by Paddy Eger
Lily Rose set her menu aside. “Tell us about your family.”
“It’s just my mom and me,” Marta said. “My dad died years ago.”
Irene shook her head. “That’s tough. Same with my mother. Your mom is still alone?”
“Yes, but she might get engaged this Christmas.”
“You must have a boyfriend,” Irene said. “Who’s the lucky guy?”
Marta felt her face heat up. “His name is Steve. He lives in Montana, works for his dad’s newspaper. He’ll graduate from college in December.”
Trixie clapped her hands together. “Oh, a college guy. Best watch out for him. College men are so full of themselves.”
“Don’t say that,” Frann said. “Her Steve is probably one of the good guys. You’ll need to bring him around so we can check him out.”
“Not if she’s smart, she won’t,” Lily Rose said. “We’d scare the poor guy off.”
“Before Steve you probably had a string of guys waiting for you at the stage door or lurking off stage,” Trixie said.
“No, Trixie,” said Frann. “That only happens in the movies. But what about now? Does Steve have any competition?”
“Keeping things going across two states and two mountain ranges makes it difficult,” Marta said, “but we’re still okay.”
“Sounds like the door is open,” Lily Rose said as she took a sip of her burgundy. “Steve had better get his foot in that door before it closes.”
“Yes, but if the spark is there, it will last,” Trixie said.
Marta smiled. She hoped being with Steve and talking things out would rekindle the flame they’d shared when they saw each other almost daily back in Billings. As the time to see him drew closer and closer, her resolve to figure out their relationship grew stronger, especially in light of her discovery about Dennis.
The waiter arrived with their seafood salads. Conversation raced around the table as they ate, laughed, and talked about their exercise class with Marta.
“I like learning different ballroom steps,” Lily Rose said. “Would you consider teaching our husbands a couple of evenings a week so we can dance with real people? I’d rather pay you than Arthur Murray.”
“I’ll talk with Lindsay,” Marta said, “and let you know at our next class. Are you sure they’ll come?”
“Oh they’ll come,” Trixie said as she pointed her salad fork toward Marta, “if they want happy wives.”
h
That evening Marta set the kitchen table anticipating three for dinner. Her thoughts drifted back to lunch. The Pill Hill women oozed energy and confidence. It must be nice knowing you have enough spending money to take dance classes, go to the country club, and enjoy relaxed afternoons with friends. Some day she hoped to have time to gather a group of friends together to talk and share a meal. Until then she’d continue teaching classes while working to build up her ankle strength. No sense in closing any doors just yet.
Marta wondered how she’d find friends with similar interests. Since she’d been away in Billings, she’d lost what few contacts she’d had in high school. Without a club or a group to belong to, it appeared today represented a first move away from being a loner. Too bad Lynne was so far away; she missed her brash, funny friend. Too bad Bartley had died. Oh, Bartley; she missed her so much.
Her mom had a small cadre of friends, mostly because of Robert. Where did she find time to be social? Marta’s relationship with her mom had noticeably shifted since she’d left thirteen months ago. They loved each other, but using the upstairs dance studio rooms as her own space felt more comfortable than the time she spent at home. Robert naturally took a lot of her mother’s time. One thing was certain: Marta needed to find her own place. She hoped that place would be the little house on Corbett Drive.
9
In mid-November Marta created a to-do list as the Holland Dance Studio shifted into preparation mode for winter programs at the local hospitals, service groups, and community events. The Nutcracker remained as popular here as in most small towns and cities across the country. Thank heavens orchestrating the nightmare of a dozen winter program commitments belonged to Lindsay and her mother. Marta’s only responsibility centered on recording the performance music onto the tape recorder, helping Paige and Rosalia perfect their solos, and moving to Corbett Drive. On the fifth of December, she’d take the train to attend Steve’s graduation, stay to watch Lynne in the Nutcracker, then return home in plenty of time to assist with the last few Christmas shows. Any more jobs and she’d need to take diet pills every day, not just when she needed a last minute boost in energy.
Diet pills. Why didn’t she toss them? She didn’t need them, did she? Lately her dancing and working with students boosted her energy naturally. As soon as the hectic season ended, she’d quit the pills and focus on building her energy through hard work.
Marta sat with Lindsay as she opened the small case that held the tape recording equipment. “It’s really quite easy to transfer the dance selections from our long play records onto the reel of tape,” Lindsay said. “Just be careful to avoid the red erase button.” She connected the record player to the tape machine. “Be absolutely certain both ends of the plug are completely pushed in. Otherwise, you’ll get messed up. I’ve had to re-record dances many times. It’s no fun.
“Here’s the order of the most popular program we dance. Once you have the reel fed through the tape head and connected to the blank reel, set the counter on zero. Record the start time, then push record. When the music ends, stop the recording and write down the ending time. Leave ten seconds between each selection. Any questions?”
Marta shook her head.
“Here’s the order. Start with “Jingle Bells”. I’ll walk you through the first selection.”
Marta watched the process, listened to the music, and wrote down the recording information. Lindsay sat with her as she organized the second tape recording, then left Marta to handle the task on her own.
Two hours later, Lindsay returned to listen to the replay of the recording. “Wow! You’ve done a great job. But, you know what? I’m feeling queasy. I think I have the flu or ate something that didn’t agree with me. I’m heading home. Record program B the same way. Program C recordings are the solos for Rosalia and Paige. We can listen to everything tomorrow.” Lindsay waved and rushed to the bathroom.
As Marta worked on tapings, she drifted into thinking about her performances last year and sharing her dancing with Steve. Not long until she’d enjoy his banter as well as spend time alone with him.
As she refocused on the tapings, she stared at the machine. She’d forgotten to reset the counter. She went back, listened to each piece of music, wrote down start and end times, labeled the tapes, and set them on the shelf. How did Lindsay and her mom manage to accomplish all of this with everything else they handled? She’d need to remember to thank them for making the chores at the dance studio appear effortless.
During their extra classes Rosalia and Paige polished their solos. The Nutcracker and popular holiday melodies provided entertaining music for service clubs and hospital visits. Rosalia danced to Tchaikovsky’s “Sugar Plum Fairy” and “Winter Wonderland,” while Paige danced to Tchaikovsky’s “Dance of the Flutes” and “Frosty the Snowman.” They partnered for “Waltz of the Flowers” creating a memorable finale as well as showcasing their skills as advanced Holland Dance Studio students.
Marta helped the girls refine their movements. “You’ll begin with the Tchaikovsky and end with the popular holiday songs. Think of the composer’s intent as you dance. What is the mood? Does the music suggest tiny flicks of your wrists or sweeping moves? Should your face look serious or playful? Each selection needs to show a different view of your dancing. Any questions?”
“May we borrow the tape recorder to use when we dance at school or for friends and family?” Rosalia said as she packed up her
belongings to head home.
“Unfortunately, no,” Marta said. “The tape recorder cost around two hundred dollars, so we can’t lend it out. We need it for the winter performances. I suggest you use a record, or, if you have a portable tape recorder, bring in a tape and we’ll record the music for you.”
“But we can borrow the costumes from storage, right?” Paige asked.
“Of course. Come on, let’s see which ones you might want to borrow. Rosalia, do you want to borrow costumes?”
Rosalia shook her head. “Mom’s buying me my own costumes. She doesn’t want me wearing hand-me-downs. But may I borrow a tiara?”
“No problem.” Marta smiled. “Let’s get it now to make certain it looks good as new.”
The girls looked through everything in the meager closet. They held up costumes and tried on tiaras and a variety of hats and capes until Zandora arrived and whisked Rosalia home.
“Thanks for loaning me the costumes,” Paige said. “Where did Miss Holland get them?”
“A friend of hers found them at an auction. They were in great condition and only needed to be cleaned and minor repairs made. Don’t tell anyone, but the rumor is that a famous ballerina once wore these for her performances in South America.”
Paige’s eyes widened. “Really? Do you know who she was?”
Marta nodded and whispered, “I heard it was Alicia Markova, but I can’t prove it.”
“Wow. Have you worn any of these?”
“I have. I’ve worn the costumes you’re borrowing. You may borrow these for the recital as well if you wish. Just promise to be extremely careful. We’ll never be able to replace them.”
“I promise,” Paige said as she smiled and wrapped the selected costumes in white tissue.
h
Renting the Corbett Drive house renewed Marta’s belief in good fortune. The Monday before Thanksgiving she signed the rental forms, paid her deposits, and picked up her keys. The owner gave her a six-month rental agreement that ensured her current eighty-five dollar a month rent would remain unchanged until next May.
“And, miss,” the landlord said, “I don’t tolerate any wild parties or them college pranks. I expect your neighbors will let me know if you do.”
Thanksgiving Day Marta packed her things while her mom celebrated turkey day with Robert’s relatives. On Friday she used Robert’s box trailer and, with her mom’s help, loaded up a twin bed, a dresser, a table lamp, the mirror from the garage, her mom’s extra kitchen dishes and supplies, plus her personal belongings.
The drizzly weather didn’t dampen her sunny spirit. In one hour they’d unloaded her scant possessions and stowed them in her living room in her house. Thinking about it brought a smile to her face. Now, for the first time, she’d begin life on her own: cooking all her meals, cleaning, and not worrying about what hours she came and went or played her music. Of course she’d miss her old room and her mother’s company, but she’d ride to the dance studio with mom and stop by often to use the phone. She allowed herself a quick dance from room to room before she got serious about unpacking.
The Corbett house had three rooms: a living area with a kitchen corner, a bedroom, and a bath. The paint throughout was fresh and the wooden floors had been polished to a high sheen. Marta carried her personal items into the bedroom. Her mom helped her assemble the bed and mattress and make up the bed. Marta fluffed up the flowered comforter and pillows and lay a blanket across the bottom of the bed.
Marta stood back and smiled. “Thanks, Mom. I can handle the rest. You go enjoy the rest of the weekend with Robert.”
“Are you sure?” her mom said. “I can stay longer if you want help with the rest of the boxes.”
“No. I’m fine. I’m probably going to be a moving mess, finding the best place for everything. Thank Robert for the loan of the trailer. I’ll see you Monday morning.”
Marta hummed as she finished in her bedroom. Clothes went into drawers and the narrow closet, her frilly lamp went on the bedside table, and the garage mirror hung in the tiny hall between the bathroom and the bedroom.
Kitchen next. Four plates, cups, and bowls on the open shelf. Pots and pans on the shelves under the counter. Silverware and utensils in the drawer. Towels on the swivel rack by the sink. Tea, cereal and sugar bowl in the cupboard. Milk in the fridge for morning. Done. Tomorrow she’d walk to Capps Grocery for further supplies.
The bathroom next. Marta hung her bath towels below the window and put soap and shampoo in the shower and her other supplies in the medicine chest. She tested the wall heater: only enough heat to take the chill out of the walls. Just like at home, she’d need to bathe, dry off quickly, and escape to the warmth of the bedroom to avoid freezing during cold weather.
Before dusk arrived Marta took a break from unpacking to cross the road and sit on a giant driftwood log above the high tide line. This horseshoe-shaped Phinney Bay was situated just a two mile drive from Bremerton, but also a world away from the shipyard and the hubbub of downtown. If she had a speed boat it would take her a good hour to motor to Sinclair Inlet, the main waterway near town. Maybe some day she’d think about a small boat, but it wasn’t a top priority like having her own car.
She buttoned her car coat up to her throat and crossed her arms over her chest to fend off the dampness soaking into her body. Gulls glided back and forth, cawing, snatching stray oysters and dropping them onto the rocks in hopes of opening them to gobble up the juicy bits inside. She inhaled the salty air and closed her eyes, envisioning springtime on this beach with her shoes kicked off, enjoying the warming sunlight. She shuddered from the November cold and returned to the little house to complete her unpacking for her first night in her own place.
In an hour’s time she’d arranged her furniture in the living room. A dresser served as her buffet. Once she had the money, she’d scour the second hand stores in hope of finding a small round table and two chairs. Until then a TV tray and folding chair would do.
She positioned the small rocking chair and the floor lamp on a rag rug her Gran had made and sat down to rock. Back and forth, back and forth. What was missing? A couch. She needed a couch. No, a daybed would be better for overnight company.
Marta took a quick shower, put on her chenille robe, took the blanket from the bottom of her bed, and wrapped up in the rocking chair. She closed her eyes as the quiet enveloped her. Much as she had enjoyed Mrs. B’s boarding house, making her own schedule and having all the space as her own was truly exciting. No wonder Lynne and Bartley liked having their own places.
h
Sunday evening Marta returned to her mom’s house to wait for Steve’s call. Lately he’d sounded more like himself: happy, anxious to share his class information, and closer to being ready to talk with her about their future. After they discussed her move, he asked, “You’re definitely coming to graduation, right?”
“Of course. It’s too important to miss.”
“Good. We’re invited to lots of parties, so you’ll be able to meet my friends. I’ll send you a plane ticket. Can you stay the month?”
“I can’t. Besides, I bought my train ticket last week. I‘ll stay for your graduation and one Nutcracker performance, then I need to get back home for the last of the Christmas shows and to be with my mom for the holiday.”
The phone line hummed in the quiet. “Okay. My mom will fix a guest room. We’ll spend time in town, then slip away to the mountains for our talk. I may have a job offer by the time you arrive. I’m hoping so, anyway.”
“That sounds great. It will be good to see you and wander around Montana again like we used to.” She took a deep breath, figuring what to say about their impending talk. The party line clicked. Saved by an incoming call.
“Oops! There’s a call coming in. I need to get it. Talk with you soon.”
“I’ll see you here in Billings in exactly…twelve days. Night, Ma
rta. Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
Click, Click. Marta double tapped the phone cradle to connect to the incoming call. “Hello? This is Marta.”
“Hi, Marta. It’s Lindsay.” Her voice sounded quiet, more serious than usual. “I wonder if you and your mother might come in early tomorrow morning, say eight-thirty. I have something to discuss with both of you.”
“Sure, Lindsay. Is something wrong?”
“Not really,” Lindsay said. “It’s complicated. I’ll explain it when I see you.”
Overnight Marta speculated on the news. Perhaps the older students had lost their chance to dance on KING-TV’s winter extravaganza, or the regional Christmas show didn’t invite the Holland Studio dancers to perform. What could be on her mind?
h
Lindsay smiled but looked ashen when Marta and her mom arrived in the morning. “Thanks for coming in early. I wanted to tell you that I’ve been to the doctor and I don’t have the flu. I’m pregnant.” She smiled and looked down at her belly.
“That’s wonderful news,” Marta’s mom said. “When’s the baby due?”
“Middle of June. I’m glad our recital is the end of May so I can make it. But being so close to forty, the doctor says I need to simplify my life.” Lindsay looked to Marta and her mom and pulled her eyebrows together. “I’m sorry to dump this on you, but I’ll need you to take over the Christmas shows and most of the recital.”
“Of course we will, right, Marta?” Her mom answered without a glance toward Marta.
Marta found her stage smile as she visualized her plans in Billings shattering like a mirror. “Of course,” she said but her answer lacked enthusiasm.
Lindsay handed each of them a stack of papers. “I feel I’m deserting you, but you two are the only ones I trust to keep things organized and moving forward. I’ve made up the lists of what needs to be done for the Christmas shows. I’ll handle typing up the master programs and making sure the contacts are up-to-date, and the newspaper writes an article, but, Marta, I’ll need you to rehearse the dancers, fit their costumes, and handle the tapes.”