Dead of Night 5

Rue and Sean, Julie and Thompson, and the third pair of dancers, Megan and Karl, were sitting in the padded folding chairs that Sylvia usually pushed against the walls. For this meeting, they’d pulled the chairs in front of Sylvia’s desk.

“She’d like the gals to wear sort of Dorothy Lamour–style outfits, and the guys to wear loincloths and ankle bracelets. She wants some kind of ‘native-looking’ dance.”

“Oh, for God’s sake!” said Karl, disgust emphasizing his German accent.

“Connie Jaslow is one of our big repeat customers,” Sylvia said. Her eyes went from one to the other of them. “I agree the idea is silly, but Connie pays good money.”

“Let’s see the costumes,” Julie said. Rue had decided Julie was a good-hearted girl, and almost as practical as Sylvia.

“This was what she suggested,” Sylvia said. She held up a drawing. The women’s costume showed belly button; it was a short flowered skirt, wrapped to look vaguely saronglike, with a matching bra. The long black wig was decorated with artificial flowers.

Rue tried to imagine what she would look like in it, and she thought she’d look pretty good. But then she reevaluated the low-rider skirt. “It would be that low?” she asked.

“Yes,” Sylvia said. “Showing your navel is in right now, and Connie wanted a sort of update to the island look.”

“Can’t do it,” Rue said.

“Something wrong with your button?” teased Thompson.

“My stomach,” Rue said, and hoped she could leave it at that.

“I can’t believe that. You’re as lean as you can be,” Sylvia said sharply. She wasn’t used to being thwarted.

Rue had a healthy respect for her employer. She knew Sylvia would demand proof. Better to get it over with. Dancers learned to be practical about their bodies. Rue stood abruptly enough to startle Sean, who was leaning against the wall by her chair. Rue pulled up her T-shirt, unzipped her jeans and found she’d worn bikini panties, so she hardly had to push them down. “This would show,” Rue said, keeping her voice as level as she could.

The room was silent as the dancers gazed at the thick, jagged scar that ran just to the left of Rue’s navel. It descended below the line of the white bikinis.

“Good God, woman!” Karl said. “Was someone trying to gut you?”

“Give me a hysterectomy.” Rue pulled her clothes back together.

“We couldn’t cover that with makeup,” Sylvia said. “Or could we?”

The other two couples and Sylvia discussed Rue’s scarred stomach quite matter-of-factly, as a problem to solve.

The debate continued while Rue sat silently, her arms crossed over her chest to hold her agitation in. She became aware that she wasn’t hearing a word from Sean. Slowly, she turned to look up at her partner’s face. His blue eyes were full of light. He was very angry, livid with rage.

The dispassionate attitudes of the others had made her feel a bit more relaxed, but seeing his rage, Rue began to feel the familiar shame. She wanted to hide from him. And she couldn’t understand that, either. Why Sean, whom she knew better than any of the other dancers?

“Rue,” Sylvia said, “are you listening?”

“No, sorry, what?”

“Megan and Julie think they can cover it up,” Sylvia said. “You’re willing to take the job if we can get your belly camouflaged?”

“Sure,” she told Sylvia, hardly knowing what she was saying.

“All right, then, two Fridays from now. You all start working on a long dance number right away, faux Polynesian. You’ll go on after the jugglers. Julie and Thompson are booked for a party this Saturday night, and Karl and Megan, you’re doing a dinner dance at the Cottons’ estate on Sunday. Sean, you and Rue are scheduled to open a ‘big band’ evening at the burn unit benefit.”

Rue tried to feel pleased, because she loved dancing to big band music, and she had a wonderful forties dress to wear, but she was still too upset about revealing her scar. What had gotten into her? She’d tried her best to conceal it for years, and all of a sudden, in front of a roomful of relative strangers, she’d pulled down her jeans and shown it to them.

And they’d reacted quite calmly. They hadn’t screamed, or thrown up, or asked her what she’d done to deserve that. They hadn’t even asked who’d done it to her. To Rue’s astonishment, she realized that she was more comfortable with this group of dancers than she was with the other college students. Yet most of those students came from backgrounds that were much more similar to hers than, say, Julie’s. Julie had graduated from high school pregnant, had the baby and given it up to the parents of the father. Now she was working nonstop, hoping to gather enough money to buy a small house. If she could do that, she’d told Rue, the older couple would let her have the baby over for the weekends. Megan, a small, intense brunette, was dancing to earn money to get through vet school. She’d seen Rue’s stomach and immediately begun thinking how to fix it. No horror, no questions.

The only one who’d reacted with deep emotion had been Sean. Why was he so angry? Her partner felt contempt for her, she decided. Scarred and marred, damaged. If Rue hadn’t felt some measure of blame, she could have blown off Sean’s reaction, but part of her had always felt guilty that she hadn’t recognized trouble, hadn’t recognized danger, when it had knocked on her door and asked her out for a date.

That night, when they both left the studio, Sean simply began walking by her side.

“What are you doing?” Rue asked, after giving him a couple of blocks to explain himself. She stopped in her tracks.

“I am going in the same direction you are,” he said, his voice calm.

“And how long are you gonna be walking in that direction?”

“Probably as far as your steps will take you.”

“Why?”

There it was again, in his eyes, the rage. She shrank back.

“Because I choose to,” he said, like a true aristocrat.

“Let me tell you something, buddy,” she began, poking him in the chest with her forefinger. “You’ll walk me home if I ask you to, or if I let you, not just because you ‘choose’ to. What will you do if I choose not to let you?”

“What will you do,” he asked, “if I choose to walk with you, anyway?”

“I could call the police,” she said. Being rude wasn’t going to work on Sean, apparently.

“Ah, and could the police stop me?”

“Not human cops, maybe, but there are vamps on the force.”

“And then you wouldn’t have a partner, would you?”

That was a stumper. No, she wouldn’t. And since vampires who wanted to dance for a living were scarce, she wouldn’t be able to find another partner for a good long while. And that meant she wouldn’t be working. And if she wasn’t working...

“So you’re blackmailing me,” she said.

“Call it what you choose,” he said. “I am walking you home.” His sharp nose rose in the air as he nodded in the right direction.

Frustrated and defeated, Rue shouldered her bag again. He caught the bus with her, and got off with her, and arrived at her building with her, without them exchanging a word the whole way. When Rue went up the steps to the door, he waited until she’d unlocked it and gone inside. He could see her start up the inner stairs, and he retreated to the shadows until he saw a light come on in the second-floor front apartment.

After that, he openly walked her home every night, in silence. On the fourth night, he asked her how her classes were going. She told him about the test she’d had that day in geology. The next night, when he told her to have sweet dreams, he smiled. The M of his mouth turned up at the corners, and his smile made him look like a boy.

On the sixth night, a woman hailed Sean just as he and Rue got off the bus. As the woman crossed the street, Rue recognized Hallie, a Black Moon employee. Rue had met all the Black Moon people, but she did her best to steer clear of them all, both vampire and human. Rue could accept the other Blue Moon dancers as comrades. But the Black Moon performers made her shrink inside herself.

“Hey, what are you two up to?” Hallie said. She was in her late twenties, with curly brown hair and a sweet oval face. It was impossible not to respond to her good cheer; even Sean gave her one of his rare smiles.

“We just left practice,” Sean said when Rue stayed silent.

“I just visited my mother,” Hallie said. “She seems to be a little better.”

Rue knew she had to speak, or she would seem like the most insufferable snob. Maybe I am a snob, she thought unhappily. “Is your mom in the hospital?”

“No, she’s in Van Diver Home, two blocks down.”

Rue had walked past there a couple of times, and thought what a grim place it was, especially for an old folks’ home. “I’m sorry,” she said.

“She’s in the Alzheimer’s wing.” Hallie’s hand was already waving off Rue’s expression of sympathy. “If I didn’t work for Sylvia, I don’t know how I could pay the bills.”

“You have another day job, too?”

“Oh, yes. Every day, and nights I don’t work for Sylvia, I’m a cocktail waitress. In fact, I’m due back at work. I ran down to see Mom on my break. Good to see both of you.”

And off Hallie hurried, her high heels clicking on the pavement. She turned into a bar on the next block, Bissonet’s.

Rue and Sean resumed the short walk to Rue’s building.

“She’s no saint, but it’s not as simple as you thought,” Sean said when they’d reached her building.

“No, I see that.” On an impulse, she gave him a quick hug, then quickly mounted the steps without looking back.

Two weeks later, Blue Moon’s three male vampires and three human women were dressing in a remote and barren room in the Jaslow mansion. Connie Jaslow had no consideration for dancers’ modesty, since she’d provided one room for both sexes. To an extent, Mrs. Jaslow was correct. Dancers know bodies; bodies were their business, their tools. At least there was an adjacent bathroom, and the women took turns going in to put on their costumes and straighten the black wigs, but the men managed without leaving.

Rick and Phil, the two vampires who ordinarily worked together at “specialty” parties for Black Moon, had polished a juggling act. They would go on first. They were laughing together (Phil only laughed when he was with Rick) as they stood clad only in floral loincloths. “At least we don’t have to wear the wigs,” the taller Rick said, grinning as he looked over the dancers.

“We look like a bunch of idiots,” Julie said bluntly. She tossed her head, and the shoulder-length black wig fell back into place flawlessly.

“At least we’re getting paid to look like idiots,” Karl said. The driver of the van that had brought them all out to the Jaslow estate, Denny James, came in to tell Karl that the sound system was all set up and ready to go. Denny, a huge burly ex-boxer, worked for Sylvia part-time. Megan and Julie had told Rue that Denny had a closer relationship with Sylvia than employer/employee, much to Rue’s astonishment. The ex-boxer hardly seemed the type to appeal to the sophisticated Sylvia, but maybe that was the attraction.

Anxious about the coming performance, Rue began to stretch. She was already wearing the jungle-print skirt, which draped around to look like a sarong, and matching bikini panties. The bra top matched, too, a wild jungle print over green. The shoulder-length wig swung here and there as she warmed up, and the pink artificial flower wobbled. Rue’s stomach was a uniform color, thanks to Julie and Megan.

Karl had brought the CD with their music and given it to the event planner who’d designed the whole party, a weirdly serene little woman named Jeri. On the way into the estate, Rue had noticed that the driveway had been lined with flaming torches on tall poles. The waiters and waitresses were also in costume. Jeri knew how to carry through a theme.

Rue went over the whole routine mentally. Sean came to stand right beside her. On his way out the door with Phil, Rick gave her a kiss on the cheek for luck, and Rue managed to give him a happy smile.

“Nervous?” Sean asked. It came out, “Nairvous?”

“Yes.” She didn’t mind telling him. Head up, shoulders square, chest forward, big smile, pretty hands. “There. I’m okay now.”

“Why do you do that? That little...rearrangement?”

“That’s what my mother told me to do every time I went on stage, from the time I was five to the time I was twenty.”

“You were on stage a lot?”

“Beauty pageants,” Rue said slowly, feeling as though she were relating the details of someone else’s life. “Talent contests. You name it, I was in it. It cost my parents thousands of dollars a year. I’d win something fairly often, enough to make the effort worth it, at least for my father.” She began to sink down in a split. “Press down on my shoulders.” His long, thin fingers gripped her and pressed. He always seemed to know how much pressure to apply, though she knew Sean was far stronger than any human.