by Norma Lehr
Abby reluctantly started up the steps.
“I’ll wait up,” Renee whispered. “Be sure and tell me everything.”
When Abby reached Dana’s deck, the moon shone through the pine trees, lighting up the area where Dana sat at a white metal table with matching chairs. The moon cast a pale glow on her face, but it didn’t conceal the intensity in her dark eyes.
Abby sat down. “Look at that gorgeous lake. You’ve definitely got the best view here. Sinatra picked the perfect chalet to call his own when he bought this place.” The drapes of the picture window were open, and Abby peered in. “He was such a dynamic performer. Do you feel his energy around this chalet?”
Smoke escaped from Dana’s mouth. “Not yet. After I’ve spent a night in there, I’ll let you know.” She gazed across the table at Abby. “I guess you heard the argument.”
Abby shook her head. “Just loud voices. I’m sorry if you and Melanie are having problems.” She hesitated, deciding if she should continue. “Maybe I’m way out of line here, but if it’s possible, could you let whatever’s going on between you two slide until we get through this engagement? It really sets a negative mood for the group when you’re nasty to each other.”
Dana didn’t say a word. She stubbed out her cigarette and gazed at the water shimmering darkly below.
Abby got up to leave. “I’m sorry. You didn’t ask me over to preach. I’ve no inkling of what’s going on between you two, and it’s really none of my business.”
Dana spoke up angrily. “A third of that thirty million she won in the lottery is rightfully mine, and she won’t give it up.” She crossed and uncrossed her legs. “For more than ten years, one of the ballet instructors at the academy and I contributed ten dollars a week for lottery tickets. When we finally had a winner, Melanie held the ticket and wouldn’t share. We’ve filed a lawsuit to get our two-thirds before it’s all gone. The way she spends, it won’t take her long to dig a financial hole she can’t climb out of. Right now, the academy is going through a rough patch financially. We can’t pay the instructors what we owe them, and Melanie won’t put out a cent to save it.
She stood and gripped the railing. “The academy has been my life. Melanie’s lost all interest in our place since she’s become part of San Diego’s social scene and their fund-raising charities.” She turned and faced Abby. “Do you know what she had the nerve to demand tonight? That I drop the lawsuit. She explained that because she has no family, really, except me, she has named me beneficiary under her will. When she’s gone, I’ll get it all. How ridiculous. Thirty years from now when she dies, the academy will be a distant memory.”
Abby empathized with Dana. She had devoted herself to the dance, passing up any sort of life that might have given her some sense of fulfillment. “I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry.”
Dana gave a great sigh. “Just listening to me has been enough. You were always the great listener of our troupe.” She smiled sadly. “When anyone had a problem, she always came to you.”
Abby nodded to herself. That was the old days. Divorce and hard financial times had changed her. She couldn’t be drawn into other people’s problems so easily anymore. Right now she wanted to leave Dana’s and Melanie’s behind and climb into bed. She nodded slowly. “I remember. But you know, I never gave advice then, and I still don’t.”
“Doesn’t matter. It’s the listening that counts. At least tonight it is for me.”
“Well, goodnight then.” Abby pointed toward the window in an attempt to lighten the mood. “If Frankie enters your dreams tonight, tell him we all love his place.” She looked out at the lake, where a shaft of moonlight shimmered across the dark water. “Get a good night’s sleep. Try Blythe’s tea. In the morning, we can energize with Gail’s protein drink.” She patted Dana’s shoulder and left.
On her way up the steps, she spotted a dark figure in a hooded sweatshirt quietly closing the latch on the gate that led down to Melanie’s place. Man or woman, she couldn’t tell. The figure crossed the pool area and disappeared in the shadows behind the hotel tower.
Back on her deck, she was headed for the door when she heard weeping. She gazed at the deck of the nearby chalet and saw Melanie sitting at the table, sniffling uncontrollably.
Abby sighed, her hand on the doorknob. Now what? “Are you all right, Melanie?”
The sniffling stopped, and the metal chair scraped the wooden deck as Melanie stood unsteadily. “Don’t worry. I’m fine.” Her voice sounded hoarse. “My back’s giving me hell, that’s all.” She clutched the chair to steady herself. “I called the desk clerk and scheduled a massage in the morning. I’d have gone tonight, but they’re closed. I offered to pay double, but they refused to open. Some people have no consideration.” She hiccupped. “Come to the spa with me in the morning. I’ll pay. We need to talk.”
“Thanks, but I’m not one for massage. I do the chiropractic thing. Works better for me.” Abby opened her door and hesitated. “Drink Blythe’s tea. Might help you sleep.” That was a laugh. Melanie had consumed enough booze since she had arrived to send the whole group to sleep.
“Blythe didn’t give me any tea,” Melanie whined as she hobbled across the deck. “You know she never liked me!” Before she went inside, she made a final plea. “Abby, we really need to have that talk.”
Inside the Kennedy Chalet, Renee was sound asleep, one leg dangling over the side of her bed. Abby smiled and looked around the room as she quietly undressed. So this was once Jack and Bobby’s—the Kennedy hangout. She’d read somewhere that old places stored memories of the important lives that stayed there. With Monroe’s place on one side, and Sinatra’s on the other ... Abby’s eyes widened. Wow! If these walls could only talk, she’d be taking notes.
In the morning she’d tell Renee about the conversation at Dana’s and about Melanie’s offer to take her to the spa. She also planned to make it clear to Renee that she had no intention of engaging in any kind of intense conversation with Melanie Mars, no matter how much Renee begged her to find out about Tom Moran.
Abby had suggested that Melanie try Blythe’s tea. Thinking back, she recalled that Melanie hadn’t been at their table when Blythe handed out the packets. She’d been at the bar with the dealer. Oh, well! Melanie probably didn’t need tea to relax. She’d probably passed out by now. Abby gave her shoulders a loose sway. She’d made this trip because Renee had talked her into it. Now that she was here and had mingled with the others, she felt bone tired. She knew, however, that she’d be jazzed tomorrow morning when she got up on that stage. She brushed her teeth, shuffled her bare feet on the carpet, and gazed into the mirror. Jan was young, still in her twenties. With luck she’d be able to keep the older dancers in line. Whether Abby would admit it or not, she wanted to dance hot and sizzle for Blade when he returned. Shake that guy up a bit. She ran her fingers through her short blond hair and laughed to herself. That is, if the guy showed up at all.
Chapter 4
On their way to rehearsal the next morning Abby told Renee about her conversations with Dana and Melanie. “I wonder who that hooded figure could have been leaving Melanie’s place. She looked at Renee. “What’s your take on it?”
“You should have asked Her Highness,” Renee huffed sarcastically. “Maybe it was that young dealer from the bar.”
Abby tilted her head. “Didn’t think of him. Could’ve been.”
Renee snickered. “She was probably crying because he let her know she’s too old for him.”
That’s a possibility. Maybe she felt rejected. Kind of pathetic, isn’t it?”
“Pathetic?” Renee’s eyes widened. “No, I don’t think so. Desperate’s more like it.”
When they reached the Celebrity Room, the rehearsal began backstage in the dressing room with Gail’s energy drink. She had a small table set up with a tumbler of ice water and six plastic glasses. As each dancer arrived, she was given a choice of flavor and Gail swirled up a concoction. Melanie stumbled in, looking hu
ng over, and waved her hand dismissively. When Gail insisted, Melanie stuffed the protein packet into her red workout bag with her academy crest on the side.
Gail blocked Melanie’s way out the door. “I promise this drink will make you feel better. Gimme that packet. It can cure anything.”
Melanie glared at her. “Lord. If I taste it, will you leave me alone?”
Gail nodded, waited, and watched while Melanie removed the Powrdanz packet from her bag. She hesitated, narrowed her eyes, and finally handed it over.
Using a long plastic spoon, Gail swirled the pink powder into the glass of ice water, looked up, smiled, and held out the drink.
Melanie made a face, took a taste, then nodded her endorsement. She lifted the glass and finished every last drop. “Not bad,” she admitted reluctantly.
“See?” Gail said with pride. “I knew you’d like that berry taste. Remember, we’ve got a reputation to uphold here. We can’t have anyone dying out there on stage from low blood sugar, now, can we?”
The others had already left for the wings, but Abby stayed behind to help Gail gather up the empties and sweep them into a plastic bag. Gail left to dump the bag in the trash while Abby followed everyone on stage.
Minutes later Jan entered from the wings. She had camped out in the backstage office that had once belonged to Ol’ Blue Eyes. Holding a clipboard, she made her way down the side steps to the chairs and tables while the dancers tried out their taps on the shiny hardwood floor.
“Okay,” she called out from the foot of the stage. “You’ve all had time to test the floor. Now let’s get started.”
Abby’s question about whether Jan could handle the older dancers was quickly answered. Backstage, she’d heard from Dana that Jan had gone to Melanie’s early to wake her. Jan had evidently received a report about how Melanie had delayed the photography session yesterday. The dancers stepped forward in rehearsal togs—stretch black pants flared at the ankles, spaghetti strap tops in assorted pastels, and tan tap shoes, uniform in style and heel height.
Jan rapped the clipboard with a long pencil, sufficient to lead the Philharmonic. “You all know who I am. Now I’ll tell you why you were chosen to represent your legendary dance troupe.” She stepped forward, looked up over the footlights and into their faces. “You all relocated to California some time ago and are current residents. Since this state was chosen for a trial performance of former Toppettes, you were notified and invited. If this reunion works and it’s a success, some of the other states may follow suit. According to the forms you filled out and returned, all six of you have continued tap dancing in one venue or another, and fortunately you have all kept your figures.
Renee sucked in her stomach again and raised her hand.
Jan immediately dismissed her. “No questions now. No talking. This is dance time. If anyone has a question, you can call me in my room and make an appointment. Or, you can catch me when I’m not busy around the hotel tower or in the casino.” She made a sweeping gesture in front of her. “Okay. Let’s get in the kick line. Melanie and Gail share the middle, and the others assemble by height. You remember your spots back when … Well, let’s do it again.” She clapped her hands together. “NOW!”
While the women scurried to find their places, Renee stepped back and rolled her eyes at Abby. “Are we still five foot six?”
“The last time I checked I was five foot six and a fourth. Just go find a spot, Renee.”
The line was fixed, and Jan eyed them critically. “No, no, no! Try lining up again.” Melanie gave a huge sigh, moaned, and held her lower back. While the others changed places, she moved inches toward center stage on the yellow X. Abby watched as Gail eyed her and used her hip to bump Melanie aside.
“Got it!” Jan gave an approving smile. “That’s better. Before we start, the costumes for your three numbers are on their way. They’re not the same costumes you wore in New York, but my pick. They should arrive late tomorrow, and you’ll wear them for dress rehearsal Friday morning. You’ll have two changes and, as before, they’ll be quick ones. I’ll help backstage.” Jan began to pace. “Hopefully there’s been no weight gain since you sent in your measurements. We don’t have a lot of time for alterations. If anyone’s retaining water, you better start working on that issue right now.”
She stopped pacing, made a check mark on her clipboard, and tapped her chin. “T.J. Barry, a comic from L.A., is currently appearing at Harveys Lake Tahoe in South Shore. He’s not a headliner, but he’s a featured act. The Cal Neva hired him to open, serve as host, and emcee the show. He’s also a lounge singer; hopefully, his talents will enhance your performance. Personally, I haven’t seen him do his shtick, but the gossip columnist in Celeb Zine says he’s hilarious and gives him two stars.” She shrugged. “Not great, but not bad.” She made another check on her board. “The media will also be here. You’ll be televised live. I don’t know which night, but whatever performance they cover, let’s show them what you’ve got.
“One more thing. I don’t want to see any challenge dancing here. No competing.” Abby glanced over at Gail. “Positively no improvisation. All dances have been choreographed. I realize it’s been a while since you’ve held the line, but this has got to be Show Tap. Precision dance at its best.
“Okay, now. Let’s do it.” She waved over her head at the sound man in the back of the room, and immediately, the music from the same rehearsal CD Abby had been sent in the mail blared around them.
As they ran through their routine, each dancer became a mirror image of the former tapper to her left—and the one to her right. The legendary chorus line of six still kept their movements uniform, as they’d been coached in the ’70s and ’80s.
Midway through the second routine, Melanie stiffened up. Jan raised her arm. “Stop the music.” The dancers stumbled to a halt. Jan strode up to the stage with hands on her hips. “Melanie Mars, what’s the problem? You missed that last kick and threw two dancers off.”
Melanie held her lower back and moaned. “I’m going through hell. What time is it? I need a massage.” Limping ostentatiously, she made her way down the stairs and dropped into a chair.
The others silently milled about on stage in shifting groups, flexing their arms and legs, while Jan went over to Melanie. They exchanged a few quiet words before Jan declared it was time for a break. She left through a side door, without looking back.
“Now what?” Abby said to Renee.
Gail straightened her tights, moved to the edge of the stage, and glared down at Melanie. “You’ve really pissed her off now. What are we supposed to do?”
“Oh, chill out. She went to get my workout bag so I can leave for the spa. She’s not as insensitive to my pain as you.”
Blythe reached for a bottle of water from a small table near the wings and took a long drink. “Let’s go over some of the steps. I’m rusty on that Broadway Shuffle.”
Gail didn’t let up. “So, Melanie, is this what we can look forward to? You being pampered in the spa? If you’re in such awful pain, why’d you consent to do this gig in the first place?” She twirled around angrily on one foot and glared down at Melanie again. “You’re making it tough for the rest of us, damn tough, while you hang out having your beauty treatments.”
Melanie lifted her chin. “I don’t have to answer to you. Jan understands, and she’s the coach.”
Jan returned with Melanie’s bag. Grasping her arm, she guided her up the aisle, out through the Celebrity Room’s double doors, and into the casino. Jan dashed back and grabbed her clipboard. “No problem. We’ll continue this practice with new placement and timing. Gail, take center stage with two dancers on either side.”
Gail stepped over one space, stood firmly on the yellow X, straightened her shoulders, and smiled triumphantly at the others. Abby nodded. Center Stage. Gail’s dream!
Jan clapped. “Okay. Once more from the top.” The intro started up, and she firmly tapped her foot. “And five, six, seven, eight ...”
With everyone in sync, the stage thudded rhythmically beneath their feet. Abby had to admit halfway through the second routine that their kicks were much smoother with Melanie gone. Not that she wasn’t a great dancer, because she was. It was just ... Abby tried to pinpoint it. Somehow Melanie had always brought an attitude to the stage that irritated the others. She seemed to carry a load of stress that infected everyone like a virus.
Jan released them after rehearsing the finale number five times. Abby took off her tap shoes on stage before shuffling off to the dressing room. The room steamed up quickly from overheated bodies. The dancers gathered their workout gear. Then they grunted to each other and drifted off to side doors, heading for their rooms in the tower to take showers.
Abby and Renee, towels draped around their necks, cut across the stage and filed down the steps and up the center aisle of the darkened Celebrity Room. When they reached the corridor that led to the casino area, they heard someone shouting for an ambulance. Pit bosses and security guards raced over to the check-in desk.
Abby’s exhaustion was instantly replaced with an adrenaline rush when she heard someone holler, “It’s Ms. Mars. Page a doctor!” A casino employee raced passed her, and Abby grabbed his shirtsleeve, refusing to let go until he stopped to explain.
“She’s down at the spa and she’s not breathing.” He wrenched out of her grip. “I think she needs CPR.”
Abby and Renee exchanged looks of horror. “Come on,” Abby said. Following the “Spa” signs, Renee at her heels, she took off running toward the back exit, past the pool area, and down the steps to the spa.
A frightened masseuse in a lavender cover-up held her shaking arms in the air. “Help! She’s over here.” She jumped up and down until they reached her, then led them over to a massage table outside on the deck where Melanie’s blond head dropped over the side of the table. One arm lay alongside her head, while the other hung limply over the edge. Her flawless face was almost as pale as her pale blond hair. Abby gasped at the tinge of blue around her lips.