Dying for a Dance

by Cindy Sample

  He shook his head. “I don't know if I should try to compete tomorrow. I'd hate to upset Liz.”

  I rubbed his shoulder. “I think you should give it a go. You were awesome today and like you said, you may never have this opportunity again. I doubt Liz will even notice you're not in the pews. In fact, she probably won't notice me, and I'll be standing right next to her.”

  He chuckled. “Our little Brit is all grown up. She's going to be one beautiful bride.”

  Ben stopped his attempts to build a fortress constructed of the peas and carrots adorning his plate. “Mommy, do you know who I'm going to marry when I grow up?”

  Stan and I both smiled. I was fairly certain the answer was Tom's daughter who was also Ben's best friend. “Oh, let's see, I bet you want to marry Kristy.”

  He frowned and shook his head. “Nah, she's okay for a bud, but she's too bossy. I'm gonna marry Anya.”

  The carrots poised on my fork flipped off, landing in my glass of chardonnay. “You want to marry Anya?”

  Ben turned to me, his freckled face in earnest. “Well, I'm gonna wait until I grow some more. She's kind of tall for me right now. But she's really hot. Her boobies bounce when she dances.”

  Talk about hot. My face felt like it was on fire.

  “Why were you watching her boobies?”

  “Because they were bouncing, of course.” Ben seemed puzzled by my lack of comprehension of the male psyche. Despite sixteen years of marriage, I was as confused as ever. Stan almost choked trying not to laugh at Ben and he refused to make eye contact with me.

  I decided to ignore Anya's bouncing boobs for now and let my son down gently. Young boys’ egos are easily bruised. “Anya may be a little old for you, honey.”

  “Nah.” He shook his head back and forth, his shaggy locks flying. “She told me I was adorable. When I was in the studio. Seriously.”

  The dance instructor who claimed she was being pursued by killers had been talking to my son? Now that was a problem.

  Seriously.

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  * * *

  FORTY-THREE

  * * * *

  In the beginning of the twentieth century, lawmen located in large cities spent a considerable amount of time on their feet, which led to the disparaging slang term of “flatfoot.” In my lawman's case, it was difficult to discern if he was flat-footed or fat-footed. What was easy to detect was that he didn't possess one dancing gene in his entire body, particularly his feet.

  We practiced for two hours and at midnight we called it a night.

  Tom looked more harassed than I'd ever seen him and that included the evening he confronted a murderer. “Look, Stan, I'm never going to get it. Liz and Brian need to find another best man because it obviously isn't me.”

  Stan and I exchanged looks. Less than eighteen hours until the ceremony. All of a sudden Stan's face lit up. “Hey, Tom, you have the ceremony nailed, but there's no rule that says just because you're the best man, you have to perform the wedding routine with the matron of honor. I'll be done with the competition by then and Laurel and I can dance it together. If Liz has enough champagne, she won't even notice the substitution.”

  Since Stan was eight inches shorter and seventy pounds lighter than the burly detective, that was unlikely, but by that time of the evening would anyone care? Definitely not the newly married bride and groom. We agreed it was the perfect solution. I hugged Stan good night and collected my evening bag. Tom offered to escort me to my room.

  We remained silent on the elevator. I half hoped Tom would reach out for me but vaguely remembered that hotel elevators are frequently equipped with video cameras. I didn't need any memories of a brief elevator interlude showing up on You Tube. We strolled down the corridor in the direction of my room. With Bradford, the kids and my mother asleep next door, we kept our voices low. I voiced my concerns regarding Ben's comments about Anya. “Should I be worried about my children's safety?” I asked.

  “Laurel, I'm sure there's nothing to worry about. You know how kids are. Anya probably said something kind to Ben and he's blown it out of proportion. All she has to do is crook a finger and men drool. Even pint-sized males.”

  My eyes narrowed, but the detective's keen analytical skills kicked in as he realized his poor choice of words. Within seconds, his arms were wrapped around my waist and my attention was diverted. His lips were soft and tasted of champagne, but everything else was rock hard. I pressed my body against his and melted into his kiss.

  There's a distinct possibility I might have leaped up and wrapped my legs around Tom's waist, but we were interrupted by the clatter of a room service attendant picking up discarded trays outside the guest rooms. He smiled knowingly as he rolled his cart down the hall. We probably weren't the first couple he'd encountered making out in the hallway.

  “I better let you get your beauty sleep. Not that you need any,” Tom amended. “Tomorrow's a big day.”

  I reluctantly agreed although I could already tell that the recent stimulus would not assist me in getting a good night's rest.

  My dreams that night were turbulent and troubled. Dancers in beautiful gowns wearing conical black witch hats circled Liz, who was dressed in her fur-trimmed wedding gown. Her arms were wrapped around someone small as if she was protecting the person from the cackling brood of hostile dancers. The face of a small boy appeared. Scared.

  I woke up screaming just as the sun rose over the Sierras. The image of Ben's terrified face in my dream would not subside. I finally threw on my pink fluffy robe, grabbed my card key and walked out of my room into the hallway. The same room service attendant was delivering a breakfast tray to the room across from mine. He winked at me. Little did he know the only thing that made me scream in bed last night had been a nightmare.

  I banged on Bradford's door. The fluffy white shaving cream on his cheeks accentuated the frown on his face. “What's going on? Is something wrong?”

  I shoved my hands in the pockets of my robe. “No, um, just missing my kids. Everything okay with you boys?”

  He nodded, the froth on his face scattering foamy white droplets on the grasscloth wallpaper. “Sure. Ben's still asleep. Do you want me to wake him?”

  “No, sorry, I'll see you guys at breakfast.” I waved good-bye and trudged back to my room, feeling like an overprotective mother. I jumped in the shower and tried to scrub away the niggling feeling, but even the soapy lather of the hotel's pine-scented shampoo couldn't erase my unease.

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  * * *

  FORTY-FOUR

  * * * *

  The kids, Mother, Bradford, and I were enjoying a late morning buffet at the hotel when the bride called.

  “Laurel,” she shrieked. “I forgot my veil. I can't get married without a veil.”

  Hmmm. Thousands of brides might disagree with her statement. But we were on the home stretch and my job was to keep her calm and not bothered by her latest sticky wicket. “Don't worry. I'll handle it.”

  Speaking of sticky, I watched Ben dig into a third waffle from the stack on his plate. “Honey, you're going to make yourself sick.”

  “Yeah, you're gonna be swinging from the chandeliers from all the sugar in the syrup,” admonished Jenna.

  Ben's eyes opened wide as he turned his syrup-covered face to his sister. “The hotel lets you swing from their chandeliers?”

  “No!” we yelled in unison.

  I swallowed a last bit of scrambled eggs and pushed my plate aside. “Mother, Liz forgot her veil. With so many wedding chapels in Tahoe there must be some type of bridal apparel shop nearby.”

  Mother chewed on her bagel, her mental Rolodex going into action. “You know with all the dressmakers here for the dance competition, they may have some white netting they could turn into a veil.”

  “You're a genius. Do you mind watching the kids for the next couple of hours?”

  “Can I play video poker?” Jenna asked. “I devised this equati
on that will limit the statistical possibilities if you always—”

  “No poker for you,” I informed Jenna. “And definitely no chandeliers for you, young man.”

  His frown lasted two seconds before it morphed into a wide grin. “How about snowboarding? It's only noon and the wedding isn't until five.”

  I shook my head. “Nope, the boss says no more snow activities for anyone in the wedding party, or their relatives.”

  “Liz is mean,” sulked Ben.

  “No, she's not. Today is a special day for her and we don't want to do anything to spoil it.”

  “Why don't we all go see that new Toy Story movie,” said Mother, coming to the rescue as usual with a wonderful suggestion, wonderful for everyone except me since I still had to locate a substitute bridal veil. I love the Toy Story movies.

  Bradford insisted on picking up the breakfast tab and I departed for my matron of honor duties, feeling secure that the kids were in safe hands. My first stop was the area where the dance competition was being held. Costumes and accessories should be situated nearby. When I entered a meeting room located two doors down from the main ballroom, I discovered wall-to-wall, one-of-a-kind creations.

  Never in my life had I encountered such beautiful fairy-tale dresses. It was like entering Cinderella's walk-in closet, after she married Prince Charming. Ball gowns in every hue of the rainbow were painstakingly detailed with embroidery, beading and crystals that glittered in the light from the overhead chandeliers. I'd also never seen such hefty price tags for individual gowns. The dresses ranged from $2,000 to $5,000. Considering how scanty some of the Latin costumes were that boiled down to $100 per inch for the more revealing outfits.

  Several people waited in line in front of the makeshift dressing room. Most ballroom dresses are made of a combination of Lycra and other fabrics. They range in size from extra small to extra large. The addition of Lycra allowed for greater stretching power and I was tempted to try on one of the larger more conservative gowns for fun. But first, I had to find some netting for my bride's improvised veil.

  A petite blonde was bent over a table using a small tube of adhesive glue to attach some stones onto the bodice of a striking coral dress. When I tapped her on the shoulder, she raised her eyes then flinched. I jumped back, equally startled.

  “Irina. You are here.”

  Duh, good detecting, Laurel.

  Her catlike green eyes grew wary. “Da, I help Olga Zakarova make costumes for the dancers.”

  “Wow. I had no idea you could make costumes as well as dance. These are gorgeous.”

  She relaxed and a small smile flitted across her face. “The dresses, they are very expensive to buy, so many of us are taught to use needle and thread almost as soon as we learn how to dance.”

  I smiled back at her. “The guys are lucky. All they have to do is put on a tux or shirt and slacks.”

  She giggled. “Dimitri, he was hopeless. One time he try to put crystal back that fell off one of Paula's dresses. He not happy when he glue his fingers together.”

  Based on her comments when we spoke at her cabin the other day, Irina should have glued her husband's zipper shut.

  I looked around and realized her baby daughter was missing. “Who's watching Katya?”

  “Uncle Vladimir.”

  I lifted my arm well above my head. Irina grinned and nodded.

  “I didn't realize Vladimir was your uncle. Does he also compete?”

  “No, not in the dance. Many years ago when he was still living in Moscow, he compete in different sport.”

  “He's so enormous. Is he a weightlifter?”

  “No, he compete in biathlon in the winter Olympics.” I cocked my finger at her and she nodded. “Da, is very difficult sport.”

  “I can barely stand up on my skis without falling down,” I said. “I can't imagine hauling a rifle around. How did he do in the Olympics?”

  “He won the silver medal. Only lose by one point.”

  “That must have been tough.”

  “Yes, he claim the person who won the gold medal cheated,” she said with a sigh. “They used to be best friends but Vladimir will no longer speak to Boris. It is sad because Boris is my friend.”

  My eyes widened. “Boris, the studio owner?”

  “Yes, is difficult situation. Vlad was most unhappy when he find out the owner of the studio where we dance was his old enemy.”

  A couple of dancers walked in and began rummaging through the dresses on her rack. “Excuse me, I should go help them.”

  “Of course, I almost forgot why I came here. Liz left her veil at home. Do you have any white netting we could use? She's getting married in...” I looked down at my watch. “Four hours.”

  Irina pursed her lips then told me to wait. She crossed the room and in less than two minutes was back with a swatch of netting and a plain white satin headband. I watched as her needle zipped in and out of the fabric, faster than a mosquito on the attack.

  In what seemed like mere seconds, Irina attached the lightweight fabric to the anchor that would rest on the bride's hair. She grabbed a dozen fake stones, all similarly sized, from a small bowl and used the special adhesive to glue them across the top of the headpiece. The final product was even prettier than the original veil.

  “That's beautiful. I can't believe how quickly you put that together.”

  She shrugged, a wistful expression crossing her pretty face. “It's nothing. I do it all the time. We add stones to the dresses and the shoes. It makes more flash.”

  “More flash?” I asked, confused.

  “Yes, the better the stone quality, the more the sparkle. You must have flash to impress the judges. Like Paula. She is at the gold level so she must have the best crystals on her dresses.”

  This whole topic of dressing to please the judges was really intriguing. Maybe if I could afford a four-thousand-dollar dress, it wouldn't matter if I bothered to learn the steps.

  “Do you make Paula's dresses for her?”

  Irina's face darkened and she shook her head. “Paula is so fussy she must have specially designed dresses. When she and Dimitri go to competitions in Vancouver and Toronto she always buy brand new gown and it always must come from Didier.”

  “Where's Didier?” I asked.

  “No, is not a place. Is person,” Irina said. “Didier is famous ball gown designer from Quebec. Paula met him long ago when she worked on cruise ship. He brings his dresses to many of the big shows.”

  “It's a good thing her husband does so well.”

  Irina shrugged. “I think it's silly to pay so much for new gowns when I can make them for much less. At first Dimitri agree with me but then he change his mind.”

  Her eyes welled with tears. “I guess Dimitri think I not good enough for his clients.” She reached for a tissue but the box was empty.

  I fumbled in my purse for a clean tissue and noticed the stone I'd retrieved from under the table the day before. I pulled it out and showed it to Irina.

  “This crystal fell off of Paula's dress yesterday afternoon. Do you think you'll be seeing her and could return it?”

  Irina took the crystal and rolled it around her palm. She plucked a similar sized stone from a tiny bag stored in her sewing kit and compared the two. Then she walked over to a window and held them up to the light.

  She handed the stone back to me, wearing a puzzled look. “Are you sure this is crystal from Paula's dress? It is much nicer than my stones. No wonder she is so fussy about her dresses. It shines like diamond.” Irina's lower lip quivered. “Dimitri, he used to say diamonds are girl's best friend. I'm not sure what he mean. Is another strange American expression.”

  Since diamonds unfortunately have never been my best friend, I agreed it was another peculiar idiom. I glanced at my watch. No more time for chit chatting, even though it was fascinating to learn more about this crazy world of competition dance.

  I opened my purse, shoved Paula's crystal inside the side pocket and took some
twenties out of my wallet. “Irina, what do I owe you?”

  She pushed the money aside. “Is nothing. Tell Liz I very happy for her and hope her marriage last a long time.” Her voice broke and I was afraid she was about to burst into tears when her gaze suddenly shifted to the doorway. Her face turned whiter than the netting she held in her hands and her eyes flared into emerald embers of anger.

  “I must go.” She threw the headpiece into my arms, pushed past the dancers in the doorway and rushed out of the room.

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  * * *

  FORTY-FIVE

  * * * *

  By the time I untangled my arms from the netting and folded up the veil, Irina had disappeared down the hallway. She was one volatile Russian.

  Speaking of volatile, if I didn't deliver the substitute veil to the bride, a volcanic eruption might ignite in Liz's chambers. I scurried into the elevator and seconds later, knocked on the door of the soon-to-be honeymoon suite. The remains of a glass of champagne standing next to the cosmetic sundries might be a clue to Liz's lack of pre-nuptial jitters.

  “Here you go.” I displayed her new veil on the bedspread. “Irina made it for you free of charge. She even decorated the headband.”

  Liz scrutinized the workmanship of the substitute. “That woman is brilliant.” She flashed a brilliant smile of her own. “Thanks, luv. You know I could never have pulled this wedding off without you.”

  We exchanged hugs, both tearing up. I left for my own make-up session knowing one thing was certain—if I had to choose between a diamond and Liz as my best friend, even in Bridezilla mode, Liz won hands down.

  Two hours later, I was as gorgeous as one glass of champagne and the talented make-up artist could deliver. I smoothed my silver silk gown and preened in front of the mirror, wondering if the detective would notice my glamorous new look. With my luck, the only man who would compliment me tonight would be my gay friend.

  I grabbed my lipstick, room key and hairbrush and tucked the tiny crystal that had fallen off Paula's dress into the pocket of my silver evening bag. Her scholarship event was coming up soon so the odds were high that I might run into her somewhere in the hotel.