Dead Man Dancing

Nineteen

Chloe bounced on tiptoes, trying to see the stage over the heads of the people standing in front of us. ‘What’s wrong? What happened to Mr Jay?’

I wrapped my arm around my granddaughter and pulled her close. ‘It’s going to be all right, Chloe. Somebody’s calling a doctor for Mr Jay.’

After seeing that there was nothing he could do to help Jay, Dave turned to the audience, arms raised, except that this time nobody clapped. ‘Please, everyone, stay calm. Take your seats. The paramedics are on their way.’

The audience sat, but restless murmuring washed in waves through the theater.

The paramedics must have been standing by because they arrived almost immediately, two men in uniform carrying a stretcher upon which sat an instrument I recognized, a portable defibrillator. Paul stretched his long frame across Eva and Chloe’s laps to grab my hand and give it a comforting squeeze. He had to know I was thinking about the day my mother had a heart attack while standing in our kitchen.

Up on stage, the paramedics went to work on Jay while Kay’s brave face dissolved into a mask of panic, and she started to sob and shake.

I shot out of my seat. ‘I need to go to her.’

Paul, always the voice of reason, jerked his head toward the stage where well-trained, green-shirted staffers had materialized, blocking all access from the orchestra to the stage. ‘Sit down, Hannah. They’re not going to let you anywhere near the poor guy.’

Reassuringly for me, Samantha Purdy had already reached Kay, wrapped both arms around her and was rubbing her back and rocking, soothing her as one might a child. After a few moments, Samantha led Kay off-stage where she could wait in the comfort of the star lounge or green room I figured must be backstage somewhere.

The problem must not have been with Jay’s heart; after fussing about for several minutes, the paramedics put the defibrillator away. Together they lifted Jay on to the stretcher, made sure he was comfortable, strapped him in, and started to carry him away. Just before the stretcher disappeared into the wings, Jay raised a hand and managed a wave.

‘He’s going to be all right!’ somebody shouted.

A sea of mighty, thunderous applause.

‘Where do you suppose they’re taking him?’ Eva wanted to know.

I knew the answer to that question. The University of Maryland Medical Center was right around the corner. That’s where they’d done all they could for my mother, the place where she’d died.

‘What’s wrong with Mr Jay?’ Chloe asked again.

‘Probably nothing serious, Pumpkin. But they’re taking him to the hospital just to make sure.’ Chloe didn’t look convinced, so I added, ‘Remember when you were very little and I was in the hospital?’

Chloe nodded. ‘Sort of.’

‘And they fixed me all up, right?’

Chloe had been clutching her notebook to her chest, but she opened it and spread it out on her lap, apparently reassured. ‘Can I write about Mr Jay?’

‘Honey, you can write about anything you want.’

‘Chloe,’ Ruth added, ‘don’t worry about Mr Jay. He’s probably just exhausted. He’s been practicing very hard on his dancing.’

‘How do you spell egg-zausted, Aunt Ruth?’

While Ruth helped Chloe with her spelling, I said, ‘Melanie told me Jay was feeling achy, thought he might be coming down with the flu. Wait a minute… look.’

Samantha Purdy had reappeared on stage, smiling hugely as if she’d just saved the entire Third World from war, poverty and disease. She approached the standing microphone, bent at the waist, put her plump, glossy lips close to it and said, ‘He’s going to be fine, ladies and gentlemen. Backstage just now, Jay was smiling and talking to me, ready to get right up off that stretcher. They’re taking him to the hospital to have him checked out, but he’s going to be fine, just fine.’

While Samantha was delivering the good news, Dave bounced as bouncily as a three-hundred-pound man could bounce back to center stage. ‘That’s great news, Samantha. Great news indeed. And wasn’t that a fabulous paso doble, ladies and gentlemen? Let’s give a big round of applause to Jay and Kay Giannotti, and we certainly hope to see you back on your talented feet real soon, Jay.’

Although I remained worried about Jay, and wondered how Kay was holding up over at the emergency room, I was anxious for the show to go on, so when it did, I clapped until my hands began to sting just like everyone else.

We sat through the next two auditions – neither of them worth writing home about, either in my opinion or the judges – before Hutch and Melanie were introduced.

I’d seen only the early practice sessions, never a dress rehearsal, so when the couple appeared on stage, I was stunned by their costumes. Melanie had transformed herself into a beaded, glittery flapper, her hair hidden under a sparkling cloche, spit curls caressing her cheeks. Hutch wore a black and white striped three-piece suit, a black shirt with a white tie, and spats. When the dance began, he was sitting on a chair, his head bowed, a fedora tipped over his left eyebrow.

A mobster and his moll.

‘And now, dancing the tango, I give you Gaylord Hutchinson and Melanie Fosher, from Annapolis, Maryland! Cue the music, Steve!’ ordered one of the judges. From the Down Under accent, I figured it was Neville.

Immediately, the familiar tune of ‘Hernando’s Hideaway’ boomed out of the speaker banks.

Strolling, strolling, strolling, eyes downcast, Melanie approached Hutch. He glanced up languidly, slid the hat to the back of his head, seized her hand, rose from his chair, pulled her to him… and from that moment they moved as one, connected cheek to cheek, chest to chest, thigh to thigh.

I know a dark secluded place…

Circling, circling they stalked left. Whirling, whirling, they slithered right, their footwork so intricate it was hard for the eye to follow.

A flick of the foot here, a snap of the head there.

I tore my eyes away long enough to glance down the row to Ruth, wondering how she might be taking it, and was surprised (and relieved!) to see her beaming with pride.

You will be free, to gaze at me…

Back on stage, Melanie paused as if her shoes were glued to the floor. When Hutch backed away ever so slowly, Melanie’s feet stayed where they were and she began a gentle slide into his arms. He turned, she bobbed up, they whirled and swiveled and spun until before anyone knew it, Hutch was back in the chair where he’d begun, with Melanie sitting on his lap. On the last olé of the song, Melanie snatched the fedora off Hutch’s head and plopped it down on her own.

The audience sprang to its feet. They screamed, they hooted, they cheered.

I jumped up and down, cupped my hands around my mouth and shouted ‘bravo’ so many times that I made my throat sore. I hadn’t yelled so long and so loud since the Orioles won the World Series back in 1983.

We couldn’t see the judges’ faces, but they must have been smiling, too.

A voice I recognized as Jonathan Job’s said, ‘Wow. I haven’t seen anything so well coordinated since Torvill and Dean electrified the world with Bolero back in the 80s! How long have you two been dancing together?’

Melanie sprang from Hutch’s lap, and the two of them made their way over to the standing microphone where Melanie breathed into it, ‘Three months.’

Samantha gushed, ‘You are just so amazing! Three months! You are blowing my mind. I am speechless!’

Hutch and Melanie’s routine had blown Neville’s mind, too. ‘That, ladies and gentlemen, is what the tango is all about! A walking seduction. What can I say? Judges, this couple goes on to New York City. Am I right?’

‘Oh, yes, definitely,’ Samantha cooed.

‘Too right.’ This from Jonathan.

I was in real danger of choking on the lump in my throat.

As the audience erupted into applause all around us, Chloe squealed, ‘They won? Uncle Hutch won?’

Eva patted her head. ‘Yes, indeed. Your Uncle Hutch won.’

At the end of the row, I noticed Paul fanning Ruth with Chloe’s notebook. She’d slouched in her chair, broken leg half blocking the aisle. I recognized the symptoms; she was hyperventilating, but nothing a few minutes of in-with-the-good-air, out-with-the-bad-air couldn’t cure.

Somehow we managed to sit through the next seven auditions, but the judges could have been watching dancing bears or boxing kangaroos or maypole dancing for all we cared. When Dave Carson came out at the end of the set to help us relax with ‘seated sun salutations’ – apparently the big man was into yoga, too – we half carried, half walked Ruth out of the auditorium, retrieved her wheelchair, and hurried out to the street.

We’d agreed to meet Hutch and Melanie at the Cheesecake Factory for lunch, no matter what, so we walked, rolled (and some of us floated) down to the Pratt Street Pavilion on the waterfront, arriving just as the restaurant opened.

A grilled eggplant sandwich was in my future, I knew, but when Hutch and Melanie showed up, I planned to treat everyone to a round of Godiva chocolate brownie sundaes. We would celebrate their triumph in style.