Marcia Talley - Dead Man Dancing

She folded her arms across her bosom and pouted.

‘Come here. We need to talk.’

Ruth showed no signs of budging, so I gave her a gentle shove in Hutch’s direction.

Hutch took Ruth’s hand, tucked it gently under his arm, and led her to a corner of the studio near the Deer Park water cooler. From where I stood, I couldn’t hear what was being said, but I could tell from Ruth’s body language that his words were having some effect. Ruth’s arms dropped to her sides, her knees relaxed, and after a few minutes, she reached up to touch Hutch’s face. When he kissed her, quickly but sweetly, I figured all had been forgiven.

Dodged that bullet.

I was still staring at Hutch and Ruth, just a teensy bit worried about some residual rigidity I detected in Ruth’s spine, when Paul joined me. ‘There you are. I was about to send out a search party.’

‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘I spent longer in the restroom with Ruth than I thought.’

‘Is everything OK?’

I bobbed my head in the direction of the water cooler. ‘It is now.’

Alicia flitted over to remind us that our first lesson was over, and it was almost time for the practice party. For some reason, she looked at me. ‘You will stay, won’t you?’

I did a sideways-through-the-eyelashes silent consultation with Paul, who winked, so I said, ‘Sure.’

‘Good!’ And she was off to greet three newcomers who stamped through the entrance knocking snow off their boots, followed by a blast of cold air.

‘Tell Ruth not to take it so seriously. Kay can be a bit pushy sometimes.’ Tom came off the floor where he had been practicing some dangerous-looking hip hop moves on the sidelines. Laurie, his partner, followed.

‘A bit?’ Laurie’s delicately drawn eyebrows arched dramatically. ‘She’s a selfish B-I-T-C-H, if you want to know the truth. Doesn’t give a sweet goddam whose toes she steps on, if you’ll pardon the pun.’

‘Then why on earth do you train with her, Laurie?’ I asked.

Laurie shrugged a well-defined shoulder. ‘Because we’ve been with them, like, forever… why else would you say, Tommy?’

Tom didn’t even have to think about it. ‘Because Kay and Jay are, quite simply, the best.’

‘I’m certainly no judge,’ Paul said, ‘but you two are fantastic. Thanks for taking pity on me, Laurie. That last dance was very helpful. I think I’m finally getting the hang of it.’

‘My pleasure,’ she smiled. ‘You’re really a lot better than you think. You just need to relax. Don’t think about it so much. And stop looking at your feet!’

‘That’s Paul,’ I told the pair. ‘Always analyzing things to death.’

‘Which can lead to paralysis, especially in hip hop,’ Tom added, wiping his face and neck with a towel. I wasn’t into hip hop, and rap music tended to liquefy my brain, turning it into gray goo that threatened to trickle out my ears. I wondered aloud about the place of hip hop in competitive ballroom.

‘Not in competition, per se,’ Tom explained, ‘but Jay is thinking about starting a beginner hip hop class, and has approached me about teaching it. Up in Boston, I worked with Jose Eric Cruz who choreographed for Paula Abdul and Janet Jackson.’

I was supposed to be impressed, I suppose, but wasn’t it Paula who nodded off while judging on American Idol , and Janet whose famous boob, I mean, wardrobe malfunction, gave Super Bowl viewers an eyeful? Wouldn’t include those gals on my résumé, but, as I said, I wasn’t exactly hip on hip hop.

Laurie nipped off to retrieve a fleece jacket from a hook on the wall, then wandered back, easing her arms into the sleeves. ‘Did you see the movie Take the Lead with Antonio Banderas?’ she asked as she zipped.

‘Oh, yeah. Banderas is hot .’ I flapped a hand in front of my face, fanning furiously.

She gave me a high five. ‘You go, girl! Remember the dance competition at the end? That was a fusion of ballroom and hip hop.’

Paul, who had seen the movie, too, laughed and said, ‘As much as I’d like to set your pulses racing, ladies, those kind of moves would kill me. Years ago, I screwed up my back in a farm accident.’

Tom tucked a corner of the towel under his belt. ‘You might be pleasantly surprised, Paul. Hip hop is kind of an all-purpose exercise, involving high and low impact footwork and motions that can really free up your head, neck, and shoulders. Your arms, too, come to think of it, and even your wrists.’

Paul held up a hand. ‘Whoa! Let me get the hang of the pivot, promenade and slide, first,’

With an affectionate glance at Tom, Laurie said, ‘What, no botting, snaking, popping, waving, tutting or dime stopping?’

‘Tutting?’

‘King Tut.’ Laurie strutted in front of us, walking-like-an-Egyptian, gold hoop earrings bouncing against her neck.

‘Too much!’ Paul turned to me. ‘Can you see me doing a Steve Martin imitation at Ruth’s wedding? She’d kill me.’

I pinched his cheek. ‘You’re just a wild and crazy guy.’

Eventually, Tom and Laurie drifted off to work on their routine, while Paul and I migrated to the snacks table where chips and popcorn had been laid out for the practice party.

‘We’re eating their food, so I think we’re obliged to practice, don’t you?’ Snagging a potato chip, I used it to scoop up a generous helping of veggie dip.

‘ Smurgle splessh schlew ,’ my husband commented around a mouthful of popcorn. I puckered up and gave him a big air kiss. ‘I love it when you talk dirty.’

When I got through to Eva on her cell phone the following morning, she told me she was sitting at a table in Hard Beans and Books, drinking a tall latte and using their wireless signal to catch up on email. ‘I was just responding to your last about the dancing lessons,’ she told me. ‘I hope Ruth invites me to the wedding, because this I gotta see.’

Before I could chastise my friend for not letting me know that a return to Annapolis was in her plans, she apologized. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t give you a head’s up, Hannah, but coming back was a last-minute decision for me.’ In the background I could hear subdued conversations and the whoosh of the cappuccino machine as the popular bookstore/coffee shop, or coffee shop/bookstore – depending on your point of view – went on with its daily grind. Hard Beans occupied a storefront midway between Blanca Flor and The Gap, a prime location just across from the newly-renovated Market House, and boasting a panoramic view of the Annapolis waterfront.

‘Is everything OK?’ I asked my friend.

For a moment, there was silence on her end of the line, as if everyone in the bookstore had stopped talking in order to eavesdrop on our conversation. ‘Yes, and no,’ Eva said.

‘Is it something we can talk about?’

‘I’d like that, Hannah. When are you free?’

‘I’ve checked my calendar, and you’re in luck. The White House has rescheduled for Wednesday, and HRH Prince Charles isn’t arriving until Friday, so… any time. You name it.’

Eva chuckled. ‘Hannah, you are the one thing I missed most about this place. I have an appointment in an hour…’

She paused, took a deep breath. I pictured her raising a hold-that-thought hand.

‘More on that when I see you. But could we meet for lunch? The usual place?’

By ‘usual’ Eva meant Regina’s Continental Deli in West Annapolis, around the corner from St Catherine Episcopal Church, Eva’s West Annapolis parish, now in the hands of an interim during her sabbatical. Dining tip for Regina’s: go barefoot. The German potato salad will knock your socks off. I’d never tried Regina’s sauerbraten, but some folks (it is said) drive hundreds of miles just for a plate of it. My mouth was already watering for her open-face crab sandwich, so I said, ‘Eleven forty-five?’