John Lutz - Dancing with the Dead

“First place, number one-ninety-nine, Arlington and Holt!”

Reality spiraled away. Mary floated up to the judge, watched her hand reach out and accept the shiny gold medallion with the numeral 1 engraved on it. She was barely aware of shouting and applause. Mel had to stop her and hold her still while photographs were taken. He didn’t have to tell her to smile.

Then they were back at the table. Everyone was standing, shaking Mel’s hand, patting Mary’s back and shoulders. Helen and Lisa pecked her on the cheek. Nick hugged her. Ouch! She let him hug her again.

Finally Mary slumped down in a chair. Ray Huggins was leaning over her from behind. “One for Romance Studio!” he was saying. “Terrific, Mary! Just terrific!”

When he placed his hand on her shoulder she reached up and squeezed it. Released it and felt him move away.

Suddenly she was tired and her legs were numb. So what’d you think, Duke? What can you say now, Jake? Bastards!

She shook thoughts of the two men from her mind. What did Jake, or her dead alcoholic father Duke, have to do with any of this? Thinking of them now would only spoil things. Men like Jake, Duke, Fred, had nothing to do with this world.

She should call Angie and let her know what had happened.

Duke.

Why had she thought of Duke?

Helen sat down next to her, unable to stop grinning. “Well, Mary Mary?”

Mary said, “I need a drink.”

After the professional competition that night, Helen talked Mary into going with her to the hotel bar for a victory celebration. Or was it Mary who’d talked Helen into going? Mary wasn’t sure. Of that or anything else right now. Ordinarily she drank only limited amounts of wine, but this wasn’t an ordinary night. Wasn’t an ordinary time in her life. But she’d had only three martinis and didn’t understand why they should be affecting her this way. Alcohol and the flush of triumph were an unexpectedly heady combination.

Where was Mel? Why wasn’t he celebrating with her? Mary remembered him hugging her again in the hall outside her room, just after she’d changed into slacks and a sweater, then he’d hurried away toward the elevators. Was he meeting someone? Should Mary feel jealous? She didn’t feel jealous right now. Triumph left little room for other emotions.

A man was suggesting they go somewhere else. Mary felt a tingle of hesitation. She liked it here in the hotel bar, though she had to admit the drinks were expensive. But there was no dancing. That was the problem, there was no dancing.

She saw then that the man who’d made the suggestion was Benson, good old Benson Amberson… Ambersomething, who’d waltzed with her last night. Blond, handsome Benson, of Minneapolis.

Helen decided she’d rather go to bed and went up to the room, after pecking Mary on the cheek and urging her to have fun, she deserved it. Then half a dozen dancers, two of them instructors, piled out of the bar and went with Benson and Mary to Spectrum, a lounge on Meter Street not far from the hotel. They had to travel in two cabs, and Mary wound up sitting on someone’s lap. Well, she didn’t mind; it was a night for that kind of thing.

Spectrum had a five-piece band and a tiny dance floor flooded with colored strobe lights that flashed in time with the music. But at least there was dancing, despite what was happening out on the floor right now. Disco. People twitching and jerking around by themselves. Not dancing, from Mary’s point of view, more like a kind of whole-body masturbation.

She did swing and rumba with all three of the men, and she had several more drinks. But she wasn’t drunk. Of that she was sure. If she’d had too much to drink, how could she be dancing with such grace and precision?

And her ribs no longer ached. Winning had relieved the pain. Winning was sweet medicine. Her life was well now. Mary was complete and well.

Amazingly, time had rushed to one in the morning. Spectrum remained loud and crowded, but Benson and Mary were the only ones from the Hyatt Regency group still on the dance floor. Dancing with Benson, occasionally getting jostled by the spastic fanatics who thought they were dancing, Mary peered over his shoulder through the hued and hazy lighting and saw no one she knew.

Well, that was all right; she knew Benson, didn’t she? And after another few dances she’d suggest they return to the hotel. Her legs were getting heavy and unresponsive. She was finally tired and wouldn’t mind going to bed. Benson might have the idea he could include himself in those plans, but she was sure he’d discourage easily enough. Benson the gentleman butler, or the gentleman who employed a butler. Gentleman, anyway.

When they returned to their table and she suggested it was time to leave, he was immediately agreeable. Maybe he was tired, too. She wondered again about Mel. Where was he at this moment? Doing his own kind of celebrating? Maybe there was more promiscuity at dance competitions than she imagined. So many healthy, attractive people in top physical condition, under so much stress, maybe it was inevitable.

Benson had overridden Mary’s protests at being treated, and he settled with the waitress, leaving an obvious and generous tip to demonstrate to Mary that he wasn’t cheap. Now he was striding ahead of her, projecting machismo so he could forge a path along the perimeter of the packed dance floor toward the door. She followed in the vacuum of his wake, avoiding the writhing bodies closing in behind them.

And suddenly they were out in the cool night, standing on damp pavement made iridescent red by the glow of the overhead sign. Benson’s handsome face, the backs of Mary’s wrists and hands, had the same red cast to them.

“We in hell?” Mary asked.

“Huh?”

“Never mind, just a thought.”

The music from inside was barely discernible, only the deep beat of the bass throbbing like a heartbeat through the thickness of walls and door.

Mary shivered and clutched her coat tighter around her. Her stomach did a couple of loops and dives. Maybe she had drunk too much. After all, she wasn’t used to alcohol any more than she was to victory. “Whew! I hope we can get a cab.”

“No problem,” Benson said. “We don’t need a cab. My car’s parked in a lot just down the street. I had to leave it there yesterday because the hotel lot was full.”

“There’s some luck,” Mary said.

“Sure. I’ll have us back in our rooms and tucked in within a few minutes.”

“Our separate rooms.” She smiled when she said it, not wanting to wound him.

“ ’Course. I wouldn’t wanna spoil your big night by trying to hit on you.” Now he was smiling, confident and aware of his charm in the way of one who used it often. “Unless of course I can help make your big night even bigger.”

She shook her head and touched his arm, partly for support. “If it’s all the same to you, I’m ready for my night to end.”

“Well, it’s not all the same, but it’s totally up to the lady.”

“Very gallant.”

“That’s moi, all right.” He took her arm and began leading her along the sidewalk, away from the brightness outside Spectrum.

She noticed the neighborhood was mainly industrial. The block was lined with drab office buildings, all of them closed and desolate in the faint orange glow of sodium streetlights. Far down the street, perhaps three blocks away, was the flashing green and blue neon sign of what might have been a bar or restaurant. Now and then traffic hissed unseen on a nearby street, an oddly reptilian sound, like that of monsters stalking in an old Japanese horror movie.

Mary put her weight down crookedly on a high heel and stumbled. Benson helped her regain her balance. Wouldn’t do to sprain an ankle now. What would Mel think of her if she managed that bit of clumsiness?