Enchanting Melody

by Robyn Amos

  Before Melody could respond, the doorbell rang again. “Too late. They’re here and you can’t escape.”

  “No way, you couldn’t pay me—”

  Melody opened the door and Bass lost the ability to speak. Two statuesque models preceded Stephanie into the apartment. He promptly flopped onto the sofa and crossed his ankles on the black trunk used as a coffee table.

  “Where should I put these?” Stephanie huffed as she held out two large shopping bags filled with boxes.

  “Over there.” Mel pointed to the large wooden craft table that doubled as her dining table. The varnish was long gone and it was stained, paint-splattered and grooved, but she loved it more with each new flaw.

  Melody was about to shut the door when she heard the elevator yawn open at the end of the hall. Out of habit, she stuck her head out to see who’d gotten off. Her breath caught. It took all her strength not to jump back into her apartment and slam the door.

  Swallowing, Melody wiggled her fingers in a halfhearted wave and turned to her sister with gritted teeth. “You did not tell me Mother was coming to this thing.”

  Her sister at least had the decency to look embarrassed. “I didn’t? I thought you knew she was bringing Vicky.”

  Dutifully, Melody waited by the door to greet her mother who flung her arms wide and brushed right past her. “There’s the bride,” she cried as she flitted across the room to envelop Stephanie.

  Mel’s gaze connected with her youngest sister Vicky’s. They both rolled their eyes and shared a private smile. Reaching out, Melody wrapped an arm around her sister’s neck and tugged her into a tight hug.

  At seventeen, Vicky was turning into a real beauty. She’d recently decided that she wanted to grow her hair to her waist like Melody’s. It currently hung just past her shoulders, and Mel was certain her baby sister would tire of the idea before it could get as far as her back.

  Vicky was heavily influenced by both of her older sisters—a bit of a tomboy like Mel, with a knack for shopping like Stephanie. And, of course, she carried the full weight of their mother’s expectations on her shoulders.

  All Rush women had been groomed to be role models in the African-American community. Beverly Rush presided over any and every minority-related organization or charity in the tri-state area. For her, image was everything, and today was no exception. She was the picture of elegance in her pearl-gray pantsuit, which perfectly complemented the silvery strands in her stylish bob.

  Later, as the girls were all perched around Mel’s big art table addressing envelopes by hand because her sister insisted on the “personal” touch, Melody knew this was one area in which she excelled.

  Having paid her dues hand-lettering comic books, Mel was confident her penmanship was beyond reproach. She addressed her first envelope in calligraphy, underscoring the last line with an elegant flourish. “How’s that, Stephanie?”

  “Oh, Melody, that’s fabulous. If we didn’t have nearly five hundred to do, I’d ask you to do all the invitations. Doesn’t that look great, Mother?”

  Melody winced instinctively, but couldn’t resist sliding her gaze in her mother’s direction. Beverly Rush got up and circled the table to stand behind her—Mel presumed to study the envelope up close.

  Instead, Beverly grabbed a handful of Melody’s ponytail and wrapped it around her hand. “You are going to cut this for the wedding, aren’t you? It would take Francisco hours to force all that hair into a bun. You don’t want to take time away from the bride on her wedding day.”

  Vicky gasped and Stephanie shouted, “Mother, stop it! I’d rather die than ask Mel to cut her hair for my wedding.”

  Her mother released Melody’s hair and returned to her seat. “Well, Francisco is a genius. I’m sure he’ll think of something.”

  Melody gripped the edge of the table. Two more months. She only had to endure this for two more months.

  Bass came from the kitchen with the hors d’oeuvres she’d prepared. He passed finger sandwiches like a white-gloved waiter instead of a Web designer wearing black fingernail polish. He lingered beside Lana, the Nordic blonde, who took two sandwiches, much to everyone’s surprise.

  Melody suspected that Lana had a crush on Bass despite the disapproval of the other model, Jessica. Earlier she’d heard Lana remark to Jess that Bass resembled rocker Dave Navarro.

  Beverly picked up a sandwich and sniffed it. Sensing the forthcoming snide remark, Melody cried out, “Don’t eat them, Mother. They’re loaded with carbs.”

  Both models dropped the sandwiches like poison. “They’re not low-carb?”

  As Will guided Melody into the Franklin Hotel, he wasn’t sure what to expect. Melody Rush was proving to be anything but predictable. Part of him had thought she would show up in army boots and a black shroud. Instead, she came to class in a brown broomstick skirt, black silk peasant blouse and slinky gold sandals. Her long tresses had been braided into three sections and then wrapped into a knot on top of her head.

  She didn’t exactly blend in, but a sore thumb she wasn’t. It wasn’t her attire, but her mood that was most surprising. In the short time he’d known her, he’d never seen Melody so quiet. This entire evening had probably been a mistake. What had he been thinking bringing Melody so far out of her element?

  “Are you okay?” he asked as they rode the elevator down to the ballroom. “You’ve been quiet ever since we got into the cab. If you’re not up for this, we can—”

  “No, I’m fine. I’m sure this will be fine.”

  But, to Will, she looked anything but fine.

  They entered the ballroom where it was already starting to get crowded. Several couples glided around the room as the live band played a waltz.

  Fearing that Melody would panic and bolt, Will kept his hand firmly on her back. The trouble was, the feel of her back, warm to his touch through the thin silk of her top had him wishing they were in a room that wasn’t quite so public.

  They found an empty table and Will pulled out her chair. “The buffet is open. Do you want to eat or get a drink before we start dancing?”

  “Actually, I think I’d just like to sit here and watch for a few minutes,” she answered.

  As they sat in silence, Will tried to take in their surroundings through Melody’s eyes. It was a lavish ballroom decorated in lush fabrics of red and gold with ornate crystal chandeliers—she probably found it pretentious. The band wasn’t bad, but they would only be playing classical pieces and old standards—no doubt boring for her. The couples on the dance floor displayed varying degrees of dance experience, but they were mostly older—no one Melody could relate to.

  Will shook his head. Boring, stuffy and pretentious. This had definitely been a mistake.

  As soon as the thought crossed his mind, Melody surprised him by breaking the silence. “Wow, this place is pretty nice.”

  His brows rose. “Really? You think it’s nice? I was pretty convinced you were hating it. I’m sure this isn’t the type of place you normally hang out.”

  She cocked her head. “To tell you the truth, it brings back memories. I wish I had a nickel for all the affairs not unlike this one my parents dragged me to in the past.”

  “Are you serious?” he asked, confused.

  “My father’s a politician. And my mother takes her role as a politician’s wife very seriously—image is everything. ‘The Rushes are role models to the rest of the African-American community.’ That meant up until I was eighteen, I had to attend all the important social affairs with the family. Can you believe when I was sixteen my mother even made me have a cotillion?”

  Will stared at Melody as though he were seeing her for the first time. “Wow. I had no idea. I never would have guessed…”

  She stared down at her hands. “I know. To my mother’s great chagrin, I don’t reflect the image of my fine upbringing.”

  Will could hear the pain underlying words that were meant to be flippant.

  “Thankfully, my mother was blessed with m
y two younger sisters who will walk in her footsteps. Stephanie especially. She’s a fashion model who’s marrying one of the last straight clothing designers in New York. Mother couldn’t be more proud.”

  “I’m sure she’s proud of you, too.” At that moment, Will realized he had no idea what Melody Rush even did for a living. Luckily, she filled in the blank before he could ask.

  “Proud of me? Please. I write comic books for a living. Combine that with the fact that I—these are her words—dress like a subway transient, and it should be clear. Yeah, my mother’s approval is something I gave up on long ago.”

  Will studied Melody, wishing he could believe her. No matter what she said, he knew it had to be hard not be accepted for who she was.

  “I used to be a big fan of comics when I was a kid,” he said. “Which ones do you work on?”

  “I launched the Delilah series. She’s a—”

  “Kick-ass sister in a yellow catsuit who electrocutes her enemies.”

  Melody’s eyes lit up. “You’ve heard of her?”

  “Yeah, I’ve seen my nephews reading Delilah comics many times. Wait until they find out that I know the creator of the series. This is amazing.”

  “Thanks,” she said, clearly unflattered.

  “Wait a minute. You’re a woman under thirty with her own comic-book series? That’s huge. You can’t tell me your parents aren’t impressed with that kind of success.”

  “Believe me, that kind of ‘success’ isn’t even on their radar.” Melody sighed. “That doesn’t mean my mother’s given up hope for me though. She still tries to mold me into her image of perfection. It’s by virtue of that fact that I had something suitable to wear tonight.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “For birthdays and Christmases my sisters get stereos and DVDs—I get clothes, makeup and salon appointments. This skirt and blouse are some of the few pieces that hadn’t made it into the Goodwill bin yet. And these shoes are the bridesmaid shoes my mother’s been pestering me to break in.”

  Will smiled at her. “Well, you look very nice. But, you’d look good in anything. You could have worn whatever made you feel comfortable. There’s no one here you need to impress.”

  She stared at him for a long time before finally giving him a soft thank-you.

  Feeling bad for making the situation awkward, Will gestured to the dance floor. “Are you ready?”

  Melody popped up out of her chair. “I think I’ll visit the ladies’ room first.”

  Will had to resist the urge to follow her. He had no gauge of where her mood was now. He could only pray she wouldn’t leap out of the bathroom window and ditch him.

  Melody stared at her pasty face in the bathroom mirror. Will’s unconditional acceptance had thrown her off guard. She’d started off the evening in a funk. She’d let her mother get to her, and now she didn’t even know why.

  Before dance class that evening, her mother had called to discuss Stephanie’s bridal shower. The woman had made it clear that if Mel’s plans weren’t up to her standards she would be taking over. Since she had no plans to speak of, her mother began barking orders until Mel had a splitting headache.

  Thinking about it now made her angry. Splashing cold water on her face, Melody pushed her mother out of her mind. Her mother wasn’t here now, and after the strange way she’d been acting all night, she wouldn’t be at all surprised if Will thought she was climbing out of the bathroom window right now. No doubt he regretted bringing her.

  Her chin lifted as she studied her reflection. This outfit wasn’t her style, it was her mother’s style. And Will said he wanted her to be comfortable.

  She’d made up her mind. She was going to face this situation the way she faced everything. As herself.

  Twisting her hair out of its knot, she pried open the braids until her hair streamed down to her waist in a wild spiraling mass.

  She took out her dark liner pencil and ringed her eyes to chase off the tasteful conservative look she’d arrived with. Hot-red lips completed her face.

  Now for the rest of her outfit. She looked down at her clothes. Rolling her eyes, Mel tore off the blouse revealing the black camisole beneath it.

  “That’s better,” she said aloud, happy with the way the top gave the flowing skirt a bit of an edge. On impulse she thrust the blouse under the running faucet. Wringing and twisting it, she formed the blouse into a rope that she secured with rubber bands.

  She used the rope to pull her long thick tresses into a high ponytail. Tucking in the edges of the rope, she was satisfied with her look. Much more herself.

  She had planned to break in her bridesmaid shoes, but the gold sandals were already severely pinching her toes. She’d never get through even one dance with those things on.

  As Melody was preparing to leave, a young woman entered the bathroom. “Is your name Melody?”

  “Yes, that’s me.”

  “Well, there’s a guy outside looking for you. He wanted me to make sure you didn’t climb out a window or something.”

  Chapter 5

  Will paced back and forth in the narrow hallway in front of the restrooms. Logically, he knew Melody couldn’t have really climbed out of the window. But, she could have slipped onto the elevator and taken a cab home.

  “Looking for me?”

  Relief washed over him at the sound of her voice, and he turned immediately to face her. He paused for several seconds trying to take in her unexpected transformation. “Melody?”

  “Sorry I was gone for so long. I decided that my outfit needed a few adjustments.” She twirled around. “What do you think?”

  With her dark-lined eyes and her hair spilling like black rivulets of lava from a peak at her crown, she looked like a jungle priestess. His eyes slid down over her filmy lingerie top, which revealed just the right amount of her cleavage, to her stockinged feet.

  A grin curved his lips. “Honestly, you look great. Definitely more like yourself.”

  “Good,” she said, linking her arm through his. “Then let’s dance.”

  They dropped her shoes off at their table and then Will guided her onto the dance floor. “Are you sure you don’t want to wear your shoes? I’d hate to step on your toes.”

  Melody laughed. “As if you could. You’re way too smooth for that. Besides, I was more likely to break an ankle wearing those things. I don’t know what the hell my sister was thinking when she picked those things out.”

  Will laughed, looking back at them. “Actually, with those spiky heels, they’d probably make better weapons than footwear.” He led her into a slow fox-trot.

  “That’s right, and if Stephanie isn’t careful I’m going to use those shoes on her. She keeps changing her mind about what kind of dresses we’ll be wearing. Since her fiancé is the designer, she thinks it’s okay for her to keep changing her mind. We went from Cinderella-style ball gowns to African robes to tight sheaths with trains.”

  Will laughed. He was glad Melody was talking because he was finding himself more and more distracted. Even though he could feel the eyes of the other couples on them, he didn’t care. He definitely felt like he was with the most interesting woman in the room.

  Will guided Melody around the dance floor through two fox-trots, a waltz and a mambo. “Are you getting tired? Do you want to take a break?”

  Melody glanced around the room and a sense of weariness crept up the back of Will’s neck as she answered, “Yeah, I think we could use a break.”

  He headed back toward their table but was surprised to find that Melody wasn’t following him. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw her making her way to the bandstand.

  “What could she possibly—”

  Will saw her take something out of her purse and hand it to the band leader. Seconds later, the band announced they were going on a break and raucous punk music filled the ballroom.

  Melody skipped across the floor and grabbed his hand. “I wanted to show you something.”

  Still baffled,
Will had no choice but to let himself be led onto the dance floor, which was conspicuously empty for the first time that night. Couples were clustered around the floor, their mouths agape with horror at the frenetic beat of the music.

  Melody grabbed his hands and began a hurried version of the swing step he’d taught her. Will, still locked in a haze of confusion, was barely able to keep up. Staring down at her feet, he was mesmerized by her movements but helpless to imitate them due to the swirl of questions circling in his mind.

  “How much did you have to pay that band leader to play this CD?”

  “A hundred bucks.”

  “What!”

  “Hey, I know a lot of musicians—even the fancy ones that play in joints like this are starving.”

  “Are you kidding me? That guy was willing to risk being banned from this venue for a hundred bucks? And you were willing to spend—”

  “Shhh. Concentrate. You’re not paying attention. One, two, rock step, one, two, rock step, one, two, rock step,” she counted aloud for him.

  Realizing that he was making a fool of himself regardless, Will gave in and fell into step with her. Strangely enough, he began to feel the rhythm of the pattern and took over the lead.

  He began to lead her into new patterns she hadn’t learned before, but she followed him naturally. They laughed at how their old dance pattern fell in step with this frantic music.

  Will was having such a good time, he barely noticed that the other dancers had joined them on the floor. The couples crowded around them, watching their movements and quickly matching the familiar swing steps to their rhythm.

  As that song ended and a new punk song rocked through the ballroom, Will watched a Franklin Hotel manager standing in the doorway laughing his head off at the sight of New York’s polished ballroom dancers swing-dancing to a song called “Purgatory.”

  By the time they finally cleared the dance floor for a much-needed break, the free buffet had been cleared away, and the bartender was already offering a last call.