Slow Dancing (8 page)

“Thirteen years,” Alan answered, frowning.

“Yep, it be around thirteen years. She had a baby, a little girl it was. The boss let her bring the baby to work with her.”

Alan reeled. A baby? “You sure about this?” Alan turned away to hide his face. Margaret never mentioned a baby, didn’t even hint of one. Maybe it wasn’t his. He turned to the man. “Do you remember when she had the baby?” He screwed up his face and looked at the ceiling.

“No, but the child was walkin’ along side her when she left. I’d say she was two or three years,” the man said. Alan thought about this for a moment; he’d left Saint Augustine fifteen years earlier so she must have been pregnant. It made him angry that she didn’t tell him. He didn’t like sneaks, forgetting he’d taken her money and lied to her, his part in the end of their relationship, how he took off for Texas leaving her high and dry. How would he ever find her now? Where was Margaret Fisher?

No money for a private investigator, before the time of internet searches and online family trees, the only research tool Alan had was attached to his body. Deliberating, he guessed he needed to find out more about the birth of Margaret’s baby to determine if it was his. The only place he could think of to get the information was the hospital in Saint Augustine.

Hanging around the coffee shop adjacent to the local hospital, Alan met Noelle after a week of diligently going there for breakfast. She was a big girl, five more pounds and she’d be chubby. Her hair caught his eye, shiny auburn, almost plum; she wore it in a long braid down her back. The opportunity to approach her would come about after seeing her there three days in a row. That day, on a mission to get coffee for her co-workers, Alan was sitting at table near the cash-register when she came in to the shop.

“I’ll take four regular, two black and a decafe,” she said to the waitress. Turning to sit down while she waited, Alan quickly pulled a chair out from his table for her.

“Join me,” he said. “Saw you here yesterday.” Not sure if he was serious, or if she even wanted to sit by him, she paused. “Please. Join me.”

Hesitantly, she pulled the chair out a little further and sat down. “Thanks,” she said. “My feet are killing me.”

“Nurses are always on their feet,” Alan said, noting she was in a navy blue scrub suit.

“I’m not a nurse,” she replied, holding out her hand to shake and holding up her hospital identification card. “Noelle. Noelle Carson. Housekeeping.”

He made small talk to get her to relax, but he could tell it might not be as easy as he hoped. She was so shy, her face expressionless except for a mean mouth, the corners turned down. He wondered if she smiled if she’d be more attractive, but the more he said the more awkward their conversation got, her defensiveness growing. Studying her face, he could see makeup skillfully applied hid the ravages of acne or maybe something worse. Several bandages were stuck to her arms. Housekeeping must be dangerous work, he thought.

Noelle didn’t catch on that Alan was trying to engage her. Getting through life was exhausting for her; just as she would have something approaching success, some Lothario would come along to disrupt her equilibrium and she’d have to start back at square one. Subtlety wouldn’t work with her due to the huge wall of defense she had up. Redoubling his efforts, he increased the charm. Alan was so handsome and so engaging with his compelling story, she decided to let her guard down, just a little. He chipped away at her resistance with chatter and compliments but nothing worked. Until he mentioned Margaret.

Somehow, hearing about another woman put her at ease. If Margaret had a baby at that facility fifteen years ago, there would be a record of it somewhere. Telling more lies, he fabricated a story about being away at war, not sure what war was going on at the time but he thought it was something in the Persian Gulf, and that he’d just discovered his girlfriend at the time had had a baby while he was gone.

“I have to find her if I can. She and her mother disappeared into thin air.”

“Oh how sad,” Noelle said, understanding the pain of having lost a child after losing custody of her son fifteen years ago. His father took him back to Mexico and she never saw the baby again. She didn’t share this with Alan, although the parallels between them were amazing.

“I don’t even know the baby’s name. She’s not a baby any more,” he said, bowing his head. “I don’t even know if they’re alive.”

“What about her friends?”

“Margaret didn’t have many,” he said. “It’s been so long ago, I don’t remember any names.”

“Gosh, it seems pretty hopeless,” Noelle replied, softly, not used to offering encouraging words. “Do you know who her doctors were?”

Alan shook his head. He remembered he was supposed to have been overseas. “We’d just started to date when I got orders. I’d only met her aunt, and she’s dead now.”

“I just had an idea. Why can’t you go to admissions and find out if she had the baby here?”

“They won’t give me that information because we weren’t married.”

“What about getting an attorney?” She was on the path he wanted, hopeful, thinking of ideas.

“I don’t have the money for an attorney, Noelle. I barely have enough to pay my rent this week.” He’d rented a room in town with the last money he had. “I’m looking for work, but until I find something, I’ve just got unemployment.” If she was wondering why a man his age didn’t have any money set aside, she wasn’t saying. Grabbing her hand, he laid it on.

“You’re my lucky star,” he said, smiling. “I feel like we were meant to be together, the first person I talked to when I arrived. I have a good feeling about us.” He was putting it on thick, but she was lonely, and he hoped, desperate. She smiled and it changed her appearance, for which he was grateful.

“That’s so sweet of you, Alan. I wonder if there isn’t a way I can find out something for you?” He feigned surprise. From their first meeting, partial honesty about his reason for being in Saint Augustine would make the request for snooping seem less like he was using her to gain access to hospital records.

“In what way?” he asked. “You mean by asking around at the hospital?”

She was looking off, chewing on the inside of her mouth. “I know some of the women from medical records,” she said. “My cousin is the receptionist in the department.” Not showing much interest, like his heart rate didn’t just increase exponentially, he nodded his head.

“Gosh I wonder if they’d help.”

“It couldn’t hurt to ask, I guess,” she said uncertainly. Rather than rouse her suspicions, he’d ask her to dinner.

“Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?” He’d avoid any mention of lost children and disappearing girlfriends, the Persian Gulf and Army service. He’d never even held a gun.

She frowned. “
You
want to have dinner with
me
,” she said cynically. It just didn’t feel right. He was too handsome. “Why?”

“Why? Because I do. I think you’re pretty and interesting. Isn’t that enough? We’ve had coffee everyday. Now, let’s have dinner.” His flattery hit its mark because as she felt better about herself, she smiled more, which changed the shape of her face. She was almost pretty.

Alan was eager to start a relationship with her, albeit a strange one, so he could better take advantage of her connections. Locating her apartment the first time wasn’t easy; in a dark neighborhood outside of Saint Augustine, he had to navigate behind an abandoned factory, reaching a dead end at a chain link gate. Backing up, he found the street, little more than an alley, and turned into it, looking for her building. Checking his appearance in the rearview mirror first, he was then careful to look around the area before he unlocked to get out. After he knocked, he looked over his shoulder again nervously before she answered. She was surprised he didn’t just beep the horn for her.

“Nice neighborhood,” he let slip out. But she didn’t take offense, chuckling.

“I like the rent.”

“You look nice,” he said finally looking at her. He was relieved, not having seen Noelle in anything other than scrubs he wasn’t sure what she’d wear. They went to a seafood restaurant he remembered being fancy years before, but seemed to have fallen on hard time.

“I’ve always wanted to eat here and now I hope we’re not too late,” he said, worried.

“It’s fine,” Noelle said. “They stopped having entertainment about five years ago. But I hear the food is still good.” Alan made the effort getting to know Noelle, but wondered about his ability to take it the next level. He didn’t see her becoming a scout for him unless he slept with her, and that might take some effort.

Noticing odd wounds on her legs and arms, almost too precise, Alan began to worry they were self-inflicted, but didn’t want to call attention to them. There was definitely something not quite
right
about Noelle, but he decided to let it go. Her value was in the facts she could gather.

The following week, he moved into her cramped apartment. Interspersing talk of their relationship with hints that he’d be going back to Galveston some day, he was trying to soften the blow for when he did take off again. “When I go back to Texas,” was a frequent phrase. But Noelle wasn’t listening, hearing only “I love you, I want you, I need you,” when they had sex, always with the lights off. She was in love with Alan and would do anything for him, anything at all.

“I’d even kill for you,” she said one night in the throws of passion.

“It’ll never come to that!” he replied. “Where’d you get a notion like that?” He rolled off her, frightened and disgusted.

Getting up and adjusting her clothes, Noelle fidgeted with something on her nightstand. “Chill Alan, it’s just a figure of speech. Talk about a mood buster.”

“I’ve got to admit it was a shocking thing to hear while in the middle of…well you know.”

“You can say it out loud, Alan.
Sex
. It was the middle of sex.”

Unable to contain his aversion, he got out of bed and went into the bathroom, locking the door. Something would have to happen soon because he didn’t know how much longer he could playact. Noelle was simply peculiar.

Chapter 7

On Monday of the week before the stranger spied on Ellen, an envelope with a New York return address was in the stack of mail Jessie passed over to Frank. “Looks like one of them TV producers heard about you and the girl and yer dancin’.” Frank looked at her, confused, rifling through the pile.

“This is the dance hall in Beauregard,” he said, waving the envelope at her. “Must be the New York headquarters on the return address.”

“Here, open up.” Jessie passed him a letter opener, wanting him to find out what it contained before he left the post office. He’d never share it with her otherwise.

He used the opener and pulled out a photocopy of a newspaper article; the city paper downriver got wind of Ellen and Frank dancing at the ninth grade graduation when someone sent in a picture. No one in the village saw it yet or they’d have plastered the article all over the beauty shop and café, and someone would have surely brought a paper into the garage.

“Bother,” he grumbled, frowning.

“What is it?” Jessie asked, craning her neck to see. Frank unfolded it, reading the letter that accompanied the article out loud.

“‘Dear Mr. McPherson. The Phillip Anderson Dance Academy is a nationally recognized school of dance.”
Hardly a TV producer
. “Our representative will be in your area soon and we would like to take the opportunity to speak with you about up-coming competitions.’ There’s a phone number to call.” He looked up at Jessie.

“Don’t get any ideas,” he said. But she just laughed.

“No worries, I got better things to do around here,” she said.

“You go do ‘em then,” Frank replied, but laughed. “See you tomorrow.” He nodded his head and she laughed back.

“Yep, tomorrow it is,” Jessie said and as soon as he was out the door, she picked up the phone to call Mary over at the café.

The talk of the town was the first dance at the ninth grade graduation dance. The lucky witnesses passed tissues around as the lovely young girl and her devoted father floated across the floor, bringing observers to tears. “She was born to dance,” Miss Logan, the owner of the beauty parlor said, wiping her eyes.

“And they’re not even related,” Margo Portland, the local nurse practitioner whispered. “Like two peas in a different pod.” Mary, also standing in the school gymnasium watching the dancers, frowned at the distorted expression.

“What’s that supposed to mean? It doesn’t make any sense, Margo. It’s like sayin’ dance partners gotta be related to dance well together. Seems to me it would be just the opposite.”

“Well, I don’t care,” Margo said wistfully. “He’s so handsome and she’s so cute. Some lucky woman will inherit that beautiful family… now that his wife is gone.”

“That’s an awful thing to say, Margo,” Mary burst out. “Jesus, show some sensitivity.”

“Why? You planning on moving in on him?” Miss Logan asked. “Little bird said you already did.”

Looking at Mary with a critical eye, at her city haircut and dye job, Miss Logan’s Beauty Salon wasn’t good enough for her. The beginnings of crow’s feet and jowls displayed on an otherwise attractive face belied that time was marching on, even for the popular Mary Cook.
Misdirected snobbery comin’ from a waitress,
Miss Logan thought. Mary was aging and not well, at that.

“This stupid conversation started because Margo called Frank and Ellen
two peas in a different pod
. What the hell does that have to do with dancing?”

“So now you’re a dance expert,” Miss Logan said, sniffing. Margo leaned over to Mary standing on Miss Logan’s other side.

“You’re jealousy is showing, Mary,” Margo said, grinning, egging her on. But she was serious.

“What? Of you? That’s a load of crap,” Mary said. “Shut your mouth, Margo Portland.” Mary and Margo were two of the single women in town who’d vied for Frank McPherson’s attention before Margaret’s car broke down and she drifted into his life. Now that she was dead, Mary would start haunting him again.