An Immortal Dance

by Alastair Fontaine

  “Chill out, I was joking,” Finn laughed. “Seriously though, nothing happened?

  “Nothing at all.”

  “Feels bad man. I was starting to think you were straight.”

  Ambrose wasn’t in the mood. The rest of the ride home was spent in silence. He was thankful that it was a holiday, he did not feel like he could have sat through school. At last, they came to a stop in front of his home, so small in comparison to the Versailles in which he had awoken. He and his friend exchanged goodbyes as the first tiny droplets began to fall from the sky. Then, Finn’s engine hummed and he was off. As Ambrose approached the door, he saw his mother waiting. She seemed flustered.

  “You said you’d be home early! I texted you just about a thousand times and you couldn’t even reply? We were about to call the police,” she began to fume. Then, her face became worried. “Where were you? Did something happen?” she asked.

  “No, I’m alright, I just figured I’d spend the night at Finn’s place. I’m sorry, mother,” he lied, feeling that perhaps telling the truth was not the wisest thing to do.

  “I see. Not. Even. A. Warning? Your father’s going ballistic. You could have told us if only out of the smallest shred of respect! You know we don’t mind as long as we know where you are. I just don’t know if I can trust you anymore,” she lamented, genuine hurt in her voice. “Go inside and apologise to your father. He’s in his study worrying about you. Then go upstairs and take a bath.”

  The day just kept getting better. He took off his shoes, leaving them on the doormat, and apprehensively approached his father’s study. He sighed as he pushed open the thick oak door, producing a groaning noise as it gave.

  Richard d’Artois looked up at the sound, seeing his son. On his face was etched the same, dismissive look that Courtney had worn that morning. Except, Ambrose noted, it was pretty clear that his was hiding a barely restrained fury. For a few moments, neither spoke. Richard slowly put down the phone, looking up at Ambrose the entire time. Only then did he speak.

  “Sit down, my dear,” he said in a deceivingly kindly tone. Ambrose quickly sat on one of the old, russet leather chairs in front of his father’s desk, bracing for the explosion that he felt sure was coming. “Now,” his father continued, “would you care to explain yourself?”

  “I’m sorry father. I stayed over at Fi-” he began, but was swiftly cut off.

  “See, when I said explain yourself, I didn’t mean tell me the lies that you probably told your mother. Start again.”

  “What? I don’t know what you’re talking about! It just totally slipped my mind to tell you guys. I promise,” he lied desperately. “I wasn’t doing drugs or drinking or any of that stuff if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  “Now who said anything about drugs or alcohol? I didn’t bring it up, you did,” Richard pressed him.

  “What? No! I swear, nothing dodgy happened last night. I don’t see why you’re making such a big deal of this. I literally just forgot to text you guys. I’m eighteen years old, I don’t see why I should even have to tell you and mother where I am all the time,” he argued.

  “I don’t see why you have to lie about where you are. I thought I’d raised you better than that.” Now there was steel in Richard’s voice. “If you don’t start talking I’ll drive straight up to your school and make a fuss until someone tells me.”

  Ambrose’s stomach twisted with horror. He knew that his father was certainly capable of following through on his threat. Yet he couldn’t tell him the truth, he knew his father would be upset that he had accepted such an expensive gift from a stranger. Worse, his father could even go as far as forcing him to go through the embarrassment of going back to her home to return it. Ambrose opted to stay silent, looking at the ground, hoping that his father would have a sudden change of heart or that his mother would come and save him. Seeing that the conversation was going nowhere, Richard’s expression softened.

  “Ambrose, I may not look like it, but I was young once. I did some pretty stupid things back then. I really couldn’t give less of a damn if you tried a little beer or smoked some grass. Honestly, I’d just shout at you a bit and let you off. What worries me, however, is that you don’t even look like you’ve had a wild night of teenage imbecility. No, instead you’re dressed in a suit that I sure as hell didn’t buy you. Son, I can accept many things, but I don’t want a criminal in the family. If I find out that you’re involved in something that would tarnish our name, I will put you out into the streets and your mother will certainly agree. It will break our hearts to do it, but we will. I hope that’s perfectly clear. I don’t know how you got that suit or where you were last night, and you clearly won’t tell me,” Richard stopped for a moment and looked fixedly at Ambrose. Then, sensing that he would not be getting an answer, he sighed deeply and continued, “However, I am going to choose to trust you this once. I just hope that you have grown into a man that I can be proud of. Get out.” Ambrose stood up without a word and swiftly made his escape, before his father could change his mind. His father’s words stung at first, but he was more relieved that he had gotten off relatively lightly.

  ***

  That night, long after the lights had gone out in Ambrose’s room, Mercy d’Artois sat in her dining room. She had placed a hand-made tablecloth from Guatemala on the dinner table the day before. She admired the immense labour that must have gone into weaving its intricate design. Golden thread formed a radiant Mayan sun. On one side of it, crimson stripes stood out against a black background in a seemingly random pattern. On the other, brown, humanoid figures knelt on a green plain. Underneath them, a pristine blue river flowed. Above them, little white stars looked on. She found herself wondering what ancient tales passed down for centuries by a warm fire under the Caribbean moon had formed the scene. At last, Richard came through the kitchen door. He carried two recently brewed Manhattans in crystal tumblers. She extended a grateful hand and took one. As she raised it to her lips, she took a second to enjoy the pleasant smell of the amber liquid before taking a sip. He had remembered to use rye whiskey, she reflected, pleased. On his first attempt, he had used bourbon, resulting in a slightly sweeter liquid than she would have preferred.

  “It’s been a long day darling,” Richard said.

  “Yes, it has. Did you find out where he got the suit?” she asked.

  “No, he wouldn’t say.”

  “Richard, you don’t think he’s...” her voice trembled and she hesitated. “Do you think we made the wrong choice bringing him here?”

  “Sometimes I wonder my love. At the time, it just seemed like it was meant to be. Regardless, he’s our son now, our Ambrose, the only one we’ll ever have.” He regretted his words instantly as he saw how they stung her. Their marriage, happy as it was, had not been blessed with children. No matter what method they tried, they were always part of the 1% for whom it failed. Every time they looked to adopt a child, something had always gone wrong. When they had seen Ambrose’s youthful face lying dormant in the sand, they had thought it a miracle. An heir sent from above.

  “Where do you think he really came from?” She took another sip.

  “Does it matter?”

  “Oh, I don’t know Richard. He clearly isn’t a Christian, he didn’t know how to use a computer- unthinkable for a kid his age- and he doesn’t have a memory. We picked him up off that remote beach in Alaska after hearing him scream his lungs out. I’m telling you, that sound chilled me to the core. I thought some ticked off beast would come crashing out of the brush at any moment and make a meal out of us. Does none of that make you think that we could have put just a bit more thought into our decision?”

  Richard wanted to defend Ambrose, but he couldn’t point out a flaw in his wife’s argument. The kid really was strange. Worse, if he really was a bad apple, whatever took his memory wouldn’t have changed that. “Well what do you want to do now my sweet? Shall we tell him that we’ve been brainwashing him into believing that he is our blood
? That all of the lovely family pictures that represent his joyful, carefree childhood were photoshopped? Do you know how much trouble that could get us in? Mercy, we moved to this godforsaken village from New York and remade our lives because we wanted to take this kid as our own without anyone suspecting. A kid to send off to college. A kid to come home to us every Christmas, to love us in our old age, to give everything to.”

  “We had the best intentions. There’s no denying that. Yet I can’t help but to think, what if we let our most fervent wishes get in the way of common sense? Who knows how he ended up strewn on that beach? Who knows what parents are missing him, if any? I don’t know how he got that suit, but I’m afraid that he’s involved in something just awful. I looked it over. The buttons are pure gold for God’s sake! That’s beyond even our means. I really am afraid that we picked up a rotten soul. Why else would he hide something as small as the origins of a stupid suit from us?”

  Richard saw the panic in her eyes, the fear only a mother could have when faced with the possibility of suffering a terrible disappointment from her only child. He poured himself some more liquor and offered some to his wife, but she declined with a quick gesture. “I know Mercy, but we got ourselves into this and now we’ve got to see it through. Something tells me that he is no criminal. I just get this weird vibe of honesty from him. He is a terrible liar too. Wherever he got that suit, I’m sure it was legitimate and he has his reasons for not telling us. You’re the lawyer. You, out of the both of us, should know he is innocent until proven guilty.”

  “For both of our sakes, I pray you’re right.” She finished the last of her drink. The alcohol had helped to calm her. All of the signs pointed to the worst, but she would trust her son, her beloved Ambrose, until he broke her heart. After all, he had given her what she desired most in the world, the joy of motherhood. She hoped, with all her being, that he would remain true. It was a powerful, determined hope born in desperation.

  She looked then at her husband, still every bit the dashing, young businessman that had won her heart in Athens so many years before. Eyes worn with age but still possessed of a quiet dignity and a marvellous warmth that never failed to remind her of why she had fallen so in love. She smiled a sad little smile then. He understood. He reached out to envelop her soft, elegant hand in his, making an unspoken promise. If, by cruel misfortune, it was forced upon them, they would face it as they had all their battles for nigh on thirty years.

  Together.

  An uncontrollable burst of laughter in a quiet room,

  The calm before a storm,

  The freezing touch of an old lover's hand,

  Roads you still have to roam

  -MJ, India

  7

  For once, Ambrose was glad for school. Going to that ball had possibly been the worst thing Finn had ever talked him into. Courtney Rossborough had been an absolute disappointment, his parents suspected him of being a criminal and he highly doubted that he and Aisling would be speaking any time in the predictable future. The monotonous hours spent in stuffy classrooms listening to old men and women drone on about things he really couldn’t care less about suddenly didn’t seem so bad. At least concentrating on schoolwork helped to drown out the frustration that had welled up inside of him the night before as he grappled with the sheer injustice of his situation. As he reached the familiar glass doors of Hastings High, it crossed his mind that maybe no one had seen his shame the night before. Passing through red brick halls littered with billboards and coloured posters, he made his way to his home room for morning registration.

  Almost instantly, his hopes were dashed. People were kind enough not to stare, but he wasn’t stupid. Hushed gestures and muted laughter indicated that everyone knew what had happened that night. Great. He was officially the kid who had showed up drunk to Courtney Rossborough’s fancy masquerade ball. He waited impatiently for those 15 minutes to pass so that everyone could just go to class. He was, for once, genuinely looking forward to history with Mr. Josephs. Ambrose d’Artois thought that he had finally hit rock bottom.

  Thought.

  The worn, wooden classroom door creaked open and a graceful figure passed through. She was wearing a yellow oriental dress with a floral design woven into silk that fitted itself tightly to the ivory skin below. Sapphire eyes surveyed the room as every head turned to watch their owner. Ambrose suddenly felt the urgent need to dig a hole and crawl into it for the remainder of the day. His heart sank as Mr. Hart introduced a new student to the senior class of Hastings High. Courtney Rossborough. His only solace was that Finn was in the other registration group and wasn’t present to rub it in. When he heard, Ambrose knew that there would be no mercy. The week really could not get any worse. He tried to hide behind the people in front of him. Luckily, they were too enraptured with the sight of her radiant figure, juxtaposed with the old blackboard behind her, to notice.

  He was relieved as she got lost in a flood of welcoming girls and eager young men, taking the opportunity to sneak out of the classroom. He arrived in the suddenly pleasant history room, greeting Mr Josephs with a smile and taking a seat on a chair next to the wall, at the furthest table back. He put his head on its notched wooden surface and closed his eyes, waiting for the others to arrive. Soon enough, he heard the door open and loud chatter from outside begin to engulf the room. He slowly lifted his head, and to his horror, Courtney Rossborough strolled into his vision. No. Good God, no. She was walking in his direction. It couldn’t be happening. What had he done to deserve such embarrassment?

  He did not get the chance to consider his question. She sat next to him so that he found himself trapped between her and the wall. He could smell her perfume, a delicious blend of vanilla, mandarin and a hint of Damask Rose. It was an exotic scent that went perfectly with her dress. It intoxicated and enthralled him. It almost made him forget how she had dismissed him earlier. The sapphires that graced her refined face pulled him irresistibly towards her. He had seen those eyes before. He had loved those eyes. But where? More importantly, when?

  He froze as she turned towards him, a haughty expression marring her supernatural beauty. A sudden fear gripped him as he realised why she had sat next to him. He was about to be subjected to public ridicule. He felt a strange heat wash over him, as if his body were preparing to handle the shame to come. Then, something remarkable happened. Her face softened.

  “Hey,” ruby lips opened. Her voice was warm, totally different from the coldness that he had been expecting.

  “Err... sup.” Really? Sup? Was that the best he could think of? That was exactly why Finn tormented him, he bitterly reflected.

  “I’m alright.”

  “So, how have you liked school so far?”

  “You mean the 15 minutes I’ve been here? Yes, they’ve been just great, thanks for asking,” she giggled.

  Stupid. Why had he asked that? He had made her laugh though. It was a rich, pure laugh with no hint of malice. He felt the awkwardness of their previous encounter begin to melt away. It was time to get his game on.

  “You’re welcome! It’s the least I could do after Monday. I promise I wasn’t drunk. I don’t usually pass out at parties.”

  “Hmm... if you say so. Lightweight.”

  “What? No!” he said, mock outrage on his face.

  “Mhm. I believe you.” She feigned a cough. “Lightweight.”

  “Why must you say these hurtful things?” he lamented, trying to sound sincere.

  “I speak only the truth.”

  The dull voice of Mr. Josephs began to fill the room. He was scrawling something about the Great Sioux War on the blackboard as he spoke, but they were far too focused on their playful duel to notice.

  “Ms. Rossborough, for a girl as pretty as yourself, you certainly are cruel to a poor boy like me.”

  “Wait, was that a compliment? Aww... aren’t you sweet?” She looked at him with fabricated disbelief, enjoying the flash of discomfort on his face.

  “I was trying t
o be nice! If you like though, I can stop complimenting you.”

  “No, no it’s fine,” she began to twirl her blonde locks, looking into his hickory eyes. She could see that losing his memory had not affected his attraction to her.

  “Too late. Never complimenting you again.”

  “I’m sorry!” she pouted. She became aware that people were staring. She derived a certain pleasure from the envious looks the boys cast at Ambrose. Less so, from the sudden interest displayed by the girls. She didn’t have to be immortal to know that they were already gossiping about the new girl, speculating about her intentions with Ambrose, a man that would always be far beyond their reach. When were girls going to learn to stick together?

  “I don’t know if I can accept that apology. You’ve wounded me so much already.” He almost looked genuinely hurt. Almost. The ghost of an impish smile was etched into his figures, betraying him.

  “Is someone hurt? Would you like a hug?”

  “Now that you ment-”

  To his extreme annoyance, Ambrose was cut off by a low, mocking voice.

  “Mr. d’Artois! Already flirting with the new girl? Impressive. If you put as much effort into history, you’d be the finest student I’ve ever had. Now, may I get on with the class? If you two don’t find the American frontier as fascinating as I do, I’m sure you can, what is it you kids say? Get a room. Preferably far away from this one,” Augustine Josephs sneered, giving them a look that assured them that developing a sudden interest in the frontier was the option most conductive to their joint wellbeing. An awkward silence followed, only filled by Mr. Josephs droning on about Chief Crazy Horse. Ambrose finally became aware of the people looking at them. With that realization, his olive skin began to look more like the bricks that decorated the hallway. He and Courtney turned away from each other, looking determinedly at their notebooks.