Dead Man Dancing (7 page)

‘Maybe it won't come to that.' I had a wicked thought. ‘Maybe Jeremy was so despondent that he walked out of the Sawtooth Hotel, wandered into the snow-covered hills, only to be set upon and devoured by wolves.'

Eva forced a smile. ‘Or, maybe he's sitting in a car outside Regina's and, even as we speak, watching us through binoculars.'

‘I prefer my scenario.'

Eva and I ate in silence for a while. After I had polished off the last of my crab melt, I said, ‘Hutch mentioned that you're staying with the assistant pastor of St Anne's.'

Eva nodded. ‘Temporarily, until I can move back into the parsonage.'

‘Eva, if you need a place, you can always stay with us. It's just Paul and me now, rattling around in that big old house on Prince George Street.'

Eva reached across the table and squeezed my hand. ‘Thanks, Hannah. I'll bear that in mind.'

‘You can't beat the rent,' I added. ‘Free.'

‘Hannah, I love you, but, no.'

When Eva left Annapolis four months ago, it'd been in humiliation. ‘I've failed myself, my husband, and my church,' she'd told me as I helped pack up her things, ‘But most painfully of all, I've failed my God.'

As I squeezed her hand back, I thought, sometimes, even with God's help, it takes a long time to heal.

U
nlike Eva, I'd never had a stalker. But Sister Ruth was starting to qualify. Before dance lessons entered our lives, we'd gotten together maybe once a week. Since getting bitten by the ballroom bug, however, Ruth stopped by almost every day, begging me to sign up for extra lessons; I hadn't seen so much of her since my chemotherapy days when she moved in for a month, whipping up tempting dishes, urging me to eat, when all I wanted was to curl up in a ball and die. When I wasn't quietly barfing, that is.

So I felt bad about saying no.

One sunny afternoon, she showed up on my doorstep with a DVD: J & K's Ballroom Basics ($50, tax included). ‘Hutch is tied up in court,' she explained, as she slotted the DVD into the player. Apparently our forty-two inch plasma screen was better suited to the task than the sixty-inch behemoth in the home entertainment center in the house Hutch shared with my sister on Southgate Avenue, but far be it from me to say so. Ruth looked so determined, that I didn't even complain when she bent down and rolled up my oriental rug.

I drew the line at actually dancing with my sister. ‘I will
not
dance lead,' I told her firmly. ‘I have a hard enough time learning my own part.'

Ruth frowned, then scurried off to the kitchen, returning with a mop in one hand and a broom in the other. ‘Lay the handle across your shoulders,' she instructed, handing me the broom, ‘and drape your arms over it.' She did the same with the mop, and we practiced side-by-side for a while like demented scarecrows. ‘It strengthens your core,' Ruth explained, although it seemed more like a medieval form of torture to me, an exercise (like balancing a stack of books on one's head) designed to force wicked children to stand up straight. Dancing a rumba with a broomstick across my shoulders – one, two, three, four and one, two, three, four and spot turn left and right – well, I felt insane. I had a couple of curious neighbors, and I hoped none of them happened to choose that moment to glance in through the window, proving the point.

‘Core or no core, I feel like a damn fool,' I complained.

‘Persistent practice of postural principles promises perfection,' Ruth chanted.

‘Who says?

‘Hutch says.'

Easy for him to say.

I turned toward Ruth so she could see me when I stuck out my tongue. In the process, the end of the broomstick swept a high school photograph of Emily off a bookshelf and on to the floor, smashing the glass and scattering shards every which way over my hardwood floor.

‘About those extra lessons,' I said, as I set the picture back on the shelf, lowered the broomstick, and applied its business end to the shards of glass. ‘Maybe we can manage one. How much?'

Ruth paused mid-spot turn right and said, ‘One hundred dollars.'

‘That's $1.66 a minute,' I said, calculating quickly. ‘But cheaper than repairing the damage to my house.'

‘Oh, thank you, Hannah!'

Damn Ruth. Once again, she'd gotten her way.

I'd learned how to waltz, foxtrot and tango before I first clapped eyes on Jay. He'd been out of town on business, according to Chance, the dishy dance instructor, who also passed on the information that Jay was looking into opening up J & K franchises nationwide. ‘He wants to play with the big boys,' Chance told us when Paul, Ruth and I showed up for our supplementary lesson. ‘You know, Arthur Murray and Fred Astaire.'

‘Aren't they dead?' wondered Paul aloud.

Chance nodded, grinning. ‘Ages ago, but their franchises live on. Ballroom is mega big right now. Jay hired a bunch of consultants who tell him to strike while the iron is hot, so he's figuring on tap dancing all over those old fogies, pumping some new blood and new ideas into the industry.'

Riding high on that stream of clichés, Chance excused himself to cue up the music. Once it began, Ruth tangoed off with Chance, and Paul and I were practicing our progressive side step – quick, quick, slow – when a man slipped through the sliding glass doors leading from the office on to the dance floor – Jay. I recognized him from the photo on the cover of the DVD. As he headed in our direction I stumbled, and tromped all over Paul's toes.

I don't know what I expected the man to look like. Taller than Kay, certainly – he was at least 6' 2'' to her 5' 8'' – and supernaturally slender, of course.

But, Jay was all that, and more. Where Kay had the fair, pink skin of a porcelain doll, Jay looked like he'd just spent a month investigating franchise opportunities on a beach in Cozumel. The man was beautiful, evenly bronzed, his dark hair slicked back into a short ponytail at the nape of his neck. The quintessential Latin lover, from the dark brows, arching quizzically over eyes of liquid chocolate, all the way down to the tips of his black, highly polished dancing shoes.

Until he opened his mouth. ‘Ahm pleased to meet chew,' he drawled after we introduced ourselves.

Hispanic heritage, I decided, but raised in one of the border states. Texas, maybe, although I couldn't imagine how he'd ended up with an Italian name like Giannotti.

I extended my hand, and Jay shook it firmly. His full lips parted in a smile, revealing straight, impossibly white teeth. After a moment, he turned that smile full-throttle on my sister. ‘And you must be Ruth. Kay's been telling me about you.' As Jay squeezed Ruth's hand, he glanced around the studio. ‘I don't suppose your fiancé is here? There's something I'd like to discuss with the two of you.'

Ruth reclaimed her hand. ‘Oh? Can you tell me?'

‘It concerns both of you. Is he coming tonight, then?'

‘Now you are arousing my curiosity,' Ruth purred. She stared at Jay, a sly smile on her lips, as she took in (who could help it?) his open-neck poet's shirt and slim, belt-less black pants.

Arousing.
Exactly the right word, sister.

Jay turned to us. ‘Are you enjoying the lessons, then?'

‘Very much,' I cooed.

‘More than I thought I would,' Paul added. I hoped he was being truthful.

Jay smiled, nodded in acknowledgement, and then turned back to Ruth. ‘So, you never answered me,
señorita
. Will we be seeing the bridegroom tonight?'

‘He was in court today, but if he's not held up by a client, I expect he'll show up for the regular session at seven.'

‘Ah. That's good, then.' From his 6' 4" (two inches of it heels) Jay beamed down on her. ‘Kay tells me you're a quick study. Would you honor me with a dance before class starts?'

Ruth blushed attractively. She'd been doing an inordinate amount of that lately. She flapped a dismissive hand. ‘Me? My gosh, I couldn't!'

Jay seized Ruth's hand, tucked it under his arm and led her on to the dance floor. ‘Nonsense! Chance, cue up a waltz, will you, please?'

Paul and I watched, open-mouthed, as my sister was whisked off in the arms of the handsomest man in the state of Maryland, twirling and swirling around the floor to the tune of ‘Wonderful, Wonderful Copenhagen'
.

Holy cow
. If Hutch walked in right now, what would he make of the euphoric grin on Ruth's face? And then I remembered Kay, pouncing on Hutch like a mother lion and carrying him off, a helpless cub, to her den.

‘Well, dear,' my late mother seemed to be whispering in my ear, ‘isn't there an old saying? “What's good for the goose is good for the gander.”'

But I was thinking goose, hell. If this keeps up, before long the proverbial fur is going to fly.

‘So,' I said when Jay finally released my sister, ‘I'm dying of curiosity. What does he want?'

Ruth shrugged. ‘I'm not sure. Probably hopes to sweet-talk us into signing up for another package.' She grinned. ‘He is a charming son-of-a-gun, isn't he?'

‘I'd have thought you'd jump at the chance to continue taking lessons. I haven't seen you so nuts about anything since you took up tie-dying broomstick skirts in the seventies.'

Ruth frowned. ‘I do love dancing, Hannah. It makes me feel young and alive. But I have to be realistic. I've got Mother Earth to worry about, and the wedding.' She chewed on her bottom lip thoughtfully. ‘No, we bought the wedding package, and a couple of extra lessons, but that's it. All the arm-twisting and charm in the world isn't going to convince me to sign a contract for some overpriced lesson package that neither of us needs, or has the time for.'

‘I've heard some of the major studio chains use high-pressure tactics to get you to join up, but Jay and Kay simply aren't like that,' I said. ‘According to the J & K brochure, the next level up is the 600 package: six privates, six groups, six parties, six hundred dollars. Sounds harmless enough.'

‘I'll tell you one thing,' Ruth said. ‘I won't do anything without Hutch. Can you imagine the creeps who show up for lessons with ridiculous comb-overs, bad teeth and damp hands wanting to dance with you? Ugh! Six hundred dollars sounds like a deal, until you realize that any serial rapist with six hundred dollars in his pocket could sign up for dance lessons, too.'

Ruth grabbed my arm. ‘Hannah, you and Paul come along when he talks to us. Keep me focused. OK?'

I laughed. ‘Oh, I think you and Hutch can take care of yourselves!'

‘No, I'm serious. Remember the time we won a free weekend in Virginia and they practically locked us up until we agreed to buy a timeshare in their stupid resort?'

I laughed, remembering how Ruth and I, in desperation, had staged a fight, screaming, swearing, name-calling and hurling abuse at one another until the salesman couldn't show us the door fast enough. ‘It won't be like that at all,' I assured her.

Ruth didn't look convinced. ‘I have a hard time saying no to
telephone
solicitors, for heaven's sake. In case you didn't notice, Jay has oodles of charm. I might find him impossible to resist.'

‘Ruth!'

‘Not that way, silly. But he's
soooo
charismatic. If Jay were a TV preacher, I'd be claiming Jesus as my personal saviour and singing and sweeping the ceiling with the rest of his acolytes.'

‘Sweeping the ceiling?'

Ruth's arms shot ceiling-ward and she began to sway, singing, ‘He is wonderful, He is merciful,' in a fluty soprano.

I had to bop her with my purse to get her to stop. ‘Behave yourself!'

‘OK, but only if you agree to come along. Otherwise I might have to cover my ears and go “nah-nah-nah-nah-nah-I'm-not-listening-to-you” whenever Jay's talking.'

I laughed out loud. ‘It's not going to be like that at all, Ruth.'

And for once, I was right.

‘Ah,' Jay said from behind his desk as Kay escorted the four of us into his office later that evening. ‘I was expecting Hutch and Ruth, but I seem to have won the lottery.'

‘We're family,' I said, as if that explained everything.

‘Yes. I understand. Completely.' Jay shuffled through the papers on his desk, moving a page from the bottom to the top of the stack, as if Paul and my presence had changed everything. ‘Have a seat, please. Kay, you, too.'

When we were all comfortably settled, Jay turned his liquid eyes on me. ‘Not to denigrate the remarkable progress you and your husband have made over the course of the past several weeks . . .' He paused, while next to me, Paul beamed. ‘But I have to be honest. I called you in this evening primarily to talk about Ruth.'

Ruth nearly fell out of her chair. ‘Me?'

‘Yes, you,
señorita
. Your advancement has been nothing short of extraordinary.'

I resisted rolling my eyes. Ruth had been right. We were in for some major league flimflam.

After a moment, Jay turned his attention to Hutch. ‘Hutch, of course, only needs a bit of brush up to get back up to speed, even after twenty-five years.'

Get back up to speed for what? I wondered.

Jay put his hands together, fingertip to fingertip and moved them up and down, like a spider doing push-ups on a mirror. He cleared his throat. ‘Have you ever heard of
Shall We Dance?
'

‘The TV show?' Hutch asked.

‘That's the one. To get right to the point, there's a new season next year, and they're holding open auditions in Baltimore on February 8th. I think you have a chance of making it.'

Several moments of stunned silence was shattered by Paul. ‘What's
Shall We Dance?
'

‘It's an
American Idol
-style reality show,' Kay explained, although how that would help Paul understand is anybody's guess as he never watched
American Idol, Survivor, Big Brother
or any kind of so-called Unreality TV. ‘Instead of individuals competing, though, it's dancing couples,' she continued. ‘They start with twelve couples, all amateurs, and each week two are eliminated until there's only one couple remaining.'