Marcia Talley - Dead Man Dancing

‘And speaking of wash,’ I said, hoisting the laundry basket, ‘I’d better get this load into the washing machine, or your live-in lover is going to appear in court tomorrow with a ring around the collar.’

‘Thanks for taking charge of Chloe, Mom.’ Emily had turned my granddaughter over to me at J & K for her ballet lesson with every intention of turning around and heading right back out the door. ‘I’m simply frazzled. Except for Christmas itself, I haven’t had a single day without a whole raft of rug rats in the nursery. I swear to God, their mothers were checking in for massages, dropping off their kids, and nipping out the back door to go do their Christmas shopping.’

‘When did you get to be such a cynic, my dear? They probably need the massages after fighting tooth-and-nail for parking spaces, then lugging all those packages around the mall.’

‘Ahh! Don’t I know it. It’s gotten so I avoid the mall altogether between Thanksgiving and New Years. I did all my shopping on Maryland Avenue and Main Street this year, which, being the great detective that you are, you probably deduced since I picked up those earrings you had Jean set aside for you at Aurora Gallery.’ She grinned. ‘Next year, I think I’ll shop over in Chestertown or Easton,’ she said, naming two delightful small towns on Maryland’s still largely unspoiled eastern shore.

‘The only thing I wanted that I didn’t get this year you can’t exactly ask Santa to pop into his sack and haul down the chimney,’ she continued.

‘Oh? What’s that?’

‘A full-time nanny.’

‘Seriously?’

‘Or maybe an au pair . The spa’s doing really well, Mother. So well, in fact, that we may be able to pay off our investors next year.’ She rolled her eyes theatrically. ‘Honestly, it will be a huge relief to get that obnoxiously tweedy Mrs Strother off our backs.’

‘Ooooh,’ I said. ‘Does that mean your father and I will be rich beyond our wildest dreams?’ Paul and I had invested in Spa Paradiso, too. Five percent. Enough to finance a space the size of your average bathroom.

Emily grinned. ‘Of course.’ She wrapped her scarf around her neck, and took another step toward the door. ‘I love managing Puddle Ducks, but Dante wants me to be involved in the day-to-day operations of the business, too. He’s got me interviewing candidates for office manager, and we need a secretary.’

‘I know what that’s like,’ I chuckled, recalling all the misspellings and unintentional howlers in the résumés I’d reviewed for my son-in-law before the spa opened last year: ‘I was the manger of $2,000,000 in pubic funds.’

I’d been wrapped up in résumés the day Timmy was kidnapped.

Don’t go there, Hannah, I was warning myself, when Chloe bounced out of the dressing room, reminding me that all my grandchildren were home, happy and healthy.

I bent down and kissed the top of Chloe’s golden head. ‘So, how’s my little sugarplum fairy?’

Chloe pulled away, more important things on her mind. She tugged on her mother’s coat sleeve. ‘Can I have a pair of toe shoes, Mommy?’

‘Toe shoes?’ Emily knelt down so she could converse with her daughter eye to eye. ‘You have to be at least ten years old for toe shoes, Chloe.’

Chloe’s lower lip curled out. ‘Tessa got toe shoes for Christmas.’

‘If Tessa jumped off a cliff, would you jump off a cliff, too?’ Emily smiled and patted her daughter’s cheek. ‘We’ll talk about it later. Now, run along to the barre, sweetie, and after your lesson, maybe grandmother will take you to KFC.’ Emily sent a please-don’t-make-a-liar-out-of-me glance in my direction.

‘Absolutely,’ I said, thinking I could pick up a family bucket and save myself from having to cook dinner. Never mind about the cholesterol.

‘Yay! Chicken wings!’ Chloe cheered, toe shoes apparently forgotten, as she skipped over to join her classmates at the barre.

‘I swear, Mom, I could just kill Shirley!’ Emily said when Chloe was out of earshot.

‘Shirley? Who’s Shirley?’

‘Shirley Douglas. Tessa’s mother. She’s a b-i-t-c-h on wheels. Tessa is only a year older than Chloe, but to hear her mother talk, you’d think Tessa’s been dancing en pointe since she emerged, red-faced and squalling, from the womb. Shirley’s always complaining and asking special favors for her little darlin’.’ Emily gestured toward the wall of neatly labeled plastic bins that held the studio’s extensive collection of show costumes and dance accessories such as feathers, fans and boas. ‘Nothing’s ever good enough for that woman. You think Tessa could wear one of the studio’s cowgirl costumes? No way. Shirley had one specially made. When they put on the Annie Get Your Gun review last year, it looked like -’ Emily put both hands to her mouth, like a megaphone – ‘J & K Studios present Annie Oakley and her little dancing hayseeds.’

‘It wasn’t that bad,’ I said, having actually seen the show.

Emily huffed. ‘I know for a fact that Kay can’t stand Shirley, so I don’t know why they put up with her. It’s not like there aren’t other dance studios in Annapolis.’

‘What about Tessa’s dad?’

‘Link?’ Emily snorted. ‘He’s a wuss. Yes, Shirley, no Shirley, now may I kiss your butt, Shirley. Did you know she hired a specialist to design a dance studio right in their garage?’

‘So I heard.’

Emily’s face softened. ‘I suppose Link’s an OK guy. Just can’t imagine what he sees in Shirley. Then again, he’s a lobbyist in DC, so he probably doesn’t spend enough time at home to get tired of her.’

‘I’m trying to remember if I’ve met him.’

‘Probably. Five foot nine or ten, impeccably tailored suits, beer gut, receding hairline? He shows up for all Tessa’s recitals, grinning and clapping like all the other proud papas.’

I had to smile. Emily’s description fit just about every lobbyist I’d ever met on Capitol Hill. But I sympathized with the guy. The commute – one hour each way during the lightest of traffic – could be a killer. The night I got stuck in a snowstorm and ended up sleeping on a sofa at a Holiday Inn in Bowie, stranded there with a bunch of truckers, had been a turning point for me. I had just about decided to quit, when my RIF notice came, taking the decision out of my hands.

Emily brushed her lips against my cheek. ‘Bye, Mom. And thanks!’

‘Not a problem. Chloe’ll have dinner with us? I promise to have her home by bedtime.’

Emily waggled a finger. ‘No videos, now!’

I held up three fingers. ‘Girl Scout’s honor.’

But my other hand stayed behind my back, fingers crossed. I still hadn’t found time to see Ratatouille , after all.

Waiting for Chloe’s ballet lesson to finish was an exercise in How Many Ways Can Hannah Avoid Talking to Shirley. I went to the restroom, spent a long time washing my hands, combed my hair, checked my teeth for signs that the Crest Whitestrips I’d been using were working – brighter teeth in five days! – but it’d only been three, so there wasn’t much to see.

I’d run out of things one normally does in a restroom, and was considering fashioning carnations out of Kleenex tissues like I did in junior high, when Laurie drifted in, wearing her usual white and black practice outfit, but carrying a garment on a hanger in a long plastic bag. Suddenly, all I wanted to do was talk to Laurie about her clothes.

‘That looks beautiful,’ I said following Laurie into the dressing room side of the dual purpose area.

Laurie hung the gown on a hook on the wall, carefully spreading out the bottom of the bag where it trailed along the floor. ‘Wait ‘til you see, ’ she gushed.