The Dance (3 page)

“Melanie Clark …” Madame Leona turned and greeted her. “Thank you for being on time. Change please. I'll expect you back in five minutes.”

When Melanie entered the dressing room, she let loose an enormous sigh. As she was changing into her leotards, someone dropped a shoe behind her. Turning, she saw a friendly face with rouged cheeks. The face, framed with tumbling, curly brown hair, was cocked to one side, dark eyes gleaming.

“Hi, stranger,” the girl said, taking Melanie in with a quick once-over glance. “I'll bet you're the new dancer.”

Melanie nodded. “Maybe. I'm Melanie Clark.”

“Happy to meet you. I'm Hannah Brooks, but call me Hank. Everyone else does. Comes from having three older brothers.”

Melanie liked Hank immediately. Her smile took away most of the knot in Melanie's stomach. “Right now you can call
me
Nervous.”

“Wonderful! Finally—someone around here with a sense of humor.” Hank clapped her hands together in prayer fashion. “Granola bar?” She tore open a two-pack and offered one to Melanie.

“Thanks, Hank, but I couldn't.” Melanie fumbled with her yellow ankle warmers.

Hank moved closer to Melanie. She slid into a chair, seat turned towards her so her crossed arms rested on the back.

“Hey, look—relax. I saw your first tryout.”

Melanie glanced at Hank, a bit puzzled. She didn't think she knew this girl, yet Hank seemed to know her. “I'm sorry, Hank—I haven't—I don't think I've seen you before. You saw me audition for Madame Leona's troupe?”

“I sure did,” Hank replied. She crunched on her granola bar. “Unlike you, I'm not in her dance school. I got into Madame's exclusive club through Laurie Roberts. She and I were best friends before I transferred to North Point High School.”

Melanie felt better knowing that Hank wasn't in her school, even though it was so big she didn't know everyone.

Hank leaned forward a bit and plopped her head down onto her crossed arms, her hair tumbling all around her face. “You go with Bryan Dorsey, the wrestler, don't you? Laurie catches me up on gossip occasionally. I fell in love with him at a wrestling match. Laurie says half the girls in Bellponte High are envious of you.” Hank smiled.

“I—I had no idea, but thanks.” Warming to the spirit of Hank's humor, Melanie sternly put her hands on her hips. “Watch yourself. Bryan does have my name tattooed on his chest.”

“Hey, I can see that. Don't worry about me.” Hank laughed and Melanie joined her. “I'm a loner. But, Mel—is Mel okay?”

“Fine.”

“Mel, your first tryout for the troupe was great, wonderful. Incredible! I thought you'd get picked hands down.”

Melanie marveled at how good Hank made her feel. Then, like a slap, she remembered the time. She rushed to a large, bulb-bordered mirror hung above a row of makeup stations and quickly pinned up her light brown hair.

There came suddenly three loud, rapid bangs against the outside of the dressing room door. Melanie felt the blood drain from her face. She froze and looked at Hank. Before Hank could say anything the door opened, and Frau Voska stood there, looking at Melanie with what Melanie deemed murder in her eyes.

“Move, girl. Madame is ready for you.” Frau Voska shook a willowy director's stick at Melanie, then left, closing the door behind her.

“Oh, great …” Melanie started to shake.

“Relax.” Hank stood up. “Frau Vodka is strictly an acquired taste.”

Bless you, Hank, Melanie thought, with a nervous giggle. She was about to ask if she looked okay, but Hank spoke first.

“Ever since Pauline McMasters died there's been more tension around here than you could cut with a knife. Just work around it, Mel. Reeelaxxx—”

Melanie felt a chill race across her shoulders and neck and down her arms. If she pretended she didn't know about Paulie, she could find out what else Hank knew about her. “Hank, I'm auditioning for a gap created by someone who died?”

Hank clapped her hands over her mouth for an instant. “You didn't know? Oh, I'm sorry, Mel. Pauline was in an auto accident. Sorry.” She touched Melanie's shoulder. “Don't let yourself think about it. It'll still be
you
who gets
you
into the troupe.”

So much for that. If Hank knew anything else, she wasn't saying. Melanie made a mental note to question Hank more, if she could do so without raising suspicion. She had no idea who she could trust around here. Until she did, she'd trust no one.

Melanie worked to regain the composure that Hank's ready jokes had given her. She put all other thoughts aside, stretching her back, then tugging at her leg warmers. “See you later, I hope. I'd better go before Voska raps her death knell again.”

“I would say break a leg, but I think that belongs to the theater. Hey look, I'm supposed to be heading home, but I'll stay—keep you company—if you don't mind my watching your audition.”

“I'd love it, Hank. Thanks.” Melanie couldn't want anything more than just that—a friendly face, someone like Hank who would help restore her self-confidence.

Madame Leona wasn't in sight when Melanie stepped onto the studio floor with Hank beside her. This worried her, until she saw Frau Voska walk into Madame Leona's office. She heard a conversation, one voice clearly Madame Leona's. Hank put a hand on Melanie's shoulder.

“You know, we've been rehearsing
Swan Lake
so intensely the past few weeks I'm starting to grow feathers. Do you have an audition number? If not, you can expect the Tchaikovsky.”

“Yes, Pau—Laurie told me the ballet you're doing is
Swan Lake
.” Melanie watched the three girls she hadn't met. They stood close together in the far corner across the floor from Madame Leona's office, and each had her eyes on Melanie. She stared back at them until they looked away and started a conversation, pretending she no longer held any interest for them.

Just then Melanie was tapped on her left shoulder. She and Hank turned to find Laurie Roberts and Jean Whitney behind them.

“We're done for today, Melanie,” Laurie said.

“But we both want to wish you good luck with your audition.” Jean finished the sentence.

“Thanks. I'll see you tomorrow. I hope.” Melanie watched them head for the dressing room.

“You're on,” Hank cut in. She nodded toward Madame Leona's office.

Frau Voska was outside, fiddling with the tape deck by the office door. Madame Leona stood beyond her, unmoving, her arms folded. She looked directly at Melanie. Melanie thought she might easily be an incarnation of a Greek goddess. The air around her sculptured face seemed alive with an indefinable vibrancy. She wanted to give Madame Leona her best effort and knew that this audition was very, very special. Yesterday with Bryan, getting this chance, was step one. This was step two of her plan.

The music of the first dance set from
Swan Lake
began. Melanie had danced it two years ago, and she had watched Paulie practice. She hoped she remembered it well enough. If not, she'd improvise.

She was still looking eye-to-eye with Madame Leona when Hank put a hand on her back and gave her a push. “Get out there, Mel.”

Melanie looked over her shoulder at Hank and gave her a finger wave. Hank waved back.

Melanie began. She let the music lead; she followed. She thought of nothing but a swan. With each second she felt herself being drawn deeper into the dance, bit by bit accepting herself as a swan, letting the music gently push aside all doubt and fear. Every few minutes, though, she did break concentration to follow Madame Leona's movements. She could feel her slowly and methodically moving around the studio, watching her from every angle. Frau Voska moved with her. She carried the wooden baton, striking it like a metronome against her heavy skirt.

“That's good, Melanie.”

Madame Leona smiled and walked toward her. Frau Voska walked directly toward the tape deck, almost brushing against Melanie, but did not give her so much as a brief glance. The music was shut off.

Melanie stood, breathing heavily, with a hip cocked to one side and her hand resting there. Whatever happened, she felt good about the audition, her performance. She glanced toward Hank sitting on the floor beside the dressing room door. Hank threw Melanie a “Not bad, not bad at all” look, accompanied by a reassuring Hank smile.

“Surely you didn't dance that well in the tryouts, Melanie,” Madame Leona said. “Or I wouldn't have made a mistake selecting—passing you over. I believe you have charmed the muse.”

Melanie felt a blush coming, but could do nothing to stop it. She looked into Madame Leona's eyes and for a moment felt that she and Leona were having a stare-down. This woman was incredibly strong. She would be a formidable enemy. Leona won when Melanie glanced toward Hank again.

Madame Leona shot a quick glance at Hank, then turned toward the three other troupe members still clustered in the far corner of the theater.

“Ladies—we are done. Thank you.” The trio left, but Hank remained sitting on the floor.

Melanie knew she was
in
when Leona, in a quiet voice, asked, “Melanie, do you prefer to be addressed as Melanie or Miss Clark?”

“Melanie's fine.” Melanie tried to keep from smiling—or more than that, shouting. She had done it. She could get on to step three—whatever that was. She hadn't thought this all out.

“That's a lovely name. It's Greek, you know.” Leona stepped forward and kissed her lightly on the cheek. “Welcome to my troupe. Please relax, but don't leave. I'll be right back.” She walked away toward her office, then stopped and looked at Hank. “Hannah, why haven't you left?”

“Mel and I are friends in show choir,” Hank replied casually. “We're going to grab a bite after she changes.”

Madame Leona frowned but continued to her office. She was gone only an instant and returned carrying a black, velvet-covered box. From it she took a chain and a medallion. “This is for you.”

She placed the necklace over Melanie's head, paused, and gazed into Melanie's eyes, searching, inquisitive. Melanie glanced down, partly to break Leona's spell.

It was, she realized suddenly, the same necklace and medallion from the Arbuthnot. The one Madame Leona refused to sell to Bryan. The one Paulie had worn until—until …

Tears formed in her eyes and threatened to spill over, gathered in her throat until she felt she would choke. She swallowed once, twice, pushing back the grief that was still so raw.

Leona smiled. She relaxed, her arms crossed, and stepped back from Melanie. “It's lovely, Melanie, and it's yours. All my girls have one.”

My girls. Melanie wiped her face, hoping Leona would think the tears came from joy. She shot a quick glance at Hank, who seemed to have anticipated the moment. She was swinging an identical necklace, which she had pulled from beneath her sweater. The only difference was that the stone in the center of Hank's medallion was blue.

Melanie held the medallion in the palm of her hand. It felt warm. She was startled to see that the stone, which had just moments ago been green, was now a deep red.

“It's alexandrite,” Madame Leona said. “Exposed to artificial light it turns from green to red. Wear it. Tomorrow in daylight it will be green—to match your eyes.”

“Oh, thank you, Madame Leona. This means so much to me. I'm—I'm really honored.” And she was. It had taken talent and guts on her part to get into this select group. If she was wrong about Leona—and she hoped she was—no harm was done. She had furthered her dance career by taking this step.

Melanie saw Hank stand and put on her long, blue woolen coat. It was time to leave.

“Three forty-five tomorrow afternoon.” Madame Leona looked at Melanie with her head slightly lowered, her dark eyes framed in shadow. “Hannah, same time tomorrow. And please wear your medallion under your sweater. I don't want them lost.”

Melanie watched as Hank, without smiling, did as Madame Leona asked. Madame Leona left for her office, and once there, closed the door quietly behind her. Melanie saw with a glance around the studio that Frau Voska had vanished. She was not the least bit disappointed.

“Melanie, I didn't mean to invite myself to go with you earlier. When Leona asked why I was hanging around, it was the first thing that popped into my mind.”

“No problem, Hank. I appreciated your support. Do go to dinner with us. We have an extra guy.” Melanie needed to know whether or not she could trust Hank. If she found she could, it would be another person on their side.

She dashed into the dressing room, changed into her street clothes, and was glad to find Hank still in the lobby. That must mean she'd go with them.

“Too bad. You just missed saying good night to Madame MacBeth's three witches. You didn't get introduced, did you?”

“I saw them. I couldn't tell if they were for or against me. So I ignored them. Why do you call them that?”

“I don't know. There's something about them that makes my skin crawl. They're good dancers, but—call it female intuition. I guess—I don't really like them.”

“I've found that a lot of dancers are a word that rhymes with witches. They'll stab anyone in the back to get a lead.”

Melanie listened to Hank chatter as she watched for Bryan. It was snowing again, which, along with holiday and going-home-from-work traffic might make them late.

“Their names are Nicol, Anne, and Janell. That's it,” Hank continued. “Period. I've been rehearsing with them for three months, and so far as I can find out, they don't have last names.”

Melanie laughed. Her mind drifted back to her audition, her acceptance, and Leona's gift. She touched the medallion, a warm lump under her sweater. She wondered how Bryan was going to react to her making the troupe. They'd argued off and on all day today.