John Lutz - Dancing with the Dead

“That isn’t why we’re back together, Jake.”

“Think about it before you jump to any conclusions, Mary. You’ll understand my point of view.”

“I want you gone for good when I come home, Jake. Outa here!”

He took a step toward her. Instead of retreating she moved toward him, surprising both of them.

“I’ll go to the police, Jake. I filed a complaint about the door, and I can tell them about the rest. They’ll haul you into court, send you to a goddamn mental hospital.”

He smiled, but there was more fear than confidence in it. “Are you gonna do that, Mary?”

“Just be here when I come back and find out.” She spun around and walked fast out of the apartment, slamming the door behind her.

By the time she reached the street her heart had slowed enough so her pulse wasn’t pounding in her ears.

There was an accident involving a school bus on Grand Avenue, stopping traffic for blocks. Mary was twenty minutes late for work. “Tardy,” it had been called at Saint Elizabeth’s Primary. Probably it was still called that, and in the same accusing tone. She and the students were tardy today.

Her nerves were frayed by the time she nodded hello to Jackie Foxx and Joan the receptionist and walked into her office.

Even before she’d sat down at her desk, she saw the messages in her box. One of them was about a client who was supposed to come in and pick up an amortized loan schedule.

The other message was a request to call Dr. Keshna at Saint Sebastian Hospital.

Mary punched out the scrawled phone number, gave a hospital operator a department code, asked for Dr. Keshna, and waited through two minutes of barely recognizable Beatles music.

Finally Dr. Keshna’s lilting, gentle voice came over the phone. “Miss Arlington, I thought I should call you about the results of your mother’s tests.”

“Are they-Is she all right?”

“For the most part, yes, she is. Please don’t worry. I want to tell you, also, that she gave me permission to talk to you about this only after much persuasion on my part.”

“What about the tests?”

“There’s evidence of heavy damage to her liver and pancreas. Also there’s some heart fibrillation, probably due to alcohol ingestion over the years. She’s in no immediate danger, but I must stress to you, as I did to her, that it’s important for her to stop consuming alcohol.”

“Entirely?”

“Entirely and for the rest of her life, Miss Arlington.”

“I’m not sure she can do that.”

“I’m not, either. I know it’s difficult, but the purpose of my call is to convince you that your mother has no choice. I’m afraid irreparable damage has already been done. She’s on the threshold of some very grave medical problems. It’s my duty to try to see that she, and you, understand this.”

“I understand,” Mary said. “Does Angie?”

“I’m not sure. That’s why I thought I should talk to you.”

Mary could imagine the gentle Dr. Keshna trying to reason with Angie, when Angie didn’t want to reason. “I see. Thanks, Doctor.”

“I’m sorry, Miss Arlington.” Dr. Keshna hung up softly.

Mary sat staring at her desk, seeing nothing on it.

“Anything wrong?”

Victor, smiling down at her.

“Nothing!” she almost barked. “Everything’s fine. I’d like to be left alone, is all.”

Startled but still smiling, he backed away. She was immediately sorry she’d been so sharp with him, but dammit, why didn’t he realize she didn’t yearn for his company? Why was he always trying to insinuate himself into her life?

Indomitable, he cheerily called good-bye as he left the office. He glanced in at her as he strode past the window, swinging his right arm and attache case like a pendulum.

Mary remembered her conversation with Jake and pushed it away from her thoughts. She didn’t have to think about Jake anymore. Didn’t have to, and wouldn’t. It was over.

That evening she drove to Romance Studio straight from work and arrived half an hour early for her tango lesson with Mel. She was relieved to see Ray Huggins relaxing in his office with his feet propped on his desk. He was wearing gray leather Latin dance boots.

As she suspected, he didn’t object at all to her making copies of programs from past competitions. He assumed she was interested in the ads for dance shoes and various paraphernalia placed by the mail order houses and dealers with booths in the vending areas. Huggins seemed pleased by her interest, and in fact offered to give her the programs.

But Mary said copies would do fine. Becky the receptionist came in to run them off on the Xerox machine, saying she’d give them to Mary after her lesson with Mel.

It wasn’t her best lesson. Mary’s body discipline broke down and twice she misread Mel’s lead. She explained to him that she was simply having an off night, but he was plainly worried. If she could have such an off night here in St. Louis, it was possible in Columbus.

When she got home there was no sign of Jake. She checked the closet, then the dresser drawers he’d used. Nothing. He’d moved out. Probably right now he was shopping for roses. It wouldn’t make any difference this time. Finally he’d done the unforgivable.

Mary sat down with the program copies and immediately sorted out the registration pages, containing the names of dancers. She slipped a rubber band around them and placed them in a large envelope she’d addressed to the Baton Rouge post office box.

She pasted a liberal number of stamps on the envelope, then walked to the mailbox at the corner and dropped it in. It landed hard at the bottom of the obviously empty metal box. She peered at the pickup schedule and saw that the mail had been collected an hour ago, but there was another pickup at midnight.

In a few days, Rene should call and tell her he’d received the envelope.

He’d be grateful, she was sure.

The weekend crawled past, then Monday, and Rene hadn’t called to confirm he’d received the envelope. Mary began to wonder if she’d pasted on enough stamps. She tried to reassure herself by thinking the worst that could happen was that the envelope would be delivered with postage due. But did it work that way if the recipient had a post office box? If it didn’t, would the envelope be returned to her with “Insufficient Postage” stamped on it in officious red letters? Was it even now wending its way back toward its origin while Rene nervously awaited its arrival in Baton Rouge?

She found herself thinking too often about the envelope, even to the point where it interfered with dance practice.

“Don’t let your feet wander along with your mind,” Mel admonished her with a smile, as she stepped sideways in the wrong direction during a tango.

“Sorry,” Mary said, embarrassed, “I was doing fox-trot.”

“Better not get the two mixed up in Ohio,” Mel said, sharply this time. He wasn’t smiling now, and there was a hard pinpoint of light in his eyes.

It wasn’t like him, or any of the Romance Studio instructors, to be openly critical. Mary felt her blood rush hotly to her cheeks, but before she could stammer an apology he led her through a series of pivots and backward basics.

“Mel-” She gasped, a little breathless from the pivots.

“ ’S’okay, Mary. You’re doing terrific.” Despite his reassuring manner, there was an intensity about him she hadn’t seen before. The way he was staring at her…

When the music stopped, he wasn’t breathing hard. She was.

“I need a break,” she gasped, raising a hand palm-out as if to halt something advancing on her.

“Sorry,” he said. “Guess I got wound up and needed to wind down. Doesn’t happen very often.”