Dying for a Dance

by Cindy Sample

  Jenna placed her hands on her hips and scowled. “Looks like Ben will be visiting the dance studio with you, doesn't it?”

  I didn't appreciate Jenna's tone, but my eldest rarely complained when I asked her to babysit. It wouldn't be a huge issue to take Ben along with me.

  I looked at Ben and he shrugged. “No biggie.”

  Okay, that was easy. If I gave Ben a pen and pad of paper, he could add another addendum to his ever-expanding Christmas list. That should keep him out of trouble.

  Twelve hours later, Ben and I entered the dance studio. I settled him into one of the white molded plastic chairs next to a round matching table on the side of the large ballroom. Between his Happy Meal treat and a spelling assignment, Ben should be able to entertain himself while I availed myself of the opportunity to talk to some of the teachers.

  At least twenty couples of varying sizes, ages and nationalities moved around the ballroom, participants in the newcomer waltz class. Ballroom etiquette mandates that couples dance in a counterclockwise direction, but ballroom technique, as I'd quickly come to realize, cannot be learned overnight.

  I chuckled as two pairs of dancers collided. At least I wasn't the only “klutzky on the floor.” Both couples appeared to be in good spirits and they laughed as they ventured back into the circle formation their instructor had demonstrated.

  At the far end of the room another couple narrowly missed mowing down several pairs of dancers. The male dancer whirled his partner with force and determination, totally oblivious to the three beats of a waltz melody.

  Marcus, dressed in a tight black T-shirt and even tighter designer jeans, his dark hair pulled back in his standard ponytail, was teaching the newcomer class. Or at least attempting to teach them. The harried instructor stomped to the CD player and the music abruptly stopped. He clapped his hands bringing the dancers to a halt.

  “People, c'mon, you gotta pay attention. Hear the rhythm. Feel the music. Don't rush through it. It's not a race.”

  The students chuckled and nodded. Marcus's smile looked practiced and insincere. Teaching beginner students had to be one of the less appealing aspects of his job. “Okay, we start again. You two, come closer to me.” He pointed to the couple that had been careening recklessly around the floor. They stared back at him with puzzled looks on their faces. “Yes, you, please come here. It will be safer for the class.”

  Marcus chuckled and the other students laughed along with him. The couple reluctantly moved to the center of the dance floor. Their expressions revealed they weren't happy to be singled out.

  I tried not to giggle myself when I recognized the troublemakers. Detective Bradford and my mother. She must be mortified that the teacher had chastised them in front of the other patrons. This dance class could be just the thing to tear them apart.

  Ben yanked on the sleeve of my sweater. “Mom, that looks like Grandmother and Detective Bradford.”

  I nodded at him, intent on watching Marcus demonstrate a basic box pattern.

  The shrill cry of a seven-year-old boy echoed across the cavernous room. “Hey, Detective Bradford, are you here to catch the killer?”

  Marcus stumbled in the midst of demonstrating the rise and fall of the waltz. My mother paled. My own face burned as twenty pairs of eyes turned to my son. I was so not going to get the Mother of the Year award.

  As for Bradford, once again the big man startled me. Instead of the anger I anticipated, his face lit up with that smile I only saw when he was in the company of my mother. He loped to the side of the room and scooped up Ben with little effort. My seven-year-old squealed in delight. Whatever connection the two of them had, it was obviously a positive relationship for both.

  Bradford whispered in Ben's ear, set him back in his chair then returned to his place by my mother's side. Marcus walked over to talk to Yuri, his frenzied hand movements and somber expression indicative of his distress attempting to keep the class under control. It was difficult enough teaching forty newcomers, much less having the class interrupted by a disruptive child.

  I hoped Yuri had some advice for the other instructor that did not entail sending a seven-year-old boy home with his mother.

  Yuri shook his head and walked away. Marcus punched a button on the CD player and music filled the room once again. The dance teacher addressed the students. “For now, practice what I have taught you. And try not to crush anyone.”

  He nodded to the class then rushed across the room toward the back of the studio where Yuri had disappeared.

  The front door to the studio burst open with a bang. Liz propelled herself toward me, dropping her purse and assorted bags into one chair and herself into another. Her beautiful porcelain complexion, pampered on a daily basis, normally made my friend look ten years younger than the forty she had turned three months earlier. But tonight she looked bedraggled.

  “Is anything wrong?” I asked.

  Liz's shoulders sagged as she slumped in her chair. “That bozo DA is making Brian's life hell, which is making my life equally hideous.”

  “What's going on?”

  She ran her fingers threw her highlighted bronzed curls which oddly enough made her hair look even more stylish than before. How did she do that?

  “The DA wants someone arrested who we both know, but who I can't say anything about because it's confidential. Brian says there isn't enough evidence to arrest her yet.”

  “So Brian's in the doghouse.”

  “More like the outhouse since his boss is such a piece of...” She glanced at Ben who hung on her every word. “I swear that DA is so full of himself I don't know how Brian stands it. It's like this every election year.”

  I murmured a comforting response. The door to the studio banged open once again. Nanette, the dancing nurse, and her friend, Samantha, wandered in, followed by Paula lugging in a huge garment bag.

  The three women settled into the vacant chairs alongside ours. Paula noticed my curious expression as she struggled with the oversized vinyl bag. “I'm practicing with Boris tonight and I need to ensure that the length of my competition gown is okay. The seamstress was supposed to hem it so it would fall right at my ankle, but it seems lower than that. If it catches on the heel of my shoe, I could trip.”

  Ballroom dancing was the most masochistic hobby. Despite years of lessons, there were so many ways you could make a fool of yourself. I couldn't understand why someone would spend thousands of dollars on ball gowns and private lessons if there was a chance that one tiny misstep might land them on their sequined butt.

  I didn't have the money, time or the ability to ever worry about competing, but that didn't keep me from watching Paula unzip her garment bag.

  “Wow, your gown is gorgeous,” Samantha said. The lights from the mirrored ball in the studio transformed the Swarovski crystals on the royal blue silk dress into miniature diamond stars.

  “I love the cut of the skirt.” Liz smoothed the fabric between her fingertips. “Who's your seamstress? Do you think it's too late to alter my wedding dress?”

  Too late? Yes, my dear Bridezilla, it is much too late to redesign your wedding dress.

  “Bet that cost you a bunch of moolah.” Nanette voiced the thoughts going through several of our heads.

  Paula nodded. “Four thousand dollars. And it's not even new.”

  I couldn't tell whose jaw dropped the lowest.

  “Are you kidding?” You could hear the exclamation marks in the tone of Liz's voice.

  “I know it seems nuts,” Paula admitted. “But at the gold level I don't have a choice. The judges basically decide who will win first place the second they lay eyes on you. I could be the best dancer out there, but if I don't look and dress the part, I'll place near the bottom. With anywhere from six to ten couples on the floor at the same time, they have less than ten seconds to watch each couple dance. Your dress, and even the way your hair is styled, can determine the outcome.”

  “It's a good thing I'm only competing in the Newcomer level. I
can get by with that hot pink $99 fringed special I bought on EBay.” Samantha elbowed her friend. “C'mon, Nanette. Time for our group salsa lesson.”

  Nanette stood and rocked to the left before she righted herself on her heels. Even wearing three inch stilettos she barely reached five feet. “I'm ready. Let's go find us some hard bodies.” She leered at us then teetered down the dance floor toward the smaller studio in the back.

  Paula, Liz and I burst out laughing. I couldn't imagine prowling for hard bodies in my seventies. Not that I was all that successful at half her age.

  Paula was still chuckling as she grabbed her garment bag and headed to the ladies dressing room to change. Mother and Bradford were evidently done terrorizing the other couples on the dance floor and they joined us.

  “I can't wait to see your wedding routine, Liz,” Mother said. “Laurel was so excited about learning the foxtrot that Robert and I decided to take a few lessons ourselves.”

  Liz gave me a self-satisfied “I told you so” smile. I tried to remember if I had ever used the words excited and foxtrot in the same sentence.

  “Honey, why don't we take Ben to your house? We can stay until Jenna comes home.”

  In less than five seconds, Ben had thrown the last vestiges of his Happy Meal in the garbage can and crammed his homework into his backpack.

  We exchanged kisses and said goodbye. It would be far easier concentrating on the dance choreography if I didn't have to worry about Ben searching for killers hiding in the studio. My poor children would probably need years of therapy.

  I waved as the three of them exited the studio then turned to Liz. “Where's the rest of the bridal party?”

  “They should be here any second. Bobby said he'd be a few minutes late joining us. Boris called a brief meeting of all the instructors between classes. Something about some upcoming competition everyone is involved in.”

  That must be the reason why Marcus had raced to the back of the studio before the waltz class ended. As if on cue, the door blew open again, bringing in a group of chatting men and women.

  “Hi, beautiful.” Brian bent over his fiancee and kissed her, transforming her once again into his sparkling bride-to-be. Re-energized by her Prince Charming, Liz sprang into action, directing us to our spots with the efficiency of a drill sergeant on speed.

  Bobby had choreographed the routine so all three bridesmaids entered from the left and the groomsmen came in from the right. We would simultaneously perform the grapevine step. Even I could manage that. We were also supposed to gracefully lift our arms but that seemed far too complicated for me. Recently I'd overheard Bobby muttering something about my Frankenstein arms.

  Once we joined the groomsmen, we would dance the foxtrot including some turns and promenades around the room, then fan out for the bride and groom to perform their solo. The best man, a nice guy named Chuck, was my partner. He was remarkably agile for a former football player turned high school math teacher. His grapevine was perfect although he had a tendency to speed through the steps like he must have done in football practice twenty years earlier.

  My attention wandered as I watched Anya and Marcus practice a movement that required her to slither down his body then slide between his legs. She was so flexible it was like watching Gumby with breasts.

  Yuri wandered into the studio sipping his habitual energy drink. If I had to dance from nine to ten hours a day, a twelve pack of energy drinks would be a requirement.

  Strains of “It Had to Be You” emanated from the sound system so I followed the other bridesmaids on to the floor. I wasn't positive if the reason I walked in last had to do with my official position as matron of honor, or clever choreography. I was grateful the other bridesmaids, masseuses in Liz's spa, seemed to know what they were doing.

  Chuck led me for three full steps before I abruptly halted.

  “What the heck?” he yelled, as I grabbed his polo shirt in an attempt to stay upright.

  “Laurel, what is the matter with you?” Liz said.

  “Sorry, I was distracted.”

  “Hey, I realize it's hard to stay focused when you're surrounded by so many gorgeous men, but you need to pay attention.”

  “It's not the guys who distracted me.” I pointed across the room to where the number one murder suspect and her husband stood.

  “What the bloody hell is she doing here?” Brian asked, his face livid. He was one angry assistant District Attorney.

  I shrugged. Dana might be a murder suspect, but I assumed she was free to do anything she wanted other than leave the area. Brian marched over to the Chandlers.

  Dana looked horrified from all the attention. Mr. Chandler thrust his pudgy jaw out looking like he was prepared to do battle to defend his wife's honor. I darted over but before I could eke out a greeting, Brian turned to me, his palm practically touching the tip of my nose. “Laurel, stay out of this.”

  Like that would stop me.

  “Dana, are you here for a lesson?” I asked, dodging Brian's hand.

  She looked happy to explain her presence. “Yes, I'm supposed to, um, Yuri and I...” She stumbled as she attempted to regain her composure. “I need to practice for the Holiday Ball. Yuri offered to take Dimitri's place and compete with me. We have a lesson at nine.”

  She turned to Brian. “I didn't realize it would be a problem coming to the studio. Is it out of bounds for me?”

  Brian blew out a breath. “Technically, no, although I've never run across a situation where a person suspected of murder willingly returned to the scene of a crime, unless they had an ulterior motive in doing so.”

  “My wife did not kill that piece of slime!” Mr. Chandler shook his fist mere inches from Brian's nose. I'd never seen the bank president lose his composure before. This was so out of character for him.

  Dana grabbed her husband's wayward fist and clasped it in her hands. “Let me repeat. My goal is to compete in the New Year's Holiday Ball. I apologize if my presence at the studio is considered unacceptable, but I certainly hope my motivation is understandable.”

  Liz joined us. With a brief hello to the Chandlers, she coaxed both Brian and me back onto the dance floor.

  “Brian, leave that poor woman alone.” She slipped her arm around his waist. “I don't think you should be talking to her without her attorney present, anyway.”

  That thought had also crossed my mind as Brian chastised Dana and evidently he realized it as well. He pulled Liz tight, nuzzled her cheek and whispered in her ear. She giggled and pinched his rear.

  I rolled my eyes. Get a room.

  I looked over my shoulder. Dana introduced her husband to Yuri. They shook hands and Yuri led the couple to a table and chairs alongside the dance floor. Dana and her new partner immediately began talking while Mr. Chandler sat glowering in silence. I wondered why he had chosen to accompany Dana. Did he come to support his wife? Or was he merely a jealous husband intent on keeping an eye on his spouse?

  Yuri was attentive to Dana as well he should be towards a client, who despite being a murder suspect still had plenty of bucks to spend on dance lessons. Or did she? After spending all that money funding Dimitri's studio, the Chandlers could be in a sticky financial situation.

  A vision in midnight blue strolled onto the floor. Paula's evening gown fit her like a dream. If I ever had the money to compete, I'd need enough Spanx to cover me from my neck down to my ankles.

  Paula was followed by Boris. They joined Yuri and the Chandlers at their table. After a few minutes, the studio owner stood and led Paula onto the floor. I wondered how they could dance when our group hogged the CD player, but evidently at the gold level, you could practice your steps without music. Now that took skill.

  Bobby stopped briefly at their table to chat with Yuri before he walked over to the CD player. Seconds later, the sound of “It Had to Be You,” which had shot to number one on my top ten most despised songs list, filtered through the room. The wedding party which had been chatting instead of dancing qui
ckly resumed our positions. On our sixth attempt, the routine went perfectly.

  Thunderous applause from the sidelines surprised me. I looked over to check out our rooting section. Salsa class must have ended because Samantha and Nanette cheered alongside Boris.

  The studio owner's beady eyes zeroed in on one member of the wedding party. “Ah, Laurel, so light on your feet now, yes?” He shot me a wolfish grin “With more lessons you could be competing with these other beautiful ladies.”

  Take lessons with Boris? Over my zaftig dead body.

  Paula joined the two bridesmaids who were heading in the direction of the changing room so her lesson must have ended also. Yuri tossed his energy drink into the wastebasket with a shot that would have made Michael Jordan proud. He stopped to talk to Bobby who indicated our group was finished for the night. Bobby looked like he was finished as well.

  Liz and Brian walked off nuzzling each other. It was kind of nauseating but I was happy that Queen Elizabeth was in a good mood after our practice session. Since I had yet to see Dana and Yuri dance together, I decided to stick around and watch from the sidelines. I sat next to Samantha and Nanette. Mr. Chandler watched from the opposite side of the studio.

  “Your group looked good out there,” Samantha said.

  “Thanks. Maybe once I master the foxtrot I can join you in your salsa class. Is it hard?”

  “Not hard enough.” Nanette tittered at her double entendre and Samantha punched her on the forearm. Paula said goodbye and exited the studio behind Liz and Brian. The sound of “Just Dance,” one of my favorite Lady Gaga tracks pulsated through the room as Dana and Yuri took to the floor.

  I tapped my foot along with the music and watched the couple perform the elaborate eight-count cha cha. Dana swiveled, pivoted, and thrust her hips back and forth at lightning speed. She was at least ten years older than me, but in far better shape. I couldn't blame her for not wanting to miss out on the Holiday Ball competition. She was amazing.

  I wondered if Mr. Chandler had ever seen his wife in action before. Seeing her face glow as she danced with the good-looking instructor, I doubted this was the best method for maintaining a successful marriage.