't even wonder what had happened to Tessa, until I saw her, and stumbled.

‘What's the matter?' asked Paul as he skipped a beat to catch up.

‘Over there,' I muttered without moving my lips. ‘Tessa and Jay.'

It was just like my dream, but instead of dancing with Hutch, Tessa was dancing with Jay. As Paul continued waltzing me around, I thought I'd get whiplash trying to keep my eyes on the pair.

Jay towered over the girl, but bent himself almost double in order to take her right hand in his left; Tessa's left hand rested gracefully on his right forearm. As they waltzed, Jay adjusted his steps to match hers, taking mincing steps, as if his pants were too tight. It looked painful.

As I watched them dance, I had to admit that Tessa was good, really good. Shirley Douglas had every right to sit on the sidelines and beam, as I could see she was doing out of the corner of my eye.

As the music ended, Jay twirled Tessa several times under his arm, then keeping a firm grip on her hand, escorted Tessa back to her mother.

‘Was I good, Mommy?' Tessa chirped.

I couldn't hear Shirley's reply, but she patted her daughter's cheek. A split second later, Tessa turned and flounced off to the dressing room, her plaid skirt swishing around her thighs.

Jay, still standing with his back to me, began talking to Shirley, whose face grew suddenly serious.

I was trying to decide whether to eavesdrop on Jay and Shirley or dash off to the dressing room and corner a guileless nine-year-old when Kay popped out of the office, clipboard clutched to her chest. If looks had been arrows, Jay would have been instantly dead, pierced through head, neck and heart, and bleeding profusely. Kay turned on her sensible heels and stalked back into the office.

‘What's that all about?' I asked Hutch who had come up to join us.

‘I don't know. Melanie was here earlier. Why don't you ask her?'

I looked around. ‘Where'd she go?'

Hutch pointed toward the dressing room.

I was in luck. Tessa and Melanie. Two birds with one stone?

I trotted off to the dressing room where I found Tessa exchanging her Capezios for black and white saddle shoes. Since Melanie couldn't escape from the ladies' room without passing us by, I plopped down on the bench next to Tessa and watched silently while with tongue-protruding concentration, Tessa tightened the laces, tied her shoes.

‘I like those silver shoes,' I said as Tessa tucked them into her dance bag. ‘And the red ones you wore last week were also very pretty.'

Tessa grinned. ‘I have silver jazz shoes, too, and pink Latin salsas.' She stuck out a foot. ‘These look like my hip hop shoes, but they don't have split soles.'

‘What's a split sole?' I asked, smiling, picturing the devil perched on my left shoulder arguing with an angel hovering over my right.

‘It's in two parts. You can point easier.'

‘Oh, I see,' I said, although I didn't really. ‘Laurie Wainwright has a lot of gorgeous shoes. Did you see the green ones she's wearing today?'

Tessa's eyes narrowed and she said in a conspiratorial tone, ‘My mommy says a girl can never have too many pairs of dancing shoes.'

Words to live by.

‘Well, bye!' Tessa snatched up her bag and before I could say ‘bye-bye' myself, she'd disappeared through the door.

I was sitting on the bench cataloging my shoe collection – which didn't take long – when Melanie came out of the bathroom, drying her hands on a paper towel. ‘Are you all right, Hannah? You look lost in thought.'

‘I was,' I said, being careful to face Melanie head on. ‘I was just wondering why women are so enamored of shoes. My grandfather used to say, what's the point, Hannah? You can wear only one pair at a time.'

‘By that logic, you should own only one light bulb and simply carry it around the house, screwing it in wherever you need it to see.'

‘Or one chair!' I hooted. I patted the bench next to me. ‘Speaking of chairs, sit down for a minute. There's something I want to ask you.'

Melanie sat and raised a curious eyebrow.

‘Out there a minute ago? Kay came out of the office and cut Jay dead. And earlier, when we first came in, I thought the atmosphere was a bit, um, thick?'

‘I didn't catch all of it,' Melanie explained, ‘but while Hutch and I were waiting for Kay to bring out the forms, she got hung up in the office with Jay. I could see only her part of the conversation, but I think they were having an argument.'

‘About what?'

Melanie shrugged. ‘I'm not sure; depends upon what was on the printout Kay balled up and tossed at his head. I saw her say, “How do you explain this?” If it was a bank statement or spreadsheet or something, then they might have been arguing about money.' Melanie paused, wrinkling her nose in concentration. ‘But it could just as easily have been an anonymous email.' She laughed. ‘You know, “If you wonder what your husband is doing on Wednesday nights when you think he's at choir practice, check out Room 221 of the Quality Inn in Glen Burnie. Signed, A Friend.”'

‘Sometimes I wish I had taken a class in lip-reading rather than ASL,' I chuckled. ‘It's a skill that could come in handy.'

‘Yes, indeed.' Melanie's eyes went on scan, as if checking the room for bugs. ‘Ever curious about what Hillary Clinton said to her aide before stepping up to the podium at the debates?'

I nodded vigorously.

She leaned toward me and whispered. ‘Find Bill in whatever hotel room he's in and hide him somewhere until the fucking campaign is over!'

I laughed so hard I was gasping for breath. ‘You're making that up!'

Melanie grinned. ‘I am, alas. But it could happen.'

Melanie and I were still giggling when Laurie burst through the door, breathing heavily. She bowed at the waist, and rested her hands on her knees. ‘Anybody who tells me it's the guy who does all the work in a lift, I'm going to pop 'em one on the side of the head.'

I'd watched Laurie and Tom practice ‘swallow' lifts – she'd take a running leap into his arms and he'd raise her overhead with her back arched, legs straight, arms extended like wings. If Tommy miscalculated . . . well, it was a long way for Laurie to fall.

‘I remember that move from the end of
Dirty Dancing
,' I said. ‘Looks dangerous. Baby and Johnny practiced in a lake.'

‘I wish,' Laurie panted. She crossed to her locker and wrenched the door open. Using both hands, she grabbed the hem of her shirt, whipped it off over her head, and used it to wipe the sweat from her face. ‘Whew! I'm ripe!'

‘Not so you'd notice,' I said, taking a moment to loosen the buckles on the T-strap heels I'd bought especially for dancing.

‘Shower free?'

‘Think so. Want me to look?'

Next to me Melanie said, ‘I'll check.'

In a moment Melanie was back. ‘Someone's just finishing up in there, but the communal shower room is free and clear.'

Laurie groaned. ‘Not for me, girl. I've never bought into that Save Water, Shower with a Friend gig.' She removed a fresh towel from her locker and draped it around her neck. ‘I've seen all the pitiful tits, asses, thongs and tattoos I need to in life, thank you very much.'

As I considered Laurie's remark, I realized I hadn't used a communal shower since sometime before my mastectomy. The plastic surgeon had done a masterful job of recreating my missing breast, considering the limited material he had to work with. But, outside the confines of my underwear, I was more than a bit lopsided, and my reconstructed nipple tended to point north rather than south.

Needless to say,
Playboy
magazine wouldn't be calling to set up a photo shoot any time soon, and I didn't think anyone else would appreciate a close-up view of my off-kilter anatomy either. Thankfully, Paul didn't seem to mind.

Laurie padded past me barefoot in her underwear – blue denim boxer-style briefs and a matching lace-trimmed bra – and leaned against the tiles next to the private shower-room door. ‘Besides,' she caroled back, her voice echoing hollowly from wall to wall, ‘in a minute I'll be surrounded by munchkins in tutus, and I'm not going to strip off in front of
them
.'

Melanie, who had been quiet up to this point, screwed up her mouth. ‘I don't like community showers much, either. You can pick up all kinds of diseases in there. Legionnaires', athletes' foot, plantar warts, ringworm . . .'

Alicia poked her head into the room, a welcome interruption to Melanie's litany of disease. ‘Ladies, we're waiting for you!'

‘Why?' Melanie wanted to know.

I stood up and tapped my heels together experimentally. ‘They want us to tango.'

‘Oh, good! Hutch and I will be practicing with you tonight.' Melanie leapt to her feet. ‘You'll love the tango, Hannah. It's so sexy! Let me show you.' She demonstrated the steps, dancing slowly around the dressing room. ‘Slow, slow, quick-quick, slow. Slow, slow, quick-quick, slow!'

I copied her as closely as I could, but stumbled on the last quick-quick-slow.

‘It might help to remember it this way: walk, walk, tango-close,' Melanie said, demonstrating the steps as she talked.

Alicia opened the door and sing-songed, ‘La-dies, we are wait-ing!'

‘OK,' I yelled, and the two of us scurried out.

I found Paul, Melanie found Hutch, Daddy and Neelie were holding hands, ready to go. Ruth still sat on a bench, her broken leg propped up on a chair, drinking a Diet Coke from a can, and there was no sign of Shirley or her daughter.

I expected Alicia to be teaching the session with Chance, but when Chance cued up ‘
Olé Guapa'
and hurried out on to the floor, Jay materialized out of nowhere and waved him aside.

‘
Caminar es todo!
The walk is everything,' Jay announced, taking Alicia's hand.

I watched Chance back off the dance floor, darkly scowling. When Jay wasn't looking, he shot a bird at his back.

‘What's that all about?' Paul wondered aloud.

I squeezed his hand. ‘Tonight it appears we're getting the A-team.'

I
was throwing together a quick dinner for Paul and myself involving a combination of Campbell's Golden Mushroom soup, sour cream and chicken breasts, when the phone rang. Using my free hand, I continued layering paper-thin slices of chipped beef in the bottom of a glass baking dish, picked up the phone with the other.

‘Eva! How's it going? Any more gifts or visits from the persistent Jeremy?'

‘None, thank goodness. But, I've been attending the seven thirty service at St Anne's,' she continued, ‘so perhaps that's why. Jeremy isn't exactly the Rite One type.'

‘I'm surprised. You'd think he'd be right on board with “Ye who do truly and earnestly repent you of your sins”. How's it going at the Hall of Records?'

‘Splendidly. I'm anticipating being finished with the project by mid-March, which is one of the reasons I called you today. Rev Chase and I have been talking to the bishop, and we've agreed that I will resume my duties at St Cat's on the first Sunday after Easter.'

Feeling so happy about this news that I thought my heart would beat its way clean out of my chest, I turned to the calendar hanging on the cabinet next to my kitchen phone. I flipped up the page for February (Glacier National Park in winter) and turned to March (The Dry Tortugas, Florida). ‘That'll be March 30th?' I asked, picking up a pencil.