Dead Man Dancing (15 page)

‘Yes.'

‘Eva, I'm marking it down on my calendar right now, and Paul and I will be there with bells on.'

‘I know you and Paul will, Hannah, but I worried about the rest of my congregation. You remember how nasty it got when Roger . . .' Her voice trailed off.

How could I forget? When Roger Haberman was unmasked as an Internet pedophile on network TV, half the congregation stood by Pastor Eva staunchly, while the other half petitioned for her resignation. And half of
them
were picking up stones. I was casting about for words of encouragement to send Eva's way, but coming up short.

‘Your friends will be there, Eva. And some of your detractors, too, if only to satisfy their curiosity.'

‘I'll bet. Does she still have horns? Where's she hiding her forked tail?'

‘Don't be silly. Once the service starts, you'll have them in the palm of your hands. Certainly by the time the sermon is over. I'm sure of it.'

There was silence on the other end of the line as Eva considered what I had said. While I waited, I stretched out my arm and set the oven to 350°F. Eventually Eva sighed, then said, ‘I was wondering if you're free for lunch on Friday.'

‘You're not going to believe why I'm not.'

‘I knew I should have asked you sooner. What's up, if you don't mind my asking.'

‘Remember that dance show I was telling you about, the one that Hutch is going to participate in?'

‘
Shall We Dance?
I do. How's Ruth's leg doing, by the way?'

‘Fine, if you measure rate of recovery in inverse proportion to shortness of temper.'

Eva chuckled. ‘Sounds like our Ruth. So, how is Ruth handling the idea that Hutch is competing with someone else? What's her name?'

‘Melanie.'

‘Right. So, what's that got to do with you standing me up for lunch on Friday?'

I explained about Hutch and Melanie's schedule, then said, ‘CNT is taping the auditions, and Hutch has managed to snag a few tickets. On Friday, I'll be standing in line at the Hippodrome Theater in Baltimore, waiting to be part of the studio audience.'

In fact, Hutch had five tickets. I counted off quickly on my fingers. Paul, me, Ruth, Chloe . . .‘Eva, if Hutch hasn't already given it away, we have an extra ticket. I'd love it if you could come, too.'

‘Sounds like fun. I've never been to the taping of a TV show before.'

‘There's usually a lot of hurry up and wait, but if that's a yes, great. You can spell me with Ruth and her blasted wheelchair.'

‘It must be hard for Ruth to see someone take her place in the competition, and with her fiancé, no less.'

‘As cranky as she is sometimes, Ruth's resigned to it, and she and Melanie have actually become friends. Melanie is a no-nonsense, stick-to-the-rules kind of person, very disciplined when it comes to her dancing. Like Hutch. When they're together it's all about the dance. Work, work, work. Blood, sweat and tears. I'd be surprised if Ruth perceived Melanie as a threat.'

‘Did you say Melanie's an army wife? May account for the discipline.'

‘Too true. But Ruth's been rock-solid, too.' I chuckled. ‘She's appointed herself team manager, videotaping the practice sessions, advising on costumes.'

‘What do you think of their routine?'

‘I hear their tango is so hot it may set the Hippodrome on fire. Jay's been doing the choreography and Ruth says it's brilliant.' I stretched out the phone cord as far as it would go, opened the oven, and slid the baking dish in. ‘But you'll see it soon enough. We're leaving early in the morning, around six a.m.'

‘Assuming Hutch still has the free ticket, I'll bring a Thermos of hot coffee and a bag of donuts and be at your house by five forty-five.'

‘Sounds like a plan.'

O
n Thursday night, Hutch called a summit.

It was well past midnight, and we were still gathered around my dining-room table, in the center of which sat a straw placemat and a box of day-old donuts from Carlson's. Day-olds from Carlson's were better than oven-fresh from just about anywhere else.

‘I haven't been up this late since college,' I said, stifling a yawn. ‘One semester I pulled two all-nighters in a row, and ended up falling asleep in the stairwell of my dorm.'

‘Exams or papers?' Melanie wanted to know. At what – mid-twenties? – she wasn't that far removed from her own college days.

‘Papers,' I said. ‘Scrambled my brain. As I recall, there was a treatise grandly entitled
La Vie de Stendhal dans ses oeuvres
and a cultural anthropology paper on the Jibaro Indians of Eastern Ecuador. The Jibaro were headhunters,' I explained. ‘You can imagine the nightmares.'

At that moment, Paul appeared from the kitchen carrying a fresh pot of coffee, which he set down on the placemat in front of me. ‘Nightmares? What did I miss?'

‘We're just going over the schedule,' I said. ‘Hutch and Melanie are leaving . . .' I checked my watch. ‘They're leaving in an hour.'

Hutch kneaded his eyes with his fingers. ‘Jay thinks if we're standing in line by two a.m., we'll be among the first group to get in.'

‘Coats, hats, gloves, and long underwear?' I asked.

Hutch shot me a withering, sleep-deprived look, and I raised an apologetic hand. ‘Sorry. Once a mother, always a mother.'

Melanie smiled sweetly. ‘I'm wearing so many layers I can barely walk.'

‘OK, then,' Hutch said, consulting his notes. ‘We're taking Melanie's car. Paul, tomorrow morning you're taking Ruth, Chloe, Hannah and Hannah's friend Eva, and driving my car.'

‘Why not use my car?' Paul asked.

‘Because I'm an Inner Circle subscriber, so I've got a prepaid parking pass for the Hippodrome Atrium Garage.' He tapped a map I'd printed out from the
Shall We Dance?
website. ‘You go in here, on Eutaw Street.' He looked up. ‘It'll be easier to navigate to the theater from there with Ruth in her wheelchair.'

‘Agreed. But where will you park?'

‘In one of the Inner Harbor hotel garages.' Hutch flapped a hand. ‘Don't worry about us.'

He patted the breast pocket of his sports jacket, stuck his hand inside and pulled out a small, yellow envelope. ‘Here are your tickets.' He opened the envelope and dealt out each of the tickets like playing cards. ‘You're supposed to enter on Baltimore Street, that's the south side of the theater near the ticket office. Even with tickets, I'd advise you to arrive early so you'll get the best seats.'

‘Where will you and Melanie be?' Ruth asked.

‘According to Jay, contestants are required to line up out front, under the marquee. It'll be clearly marked.'

‘It's going to be so C-O-L-D!' Melanie rubbed her hands together rapidly. ‘I hope Jay and Kay don't have to stand outside very long. He's been feeling achy lately. Thinks he may be coming down with the flu.'

Paul raised an eyebrow. ‘Are the Giannottis
competing
?'

‘Not exactly. One of the producers thought it'd be a brilliant idea to have dance exhibitions during the taping breaks. So they've tapped a few of the local professionals for the honor. Jay and Kay are brushing up the paso doble they took to the Internationals last year. I was there,' continued Melanie. ‘They are
amazing
!'

I cringed as Hutch tipped my grandmother's antique walnut dining-room chair back on its two hind legs. ‘I think it would be easier to plan a military invasion of a Third World country.' He ran a hand through his thinning hair. ‘Sometimes I wonder why the hell I'm doing this.'

Ruth laid a hand on his arm. ‘Because you could have in college, but didn't. Now there will be no regrets.' Using both hands, she wheeled her chair back a few inches from the table, angling it slightly to face me. ‘I'll always regret I stayed home that Easter instead of coming over to visit you in France, Hannah.' She laughed bitterly. ‘I missed La Sorbonne, can you imagine? In
Paris
! But what did I know? I thought I'd
die
if I couldn't spend that vacation break with Eric. What a mistake that turned out to be!' Tears welled in her eyes.

Hutch picked up Ruth's hand, brought it to his lips and held it there. ‘I love you, Ruth.'

At that, Ruth began to cry in earnest, tears trickling down both cheeks, leaving dark spots on her pink cashmere sweater. She banged on her cast with her fist. ‘Oh, hell! With this stupid cast on my leg I can't even be a drama queen and race out of the room in tears!'

At that point, everyone started to cackle, even Ruth.

When he got himself under control, Hutch stood up, clasped his hands together. ‘Is everyone clear?' When we all nodded, he said, ‘Ready, Melanie?'

‘As I'll ever be.'

‘Costumes?'

‘Already in the car.'

Hutch took a deep breath and let it out slowly. ‘Well, that's it, then. Wish us luck.'

Ruth, who had been dabbing at the corners of her eyes with a paper napkin, looked up. ‘Break a leg!' Then erupted in a fresh episode of giggling.

Hutch leaned over, put a hand behind her head, and kissed his fiancé firmly on the mouth. ‘There! That should shut you up, you silly girl.'

As we stood on the stoop and watched Hutch and Melanie drive away, I said to Paul. ‘How are they going to dance without any sleep?'

Paul's arm snaked around my shoulder. ‘Probably the same way you aced that paper on Stendhal.'

‘How's that?' His face looked ghostly in the light from the porch light.

He pulled me close, his chin resting lightly on top of my head. ‘Adrenalin.'

T
he Hippodrome – officially the France-Merrick Performing Arts Center – was a lovingly restored 1914 vaudeville theater and movie palace, the centerpiece of Baltimore's west side renaissance. Occupying an entire city block on Eutaw between Baltimore and Fayette Streets, the Hipp, as the locals called it, bordered on the Inner Harbor just four blocks north of Camden Yards where the Orioles had just played another losing season.

In restoring the Baltimore landmark, the developers had linked it to two adjacent nineteenth-century bank buildings. Now spacious lobbies, lounges and restaurants afforded impressive views of the city including, to the south, Baltimore's historic Bromo Seltzer tower modeled on the Palazzo Vecchio in Florence, Italy. Twelve letters advertising the famous antacid circled the clock's face rather than numbers. When we joined the line, tickets in hand, the face of the clock read ‘L' o'clock exactly.

I'd seen
Prairie Home Companion
at the Hippodrome the previous October, and been dazzled by the facility. Bathed in soft golds, browns and beiges, the interior spaces of the theater glowed; each fresco, cartouche and medallion – flowers, corn husks, gryphons – had been so painstakingly restored that it was impossible to tell where the old ended and the new began. I was looking forward to seeing it again.

For half an hour our little party shivered outside the theater, watching as the line snaked out behind us, growing steadily by groups of four, six, ten until by seven thirty it extended all the way down Baltimore Street and disappeared around the corner of Paca. I remembered reading that the Hippodrome could seat 2,220; the line could reach all the way down to the Inner Harbor by now.

After a bit, a pair of bruisers dressed in chinos, muscles challenging the seams of their neon green T-shirts bearing the stylized
Shall We Dance?
SWD logo, moved down the line inspecting tickets.

When asked, Chloe presented her ticket solemnly. For the most part, my granddaughter waited patiently, sucking periodically on a straw stuck into a bottle of strawberry Yoo-Hoo. ‘I wish I could sit in your wheelchair, Aunt Ruth,' she said after the guard moved away.

‘Don't be silly, Chloe, you'll squish your aunt's sore leg.'

‘Are they going to let us in soon?' she wondered.

‘I certainly hope so.'

‘I have to go to the bathroom.'

‘It shouldn't be long now.' I could have used a chair or the bathroom myself, but the previous evening Hutch and Melanie had appropriated our camp stools. When we arrived at seven, we'd spied the pair hunkered down under the marquee with all the other shivering hopefuls. Over their heads, draped from one end of the marquee to the other was an enormous banner: Baltimore Welcomes Shall We Dance 2008! We'd given our team a thumb's up sign before hurrying around the corner to take our places in the audience line.

At seven forty-five, leaving Chloe in Eva's care, I decided to bop out front and check up on Hutch and Melanie.

I found Hutch dozing, his head leaning at an impossible, and most certainly uncomfortable angle against the wall. In contrast, Melanie seemed bright as a sparrow. ‘We're fine, Hannah,' Melanie chirped when I asked. She extended her right arm, pulled up the sleeve of her parka. Circling her wrist was a white plastic wristband like the kind you get when they admit you to the hospital. Instead of name, date of birth, doctor's name and blood type, though, Melanie's wristband said ‘22'. ‘Hutch is number twenty-one,' she told me, her face flushed with excitement. ‘We could be in the first round!'

Curious about who had snagged spots one through twenty, I glanced up the line. Dancers one and two were no more than eighteen years old, sporting faux-hawk hairdos and dressed in baggy, saggy hip hop clothing. They guarded their number one slot at the plastic door of an elegant white tent with Palladian-style windows, the kind of tent one rents for wedding receptions and bar mitzvahs. Through the windows, rippled by the plastic, I could see other individuals working in their neon green shirtsleeves. Portable heaters in there, I bet. Lucky dogs.

Further down the line couples waited, some in costumes, some in street clothes, some in outfits so strange it could have gone either way. ‘Are they going to let you change?' I asked Melanie, thinking of all the time and expense that would go down the drain if they couldn't wear their costumes.