“It’s not that it’s much of anything,” Hank said. Her voice had significantly dropped a decibel or two. “It’s a matter of my knowing that I’m good. If we were performing, of course I’d understand wearing it—part of our costume, or our image, all that stuff.”
“Ah … but, Hannah. You are performing. For yourself, for the others here. For me. For … Melanie.” Madame Leona turned toward Melanie.
Suddenly all eyes were on Melanie. She hated the feeling. To make it worse, she felt dizzy—the cold, the fever, she guessed. What she said next surprised her, though. She had never intended mentioning it.
“Well—I don’t know if it’s something else, or the necklace, but I’m getting a painful rash when I wear mine.”
This was true. She had developed a rash earlier in the day that itched and burned like crazy. It had popped out along a line beneath the necklace.
“I thought it might be this cold—a fever-whatever.” Her voice trailed off.
Madame Leona walked slowly, gracefully, perfectly, Melanie thought, around the circle of girls. In front of each, she slid her fingers beneath the medallions. Silently, she presented each for Hank to see.
“You are special, Hannah. We are all special.”
Melanie knew the look Madame Leona was giving Hank. Though her teacher’s back was to her, she felt just by seeing Hank that Madame Leona was drilling her unnerving dark stare into Hank. It amounted to the exact opposite of Hank’s now-absent smile.
All in a rush, Hank took her necklace, which she had held dangling in her left hand, and pulled it over her hair, into place around her neck. She cast Melanie a weary “oh, well” look.
Madame Leona and Hank stood eye-to-eye for a moment longer. Melanie lapsed into a serious coughing spell, not planned to take the pressure off Hank. But it did so anyway.
“Melanie,” Madame Leona said, turning from Hank. She seemed free of any hostility or aggravation. Smiling what to Melanie seemed like a true, warm smile, Madame Leona handed her a bottle, about half-pint size, which contained a dark, translucent, golden-colored liquid.
“Don’t feel self-conscious,” she said. “I don’t have a spoon. Just take a sip—take two sips. You’ll feel better right away. Have a seat and let it start to work. And, oh,” she continued, seeming to have been struck with an afterthought, “the rash is normal, I’m afraid. As far as I know, it might be the particular silver in the necklace. The others have had the same. Hannah had the reaction also. It should be gone by tomorrow. Do you like the piece? It’s the most valuable of the group, so you must match its qualities with those of your own.”
“I’ll do my best, Madame.”
Melanie didn’t feel good about Madame Leona’s confrontation with Hank, but for the moment she went to one of the dark wooden benches, got comfortable, and drank from the bottle. Two swigs, she said to herself. The taste was sweet, spicy, not unpleasant. After recapping it, she set the bottle aside and let herself relax and drift very pleasantly.
Madame Leona returned to the far end of the studio. Again she and Hank seemed to disagree. Melanie felt she was hearing bits of their conversation piped to her through a mailing tube.
“Hannah, I want you to do the ‘Delibes.’ If you can master the entrechat you’ll be that much ahead.” She turned to Frau Voska. “The ‘Delibes’—”
“No gripe intended, Madame Leona, but I’ve done the ‘Delibes’ before. I know it inside out, upside down, and backward.” Hank’s mood—from Melanie’s viewpoint—seemed affable enough, all things considered.
“Hannah—please?” Madame Leona coaxed with what Melanie deemed an edge to her voice. “Let’s show the ladies how it’s done.”
The “Delibes” began, from the ballet Coppelia. Melanie had tried the dance herself but wasn’t far enough along to do it justice. It was a very difficult piece.
The girls thinned out to form a broad circle around Hank. For a moment, Melanie imagined that Madame’s syrup was doing its job too well. Light in the studio was fading.
“Down to blue, Frau Voska,” she heard Madame Leona say.
The studio was in semi-darkness. Where Hank and the others were, the floor and troupe were bathed in blue light from the gelled spots below the ceiling.
Hank began to move with the music of Coppelia. Melanie realized that this would be the first time she had seen Hank dance a solo.
What she was soon seeing was not the Hank of the wisecracks, the jokes, the easy, loose approach to things, which seemed her trademark. Hank turned beneath the blue light, swept into musical movement as a feather in a warm breeze. Dressed in a blue leotard, even with blue leg warmers, and in the blue light, Hank was a study in azure. Melanie couldn’t stop watching her. She felt as captivated watching her as Hank seemed to be by the music. The name “Hank” was suddenly wrong, Melanie thought. This is Hannah Brooks I’m watching.
Madame Leona walked slowly around the other girls, touching them lightly on the shoulder, which signaled each to join the dance and move as Hank did. Before stopping behind Nicol, she waved to Melanie.
There was no mistaking the gesture. Melanie hurried to join in. She picked up the dance suite from Coppelia as far as her memory would allow, improvising where it failed her.
Hank kept her place in the center, while Melanie and the others remained in a circle. Frau Voska directed them counterclockwise.
Melanie had never, never felt so free. She and Hank made eye contact once, but Melanie neither expected nor received a smile, nor did she feel that she needed the reassurance from Hank anymore. She felt caught up in a second skin, the music encasing them all, bringing them together as one.
When Madame Leona walked into the group and took Hank by the hand, it was over. The music stopped and the light cross-faded to the normal studio lighting.
“Thank you, Hannah,” Madame Leona said.
Melanie felt like a dancer for the first time in her life. She smiled at Hank and Hank smiled at her.
“We’re approaching our public performance quickly, ladies. I’ll want you for an additional hour on Tuesdays and Saturdays. If there’s a problem, please talk to me later.”
Melanie stepped up beside Hank. For a moment she felt uneasy, remembering Hank’s confrontation with Madame Leona. Hank, however, seemed to have danced away the tension and was—Melanie hoped—the Hank she had come to know.
“You were wonderful!” Melanie said.
Hank touched her medallion with its blue stone, and then, surprising Melanie, reached out and touched the red alexandrite stone. “So were you. Where did you learn the ‘Delibes’?”
“When I was in junior high I stumbled through it. And I do mean stumbled.”
Hank pulled her leotard down and her leg warmers up. With the back of a hand she wiped perspiration off her brow. “Mel, you just danced the toughest set from Coppelia like it was written only for you.”
“I did feel … wonderful.”
“Well, madame, you were. I dropped concentration toward the last two phrases and watched you. You were the best.”
Madame Leona walked from her office to Melanie and Hank. From there, she turned to the others.
“Here’s how I want things at this point, ladies,” she said. “Laurie and Jean, I want you both to remain in Julie Pedigren’s class. The extra work will be of benefit. You can trust her, she’s first rate. Madame Greenway left a very competent teacher in Miss Pedigren.”
“Who’s Madame Greenway?” Hank leaned close to Melanie and whispered.
“She used to run this school before Madame Leona came here. She was really good. We were all sorry when she left.”
“And Melanie,” Madame Leona said, turning toward her. “You don’t need the advanced class. I’ll tell Miss Pedigren. You can spend the extra time with me on Tuesdays and Saturdays.”
Madame Leona paused as Murmur tiptoed across the floor.. Then she walked toward the tape player. The big, gray tabby dashed off toward Frau Voska, who picked her up immediately.
&nb
sp; “Look, Voska’s smiling.” Hank whispered again. “That’s one of the few times I’ve seen Voska smile.”
“It’s Murmur,” Melanie replied. “Maybe she’s human after all. Only the cat realizes it.”
Both girls smothered a giggle. Melanie glanced up in time to see Jean give her a very dirty look. Was it because of her friendship with Hank or because Leona said Melanie didn’t need the advanced class and Jean did? Melanie had usually been able to ignore petty jealousy from other dancers. It was common when there was competition. But she was sorry. She would like to become close to everyone in the troupe.
Melanie was amazed at how relaxed she felt, and Hank seemed normal again. “Oh, I feel so much better. No more sore throat and I’ve stopped coughing and sneezing.”
Hank laughed. “You sound like a television commercial, Mel. A miracle cure? ‘Delibes’ is that potent?”
“No, it was something Madame Leona gave me. Cinnamon-flavored syrup. I was sailing for a couple of moments, but it did the trick. In fact, I feel marvelous.”
Hank stepped back from Melanie and pretended to look her over. “You seem marvelous—you look and sound marvelous. You must be marvelous.”
Melanie grinned, then jumped at the sound of Frau Voska rapping her dance baton on the wall. Madame Leona loaded the cassette player.
“We’ve little enough time left today, ladies. Let’s use it.”
The Tchaikovsky began, and Madame Leona positioned each girl as she wanted her while they listened. She lifted chins, propped hands on hips, and raised their arms into graceful arcs above their heads. Melanie relaxed. She felt the confrontation between Hank and Leona was ancient history, not worth thinking about.
Standing between Hank and Janell, Melanie saw Hank finger her medallion with its blue lapis lazuli. She adjusted the necklace so it fell perfectly across her breast. Following suit, Melanie did the same with hers.
To her surprise, she could feel that the rash the necklace had caused was gone. Her cold, sore throat—whatever the bug—had disappeared. Was it the medicine or the music? Was it magic or a miracle? She cocked her head and smiled at her thinking. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was that she was a dancer. She had no doubts about that now. And she was a part of this special troupe of dancers. Nothing could take that away from her.
The Tchaikovsky started again from the beginning. The troupe was in motion. Swan-like, Melanie floated across the room, performing once more for the audience of two—and for herself.
six
And the demon Azael showed her his dwelling place, and she was intrigued.
IN THE LOCKER room, changing, Melanie slipped off the heavy medallion and stuffed it into her bag.
A thought came to her. “Hank, does this sound strange?” she whispered. “For a few minutes out there today, I forgot all about why I’m here. All I could think about was dancing—being wonderful in the show.”
Hank rubbed her neck and hairline with a towel. “No problem with that. You can do both. In fact, you’d better dance well or Leona will put you back on the street.”
“No, I get the idea that she feels she has to have seven dancers. And there’s so little time left, she needs me. Are you going to the party?”
To Melanie’s surprise, as they were leaving class, Anne, Nicol, and Janell had invited the whole troupe to their place for a party. To get better acquainted, Anne had told them.
“I guess so. Are you?”
“I was supposed to have a special date with Bryan, but this is such a good chance to talk to people. I haven’t had time to ask one question about Paulie.”
“Maybe he’ll think you’re still home sick.”
“No, I’d better call him.” Melanie let Bryan’s phone ring a dozen times. Just when she was about to give up, he answered.
“Melanie. Your mom said you were at the school. I was on my way out the door to pick you up. I’m glad you feel better. I was able to get our reservations back.”
“Oh, Bryan, the troupe is having a party. It’s too good a chance to snoop around a little, ask some questions.”
There was a moment of awkward silence. Finally Bryan said, “But this is a special anniversary for us, Mel.”
Melanie made a face at Hank. “I’ll make it up to you, Bryan, I promise I will. I have to do this.” Why? Why was she doing this to Bryan? There was nothing weird going on with Leona’s dance troupe. Leona and Paulie had just not gotten along. Paulie was hard to get along with. Melanie had certainly known her long enough to know that. It was all coincidence that Paulie had wrecked her car right after she had had a fight with Leona and quit the troupe.
“Okay, Mel.” Bryan hung up, but she heard the disappointment in his voice.
“Oh, dear.” Melanie replaced the phone.
“He doesn’t like it,” Hank guessed. Melanie nodded. “Mel, do you think he believes this stuff about Paulie being murdered?”
“I don’t know. Sometimes I don’t believe it. But before I got in the troupe I was so convinced that Paulie didn’t wreck her own car, I made us all believe it.”
“Well, come on. You’ll have to deal with Bryan’s feelings tomorrow. I’m eager to see where the three witches live.”
The Seaton Arms was one of several exclusive apartment buildings in Bellponte.
“It’s the one I thought it was,” Melanie said, as Hank parallel parked between two cars at the curb. All resident parking seemed to be underground, and the large metal doors appeared to be signal controlled. Hank’s ’74 Volvo slid on a patch of ice and came to a stop against the curb.
“Easy enough to get into,” Hank joked. “We’ll worry about getting out later. So that’s the Seaton Arms.”
The complex was six stories high, and from the air would look like an H. Two wings—one facing north, the other south—were joined by a connecting building, probably housing the office, recreation rooms, an indoor pool, and a sauna. Melanie watched a large plume of steam rising from a vent on the roof. That was, she guessed, the pool or sauna.
The outside was an off-white stucco, and the roof was made from tiles interrupted by long rows of high, white chimneys with tile-clapped tops. Wrought-iron railed stairs were visible throughout, and tall, cut-glass windows rose from the ground up at the end of each wing fronting the street.
“I’m hungry,” said Hank. “And I’m cold. Let’s go.”
“In a minute.” Melanie needed to gather her thoughts. “How well did you know Pauline McMasters, Hank?”
Hank shrugged. “Not well at all. I met her when I got in the troupe. She was fiery, though, I’ll give her that. She and Leona had some bang-up fights. You thought you saw a fight between me and Leona today. You ain’t seen nothing till you see—” Hank realized what she was about to say. “I’m sorry. It’s so easy to forget.”
“What do you think happened between her and Leona, Hank? Why do you think she quit the troupe?”
“She decided it wasn’t worth the work and putting up with Leona, I guess. But you know, Mel, there was one thing funny about that situation.”
“What?”
“We got to where we could almost count on a fight every rehearsal, or at least a severe disagreement. But the last two days Paulie came to rehearsals, she seemed different.”
“How different? Describe her.”
“Well, she seemed distant, fuzzy, not really there. Pauline didn’t do drugs, did she?”
“Of course not, Hank. Did she act like she was on drugs?”
“I sure wouldn’t say she was herself. Leona took Paulie into her office a couple of times, and Paulie would come out looking subdued. It was like Leona had found the magic words to make Paulie behave. Until that last day.”
“What happened then? None of us knows. Paulie was going to tell me about it, but she didn’t get a chance.”
“I’m sorry. I liked her.” Hank looked out the window for a minute. “Paulie stormed into the school, and before Leona could talk to her, do anything, Paulie backed Leona into a c
orner. Can you imagine backing the dragon-lady into a corner?”
“I can’t. I wouldn’t have the nerve.”
“Well, Paulie did. I guess that was the source of their problems. Anyway, none of us could hear what Paulie said to Leona. Believe me, we wanted to, but for once they kept their voices down. Whatever was discussed must have gotten out of hand. Paulie shrieked, jerked off her necklace, and threw it at Leona. Then she marched out, past Vodka, past all of us, not looking at anyone, out the door, slamming it behind her. It was a good show, but I wished we’d heard all the lines.” Hank laughed.
“So do I.” Melanie said. “So do I.” She grabbed a grocery bag with two loaves of French bread, jumped out of the car, and slammed her door. Suddenly she was starving, but at least she finally had some food for thought.
seven
WHEN THEY WENT through the dark wood doors in the center of the building, they found a security door and a wall of buzzers for each apartment.
“Which one do we want?” Hank asked.
“Number C–6.” Melanie shifted the bag so she could see.
Hank pushed the button for C–6, then spoke into the two-way wall speaker. “Hello the house.”
It was Anne who answered. “Come on up. Elevator’s on the left, up six floors, the third door on the left.” The security door hummed for a second, then clicked open.
On the elevator, Melanie said, “I wish we had some kind of plan, Hank. If you get a chance to mention Paulie’s name, do so. Stuff like, ‘Too bad about Paulie, wasn’t it.’ Then watch people’s faces.”
“I wonder, Mel, if anyone knows anything about what happened to her except for Madame Leona?”
“Maybe not. And now that I’ve been around her, I realize she’s a fanatic about dance, but I can’t believe she’d kill anyone.”
“Especially for no more reason than dropping out of the troupe.”
The Dance Page 5