“Good,” he whispered back. “Let’s leave.”
The music, now a piano sonata, began again, the volume muted.
Bryan rubbed the chin of a huge gray pouf pillow curled on the counter in front of him. The cat looked at Bryan, squinting blue eyes, and started to purr. But she leaped to life, jumped off the glass case, and disappeared at the sound of a voice behind them.
“Yes, may I help you?”
“Oh!” Melanie stepped backward into Bryan, making him catch his balance to support her. “Madame Leona.”
“Do I know you?” the woman asked, her words formed with a slight accent.
She was tall, an inch or so taller than Melanie, but she had the same slim dancer’s body, even though she was older—forty maybe. Her eyes were dark, intense, and captured Bryan’s for longer than he felt comfortable. He felt partly drawn in, fascinated, by her. But another part felt as if he was trespassing, that he was violating Leona’s personal space by entering the shop.
Despite his feeling, Bryan continued to stare. Leona’s hair was drawn severely back into a bun on the back of her long neck. Her face reminded Bryan of Egyptian or Greek beauties he’d seen in paintings. Perfectly oval, it framed high cheek bones, a Roman nose, a strong chin, and full lips. An aura of confidence surrounded her, confidence in her beauty, herself, secure in the knowledge that she was in charge here.
“I—I’m in your dance school,” Melanie stuttered. Bryan had never seen her so ill at ease.
“Of course,” Madame Leona said, but Bryan felt sure Leona didn’t recognize Melanie. “You are in the advanced class.” The woman had perfect posture, perfect poise.
Melanie nodded and focused her attention on the case before her. “We need some jewelry for a special gift. Oh, look.” She pointed, relaxing again, her attention on a necklace. “That, Bryan, how about that? It’s lovely.”
Madame Leona brought out a medallion on a silver chain, holding it gracefully in hands with incredibly long fingers.
The center of the medallion, a brilliant red stone, was circled by seven silver gargoyle-like figures. Bryan thought them rather grotesque, even though delicately carved. On the back of the disc was a panther, its head held proudly.
“I love it,” Melanie said softly, obviously captivated by the piece now that she’d gotten a closer look.
“Then I’ll buy it for you for Christmas. I don’t think my mom would like it.”
“I’m sorry, it’s not for sale.” Madame Leona took the necklace away swiftly and set it back into the case.
Bryan pretended anger. “Then why did you show it to us?”
Madame Leona shrugged, unaffected by his reaction. “Why didn’t you try out for my class, Melanie, and the ballet?”
“I did.” Melanie said, and Bryan could feel her tense up. This was why they were here. “I wasn’t good enough. I didn’t make it.”
“I might have been mistaken. And I need another dancer.” Madame Leona studied Melanie, tilting her head down, as if looking over half glasses. “I remember you now. You were very talented. It was a hard choice. I’ll expect you Monday at four.”
The woman turned and left the shop through the maroon curtain. Even if Melanie and Bryan were really shopping, the meeting with Leona was over. But it didn’t matter. Melanie’s goal was accomplished. Leona needed another student to replace Paulie. Melanie was going to be that dancer.
“Let’s get out of here.” Bryan took Melanie’s arm and pulled her to the front door. The ding-a-ling-ling of the bell was no longer cheery.
“Oh, Bryan—” Melanie spun across the sidewalk, her fear forgotten, elated by her success. “I did it! I’m sure I’m in the troupe. And, Bryan, that was Paulie’s necklace.”
Bryan shook his head. “You don’t know that for sure. There could be more than one. And I don’t like this idea, Mel, I don’t like it at all. I didn’t like it before I met that woman. Now I like it even less. I don’t think you should be in Madame Leona’s dance troupe.”
“I don’t care, Bryan. The only way I can really investigate Paulie’s death is if I take her place. I’m a good actress. You saw me. Leona will never suspect me, and if I find out we’re wrong, that Paulie’s death was an accident, well—well—then I’ll be on the next step toward my dance career. I can’t lose.”
“I couldn’t stand to lose you, Melanie.” Bryan took her in his arms again.
“You won’t, Bryan. I promise I’ll be careful. No way are you going to get rid of me that easily.”
Melanie could make all the promises she wanted. But now that Bryan had met Madame Leona, the woman behind all this mystery, he wasn’t sure Melanie could keep her promise.
two
And the demon Tamiel sheathed his claws and gentled before her.
IT WAS MONDAY, after what Melanie thought was the longest weekend of her life. She hurried along the sidewalk up Eighteenth Street, past shops that were only a blur out of the corners of her eyes.
She peeked at her watch. I’ll be early, she worried. It wasn’t even three-thirty, and Madame Leona had said four. She slowed her pace and transferred her dance bag from one hand to another. She guessed it would be all right to be early, but then it might be more professional to be exactly on time. She needed to act professional, and to dance her heart out—whatever it took to get in this troupe.
The sidewalk was dangerously slick with packed snow. That’s all I need, she thought. The headline would read: MELANIE CLARK FOUND SPRAWLED ON EIGHTEENTH STREET SIDEWALK WITH ALL BONES BROKEN. She laughed at the thought, but it wasn’t nearly as scary as what she might be getting herself into. If she was right, and Leona had something to do with Paulie’s death, a broken bone might look good compared to what else could happen to her.
The heavy snow that fell Saturday night was melting in the streets. Cars sloshed along, throwing water from the curbs, which caused her to stop and go, dodging the spray.
When she finally stood in front of the theater, she set her dance stuff beside her. She forced herself to wait until she regained her composure.
Once inside the Lafayette, which is what she called it though it was now properly the Blue Princess, she walked towards the down stairway on the other side of the stairs to the balcony. It was cordoned off.
“Hello, Miss.” The theater custodian was coming down the stairs. He stopped his broom long enough to greet her and check why she was there. “Dance troupe?”
“Hi, Mr. Brandish. I hope so.” Melanie navigated around the nearest brass post with its thick maroon rope. After descending two flights of groaning wooden stairs, she stood on the concrete floor of the old basement. There was junk everywhere: boxes, play props, a rack of moth-eaten tailcoats and once-glittery costumes, more boxes, lumber, an old upright piano, and a huge mound of shipping excelsior.
The door to the studio was beside her to the right. She took a deep breath, opened it with a confident thrust, and stepped inside.
“Miss Clark. You are early.”
Frau Voska was standing right inside the door, like a guard. Melanie felt as though someone had knocked her aside with a battering ram. Her heart was beating a hundred miles an hour.
All she could think of to say was, “Thank you, Frau Voska.”
Terrific, she thought. I don’t know if being early is good or bad. And there was certainly no way to tell by the tone of Frau Voska’s voice.
At the bars were Laurie Roberts and Jean Whitney, who were also in her advanced class. They paused just long enough to give her a quick hello wave. Madame Leona stood at the far side of the studio with three girls that Melanie didn’t know. She seemed not to have noticed her yet. Until now, Melanie didn’t realize how weak her legs felt.
“Melanie Clark …” Madame Leona turned and greeted her. “Thank you for being on time. Change please. I’ll expect you back in five minutes.”
When Melanie entered the dressing room, she let loose an enormous sigh. As she was changing into her leotards, someone dropped a shoe behind her.
Turning, she saw a friendly face with rouged cheeks. The face, framed with tumbling, curly brown hair, was cocked to one side, dark eyes gleaming.
“Hi, stranger,” the girl said, taking Melanie in with a quick once-over glance. “I’ll bet you’re the new dancer.”
Melanie nodded. “Maybe. I’m Melanie Clark.”
“Happy to meet you. I’m Hannah Brooks, but call me Hank. Everyone else does. Comes from having three older brothers.”
Melanie liked Hank immediately. Her smile took away most of the knot in Melanie’s stomach. “Right now you can call me Nervous.”
“Wonderful! Finally—someone around here with a sense of humor.” Hank clapped her hands together in prayer fashion. “Granola bar?” She tore open a two-pack and offered one to Melanie.
“Thanks, Hank, but I couldn’t.” Melanie fumbled with her yellow ankle warmers.
Hank moved closer to Melanie. She slid into a chair, seat turned towards her so her crossed arms rested on the back.
“Hey, look—relax. I saw your first tryout.”
Melanie glanced at Hank, a bit puzzled. She didn’t think she knew this girl, yet Hank seemed to know her. “I’m sorry, Hank—I haven’t—I don’t think I’ve seen you before. You saw me audition for Madame Leona’s troupe?”
“I sure did,” Hank replied. She crunched on her granola bar. “Unlike you, I’m not in her dance school. I got into Madame’s exclusive club through Laurie Roberts. She and I were best friends before I transferred to North Point High School.”
Melanie felt better knowing that Hank wasn’t in her school, even though it was so big she didn’t know everyone.
Hank leaned forward a bit and plopped her head down onto her crossed arms, her hair tumbling all around her face. “You go with Bryan Dorsey, the wrestler, don’t you? Laurie catches me up on gossip occasionally. I fell in love with him at a wrestling match. Laurie says half the girls in Bellponte High are envious of you.” Hank smiled.
“I—I had no idea, but thanks.” Warming to the spirit of Hank’s humor, Melanie sternly put her hands on her hips. “Watch yourself. Bryan does have my name tattooed on his chest.”
“Hey, I can see that. Don’t worry about me.” Hank laughed and Melanie joined her. “I’m a loner. But, Mel—is Mel okay?”
“Fine.”
“Mel, your first tryout for the troupe was great, wonderful. Incredible! I thought you’d get picked hands down.”
Melanie marveled at how good Hank made her feel. Then, like a slap, she remembered the time. She rushed to a large, bulb-bordered mirror hung above a row of makeup stations and quickly pinned up her light brown hair.
There came suddenly three loud, rapid bangs against the outside of the dressing room door. Melanie felt the blood drain from her face. She froze and looked at Hank. Before Hank could say anything the door opened, and Frau Voska stood there, looking at Melanie with what Melanie deemed murder in her eyes.
“Move, girl. Madame is ready for you.” Frau Voska shook a willowy director’s stick at Melanie, then left, closing the door behind her.
“Oh, great …” Melanie started to shake.
“Relax.” Hank stood up. “Frau Vodka is strictly an acquired taste.”
Bless you, Hank, Melanie thought, with a nervous giggle. She was about to ask if she looked okay, but Hank spoke first.
“Ever since Pauline McMasters died there’s been more tension around here than you could cut with a knife. Just work around it, Mel. Reeelaxxx—”
Melanie felt a chill race across her shoulders and neck and down her arms. If she pretended she didn’t know about Paulie, she could find out what else Hank knew about her. “Hank, I’m auditioning for a gap created by someone who died?”
Hank clapped her hands over her mouth for an instant. “You didn’t know? Oh, I’m sorry, Mel. Pauline was in an auto accident. Sorry.” She touched Melanie’s shoulder. “Don’t let yourself think about it. It’ll still be you who gets you into the troupe.”
So much for that. If Hank knew anything else, she wasn’t saying. Melanie made a mental note to question Hank more, if she could do so without raising suspicion. She had no idea who she could trust around here. Until she did, she’d trust no one.
Melanie worked to regain the composure that Hank’s ready jokes had given her. She put all other thoughts aside, stretching her back, then tugging at her leg warmers. “See you later, I hope. I’d better go before Voska raps her death knell again.”
“I would say break a leg, but I think that belongs to the theater. Hey look, I’m supposed to be heading home, but I’ll stay—keep you company—if you don’t mind my watching your audition.”
“I’d love it, Hank. Thanks.” Melanie couldn’t want anything more than just that—a friendly face, someone like Hank who would help restore her self-confidence.
Madame Leona wasn’t in sight when Melanie stepped onto the studio floor with Hank beside her. This worried her, until she saw Frau Voska walk into Madame Leona’s office. She heard a conversation, one voice clearly Madame Leona’s. Hank put a hand on Melanie’s shoulder.
“You know, we’ve been rehearsing Swan Lake so intensely the past few weeks I’m starting to grow feathers. Do you have an audition number? If not, you can expect the Tchaikovsky.”
“Yes, Pau—Laurie told me the ballet you’re doing is Swan Lake.” Melanie watched the three girls she hadn’t met. They stood close together in the far corner across the floor from Madame Leona’s office, and each had her eyes on Melanie. She stared back at them until they looked away and started a conversation, pretending she no longer held any interest for them.
Just then Melanie was tapped on her left shoulder. She and Hank turned to find Laurie Roberts and Jean Whitney behind them.
“We’re done for today, Melanie,” Laurie said.
“But we both want to wish you good luck with your audition.” Jean finished the sentence.
“Thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow. I hope.” Melanie watched them head for the dressing room.
“You’re on,” Hank cut in. She nodded toward Madame Leona’s office.
Frau Voska was outside, fiddling with the tape deck by the office door. Madame Leona stood beyond her, unmoving, her arms folded. She looked directly at Melanie. Melanie thought she might easily be an incarnation of a Greek goddess. The air around her sculptured face seemed alive with an indefinable vibrancy. She wanted to give Madame Leona her best effort and knew that this audition was very, very special. Yesterday with Bryan, getting this chance, was step one. This was step two of her plan.
The music of the first dance set from Swan Lake began. Melanie had danced it two years ago, and she had watched Paulie practice. She hoped she remembered it well enough. If not, she’d improvise.
She was still looking eye-to-eye with Madame Leona when Hank put a hand on her back and gave her a push. “Get out there, Mel.”
Melanie looked over her shoulder at Hank and gave her a finger wave. Hank waved back.
Melanie began. She let the music lead; she followed. She thought of nothing but a swan. With each second she felt herself being drawn deeper into the dance, bit by bit accepting herself as a swan, letting the music gently push aside all doubt and fear. Every few minutes, though, she did break concentration to follow Madame Leona’s movements. She could feel her slowly and methodically moving around the studio, watching her from every angle. Frau Voska moved with her. She carried the wooden baton, striking it like a metronome against her heavy skirt.
“That’s good, Melanie.”
Madame Leona smiled and walked toward her. Frau Voska walked directly toward the tape deck, almost brushing against Melanie, but did not give her so much as a brief glance. The music was shut off.
Melanie stood, breathing heavily, with a hip cocked to one side and her hand resting there. Whatever happened, she felt good about the audition, her performance. She glanced toward Hank sitting on the floor beside the dressing room door. Hank threw Melanie a “Not bad, not bad at all” look, acco
mpanied by a reassuring Hank smile.
“Surely you didn’t dance that well in the tryouts, Melanie,” Madame Leona said. “Or I wouldn’t have made a mistake selecting—passing you over. I believe you have charmed the muse.”
Melanie felt a blush coming, but could do nothing to stop it. She looked into Madame Leona’s eyes and for a moment felt that she and Leona were having a stare-down. This woman was incredibly strong. She would be a formidable enemy. Leona won when Melanie glanced toward Hank again.
Madame Leona shot a quick glance at Hank, then turned toward the three other troupe members still clustered in the far corner of the theater.
“Ladies—we are done. Thank you.” The trio left, but Hank remained sitting on the floor.
Melanie knew she was in when Leona, in a quiet voice, asked, “Melanie, do you prefer to be addressed as Melanie or Miss Clark?”
“Melanie’s fine.” Melanie tried to keep from smiling—or more than that, shouting. She had done it. She could get on to step three—whatever that was. She hadn’t thought this all out.
“That’s a lovely name. It’s Greek, you know.” Leona stepped forward and kissed her lightly on the cheek. “Welcome to my troupe. Please relax, but don’t leave. I’ll be right back.” She walked away toward her office, then stopped and looked at Hank. “Hannah, why haven’t you left?”
“Mel and I are friends in show choir,” Hank replied casually. “We’re going to grab a bite after she changes.”
Madame Leona frowned but continued to her office. She was gone only an instant and returned carrying a black, velvet-covered box. From it she took a chain and a medallion. “This is for you.”
She placed the necklace over Melanie’s head, paused, and gazed into Melanie’s eyes, searching, inquisitive. Melanie glanced down, partly to break Leona’s spell.
It was, she realized suddenly, the same necklace and medallion from the Arbuthnot. The one Madame Leona refused to sell to Bryan. The one Paulie had worn until—until …
The Dance Page 2
