Dead Man Dancing

Two

Ruth burst into my kitchen the following morning, armed with a list of dance studios, if you call three a list, and printouts with information about each. She spread them out on the table in front of her.

‘I thought we’d decided on J & K Studios,’ I complained, setting a mug of steaming black coffee on the table beside her. ‘Yesterday afternoon. Remember?’ The studio had been so supportive of Dance for the Cure that I wanted to steer a little business their way.

Ruth picked up her mug and sipped carefully. ‘Well, yes, but when I got home, I thought I’d better do a bit of research. Just to make sure.’

‘Make sure of what?’ I asked, feeling a bit miffed that my advice about J & K Studios was being ignored.

‘To make sure that Hutch won’t be disappointed,’ she said. ‘He competed in college, so I figure he’s going to be a little bit picky about instructors.’

‘A serious competitor?’

‘Won all kinds of trophies.’ Ruth beamed at me over the rim of her mug. ‘His mother keeps calling from Nebraska to ask if he wants them.’ She laughed. ‘She’s turning his bedroom into an office.’

‘What’s her hurry? Hutch hasn’t lived at home for – what? – fifteen years.’

‘She’s threatening to give them all to Goodwill. Anyway…’ She hurried on before I could wedge a word in. ‘When I got home, I sat down and Googled all the Annapolis area dance studios. This one in Glen Burnie, for example.’ She read off an address that I knew must be located in one of the clusters of car dealerships and strip malls that lined Route 2 the entire twenty-some blighted miles from Annapolis to the Baltimore beltway.

‘They’ve got several wedding packages,’ Ruth continued. ‘Everything from reasonably-priced group lessons down to a one-lesson crash course for eighty-five dollars.’ She looked up at me over the frames of her reading glasses. ‘Even if it were worth the drive, I don’t think the crash course will do.’

‘And this gal -’ Ruth tapped the second name on her list – ‘she teaches out of her home in Annapolis, but I checked on her website, no Latin.’

‘Amo, amas, amat.’

‘Not that kind of Latin!’ I could see Ruth wasn’t in the mood for jokes.

‘Well, if I can’t paso doble, forget it.’

Ruth’s eyes narrowed. ‘Do you know more about dancing than you’re letting on, Hannah Ives?’

‘Just what I see on Dancing with the Stars,’ I insisted. ‘Jonathan Whatshisname dragging Marie Osmond around the dance floor by her hair.’ I tried to imagine Paul in skintight pants, high heels tapping like a Flamenco dancer, his fingers entwined in the roots of my short, coffee-colored curls. I had to giggle.

‘Paso doble is supposed to represent bullfighting,’ Ruth explained. ‘La Passe, Banderillas, Coup de Pique and all that.’ She waved a hand. ‘If it weren’t for Hutch, I wouldn’t know the cha-cha from a rumba.’

‘What is the difference between a cha-cha and a rumba?’ I asked.

Ruth ignored me. ‘Hutch comes home, grabs a cold one, and watches all those dance shows, yelling beery criticism from the sofa, especially at the judges. Hutch hates the judges.’ Ruth pantomimed a dramatic hair flip, batted her eyelashes furiously and gushed, ‘You two are, like, just so awesome!’

‘Hutch is a lawyer. He’s supposed to hate judges,’ I teased. When Ruth stopped laughing, I asked, ‘Why don’t you get Hutch to give you lessons?’

‘He’s offered, but I said, no. I can’t take the chance that it would wreck our relationship the same way it wrecked the relationship I had with Rusty when I took him up on his offer to teach me how to drive.’

Remembering that notorious high school incident, it was my turn to laugh. ‘Well, if you hadn’t gotten a whopping ticket for driving Rusty’s car without a license…’

‘We were on back roads. Who knew there’d be a roadblock?’

‘Or even a learner’s permit,’ I added.

‘I was only fourteen.’

‘Not to mention driving over that patrolman’s foot.’

Ruth leaned back in her chair, a grin splitting her face. ‘Now that was worth every penny!’

Ruth, the radical, then as now. Back then, our dad, a navy commander, had been stationed at the Pentagon, a fact we tried to keep secret from our friends. We were living in a rented farmhouse in rural Virginia, on the outskirts of a tiny town where every infraction, no matter how minor, was eventually published in the police blotter of the local paper. Rusty, two years ahead of Ruth and flush with cash from his after-school job at Denny’s, had gallantly paid Ruth’s fine, but his ardor cooled after several months of missing Thursday afternoon band practice to drive Ruth home, where she hoped to retrieve the Woodbridge Gazette before Mom got to it. Eventually Ruth succeeded in snatching the incriminating issue off the stoop and burning it, but she hadn’t counted on the twenty-seven neighbors who telephoned Mom to clue her in. Small towns. Ya gotta love ’em.

Annapolis was like that, in some ways. Population 36,000, and the capital of Maryland, but everyone seemed to know everyone else. That’s how I knew Kay Giannotti, the ‘K’ of J & K Studios. Even before the Dance for the Cure I kept running into Kay – Annapolis Symphony concerts, Newcomers Club, Graul’s Market, the downtown post office. She didn’t actually teach Chloe – one of her associates handled the under twelves – but I’d passed Kay in the studio parking lot from time to time, a friendly nod-and-wave sort of thing.

‘You were right, Hannah,’ Ruth said, as if eavesdropping on my brain. ‘J & K seems to have the best deal. Group lessons from seven to eight p.m. on Mondays, with an hour of free practice following.’ She looked up from her notes. ‘The “K” I can figure out, but what’s the “J” stand for?’

‘Kay’s husband, Jay.’

‘You’re making that up.’

‘No, his name is really Jay. Jay Giannotti.’

‘Too cute.’ She lay down her pen, picked up her mug, and began to concentrate on her coffee. ‘What’s Jay like?’

‘I’ve never met the guy. If he’s anything like Kay, which is to say late forties, slender, well-coifed and well-dressed, they’ll make a striking couple on the dance floor. They’re some sort of champions.’

Ruth zoned out for a moment, staring into the depths of her cup. ‘Hutch is a really, really good dancer,’ she said at last. ‘But, he gave it all up when he went to law school.’

‘Do you think he misses dancing, Ruth?’

My sister shrugged. ‘I don’t know. He doesn’t talk about it much. It’s all divorce, child custody, prenups, trusts and estates…’ She rested her elbows on the table and her chin in her hands, and regarded me seriously. ‘I just want to make him proud.’

‘I’m sure you will, Ruth.’ I gestured with my empty mug. ‘More coffee?’ Ruth shook her head, so I collected our empty mugs and set them in the sink.

‘Paul and I might be an embarrassment, though,’ I said, rinsing a mug clean under the tap. ‘When we take to the dance floor, you and Hutch might want to chassé in the opposite direction. Pretend you don’t know us.’

‘I’m just happy you’re willing to give it a shot. Paul loves you, Hannah. He won’t let you down.’

‘It’s not me I’m worried about.’ Dish towel in hand, I turned to face her. ‘It’s you I don’t want to disappoint.’

‘It’s just Mondays for six weeks. Can’t Paul manage that?’ Ruth gathered the papers, folded them in half and tucked them into the pocket of her sweater.

‘If he doesn’t have to trim his nose hair or neuter the house plants.’

Ruth’s eyes narrowed dangerously, so I raised both hands, palms out. ‘Joke!’

‘Seriously,’ she said. ‘I’ve already checked with Connie. She thinks she and Dennis can actually make it. Barring a jail break or hostage situation, of course.’ She chewed for a moment on her bottom lip, thinking. ‘We need at least three couples to get the reduced rate.’

‘If Dennis bags it, I could always dance with Connie, I suppose.’

Ruth’s eyes widened, as if I had suggested something radical, like showing up for her wedding wearing flip-flops, a tube top and a pair of cut-offs. ‘Gosh, no. You don’t want to do that. You need to practice the ladies’ part while Paul learns the gentlemen’s part. It makes a huge difference.’

‘And the gentleman leads, I assume.’

‘Always.’

Paul taking the lead. For income tax returns, car repairs and yard work, Paul at the helm was definitely A Good Thing. But ballroom dancing? Jeesh. I was in trouble.