Slow Dance in Purgatory

by Amy Harmon

  “Harrumph,” Aunt Irene sniffed her disagreement. “I don’t know about that, Margaret. Now, what can I do to help you? I’ve got dinner made, and you can eat first or wait until after you bathe. And what are you going to wear dear? I could press your dress if you need ?” Aunt Irene paused and raised her white eyebrows expectantly.

  The thought of Aunt Irene, who had been raised with servants and housekeepers, making Maggie’s dinner and pressing her non-existent dress made Maggie want to weep for entirely different reasons. She leaned over and kissed her aunt’s baby smooth cheek. Irene smelled like rose petals. Maggie felt the lump in her throat swell once again.

  “Well, I really don’t know what I’m wearing, Auntie. The dance is semi-formal, and I don’t seem to have anything that fits the bill. I wasn’t going to go at all, but my dance captain said I have to take tickets…” Maggie stopped abruptly, knowing that if she continued, she would lose her grip on her already crumbling control.

  Aunt Irene pursed her lips prettily and tapped them with her left pointer finger. “I might have something that would work, Margaret. You go get cleaned up, and I will see what I can come up with.”

  Maggie cringed inwardly. She could just hear Dara now. “Where did you get that dress, Baggie? It looks like something my grandmother would wear – sooo hot!!” Still, what Aunt Irene offered couldn’t be any worse than having nothing at all.

  Maggie dragged herself to the bathroom dejectedly and put herself through the ritual of many a teenage girl. She was almost done blowing her long hair dry, when her aunt rapped smartly on the door.

  “Maggie! Come see what I’ve found. Hurry! You’re running out of time.”

  Maggie’s bed was covered in dress bags. Hope bloomed in her chest, and Maggie loosened the belt on her old pink robe as Irene began pulling down zippers right and left.

  “Now this one was one I wore…“ Irene prattled about this dress and that as Maggie stepped into one dress after another. Several were very pretty, and most fit her very well. A few were too old for her, a few just too old, but when she slid a sleeveless sky blue A-line over her head and felt the skirt swish around her legs, Maggie’s heart soared. The mirror reflected back a dress that was simple enough in design and color that it still worked. It looked vintage not dated, and that suited Maggie just fine. It made the color of her eyes stand out, and her dark hair was a rich contrast to the pale blue. It fit perfectly. Her breasts filled out the fitted top, her waist looked tiny, and her arms and legs looked slim and toned.

  “Oh, Maggie!” Irene clapped her hands like a young girl. “That dress was made for you. Granted! It was made over 50 years ago, but even still! I wore that to the homecoming dance when I was seventeen. I think I still have the matching pumps!” Irene flew from the room to closets unknown, and Maggie reverently smoothed the gauzy, full skirt. The thought of attending the dance now filled her with excitement instead of dread.

  Maggie carefully peeled the dress over her head and reverently zipped it back into its protective sheath. Irene did indeed have the matching pumps, still in perfect condition, and wonder of wonders, even their feet were the same size. Maggie had some little diamond hoops that used to be her mothers, and she tucked them carefully into her duffle bag with her dance things. Twenty minutes later, she was on her way back to the school in Irene’s Cadillac. It seemed she had a fairy godmother after all.

  ***

  When everyone left class for the day, Dara Manning checked her makeup in front of the dance room mirrors and tried a sexy move, watching to see whether she looked as hot as she thought she did. Oh, yeah. She so rocked that move. She would like to see Baggie O’Bannon try that one. Thinking about Maggie just made Dara mad, and she stomped over to the sound system to retrieve her music and shut everything down.

  As captain of the team, her coach left her in charge every once in a while. She should leave her in charge more often. In fact, Dara thought, she should have had some say in who made the team and who got cut from the team in the first place. She would never have let Maggie set foot on the dance room floor. The rest of the team seemed to think she was something special. Coach raved about her when she tried out. Big damn deal. Their coach was a fat has-been with four kids and stretch marks. Who cares if she danced in college or had a master’s degree in dance?

  “If I had my way, we would have a new coach, and Maggie O’Bannon would never have made the team. Freaking four eyes needs to be taken down a peg,” Dara muttered to herself, flipping her perfectly streaked hair.

  The lights in the room flickered erratically, and Dara spun to the door to see who else was in the room. The door remained closed, and no one was there. It was probably Derek, playing a joke on her. Derek was Dara’s boyfriend, and he loved pulling mean pranks. Dara hadn’t ever been on the receiving end, however, and she didn’t much care for it. Derek wasn’t as good looking as she was. His acne scars detracted from his otherwise handsome face, but he was Captain of the football team and very popular. He would do until something better came along.

  The lights flickered again, and this time Dara was facing the door. Nobody was there.

  “This school is jacked up,” Dara complained, grabbing her jacket and her purse. “Somebody needs to upgrade the electrical, obviously.”

  The lights went out completely. The dance room had no windows, so with the lights out it was totally black. Dara cursed as she made her way toward where she knew the door was. Feeling along the wall, she reached the door and wrenched on the handle. It felt like someone was holding it from the other side. Dara pounded angrily on the door.

  “Derek! This isn’t funny! I have to get home and get ready for the game. Stop playing around!”

  Dara pulled and pushed on the door as hard as she could, wiggling the handle and shouting threats at anyone who might be able to hear. The door handle didn’t budge. It was stiff and unyielding, and Dara felt a jolt of panic that she might be locked in for real. A light flickered behind her, and Dara whirled, her fear kicking up a notch, as the sound system that she had just turned off lit back up. She reached for the light switch alongside the door. She clicked it up and down. Nothing. The power must be out. But then how was the sound system doing all that wild blinking?

  Dara inched her way back toward the sound system. Derek was going to pay if he had anything to do with this. The radio blared suddenly, the volume so loud that the room shook around her. Dara squealed and stumbled back, tripping over her feet and falling to the floor.

  The dial spun, bits and pieces of different songs blurring into one another. Dara held her hands over her ears and crawled toward the door. She wanted out of this room, now. She and Derek were so over! She would just bet he was standing outside the room with a remote control, laughing with his idiot friends.

  “Maggie…. Maggie…Maggie….” The name repeated over and over again, like an old-fashioned record stuck in a scratch. Dara froze. The crackle of dead air rose louder, and then the radio tuned in and out, rapidly alternating between several songs and singing out a distorted message.

  “Cold hearted snake….jealous….girl…..tellin’ lies….. don’t be cruel…. Maggie….. leave….. Maggie…. alone ….. leave…. Maggie….alone.

  Dara whimpered and covered her ears. The music faded and then stopped abruptly.

  The door swung open suddenly, and Derek entered, flipping on the light.

  Dara was curled up like a snail in the middle of the floor, her butt in the air and her arms over her head.

  “Dara? What are you doing, babe? Dancing in the dark, huh? Hot.” Derek smirked appreciatively. ‘Derek like.”

  Dara shrieked and flew at Derek like a wet cat. “That wasn’t funny, Derek! You scared me!!” Dara swung wildly as Derek stumbled back, trying to defend himself against his hysterical girlfriend.

  “What the hell, Dara? I didn’t do anything! What are you talking about? Stop it! Ouch!”

  “You know damn well what I’m talking about. You held the door closed and turned
off the lights and made the radio come on and …and why do you care about Maggie O’Bannon? Are you cheating on me?” The outrage in Dara’s voice made her sound like a howling hyena, and she went after Derek again, arms flailing and feet kicking. Derek cringed, grabbing at her arms and eventually wrestling her to the ground. He sat on her bucking torso and forced her hands above her head.

  “Dara! Knock it off! I don’t know what you’re talking about! You said to meet you here after school. I just walked up and opened the door. Quit freaking out!! I didn’t do anything!!!” Derek was out of breath and panting and more than a little pissed off.

  “You didn’t hold the door so I couldn’t get out? You didn’t flicker the lights and then make the sound system play some freaky message about ….about ….Baggie Maggie?” Dara was breathing just as hard, and she hadn’t cooled down very much at all. She was convinced Derek had to be guilty.

  “Baggie Maggie?” Derek’s eye brows rose in disagreement. “From what I’ve seen, she’s anything but baggie.”

  Dara arched and screeched in outrage, trying to pull her arms from his.

  “Geez, Dara! Chill out! I swear I didn’t. I swear it!”

  Dara rolled her eyes and offered a sarcastic, “Whatever.”

  Derek sat back on his heels, letting Dara roll out from beneath him. She rose in an angry huff and gathered her stuff where it had scattered when the music blasted her off her feet.

  “There’s some really weird shit happening at this school,” Derek muttered, rising to his feet behind her. He clicked off the sound system, and with a nervous glance around the room, flipped off the lights and followed his irate girlfriend from the dance room.

  15

  “UNCHAINED MELODY”

  Les Baxter - 1955

  Jody was true to her word, and Maggie’s make-up was perfect. After the game, she hurried to the locker room and readied herself for the dance. She removed the dark lipstick all the dancers wore when performing, and applied a pale pink instead. The smoky eye makeup worked without making her look like she belonged in a nightclub, and Maggie loosened her hair from the mandatory tight bun and brushed it until it swung, straight and shiny, down her back. She removed her dance costume and jazz shoes and carefully pulled Irene’s blue dress over her head and shimmied the zipper closed. The shoes were high, but they had a sturdy strap, and Maggie thought she could walk in them without stumbling and without looking like she was playing dress-up. She might even be able to dance in them. In the corner. All by herself.

  Maggie sighed and pushed the self-pity away. She was going to enjoy feeling pretty and wearing Irene’s beautiful dress. All other thoughts were banned for the rest of the night. The sparkly earrings were just the right finishing touch, and after Maggie brushed her teeth and spritzed herself with a hint of perfume, she stepped back to twirl in front of the long mirror. She almost didn’t recognize herself. Would Johnny be there tonight, somewhere in the shadows? She knew she was setting herself up for disappointment, but she desperately hoped so.

  Maggie was in her place behind the ticket table as couple after couple filed into the school cafeteria. All the tables and chairs had been cleared or moved to the perimeter, and the large space was adorned in silver balloons and paper mache roses in deep red and black. White snowflakes twinkled at varying lengths from the ceiling, giving the space a ‘Winter Wonderland’ vibe. Maggie had to admit, Dara and the other members of the dance team had done a great job with the decorations. Still, she couldn’t help but wonder how long it would take Gus, Shad, and her to clean it all up Monday morning.

  Dara hadn’t been able to hide her surprise when she’d seen Maggie, standing to the left of the table, taking tickets and chatting with a few of the dance team members and their dates as they arrived. Maggie tried not to smile, but Dara‘s expression was priceless. Didn’t someone once say “looking good is the best revenge?” They were absolutely right.

  But though revenge is sweet, it turns bitter with time. More than an hour later, long after every one had arrived, Maggie still stood alone behind the ticket counter, watching the couples swing around the floor, laughing and holding each other tightly. Maggie desperately wished she could dance, but that clearly wasn’t going to happen. Everyone already had a partner. The pleasure she had felt in her appearance had faded, and her fancy dress and high heeled shoes now seemed a silly mockery. The depression she had felt earlier descended on her once more, and Maggie abandoned her now irrelevant post. The money and tickets were locked away, and there was no one to stop her from leaving. Maggie walked down the long corridor back toward the girls’ locker room to gather her things.

  “You should be dancing.” Johnny’s voice spoke out from a shadowy somewhere, and Maggie cursed her tell-tale heart for singing in her chest.

  He was suddenly beside her, his long stride slowing to match her own. Maggie struggled with dueling urges to slap him and fling her arms around him. She settled instead on silence. Her heels clattered on the hard linoleum floor; his boots made no sound whatsoever. She wondered if she should pretend she couldn’t see him. If she should just walk along like he wasn’t there, but she knew she could never pull it off. Her hair literally stood on end with awareness. Still, she was angry that he played that very game, staying away for days on end, and she was helpless to fight back.

  “Maggie?” His voice coaxed her, nibbling at her anger, and with a sigh, Maggie let it slip away – for now. She was just too glad to see him.

  “I’m not dancing because I would look very silly dancing by myself.” Maggie turned to look at him, and Johnny stared down into her up-turned face.

  “You’re beautiful,” he confessed, and Maggie felt the sincerity of his words travel down her flushed cheeks, flood her neck and breasts, and pool like hot cider in her belly. Maggie reminded herself to breathe.

  “Would you like to dance?” Johnny extended a hand, and Maggie stepped back reluctantly.

  “Here?” she protested softly, her eyes traveling down the hallway toward the music spilling from the cafeteria that wasn’t nearly far enough away. Anyone could walk around the corner and see her waltzing with her invisible partner. She would never hear the end of it. She would be labeled “psycho” at the very worst, pathetic at the least. Neither term appealed to her much.

  Johnny didn’t answer for a moment, and then he reached for her, pulling her into the circle of his arms. “Put your arms around me.”

  Maggie hesitated again, but he smelled like sunshine and leather, and she couldn’t help herself. Surrender was far too easy. She set her hands on his shoulders and stepped into him, eyes glued to her shoes.

  “Hold on tight. I’ve never done this before.”

  Maggie’s head jerked up in confusion, and she let out a startled squeak as Johnny’s arms locked around her like steel bands. Without warning, she was swept up, like being caught in the vortex of a tornado, where the world spins around you and you are absolutely helpless in its power. Maggie’s hair whipped around her face, and she buried her head in Johnny’s chest, her arms clinging to him desperately.

  Hallways and doorways, ceilings and floors, melded into flashing colors and shades of grey, without form or delineation. Within seconds, the tornado that had swept them up touched down without sound or fury, setting them weightlessly outside the dance room door. Maggie opened her eyes slowly and swayed on trembling legs. Johnny’s arms remained locked around her, but he lifted one warm hand to smooth her wind-blown hair. Like before, it fell heavy and straight over her shoulders, perfectly restored to its proper place.

  “That was…interesting.” There was laughter in Johnny’s voice, and his face was slightly euphoric.

  “What was that?” Maggie stuttered, closing her spinning eyes once more, trying to regain her equilibrium.

  “That was me, taking you for a little ride. It was a little slower than I usually travel – but then I usually travel alone.”

  He was laughing. Maggie shook her head in amazement. She still stood cl
utched in his arms, and his silent laughter reverberated through her like an electric charge.

  Johnny stepped back and opened the dance room door. Bowing slightly, Johnny smirked and drawked, “After you, Miss Margaret.”

  Maggie curtsied sassily and tossed her hair. Two could play this game. Turning on her heel, she sashayed into the room. Johnny groaned right out loud.

  “Oh, baby,” she heard him mutter under his breath.

  Right on cue, music blasted from the speakers, and Johnny’s arm snaked out and caught Maggie around her waist, his hand capturing hers as he spun her right into the Jitterbug. “Rockin’ Robin” shook the room, and Maggie shrieked and laughed, falling immediately into step with him. The boy knew what he was doing, and she was adept enough to follow his lead.

  In and out, over and under, he swung her. Their bodies moved in concert, their feet flew, and Maggie’s skirt swooshed and floated around her in time to the beat. One song rolled into another, and then another, and Johnny didn’t miss a step. Maggie threw herself into the music, trusting her partner, mimicking his swagger and swings, letting him instruct her in a style of dance she knew very little about. She didn’t know how long they danced that way, frenzied, laughing, and never tiring as song after song wailed the forgotten soundtrack of an interrupted life.

  Then the music slowed, and Johnny pulled her firmly up against him. Maggie’s laughter faded as she looped her arms around his neck, lifting her face to let the whirring fans in the corners of the room blow softly across her flushed cheeks. She knew this song and sang softly along with the Penguins….Earth Angel, Earth Angel…