The Dance (8 page)

When Michael got home, his mom told him Jessica had called. She wanted him to call her the moment he came in. His heart sank. Something must have come up. Maybe she’d changed her mind. He hadn’t realized how much he had been looking forward to being alone with her.

“Don’t be so glum,” his mother said when she saw his face. “It might be that she wants you to pick her up a half hour later.”

“Did she say anything else?” he asked.

“Nothing about why she wanted you to call. But I talked to her a few minutes. She seems like a nice girl.” His mother smiled. “She sounds like she likes you.”

He blushed. She knew how to embarrass him when it came to girls—she just had to bring them up. She had been a hippie in the sixties and was still extremely liberal. He had to be the only guy at Tabb High whose own mother thought her son was a prude. “What gave you that idea?” he asked, very interested to know.

“The way she says your name,” she said. “I notice she always calls you Michael, not Mike. Also, she went on about how smart you are. Of course, I told her you got all your brains from me.”

“Take credit where credit’s due.” There was no mistaking they were related. They both had the same black hair, the same dark eyebrows and eyes. Neither of them had ever had to worry about their weight, and nature had given them exceptionally clear skin, although Michael occasionally wished—especially during the summer when he burned lobster red on the beach—they weren’t so fair.

Their mannerisms, however, were quite different. His mom talked enthusiastically, using her hands a lot, while he normally kept his fingers clasped in most discussions and seldom raised his voice. She was a strong lady, although in the last couple of years or so, Michael had begun to feel her secretarial job what with the traffic she had to fight commuting and the crap she had to put up with from her boss—had begun to take its toll. She always seemed tired, no matter how much she slept.

Yet today she positively glowed. She had on a light green dress and had curled her hair. Plus there was blood in her cheeks that gave her face a youthful sheen. “What is it?” she asked in response to his stare.

“Have you been exercising? You look—alive.”

She laughed. “I’ll take that as a compliment. But the only exercise I did today was to carry in the groceries.” She nodded at her dress. “Do you like it? Daniel gave it to me. I’ll be at his place this weekend. I’m leaving in a few minutes.” She added mischievously, “You won’t need to spring for a motel on your hot date.”

He headed for his room and the phone. “I’d be happy to go to a movie with her.”

“Mike?”

He paused, saw the sudden seriousness in her face. “What is it?”

“I’d like to talk to you about something.”

“Can it wait a minute?”

She hesitated. “Sure. Call Jessie. I’ll be here.”

He had memorized Jessica’s number when she had given it to him the second week of school. Before dialing, he sat on the edge of his bed and took a couple of deep breaths. Then he dived in. She answered quickly. He knew the date was off the instant he heard her voice.

“Hi, can you hold a sec?” she asked.

“Yeah.” He listened to his heart pound while she went to another phone. It didn’t sound like it was going to break, yet it ached, and suddenly it hit him again, how much he missed Alice. Those hugs she used to give him when she would sneak up on him—He closed his eyes, sat back in the bed, mad at himself. He was reacting like a child. Jessica came back on the line.

“I tried to get you earlier. I talked to your mom.”

“Yeah, she told me.”

“She’s such a cool lady. I hope I didn’t give her the impression I’m stupid. I’m not very good at talking to people on the phone that I’ve never met. I start rambling.”

“She liked you.”

“Really? That’s good.” She took a breath. “I suppose you’re wondering why I called? Tonight, Michael, it’s not good. Something’s come up. I have to cancel on you.”

“That’s OK.” Hey, the sun just blew up. That’s OK. I can carry on as a collection of cooked carbon molecules. No problem.

But, Jessie, I need to see you. I need you.

“I’m free tomorrow.” she said. “Would that be all right?”

He couldn’t call his bosses and expect them to rearrange his schedule again. “No. I can’t. I have to work.”

“Can’t you get off?”

“I wish I could.”

“Oh, no.” She sounded distressed. He began to feel a tiny bit better. “If I had known—Dammit. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. Things come up. I understand.” Since she wasn’t volunteering what this thing was, he thought it prudent not to ask. “I heard the announcement at the varsity tree this afternoon. I was happy to hear your name called.”

“Oh, you were there? I was looking for you.”

When he had seen her talking to Bill Skater, he had decided he would save his congratulations for another time. “I want to wish you luck with the next vote. I think you’d make a wonderful queen.”

“Thanks. How about next Friday?”

“We have our first league game then. I’ll be playing.”

“Then how about next Saturday? We could go out after the SAT test. We could compare answers! Come on, Michael, I’ll need someone like you about then to help put my brains back together.”

He had to work next Saturday evening as well. Yet that was a week away. He might be able to swing something with the boss’s son. “That should be fine, but I’ll have to double-check at the store.”

“I’m
carving
you into my appointment book for next Saturday.” she said. “If you don’t show, I’m coming to your store to get you.” She giggled. “How come you’re always so understanding?”

“Don’t be fooled. I have my days.” The words were no sooner past his lips than he realized she was one of the few people who knew precisely what he meant. He hadn’t intended to bring up the scene in Alice’s studio, not again. He said quickly, “I’ll let you go, Jessie. See you at school.”

She paused. “Take care of yourself, Michael.”

Her last remarks had soothed his feelings somewhat. But now he had absolutely nothing to do. He glanced out the window, at the clouds. They were heading west, toward the ocean. He dialed the weather service. They assured him there would be patches of visibility throughout the night in the desert. Good news. He hadn’t seen the comet in weeks. If he could find it tonight, he would be able to construct a yardstick with which to plot its course.

Preparing to spend the night in the desert, he forgot all about his mom’s asking to speak to him, not until she came into his bedroom. “What are you doing?” she asked.

“Cleaning my Barlow lens.” He held the unusually long ocular up to the light, lens paper in his hand, searching for dust particles. “Use this with any eyepiece and you double its power.”

“Are you going to the desert tonight? Is the date off?”

When he’d started his comet hunt, she used to wait up for him, worrying. So he’d taken her with him once, and hanging out with him beneath the stars on the wide empty dark sands, she’d come to realize he was safer outside the city than in his own bedroom.

“We’re going out next Saturday.” He shrugged. “It’s cool.”

“You’re not upset?”

“I’m fine. What did you want to talk about?”

Her eyes never left his, not even to blink. “I’m pregnant.”

He set down his lens. He heard himself speak. “And?”

“Daniel doesn’t know. I’m going to tell him this weekend.”

“And?”

“I don’t know what he’ll say.” She glanced above his desk at a painting of a kindly mother polar bear feeding a bottle to a cute baby penguin. Clark hadn’t completely spoiled Alice’s artistic fun. It had been one of the last things she had done. His mother wasn’t the type who cried easily, but as she looked at the painting he saw that her eyes were moist. “And this time, it doesn’t matter what he says.”

Michael smiled. “I always wanted a sister.”

She laughed. “They’re still making brothers, too, you know?”

“It will be a girl.” He
knew
it would be.

“Who was that?” Bill Skater asked. Jessica whirled around. She had not heard him coming up the stairs.

“No one,” she said. “A friend.” She felt sick with guilt. When Bill had asked her out at lunch, she. in all the excitement, completely forgot about her date with Michael. And then later she had figured she could simply see Michael on Saturday night, no harm done. Naturally, being Ms. Free Time, she had conveniently overlooked the fact that he had other responsibilities. She shuddered to imagine what he must think of her. If she’d had any integrity at all, she would’ve called Bill and canceled the instant she remembered her original commitment.

But you didn’t because you’re as phony as that phony crown you’re hoping to wear in two weeks.

“I thought I heard you say somebody’s name,” Bill said, stepping into her bedroom. He had on a turtle-neck sweater the identical shade of blue as his eyes. And he had brought his body with him. What a stroke of good luck. She could practically
feel
it beneath his clothes, waiting for her. She honestly believed she was going to lose her vaunted virginity tonight.

That’s why I forgot my date with Michael.

“Huh?” she asked.

“Were you talking to Michael Olson?”

“Do you know him?”

He nodded. “He’s a far-out guy. Did you invite him along?”

“What? No.” That was a weird question. She picked up her bag, knowing her glasses were not inside. She would have to listen hard during the movie and try to figure out what was going on that way. She smiled, offering him her arm. “I’m ready. Let’s go.”

Aunty’s dying
, Polly thought. Sitting on the bed beside her, holding her dry, shriveled hand, watching her sunken chest wheeze wearily up and down, Polly wondered when it would be. Next week? Tonight? Now? She hoped it wasn’t now. She didn’t want to be there when it happened. She had seen enough family die.

“I’ll go now and let you sleep,” Polly said, moving to leave. Her aunt squeezed her hand, stopping her.

“Are you unhappy, Polly?” her aunt whispered, barely moving her lips. Since the heart attack, it was as if the nerves beneath her already lined face had gone permanently to sleep. Nowadays her expression never changed; it was always old, always waiting for the end, impatient for it even. Only her eyes, the same blue as Alice’s, held any life. Whenever Polly entered the room, she felt those eyes on her. Polly, could you do this? Polly, I need that.

“I’m all right,” Polly said. “Don’t I look all right?”

“No.” Her aunt shifted her head on the pillow so that they were face-to-face. Polly felt a momentary wave of nausea and had to lower her eyes. Aunty had lost so much weight, for an instant Polly imagined she was speaking to a skull. Yet, in a way, no matter whom she talked to lately, she felt that way. All that lay between youthful beauty and clean white bone was a thin layer of flesh, she thought, a thread of life. They were all going to die someday, someday soon.

“What’s wrong, Polly?” Aunty asked.

“Nothing.”

“Are you lonely?”

“Why would I be lonely? I have you to talk to. I talk to you all the time.” She glanced at the clock. Twelve forty-five. Russ had been asleep in her bed upstairs since midnight. He had only stayed up for “Star Trek.” She was beginning to hate that show. She had told him she had been to the family clinic and he had just grunted. He hadn’t asked her why she had gone.

Her aunt tried to smile, her stiff cheeks practically cracking. “You’ve been very good to me, Polly. You’re good to everyone. I remember how you used to watch over Alice.” Aunty’s eyes rolled toward the ceiling, going slightly out of focus. “Her first day at kindergarten, she didn’t want anyone but you to walk to school with her. I remember driving the car slowly behind you. You were holding hands, wearing bright-colored dresses. Yours was yellow, and Alice had on—” She paused, trying to picture it. No matter how the conversation started, Aunty always went off on something that had happened years ago. “It was green. I bought them both in Beverly Hills, at a shop on Wilshire. Of course, you wouldn’t remember.”

“I remember,” Polly said. “Why wouldn’t I remember?”

Aunty coughed, raspy and dry. “You were hardly seven years old.”

“So? I remember when I was two years old. And, anyway, Alice’s dress wasn’t green. It was red.” She was suddenly angry, restless. If she didn’t get out of the room now, she felt, she would never be able to get out. She would be trapped there forever and ever, feeding Aunty, helping Aunty to the bathroom, wiping the spit from Aunty’s pillowcase.

“You must miss her terribly. It must be so hard for you.”

Polly leaned over and kissed the old lady, smelling her stale sticky breath. “I have you. I don’t need anyone else.” She brushed a hair from the woman’s forehead, and it stuck to her fingers like a strand of steel wool. “Now get some sleep.”

Polly had just sat down on the living-room couch when she heard the sound of the motorcycle roaring up the street. She hurried to the front door.

Clark had parked his bike beneath the tree at the end of the driveway. He waved as he walked up the long front lawn, his leather gloves in his hand, his red hair hanging over the shoulders of his black jacket. Polly glanced back inside the house, up the stairs. Russ sometimes snored. Loud.

She smiled. “Hi, Clark. What a pleasant surprise.”

He nodded, stepping past her, putting his gloves in his back pocket. But the instant she closed the door, he whirled around, grabbing her, pressing his mouth hard against hers. She could taste his breath, feel it, clean and cold as the night air. She leaned into him, a warm thrill going through the length of her body. Then his finger dug into her lower back, caressing her roughly. She pushed him away, and his face darkened. For a moment, she thought he would explode.

“What’s the problem, Polly?”

She let go of him, stepped toward the living room. “You surprised me. I didn’t know you were stopping by.”

“I told you yesterday I’d come back.”

“Oh, yeah.” She gestured for him to have a seat on the sofa. “Can I get you something?”

He remained standing in the area between the kitchen and living room, near the stairs. “I want you.”

She laughed nervously. “What do you want with me?”

He came toward her. “Let’s go up to your bed-room.”

“No, I can’t.”

He took hold of her arms. He was thin as a rail, but strong. “Why not? A few months ago you used to take off your clothes to tease me. You were dying for it.” He squeezed tighter, moistening his lips with his tongue. “Tonight, Polly, I think you’ll die if you don’t get it.”

“But that was modeling.” She tried to shake loose and couldn’t. “You’re hurting me!”

He grinned, releasing her. “I’m very sorry.” He turned and walked into the living room. There were red marks on her wrists, and she massaged them gently, following him. She hated it when he was like this, but couldn’t really say she wanted him to leave. Aunty had been right; since Russ had gone to bed, she had been feeling terribly lonely. Clark went and stood by the sliding-glass door, staring out the back.

“What are you looking at?” she asked, coming up beside him.

“The dark. The past. Can you see it?”

“I don’t understand.”

“Alice’s party. All the beautiful people in the pool.”

She wished he wouldn’t keep bringing up that night. She had thought about what he had said yesterday, as well as what Michael had said, and decided they were both wrong. The evidence couldn’t lie. Alice must have killed herself. “They weren’t all beautiful,” she said.

“Jessie, Maria, Clair-those three were here that night, and now they’re princesses.”

“Maria isn’t that good-looking—”

“But she’s Jessie’s friend.”

“How did you know that?”

“You told me.”

“No, I didn’t.”

He looked at her, along with his faint reflection—
two Clarks
—in the glass door. “Then how did I know?”

“I don’t know.”

“You can’t remember?” he asked.

“I didn’t say that.”

He nodded, his eyes going back to the night. “Jessie meets Maria, and now she hardly talks to you anymore. Sara becomes president and she only calls you when she wants money. Isn’t that true?”

“No. Jessie’s my best friend. She called me tonight.”

“Why? To brag to you? She’s not your friend. None of them are.” He raised his palm, touched the glass, almost touching his reflection. The line between them seemed so thin. “Think about it, Polly. If Jessie and Sara had not talked you into the party, your sister would be alive today.”

It was a horrible thought, one she refused to consider for even an instant. But before she could tell him so, Russ bumped the wall with his elbow or leg or something in the upstairs bedroom. Clark turned at the sound. “What was that?” he asked

“My aunt.”

He paused, sniffed the air. “Her. She doesn’t smell very pretty.” He stepped toward the hall. “Where is she?”

“She’s in bed, asleep.” Polly went after him. “Please don’t disturb her. She’s not well.”

He ignored her, going to her aunt’s bedroom door, peering inside. She tried frantic gestures, tugging on his arm, but he refused to budge. He smiled big and wide. Watching her aunt unconscious and fighting for breath seemed to give him great pleasure. “What would you want if you were that old?” he asked.

“Shh,” she whispered. “Nothing. I’d want to die.”

“Why?”

“I wouldn’t want to be sick like that.”

“And ugly?”

“Yeah. Come on, shut the door.”

“She’s no different from you. Inside, she thinks the same way you would if you were inside her.” He nodded toward her aunt. “She wants you to do it.”

“Do what?”

“Take a pillow, put it over her ugly face, and hold it there.”

“Are you mad? That would be murder.”

“It would be a kindness.”

“Stop it. She’s all I have.” Polly began to shake, her eyes watering. She could never do anything to hurt Aunty. She would sooner hurt herself. “I’m closing the door.”

He let her. He began to put on his gloves, heading for the front door. She followed on his heels, confused. He always had that effect on her. “I’m going now,” he said.

“But you just got here. I thought you wanted—Don’t you want to see me?”

He grabbed a handful of her hair, tugged on it gently, then let it go. “I’ve seen you.”

“I meant—”

“See you naked? That would be nice. That would be nice. Maybe next time.”

“But what’s wrong with tonight?”

“You pushed me away.” He opened the door, looked at her a last time, his expression hard. “Push me away again, Polly, and I won’t forget it. Not as long as you or your aunt lives.”

He strode down the front lawn, jumped on his bike, and drove away. Frustrated, Polly went upstairs, took off all her clothes, and climbed into bed beside Russ. His snoring kept her up most of the night.