Marcia Talley - Dead Man Dancing

‘What? No fancy machines, no flashing lights, no instantaneous test results like you see on TV?’

‘No, ma’am.’ The policeman had returned. ‘No designer suits and two-hundred-dollar haircuts, either. But, we’re sending a sketch artist over in the morning.’

‘Thank you,’ Ruth said, and closed her eyes.

In less than a minute, she was asleep. Leaving Hutch sitting by her side, holding her hand, I took the long walk down to the cafeteria – where the use of cell phones was allowed – to telephone Paul and let him know what the bloody blazes was going on.

Two days before Christmas, sporting a festive, holly-green cast on her leg, Ruth went home. Hutch installed his bride-to-be in the first-floor guest room periodically used by his mother so Ruth wouldn’t have to cope with the stairs.

Christmas came and went; a joyous time. Santa delivered the necklace I’d been hinting for, Ruth’s iPhone, and Chloe found lavender leotards, a matching tutu, and a glittery ‘amethyst’ tiara under the tree. Santa’d got the message. The old elf was no fool.

As usual, 193 Prince George was Holiday Central with feasting and merriment practically 24/7. Thank goodness for large-screen TVs, Christmas DVDs, and microwave popcorn to keep everyone occupied between unwrapping presents and eating until they could only waddle.

When Hutch returned to the business of running a law firm, I volunteered for Ruth detail. I arrived mid-morning on the twenty-sixth to find Ruth stumping around on crutches, determined to drive herself to the Safeway.

‘The hell you are!’ I said. ‘You can’t even get down the front steps.’

‘I can, too. On my butt. And it’s my left leg, Hannah. I don’t need it to drive.’

I put my own (very healthy) foot down, and drove Ruth to the grocery where she embraced her newfound freedom by speeding down the cereal aisle in an electric Mart Cart, terrifying the other shoppers. Backing up at the deli case to take another look at the potato salad – beep, beep, beep , like a heavy construction vehicle – she bumped into a pyramid of party crackers, and they all came tumbling down.

‘Ooops, sorry.’ But she didn’t seem very – sorry, that is.

That night I stayed on at Ruth’s to help with dinner, while Paul relaxed at Emily’s. Frankly, I’d rather be watching Ratatouille with my husband and the grandchildren than hovering over a hot stove in my sister’s kitchen, steaming plum puddings, even though it was my specialty, a secret recipe handed down from my grandmother and steamed in her tin pudding molds.

J & K Studio was closed between Christmas and New Years, so we were surprised when Jay showed up at Hutch’s around eight in the company of a woman – not Kay – who I guessed to be in her early thirties. Her blonde hair was feathered attractively around her cheeks, falling in layers to her shoulders, a hip and modern do, but with a salute to the eighties.

Hutch invited them in.

We’d just sat down in the living room to eat dessert, so I asked, ‘Coffee? Plum pudding?’

‘If it’s decaf,’ Jay replied.

‘A Diet Coke, if you have it,’ the girl replied.

‘This is Melanie Fosher,’ Jay said, as he helped Melanie out of her coat and handed it to Hutch. ‘A private student.’

‘Pleased to meet you,’ Melanie said, in an accent that was hard to place. Boston?

I raised a finger – hold that thought – and went out to the kitchen to fetch their drinks. As I fussed with the glassware, I wondered where I’d met the girl before – she looked vaguely familiar – but what the heck was she was doing in my sister’s living room with Jay Giannotti?

When I returned to our guests, mug in one hand and a highball glass in another, everyone was seated comfortably (although Jay had taken my chair) and Jay was saying, ‘I have a proposition for you.’

Melanie, I noticed, was watching her teacher closely, her bright blue eyes intent.

Hutch raised a suspicious, lawyerly eyebrow. ‘Yes?’ he said in a tone that was usually reserved for the big ‘but’ that came after ‘Congratulations! You are the winner of a new laptop computer!’

‘It concerns the Shall We Dance? auditions.’

‘That,’ Hutch said, acknowledging Ruth’s predicament, ‘is ancient history.’

Jay raised a hand. ‘Hear me out.’

‘I’m listening.’

‘Melanie, here, is one of my best dancers. She’s been studying with me privately for two years.’

I’d assumed Melanie was single, but then I noticed a platinum wedding band and a diamond the size of a plump raisin on the ring finger of her left hand.

As I watched, Jay picked up that hand, and gave it a gentle squeeze. ‘Her husband is her usual partner, but he’s in the army, and his unit’s been sent to Iraq.’

At the mention of Iraq my sister stiffened. She hated the war, but in contrast to her usual outbursts, she knew to behave around an army wife with a husband in Iraq.

‘I’m so sorry,’ Ruth interjected. ‘Will he be there long?’

‘Thirteen months,’ Jay replied, before poor Melanie could get a word in edgewise.

‘You must be terribly worried,’ I said to Melanie as I handed her a coaster so her glass wouldn’t leave a water ring on Hutch’s expensive, highly-polished end table.

Melanie set the coaster on the table, and centered her glass on it. ‘We thought we were pretty safe being stationed at Fort Meade, but then Don was cross-leveled.’

I thought I’d misheard. ‘Cross what?’

‘Leveled. When there’s a shortfall of a specific skill in another unit, the army can transfer you just about anywhere. Don’s in military intelligence,’ she explained. ‘He must have some super-secret skill that they’re dying to have.’

‘Is he fluent in Farsi?’ asked Hutch.

Melanie grinned, and we suspected Hutch had scored a bull’s eye. ‘If I told you, I’d have to kill you, then, wouldn’t I?’

‘Well, anyway,’ Jay said, in a transparent attempt to steer the conversation back to the topic with which he’d begun. ‘With Ruth incapacitated – how are you feeling, by the way, Ruth?’

The man couldn’t have cared all that much about the state of Ruth’s health, because he paused only a fraction of a second before barreling on. ‘Melanie is a superb dancer, Hutch, and you’re a great lead. I’m suggesting you partner Melanie for the Shall We Dance? auditions.’

I nearly choked on my coffee.

Ruth sucked in air.

Hutch rose from the sofa and went over to sit on the arm of Ruth’s chair. She looked as if she’d been tasered, a smile – a grimace, rather – frozen on her face.

Melanie leaned forward, resting her hands on her knees. ‘I certainly understand your reluctance to partner with a complete stranger, Hutch, but I’m in the same position as you are. Don and I were going to audition for the show and then, boom, he’s shipped off to Iraq.’ Melanie looked as disappointed as if she’d been dumped by the star quarterback at the senior prom.

‘The show’s very popular,’ Hutch argued. ‘I’m sure it’ll be cluttering up the airways for several seasons to come. Ruth and I can put off auditioning to another year.’

Ruth’s expression suddenly softened. She shifted in her chair and rose (figuratively speaking) to the occasion. She lifted her chin and looked into Hutch’s eyes. ‘I don’t mind, really, I don’t. Next year we’ll be married and have other concerns.’ She turned back to Melanie. ‘Thank you, this means a lot to him.’

‘And to me, too, Ruth.’

Jay rubbed his hands together rapidly. ‘Excellent!’

‘Hutch and I have been working on this routine,’ Ruth began, but Jay raised a hand and cut her off.