by Paddy Eger
The ghost cave did not disappoint. Its large boulders looked to be cemented into the wall of the cave, as if they had rolled down the wall and gotten stuck.
“What do you think, Marta?”
“It’s interesting, but why did you want us to come here this first morning you’re back? Are you thinking of doing an article?”
“Yes, I’m hoping to, but I wanted you to see it when the light makes it magical. It’s only this time of year that it’s special. I might be gone this time next year.”
They sat under a box elder tree and held hands while they shared a dozen kisses. Steve leaned back and looked at Marta. “Thanks for driving out with me. I know we both love the lake and The Rims, but I also like the snugness out here, being boxed in this hollow, away from the river and the big view. Probably not a great story.”
“It’s a great idea for a story. I doubt many people think of coming here, especially so early. They will after you write the story. Then we’ll need to find a new place to be alone.”
Steve laughed. “I have lots of cozy places left for us to explore, but I think I’ll keep a few just for us.”
“I’d like that.” Marta kissed Steve’s cheek and closed her eyes, enjoying the quiet.
“So, Miss Fluff, how’s your leg?”
“Better. I’m back to exercising. My limp is less noticeable, isn’t it?”
“You walk like a dancer.” Steve held both of Marta’s hands and stared at her face. “I’ve missed you so much.” He kissed her fingers. “You look thinner. Have you lost weight?”
Marta pulled her hands free. “No. Let’s not talk about me. Tell me what your plans are now that you are back.”
“Back to school and back to the paper. Then start looking for a job by Christmas. I don’t know if the paper in San Francisco will consider me for a job.”
“Would you want to go back?”
“In a heartbeat. Starting my career at a large newspaper is the chance of a lifetime. It could shave years off my getting a byline. If they offered me a job, would you move there to dance and be near me?”
“Maybe. It’s not that easy to get a position in a dance company. I’m like you, focused on my future. My audition to rejoin the company here is coming up.”
“At least you didn’t say no.” He stood, pulled her to her feet, and bowed. “I am getting smarter. I’m not planning on handing you any small boxes; at least not right now. Come on. Let’s get you back. I need to head home, shower, and get to the paper.”
Marta watched Steve’s car disappear around the corner. She sat on the porch swing, thinking about his plans. If she regained her position here, would she give it up and move to San Francisco to be near him? One of Miss Wilson’s “out of my control” questions. It was something she couldn’t control, but there didn’t appear to be a way to erase it from her mind.
That afternoon the basement pulsed with excitement when the four young dancers learned they’d have a June recital for their families and friends, complete with costumes. Questions flew about jumps, solos, swooshing scarves, and twirling dances.
Lynne held up her hand. “Slow down, ladies. There’s lots of time. We’ll create a solo for each of you to do in addition to the group dance. Now, head for the barre to warm up.”
Marta felt a tug on her leotards. Lucy stood close and signaled Marta to bend down. “Can I do a dance with a fairy wand? My mother gave me one for Christmas.”
“Of course you can. Bring it to class. We’ll figure out how to include it in your solo.”
Lucy skipped to the barre and smiled as she began her first port de bras.
Marta marveled at the way the girls absorbed every new part of their routine. At seven and eight, they demonstrated amazing focus at the barre and during center work. Their eyes shimmered as they danced around the small basement space. Maybe one day some of them would dance on a real stage. She had, and the thrill of the first time in front of the lights lasted as a treasured memory.
h
Marta’s weekly visits with Miss Wilson continued to be a highlight in her life; almost as important as seeing Steve. She realized she spent more time with Miss Wilson than Steve. Since his return, his free time shrank from hours to minutes and from every day to once or twice a week. Phone calls replaced face-to-face time. Marta longed for their walks and talks but settled for brief updates.
Now, as Marta sat in the blue chair, she relaxed and ignored the leather notebook on Miss Wilson’s desk. Quite a change from her first visit.
“We have a few minutes left today. What else do you want to talk about, Marta?”
“My mom. Her life’s changing now that she has a boyfriend. It sounds strange to call a forty-year-old man a boyfriend, but that’s what he is.”
“Does that bother you?”
Marta thought for a long minute before answering. “Some. But I want her to be happy. She’s been alone for several years, working and taking care of me. She deserves someone who cares about her. But Robert will never take my dad’s place.”
“He may provide an important change for your mother.”
As she walked the four blocks to the ballet company, she thought back on what Miss Wilson said. Her mom might be ready to move ahead with her life. Was she also ready to move ahead? Steve had stepped back into her life, although not with the frequency she’d hoped. Their relationship had changed since they met. Was that a good change or just the next step? Both their careers remained unsettled. Perhaps that was the change to deal with first.
Marta approached the dance company building and flashed back to her first day waiting on these steps. She revisited the anxiety of that day as she opened the heavy double doors.
Karl sat in his little room, reading a newspaper. “Can I help you…Marta? How’s the leg?” His eyes drifted to her foot.
“Better. Are Damien and Madame in?”
“They are. Go on up. You know the way.”
Marta inhaled the familiar smell of rosin and sweat as she climbed the stairs. Her heart raced like the first day. Maybe she should have prepared what she wanted to say. Maybe if she waited a few more days she’d feel more confident. At the office door she paused, took a deep breath, then knocked.
“Come in,” Damien’s voice called out.
Good, she thought; he’s alone. Marta elongated her spine and plastered on a stage smile as she walked in. She stood behind a straight-backed chair that faced his desk, hoping the throbbing of her heart didn’t drown out her voice.
Damien smiled. “Marta! Welcome!” He set aside his paperwork and indicated she should sit. “How’s the leg?”
“Better.”
“Feeling strong enough to start dancing?”
“Yes. I exercise several hours every day. I came by to find out if you’d set the date for my audition.”
“Yes. I’d planned to contact you this week. Let’s see.” Damien flipped through his calendar. “It’s May twentieth after rehearsals. We’ll use the first section of the ballet I’ve choreographed to Gershwin’s Rhapsody in Blue. It’s part of our musical tribute to America. The corps begins rehearsals next Monday. I’ll call you with specific times.”
Marta nodded. A shock wave traveled through her. One week? Only one week to become ready to rejoin the other dancers. “Thanks. It will be good to get back.” She turned to leave.
“Wait,” Damien said. “Do you want coaching or extra rehearsal time to help you prepare?”
“That would be wonderful, but I don’t have money for lessons.”
“How about a trade? I hear you are a great cook. Our family life is hectic. My wife runs a gallery, and by the time she gets home it’s catch-as-catch-can dinners. Our kids would love a few kid-friendly meals. Want to trade cooking for coaching?”
“Sure. I love to cook and bake.�
��
“Great.” He scribbled a short note and handed it to Marta. “Here’s my wife’s phone number at the gallery. Call her to set up a schedule. She’ll be overjoyed.”
As Marta reached the bottom of the stairs, Lynne appeared. “Hey! What’s going on?”
Marta explained and started out the door.
“Wait. We’re done for the day. Want a ride home?”
“That would be great.”
“Let’s stop at the burger shop out on Russell. Haven’t had my fatty food fix this week.”
Marta ate a small salad and sipped iced tea. Lynne worked on a double cheeseburger and a shake. “I’m starving today. I could never get by on your skinny salad. How are you feeling?”
“Good. I hope I’ll feel ready to dance with the corps by Monday.”
“I’ll come over and help you get ready. It will be fun to see you every day.”
Marta’s ankle ached as she straightened the paperwork in the hotel office before her shift ended. This last overnight had been crazy. A convention of farm equipment companies stayed in the meeting room long after twelve. Then she’d stored the tables and chairs and swept. Stale beer and sticky splotches covered the floor. She’d mopped the entire floor twice. Quite a way to end a job.
Now she sat in the boarding house common room waiting for Lynne to arrive for their afternoon with the little girls. Having the consistent time with her and the girls gave Marta focus. What would she do without Lynne’s craziness?
The front door opened, followed by Lynne’s usual jump directly into a conversation. “I tried calling with your rehearsal schedule; no one answered.”
“I must have slept through it.”
Lynne handed Marta the schedule. “Not many days for you to pick up the choreography, but you’ll get it, and I’ll come over and help you.”
Marta shrugged. “At least we can continue with the little girls. Their solos are coming along. Lucy is so excited to show her mother what she’s learned. She’s got a natural grace when she moves. Reminds me of Bartley.”
“I see a lot of you in her as well,” Lynne said.
The bus arrived before Marta answered. Soon the basement filled with laughter and music, creating a great way to end any day.
28
Marta listened as the phone rang several times. She nearly hung up, but then a man answered. “Russell-Smyth residence.”
“May I speak with Bartley Timmons please?”
“Miss Timmons is not here. May I take a message?”
The business-like voice surprised Marta. “Are you Bartley’s grandfather?”
The man on the phone cleared his throat. “I’m the Russell-Smyth butler.”
“Oh,” Marta said. “When do you expect Bartley?”
“Miss Timmons has gone home for an extended period of time. Is there a message you’d like me to relay?”
“Home? Isn’t she dancing? I thought she’d be back by now.”
“Your message, Miss?”
“Please tell her Marta called. Or, could you give me her home phone number? I’ll call her myself.”
“I’ll deliver your message.”
29
The basement felt stuffy. Marta opened the window and continued to exercise. After two hours of movement, her left ankle ached and her calf muscle tightened. She needed a break; maybe a small lunch. She walked through the quiet of the boarding house, feeling its emptiness.
The month of April dragged more than she did; each day blurred into the next. Lynne remained busy with the final performances of Serenade. Steve’s schedule limited their time together as well. The latest news from Bartley dried up. Then the phone rang.
Marta answered, “Belvern Boarding House, this is Marta.”
“This is Alexandra Belfor-Timmons III, Bartley’s mother. Are you the Marta who broke her foot?”
“Yes, I am” What a strange question. Mrs. Timmons’ voice sounded so formal; more like a receptionist than a mother.
“Bartley asked me to call. She’s wondering if you’d come for a visit.”
“I’d love to see her. Is she back in San Francisco? I could take a bus...”
“No, dear, she’s not in San Francisco. A bus trip to Philadelphia would take too long. I’ll arrange a plane ticket.”
“A plane ticket?” A small warning tightened in Marta’s throat. “Is Bartley okay?”
“She’ll be fine. She asked to see you. She needs you.”
Marta felt faint. Needed her? She held the phone with both hands to keep from dropping it. “I can come the end of the week. Is that soon enough? I need to be back by Sunday night.”
“Thank you, Marta. I..., please keep this trip and this call between us.”
“Okay. Give Bartley my love.”
Marta stood by the phone in a daze. How could she not tell anyone? How could she not tell Lynne?
Saturday morning long before dawn, Marta dressed in her best outfit: a blue wool sheath with a lace-edged Peter Pan collar, her gray winter coat, and her plaid scarf. She tried on her two pairs of pumps, but her feet were swollen, so she wore black flats. No sense in creating deliberate pain.
A cab left her outside the airport. Her stomach had been dancing flip flops ever since Mrs. Timmons called. She’d covered her bases by making excuses to Mrs. B. about going out of town and by avoiding Lynne’s calls. She’d called her mom early since she’d return too late to place her traditional Sunday call home.
Once she entered the tiny airport, she moved to wherever people told her to move, handed over her suitcase, and took her ticket. She followed the line of passengers crossing the tarmac to the plane. A perky stewardess greeted her at the top of the stairs and showed her to her seat.
Marta sat by the window with an empty seat beside her. She kept her coat on but removed her scarf, hat, and gloves, gripping them like a lifeline as the plane vibrated down the taxiway.
Once the plane lifted into the sky, a cottony cushion of clouds covered the land below, blocking her view. For years she’d dreamed of flying but knew she’d not be able to afford it for some time. Now as she sat looking out the window, the joy she anticipated never materialized. All she could think about was why Bartley “needed” her.
When the flight attendant touched her arm offering her a soft drink and breakfast, Marta nearly upset the tray. The food smelled horrid, like cooked breakfast at the boarding house. She smiled and refused the tray even though she hadn’t eaten since last night.
Her body trembled. She decided the jitters came from nervousness about flying and wondering about Bartley. Surely it wasn’t the diet pill she’d taken.
When Marta exited the plane, she watched for a sign with her name on it. A portly man dressed in a black suit smiled when she approached. “Miss Selbryth? I hope you had a nice flight.”
“Yes, thank you.”
“Give me your baggage claim. I’ll secure your suitcase.”
The backseat of the black limousine looked like those she’d seen in movies: plush black leather seats for half a dozen people and a thick black carpet. The driver kept his focus on the roadway, so Marta sat in silence, feeling stiff as cardboard.
Philadelphia lay covered in clouds. Marta watched the dull afternoon light blend into a blur of skyscrapers much like Seattle. Within an hour’s time they pulled into a curved driveway where the entrance sign read Eaglecrest. The elegant lines of the building and the boxwood bushes that flanked the driveway created the appearance of a private club. What was this place?
The driver opened the limousine’s door for her. “Your things will be deposited in a room Mrs. Belfor-Timmons reserved for you. I’ll return to drive you to the hotel when the receptionist calls me. Shall I escort you to the entrance?”
“No thanks. I’m fine alone.” Marta
walked to the double wide front doorway and pulled on the door handle. Locked. She heard a buzz and felt the handle release. A locked door? In a club? She walked inside.
The snap of the front door locking behind her startled her. A receptionist seated at a curved desk looked up from her typing and smiled. “May I help you?”
“Yes. I’m here to see Bartley Timmons.”
“One moment.” The receptionist turned away to use her phone, then turned back to Marta. “Someone will be with you shortly.”
Marta sat on a couch by the window that overlooked the grounds. The lush manicured lawn edged with yellow and blue primroses sloped away from the building. Was this a club or something else?
The air in the reception area smelled of lilacs. The huge space had small conversational areas, each with four chairs. The coffee tables held the latest magazines, a bowl of fresh tulips mixed with lilacs, a cigarette lighter, and an ashtray. Marta looked through the latest Seventeen without seeing the photos or reading the words.
A tall blonde woman approached. “Miss Selbryth?”
Marta stood. The woman, an older version of Bartley, stepped closer. Her golden hair pulled into a sleek chignon made her look narrow. She wore a mauve suit with a tailored rose-colored blouse, a diamond bracelet, and gray leather pumps. She extended her hand. “I’m Bartley’s mother, Alexandra Belford-Timmons. Thank you for coming. Let’s talk a bit before you see Bartley.”
They sat side by side. Marta waited for Mrs. Timmons to speak.
“I’m so glad you came, Marta.”
“I’m glad I could come.”
Mrs. Timmons played with her rings before she spoke with Marta. “Bartley is sick. According to her doctors, she’s had a problem with diet pills for a long time. It’s affected her heart and kidneys. We hadn’t seen her since the end of summer when she moved to Billings. Had you noticed she’d lost weight since fall?”