Tap Dance (Dance Series)

by Judy Hornbuckle

  He didn't need to hear my particulars. He'd kind of forfeited the right to do that years ago.

  "So, tell me, Cowboy. What're you doing skulking around in the dark?"

  "Just wanted to see you, Sideshow."

  I smiled.

  "You're so full of shit, your eyes are brown."

  "I wanted to see you again. After we spoke the other day…" Steve ran his hand through his light brown hair.

  Or what remained of his light brown hair.

  I ran my eye over him and saw that the years hadn't been good to him.

  When we were married, Steve had been a walking poster boy for the 'preppy' look. Khakis and polo shirts. Three piece suits with suspenders that echoed the color of his ties.

  Tonight, though, he was wearing jeans, beat up tennis shoes and a hoodie. A hoodie, for goodness sakes. With the hood up when he first came in. And, it flashed through my memory, he had come into the building with sunglasses on at four o'clock in the morning.

  "What's going on, Steve?"

  "Ah, things have gotten a little out of hand." Steve's head was down, watching his hands as they played with the strings of his hoodie.

  "You want to explain what that means?"

  "Not really." Steve sighed.

  "What about the CDs, Steve? Why did you send them to me and have me put them in the safe deposit box?"

  "I can't tell you, Mari. But they help me stay safe." He shot his eyes to me as he spoke

  "Safe? Safe from what?" I could feel my eyebrows coming together. I hate cryptic talk.

  He just looked at me.

  "Okay. So, why did you come here?" I tried a different tactic to get to the truth.

  "I told you. I wanted to see you again."

  I looked at him and could feel my head tilt while I thought. Something wasn't quite right, didn't quite ring true.

  "I think I made a big mistake, Mari. Leaving Grantham. Leaving you."

  This was huge.

  Steve Quinlan never made mistakes. And if he did make them, he never, ever owned up to them.

  "Do you ever think about us, Mari?"

  "Who? Me and you?"

  I watched him nod.

  "Not really. It was a long time ago."

  "Not so long," he said leaning up against the countertop and crossing his feet at the ankles. "Was I so easy to forget?"

  I didn't want to open that can of worms. Steve had hurt me pretty badly when I realized that he basically had chosen his job, his career over our marriage.

  I leaned on my elbows by the sink.

  "I didn't have a choice but to move on, Steve," I said, trying to be kind.

  "You ever think about us trying again?"

  Where the hell was he going with this?

  "Not really, no."

  "I do. I miss you, Mare. I think the biggest mistake I ever made was in letting you go."

  I was quiet, drawing little invisible circles on the countertop.

  "Steve, you didn't 'let me go'. You left. There's a big difference between the two, wouldn't you say?"

  He was quiet this time.

  "I need to go," he said.

  "I'll walk you out." I grabbed my keys and opened the apt door before turning off the light over the stove.

  We walked out of the apartment together. We got to the sidewalk and I pointed my thumb over my shoulder.

  "I'm parked over there."

  "I'm going this way," Steve said, copying my movement but aiming his thumb the direct opposite way with a smile.

  I smiled back and next thing I knew I was in his arms. I pulled back a little and saw the look on his face.

  It was bleak and sad at the same time.

  "Hey. Are you okay?" I asked again. The man hugging me was not the same man I'd been married to back in the day.

  "Yeah. Will be, anyway." Steve said with a soft chuckle. "You take care, Mari, okay?"

  "You, too, Steve." I said reaching up to kiss him softly before releasing and stepping back.

  I watched him walk away before I turned and made my way to my car.

  Chapter Twenty Six

  Ram was angry.

  Ram was so angry that he felt the heat of his anger deep inside.

  But he was still.

  Still as if he was carved out of ice.

  Peripherally, he was aware of the well-wishes and that Marianne had left the room.

  But his eyes never left his father.

  His, son of a bitch, Baba.

  When he felt like he had a lock on both his body and his emotions, when he felt like he could move without physically throwing his father out the front door, he growled, "My room, now, Baba!" and left the table.

  His long legs took him to the back of the house, his fucking house, to his fucking bedroom.

  The room that now had his parent's suitcases in them.

  Oh, hell, no!

  He stood in the middle of the room, his back to the door, his hands on his hips as he waited for his father, his Baba, to join him. The English words for father, of the man that helped create him, didn't convey the fullness of the Hindu idea of what a father actually was in the Indian, Sub-Asian Culture.

  He heard the door close and he turned around.

  But his father wasn't by himself.

  Oh, no.

  He had dragged his uncle and both of Ram's brothers in with him.

  Which Ram was certain was a play to control him.

  Fuck, that!

  When his father started speaking, it was in Hindi. A language that was much more emotional, much wordier, than English.

  "As my son, you will respect both me and my wishes…"

  "I want all of you out of my house immediately," Ram interrupted quietly in English, his voice very firm.

  "Ramjet, you must respect your father who has given you and your family…" his uncle, Chacha Balaji, stated his two cents, again in Hindi.

  "Can it, Uncle," Ram said firmly cutting off his uncle's diatribe. His uncle could speak for days, wearing his opponent down from the sheer volume of words.

  Ram's eyes roamed over the other male relatives standing there in his bedroom.

  It hurt to know they had schemed behind his back, without his knowledge but he would never reveal his pain to any of them.

  He loved them, they were his family.

  He was raised in America, with a white mother.

  At times, that would only benefit them, they played the Hindu card.

  Like now.

  "I will say this only once more," Ram said, his eyes moving over his father, uncle and his brothers.

  "Get out. Immediately. Please know you have not only worn out your welcome on this visit but all of the locks will be changed as soon as you leave. Do not EVER, fucking, ever come here again without my knowledge, my consent or my direct invitation." His voice was the roughest of rough as his eyes raked each man in turn.

  "You, Baba, will explain to the Mistry family that I have absolutely NO intention of marrying their daughter. None," he said, his voice like steel.

  He switched to Hindi, so that everyone would know and understand going forward.

  "I'm sorry to ask you to do this. And I know that you were only looking out for me. But, this is America, Baba. The land that you came to, found a wife that you have treasured for more than thirty years, and have loved and respected as a country. I have become my own man, Baba, much like you were at my age. But I absolutely and unequivocally reject the Mistry daughter as a wife."

  Ram hung his head.

  This was not a conversation any child wants to have with their parent, no matter what their age, culture or country of origin.

  But, in his case, it was needed.

  He half-turned, hands still on hip.

  "Please go. All of you. Know that I love you, but also know that I will guard myself against you going forward," Ram said, his throat hurting as his emotions threatened to overcome him.

  They left.

  His brothers led his father out, who had aged anothe
r twenty years as Ram had spoke.

  Cha Cha Balaji kept throwing damning glances Ram's way as they all left the room.

  Ram couldn't give a fuck.

  His heart was destroyed.

  By his father's nefarious actions, who thought he was doing the right thing, but killing Ram with his thoughtless and even more careless words, Ram's heart was shredded.

  What kind of people were these that could barter their children with such ruthlessness?

  Ram pulled his cellphone from his pocket to reach MG.

  No answer.

  He knew he would be lucky to speak to her alone, just the two of them, again in this lifetime.

  Especially when he tried to put himself in her place.

  Oh, God.

  Ram recognized that, if their roles were reversed, he wouldn't answer his phone either.

  *.*.*.*.*

  He'd tried everything he knew to reach her but it was almost as if she never read her text messages or listened to her voicemails. It was as if she didn't even have her cell phone any longer.

  Ram didn't know what to do.

  He saw her in and about town over the next few days, but there was always something that precluded them from getting together.

  He wanted her.

  He needed to be with her.

  His heart was hers, so every night they weren't together was an ache, a chasm between them that he didn't want.

  That he couldn't cross.

  That Ram didn't know how to…how he was gonna fucking repair it. In his mind, it was almost irreparable, what she must have heard, spoken by his father.

  *.*.*.*.*

  Aaron, my long-suffering boss, pulled me into his office.

  Wanted to have a word with me, he said.

  That my work, during this time of year--our busiest time of year--was not good.

  That I need to make a decision if I wanted to work for D & J or continue on being excused because I was the niece of the old boss--who was no longer the boss, but had known Aaron. But Aaron now directly reported to Jake and Dale.

  He suggested if I couldn't get my act together, I should consider taking a leave of absence. Only with the thought of getting my life back on track, right?

  You know how I read Aaron's talk with me?

  Get your billing ass on board, girlie, or you'll be fired by Spring.

  …and the horse he rode in on.

  It was official.

  My life was crap.

  *.*.*.*.*

  "Hello. My name is Agent Jeremy Grant and this is my partner, Agent Freeman. I'm here to meet with Chief Patel?"

  Ram welcomed the Federal Agents into his office.

  Agent Grant explained that he had been following the activities of the Milosevic family for many years and that Steve Quinlan's behavior in recent weeks had led him and his team to Grantham.

  "We're still trying to find the connection that Steve Quinlan must have with your town."

  "I'm sorry?"

  "Steve Quinlan was the accountant to the Milosevic family in New Mexico. Then, he wasn't. He fell off the radar but when we finally pinpointed his movements, he had been showing up in Grantham."

  A small smile, a thin lipped smile was given by Agent Grant to Police Chief Patel. It was not a gesture that recognized a co-worker on a level playing field.

  But as a bureaucrat who was lording his job over the local law officials.

  Ram thought if he didn't know better, his father would've found the perfect venue to extract his revenge via Agent Grant.

  "We will, naturally, provide you and your men every resource that is available to us."

  Agent Grant, popping his cuffs to some internal exact measurements smiled softly before saying, "Of course you will."

  Chapter Twenty Seven

  I admit that I wasn't really myself, in those days after that Saturday. The weird Saturday night where I discovered exactly how far apart we were. How that little juncture between our worlds was so much smaller than I thought it had been.

  Oh, no, I didn't say his name anymore. I didn't even think it.

  When I thought of him, and I steeled my heart not to, it was in terms of 'him'. No specific name, which is what you'd call someone if you didn't know them. Which was, on so many different levels, true.

  What my heart had discovered in those many years or, should I say, miles, of driving is that I needed to be back in my own place.

  The man who had captured, and then broken, my heart was simply 'him'.

  The man who had no place in my life now.

  Because I was white.

  Because he was engaged to another person that his culture wanted him to have, who would suit him so much better than, well, me.

  On the Sunday immediately after that Saturday, I bought a sleeping bag.

  I bought two sets of towels and two pillows.

  I packed all my stuff at Aunt Estella's and took it back over to Arminster Arms.

  I made a grocery list and went to the store to restock my fridge and pantry. But my shopping cart absolutely did not include Pop Tarts.

  That was the kind of food that only kids ate.

  Kids, the smaller kind of people.

  The ones that thought anything was possible if you wanted it bad enough.

  I was able to take a shower, get into my nightie and snuggle into my sleeping bag without any problem.

  But, my brand new alarm clock, obviously not knowing my recent history, kept ticking over the minutes.

  Not allowing me to sleep.

  I went to work and realized that my job was in jeopardy because of things out of my control. And my connection to the 'old' owner was not a good thing to have. No matter that he was my beloved uncle, who I still loved and missed.

  This is going to sound really strange but I found myself spending a lot of time in my Charger. I loved my car. I loved the freedom a car gave you, and, if I were to consider leaving Grantham, all I had to do was put the key in the ignition, ensure it had plenty of gas and I could, just like that, be gone.

  I found myself sitting in it for hours.

  Staring out the windshield, making sure I wasn't thinking or feeling anything at all.

  If I wanted to watch TV or a movie, I took my laptop to the Library to use their Wi-Fi. But I made a point of parking on the other side of the Library. You know, away from the park that was next to it. Sometimes there just wasn't any parking on the side I wanted.

  So I went home.

  And sat in my car, staring out the windshield. Trying not to think or feel.

  I was only in that 'Numb Phase' for a little while before I'd finally had enough. I bought a bed and the bedding. Using the Furniture Now two-year, no interest, payment plan, I bought a couch and chair, barstools and lamps.

  I decided to stick with blue, to stick with my signature color. It wasn't juvenile to have a color that means something to you. And the color blue made me feel good.

  Unfortunately, the delivery charges were killer because I had to make sure the furniture was delivered on a weekend. No more unexpected time off for me.

  After the furniture was delivered, I brought Floyd home even though I could tell that Auntie was upset to see him go. And as he wandered from room to room, caterwauling the entire time, I think Floyd missed her just as much.

  I hosted a Girl's Night and, while it was fun, my heart wasn't in it. I think Leila was feeling much like I was if her expression was any indication; the expression on her face slid on in between the 'not fully there' smiles. Cait and Frank were at it from the moment they came through the door and with Crys adding her two-cents ever so often, kept the smiles and laughter coming.

  I was replenishing one of the trays when Crys made her way to me in my tiny kitchen.

  "What's going on, Marianne?"

  "Nothing much, Crys. What about you?"

  I glanced at her when she didn't reply.

  "I asked you, Marianne. What is going on?"

  "Sorry?"

  "Do you think Leila
is acting like herself, the self we know?"

  I looked over at Leila with her fake smile in place as she seemed to listen to something Cait was saying.

  "No. But we all know why, Crys."

  "Yeah, we do. So what's going on with you? You and Leila in some kind of Zombie club or something?"

  "Zombie Club?"

  "Marianne, this is me, alright? Something is wrong. I've never been around you when you weren't laughing your ass off or making your smart ass remarks. But you're not, well, you, tonight and I'm asking you, why not."

  "Just a lot on my mind, Baby Girl," I said.

  "Calling Bullshit, Marianne," Leila, who obviously wasn't as tuned in to Frank and Cait's conversation as I thought, called loudly from the couch.

  I could feel my face redden as all their faces turned to me.

  "Hey, did you guys hear that the Chief of Police is engaged?" I had opened my mouth to deny Leila's Bullshit call, but my mouth obviously had a different agenda.

  Caitlin stood up and made her way to me.

  Leila and Frank snagged the barstools.

  "Really? Engaged?" Cait asked her eyes roaming over my face.

  "Yeah, his father set it up. An arranged marriage in this day and age. Can you believe it?"

  I felt Cait's hand cover mine. She's the only one in the group that knew how involved I had been with Ram.

  "So does that mean that Paul has an in?" Crys asked.

  "Ah, not exactly," I mumbled putting the refilled tray on the bar in front of Frank and Leila.

  "Did you know that his family was setting this up?" Leila asked.

  "Ah, not exactly," I mumbled again.

  "Did he know that his family was setting this up?" Leila pressed.

  "What do you mean? Their families can get them engaged without the girl and the guy knowing?" Crys said narrowing her eyes at the thought.

  Wait…what?

  Was it possible that even he was unaware of the engagement?

  "I've had a couple of students this has happened to, where their families decided who their child would be marrying and when. From what I've seen, sometimes the kids know and sometimes they don't." Leila shook her head as she spoke.

  "That's crazy," Crys whispered.

  "Yeah, it's different than what we're used to but, then on the other hand look at the divorce rates. Lots of people in the first throes of lust get hitched but then divorce when the fire doesn't burn so bright anymore," Cait said.