Dead Man Dancing

by Marcia Talley

  Before Hutch could answer, Ruth rudely elbowed her fiancé. ‘Are you going to introduce me or not, sweetheart?’

  ‘Oh, sorry. Of course. Kathleen, ah, Kay O’Reilly . . . but it’s Giannotti, now, isn’t it? This is my fiancé, Ruth Gannon.’

  Poor Hutch. If he stammered like that in the courtroom, every case he tried would be shot down in flames.

  Ruth’s lips were set in a grim line, barely moving as she spoke. ‘Pleased to meet you.’

  I could have supplied the subtext, but it would have been expletive ridden.

  ‘G-gosh, it’s good to see you,’ Hutch stammered on. ‘I had no idea you were here, none at all.’

  Kay snapped her fingers. ‘Chance! You work with Ruth for the next couple of sets, will you?’ She beamed at Ruth. ‘You won’t mind if I borrow your fiancé for a few minutes, will you? We have a lot to catch up on.’

  Without waiting for an answer, she dragged Hutch away in the direction of her office. As they disappeared through the door, I heard her say, ‘Coffee?’

  A few minutes? Hardly. Kay and Hutch didn’t reappear until the session was nearly over and we had pretty much nailed the waltz.

  Hutch had the good sense, at least, to apologize to Ruth.

  ‘Excuse me,’ Ruth practically snarled, turning her back on her fiancé. ‘Will you come with me Hannah? I think I’ve broken a strap.’

  But there was nothing wrong with Ruth’s underwear. When we got to the restroom, Ruth backed up against one of the sinks and fixed me with a venomous stare. ‘How could you?’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Yes, you!’ She dissolved into tears.

  ‘Ruth, I’m sorry, but how was I to know?’ I held out my hands as if I were weighing items on a balance scale. ‘Kay – Kathleen. Giannotti – O’Reilly. So similar.’

  Ruth dismissed my irrefutable logic with a wave of her hand. ‘Did you see the way she had Hutch wrapped around her little finger?’ she sniffed.

  I yanked a paper towel out of the dispenser and handed it to her. ‘I think Hutch was just as surprised as we were.’

  Ruth dabbed at her cheeks. ‘But he didn’t have to go off with her, did he?’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Like a little lap dog.’ To demonstrate, she stuck out her tongue and panted.

  I grabbed my sister by the shoulders and gave her a good shake. ‘Ruth, listen to me. I think it’d be a mistake to make a big deal out of this. Hutch and Kay are old friends who haven’t seen each other for more than twenty years. Hutch loves you. End of story.’

  Ruth didn’t look convinced.

  ‘You aren’t still worried about Hutch being younger than you, are you?’

  Ruth nodded miserably.

  ‘For heaven’s sake! When you get to be our age, nine years is nothing. Nothing!’ I nipped off to a stall where I unrolled some toilet tissue and brought it to her. ‘Here. Blow your nose, and let’s get back out on the dance floor.’

  Ruth turned and examined her face in the mirror over the sink. ‘I can’t go back out there. I look like hell.’

  ‘But you dance like an angel.’

  Ruth dampened a paper towel with warm water and pressed it against her forehead. Observing her face in the mirror, I thought I caught the barest hint of a smile. ‘Pretty amazing, weren’t we?’

  After a moment, she turned back to me. ‘I’m as ready now as I’ll ever be. But, my god, Hannah, when I asked you to recommend a dance instructor, I didn’t expect you to go and ruin my life.’

  Five

  Back in the studio, life had gone on.

  When Ruth and I emerged from the ladies’ room, we discovered Daddy and Neelie sharing a bench on the sidelines taking a break, Paul (will wonders never cease?) waltzing with Laurie, and Hutch leading Alicia expertly (how else?) around the dance floor. Alicia was beaming, clearly enjoying the novelty of partnering a new student who didn’t stumble and lurch around like a drunk.

  Under Chance’s supervision, ‘Answer Me, Oh My Love’ was drifting lazily out of the speakers when Hutch caught sight of Ruth and me. He paused in mid-waltz, bowed politely to Alicia, and hurried over. ‘Ruth.’

  She folded her arms across her bosom and pouted.

  ‘Come here. We need to talk.’

  Ruth showed no signs of budging, so I gave her a gentle shove in Hutch’s direction.

  Hutch took Ruth’s hand, tucked it gently under his arm, and led her to a corner of the studio near the Deer Park water cooler. From where I stood, I couldn’t hear what was being said, but I could tell from Ruth’s body language that his words were having some effect. Ruth’s arms dropped to her sides, her knees relaxed, and after a few minutes, she reached up to touch Hutch’s face. When he kissed her, quickly but sweetly, I figured all had been forgiven.

  Dodged that bullet.

  I was still staring at Hutch and Ruth, just a teensy bit worried about some residual rigidity I detected in Ruth’s spine, when Paul joined me. ‘There you are. I was about to send out a search party.’

  ‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘I spent longer in the restroom with Ruth than I thought.’

  ‘Is everything OK?’

  I bobbed my head in the direction of the water cooler. ‘It is now.’

  Alicia flitted over to remind us that our first lesson was over, and it was almost time for the practice party. For some reason, she looked at me. ‘You will stay, won’t you?’

  I did a sideways-through-the-eyelashes silent consultation with Paul, who winked, so I said, ‘Sure.’

  ‘Good!’ And she was off to greet three newcomers who stamped through the entrance knocking snow off their boots, followed by a blast of cold air.

  ‘Tell Ruth not to take it so seriously. Kay can be a bit pushy sometimes.’ Tom came off the floor where he had been practicing some dangerous-looking hip hop moves on the sidelines. Laurie, his partner, followed.

  ‘A bit?’ Laurie’s delicately drawn eyebrows arched dramatically. ‘She’s a selfish B-I-T-C-H, if you want to know the truth. Doesn’t give a sweet goddam whose toes she steps on, if you’ll pardon the pun.’

  ‘Then why on earth do you train with her, Laurie?’ I asked.

  Laurie shrugged a well-defined shoulder. ‘Because we’ve been with them, like, forever . . . why else would you say, Tommy?’

  Tom didn’t even have to think about it. ‘Because Kay and Jay are, quite simply, the best.’

  ‘I’m certainly no judge,’ Paul said, ‘but you two are fantastic. Thanks for taking pity on me, Laurie. That last dance was very helpful. I think I’m finally getting the hang of it.’

  ‘My pleasure,’ she smiled. ‘You’re really a lot better than you think. You just need to relax. Don’t think about it so much. And stop looking at your feet!’

  ‘That’s Paul,’ I told the pair. ‘Always analyzing things to death.’

  ‘Which can lead to paralysis, especially in hip hop,’ Tom added, wiping his face and neck with a towel. I wasn’t into hip hop, and rap music tended to liquefy my brain, turning it into gray goo that threatened to trickle out my ears. I wondered aloud about the place of hip hop in competitive ballroom.

  ‘Not in competition, per se,’ Tom explained, ‘but Jay is thinking about starting a beginner hip hop class, and has approached me about teaching it. Up in Boston, I worked with Jose Eric Cruz who choreographed for Paula Abdul and Janet Jackson.’

  I was supposed to be impressed, I suppose, but wasn’t it Paula who nodded off while judging on American Idol, and Janet whose famous boob, I mean, wardrobe malfunction, gave Super Bowl viewers an eyeful? Wouldn’t include those gals on my résumé, but, as I said, I wasn’t exactly hip on hip hop.

  Laurie nipped off to retrieve a fleece jacket from a hook on the wall, then wandered back, easing her arms into the sleeves. ‘Did you see the movie Take the Lead with Antonio Banderas?’ she asked as she zipped.

  ‘Oh, yeah. Banderas is hot.’ I flapped a hand in front of my face, fanning furiously.

  She gave me a high five. ‘You go, girl! Remember the dan
ce competition at the end? That was a fusion of ballroom and hip hop.’

  Paul, who had seen the movie, too, laughed and said, ‘As much as I’d like to set your pulses racing, ladies, those kind of moves would kill me. Years ago, I screwed up my back in a farm accident.’

  Tom tucked a corner of the towel under his belt. ‘You might be pleasantly surprised, Paul. Hip hop is kind of an all-purpose exercise, involving high and low impact footwork and motions that can really free up your head, neck, and shoulders. Your arms, too, come to think of it, and even your wrists.’

  Paul held up a hand. ‘Whoa! Let me get the hang of the pivot, promenade and slide, first,’

  With an affectionate glance at Tom, Laurie said, ‘What, no botting, snaking, popping, waving, tutting or dime stopping?’

  ‘Tutting?’

  ‘King Tut.’ Laurie strutted in front of us, walking-like-an-Egyptian, gold hoop earrings bouncing against her neck.

  ‘Too much!’ Paul turned to me. ‘Can you see me doing a Steve Martin imitation at Ruth’s wedding? She’d kill me.’

  I pinched his cheek. ‘You’re just a wild and crazy guy.’

  Eventually, Tom and Laurie drifted off to work on their routine, while Paul and I migrated to the snacks table where chips and popcorn had been laid out for the practice party.

  ‘We’re eating their food, so I think we’re obliged to practice, don’t you?’ Snagging a potato chip, I used it to scoop up a generous helping of veggie dip.

  ‘Smurgle splessh schlew,’ my husband commented around a mouthful of popcorn. I puckered up and gave him a big air kiss. ‘I love it when you talk dirty.’

  Six

  When I got through to Eva on her cell phone the following morning, she told me she was sitting at a table in Hard Beans and Books, drinking a tall latte and using their wireless signal to catch up on email. ‘I was just responding to your last about the dancing lessons,’ she told me. ‘I hope Ruth invites me to the wedding, because this I gotta see.’

  Before I could chastise my friend for not letting me know that a return to Annapolis was in her plans, she apologized. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t give you a head’s up, Hannah, but coming back was a last-minute decision for me.’ In the background I could hear subdued conversations and the whoosh of the cappuccino machine as the popular bookstore/coffee shop, or coffee shop/bookstore – depending on your point of view – went on with its daily grind. Hard Beans occupied a storefront midway between Blanca Flor and The Gap, a prime location just across from the newly-renovated Market House, and boasting a panoramic view of the Annapolis waterfront.

  ‘Is everything OK?’ I asked my friend.

  For a moment, there was silence on her end of the line, as if everyone in the bookstore had stopped talking in order to eavesdrop on our conversation. ‘Yes, and no,’ Eva said.

  ‘Is it something we can talk about?’

  ‘I’d like that, Hannah. When are you free?’

  ‘I’ve checked my calendar, and you’re in luck. The White House has rescheduled for Wednesday, and HRH Prince Charles isn’t arriving until Friday, so . . . any time. You name it.’

  Eva chuckled. ‘Hannah, you are the one thing I missed most about this place. I have an appointment in an hour . . .’

  She paused, took a deep breath. I pictured her raising a hold-that-thought hand.

  ‘More on that when I see you. But could we meet for lunch? The usual place?’

  By ‘usual’ Eva meant Regina’s Continental Deli in West Annapolis, around the corner from St Catherine Episcopal Church, Eva’s West Annapolis parish, now in the hands of an interim during her sabbatical. Dining tip for Regina’s: go barefoot. The German potato salad will knock your socks off. I’d never tried Regina’s sauerbraten, but some folks (it is said) drive hundreds of miles just for a plate of it. My mouth was already watering for her open-face crab sandwich, so I said, ‘Eleven forty-five?’

  ‘Done.’

  After hanging up the phone, I checked my watch. Two hours and twenty minutes to go. Two hours to stew about whatever was troubling Pastor Eva, and twenty minutes to get some laundry done, so I trotted upstairs for the laundry basket, and hauled it down to the basement.

  Mother always claimed that sorting the white clothes from the dark calmed her nerves. Doesn’t work for me. Chocolate does. I stood in my laundry room with a heap of Paul’s undershirts and Y-fronts on my left, and a meager pile of colored Ts and turtlenecks on my right. So, what the hell, I tossed them all in the washer together, turned the dial to cold, added liquid Tide, and trotted upstairs to make myself a cup of hot cocoa. If Paul ended up with pink underwear, I’d worry about it in the morning.

  I arrived at Regina’s ten minutes early and Eva wasn’t there, so I popped into Absolutely Fabulous, the consignment shop next door. Since Daddy had downsized, my sisters and I had more hand-me-down furniture than we could possibly use, so I breezed by the dressers, bookshelves and end tables that jumbled up the shop. I still had walls and surfaces that were bare enough to collect dust, however, so some of the art work and bric-a-brac looked tempting. Exhibit A: a forty-eight-piece service of blue and white china similar to my mother’s wedding china. I’d lived without fine china for most of my life, so what made me think I couldn’t live without it now? Feeling reckless, I wrote out a check for eighty dollars, and asked the proprietor to pack up the dishes while I ate.

  An early Christmas gift. From me to me.

  I was back at Regina’s sitting at a table squeezing lemon into my iced tea, when Eva opened the door. Her dark bangs were longer than when I’d last seen her, caught back behind one ear, and streaked with gray. But even if she’d been bald as an egg I’d have recognized Eva by her smile, a 1000-watt grin that started at her lips, spread to her dimples, and ended up crinkling the corners of her sea-green eyes.

  ‘Hannah!’ Eva lunged and hugged me so hard that I feared for my ribs.

  ‘Eva, I can’t tell you how good it is to see you,’ I said, hugging her back.

  Eva shrugged off her coat and draped it over the back of her chair, while I waved for the waitress who appeared almost immediately to take our order for two crab melts with French fries.

  ‘You’ve let your hair grow, Eva,’ I said, handing my menu back to the waitress.

  ‘And you haven’t.’ Eva grinned. ‘Honestly, Hannah, you look terrific.’

  I patted my curls. ‘Direct your comments to Wally at Bellissima,’ I said, referring to the resident hair stylist at Paradiso, the luxury spa that my daughter and her husband had opened out Bay Ridge way last summer. ‘Wally’s kinda weird, but a genius with color.’

  ‘I stopped coloring my hair,’ Eva said. ‘Seemed an unnecessary expense with just the wolves, elk and squirrels around to appreciate the effort. And as for styling, what do you think about this?’ She turned in her chair so I could see the back of her head. Eva had twisted her longer hair into an untidy rope and secured it to the crown of her head with a tortoiseshell claw clip. A far cry from the neat page boy she used to wear at St Cat’s.

  ‘If you ever get tired . . .’ I paused, searching for the appropriate word. ‘Of the elegant simplicity of that hairdo, Wally will take good care of you.’

  ‘Is that your roundabout way of suggesting that I need a “professional haircut”?’

  ‘Guilty!’

  ‘Point taken.’ Eva slipped her napkin out from under the silverware, unfolded it and spread it out on her lap. ‘How’s the spa doing, then?’

  ‘Amazingly well. Dante’s taking on staff, and they may be putting in tennis courts come spring.’

  ‘And Emily?’

  ‘I’m happy to report that she changed her mind about home-schooling the kids, and she’s back running Puddle Ducks. You remember, the day care center at Paradiso?’

  ‘I do. And that’s excellent news.’

  I had to agree. Emily could be intense. Cooped up with their mother all day, who knew how the kids would turn out. Paul and I had been taking bets: Nobel prize-winnin
g physicists, or ax murderers. Fortunately, after two months’ experimentation, Jake and Chloe were back in the capable hands of St Anne’s Church School and the Anne Arundel County school system, respectively, working out any renegade personality quirks by participating in dance (Chloe) and the after school soccer program (Jake). As far as I knew, there were no soccer programs for two-year-olds, but even if there had been, Emily would have kept Timmy at Puddle Ducks.

  ‘After the kidnapping, I bet Emily doesn’t let Timmy out of her sight.’ Eva was always good at reading my mind.

  ‘Never, ever. She even set up an intercom so she can monitor the little guy while he’s sleeping.’

  Just then, the waitress made a timely appearance with Eva’s Diet Coke, giving us an excuse to leave that painful topic.

  ‘So, how are you, Hannah?’ Eva asked as she slipped the paper off a straw and plunked it into her glass.

  With friends like Eva, who knew my medical history, the usual response – ‘fine, fine’ – wouldn’t cut it. ‘Just had my annual check-up,’ I told her truthfully. ‘No lumps or bumps. Mammogram A-OK. CA-125 numbers steady. I’m good to go for another year.’

  ‘Thank God.’

  ‘Amen to that.’ Now that I’d caught Eva up on news from the Ives household, I stared hard at my friend, wondering where to begin with the long list of questions I had for her.

  ‘You’re probably wondering why I’m here.’ Eva again, reading my mind.

  ‘That’s an understatement.’

  ‘And why I consulted Hutch.’

  ‘Uh huh.’

  ‘It’s complicated.’ Eva paused, twirled her straw. ‘Let me start at the beginning.’

  ‘Please!’

  ‘I have a stalker.’

  I coughed. I spluttered. Drops of iced tea decorated my placemat. ‘What?’

  Eva leaned over, lifted her purse off the floor, and pulled several sheets of paper from an outside pocket. ‘Email can be a blessing, or a curse.’ She thumbed through the pages, and handed me one of them. ‘This is his first message.’

  My eyes skimmed quickly over the usual To, From and Subject lines to get to the nitty-gritty of the printout in my hand.