Seven

ROMNEY’S GIGGLE BROUGHT Miki back to the real world. She pulled away from Davin, embarrassed that the whole troupe had seen what happened.

Barron didn’t seem to care. “Good work, Miki. I think you are going to fit into our little family quite well. I take it you agree, Davin.” He smiled at Davin, then glanced back at the notes he was making.

“Of course, Barron. Miki will have no trouble with the routines.” Davin smiled at her.

She couldn’t keep her eyes off him, and it both frustrated and puzzled her. She hardly knew this man, yet she was magically drawn to him. If he had said, “Come, run away with me,” she would have willingly gone.

But when her eyes came to rest on Rima, she understood that the woman was jealous after all. Her green eyes were hard and brilliant with hatred. Arms crossed over her chest showing her purple fingernails, like claws poised to attack. Miki shuddered at recognizing the intensity of her feelings.

Had Rima been Davin’s dance partner in the past? Had there ever been a sixth dancer? What had happened to her? Miki didn’t feel she could ask right now, but maybe later. Both Romney and Kyle seemed willing to gossip, to tell her their secrets. They would be more likely to give Miki the history of this group of dancers.

“In this next number, Miki,” Barron interrupted her musings about the relationships in the troupe. “You are an innocent victim. You are frolicking in the park at night, enjoying the moonlight, when the vampires find you.”

A shiver flitted up and down Miki’s body at the idea.

“You are afraid, of course, especially at first, but you are hypnotically drawn in. At last you give yourself willingly to nourish your newfound friends.”

“What should I do to show I have given in to them?” Miki dared ask.

“If you will relax and look lovely, the troupe will do the rest.” Barron stepped away and signaled for the music.

Miki found herself alone, center stage, with a soft spotlight creating a pool of golden moonlight for her “frolicking.” She smiled at Barron’s old-fashioned word.

Giving herself over to the perfect music, she moved in happy spins and circles, skips, and even a cartwheel.

Then, suddenly, the music darkened, became threatening, as in a movie where the main character is going into an empty house, a dark hall, or a cave, and the viewer knows something evil waits for her. Miki had no problem letting the fear build inside her, reflecting the somber, trembling notes.

She found her fear real when she was surrounded by the troupe. All wore capes and used them like bat wings. They swooped and circled around her, getting closer and closer.

Soon she was confined to a tight circle where she turned slowly, staring at them. When had they painted their faces ghoulish white? Their lips were black, with the exception of Primavera and Rima who wore crimson and purple slashes across their mouths. Red dripped over their chins as if they had already fed but still hungered.

Pretending was unnecessary. Miki felt her stomach turn to liquid fire and her legs buckle under her. Someone—one of the troupe caught her as her body became limp.

In the next sequence the music flowed through her, haunting minor notes, held and drawn out to periods of silence, as if the musician was holding his breath.

She was aware of the other dancers, but she felt hypnotized or numb to any need to initiate movement. She lay draped over open hands, passed from dancer to dancer.

She felt the sway as four hands passed her to a dancer on the swing. She felt the spot on her back that made contact with his arm. Perfectly balanced, Davin placed his other hand to support her neck, exposing it to his teeth.

His mouth on the hollow of her throat seemed familiar. She found she wanted him to feed, to use her blood to nourish his body. There was a willing compliance to his need that went beyond the sensual, beyond any male-female exchange. She felt a need to give her very life to him.

When the music stopped and she felt herself set upright on the stage, it took several minutes for her to break out of the spell of the dance number. No one spoke to her, no one hurried her, or seemed to want to break the mood they had achieved for themselves.

Her eyes met those of Davin first. He smiled, then stepped toward her and hugged her. Romney and Kyle followed suit and she knew they had accepted her. With the possible exception of Rima and Elah, she was a welcome part of their troupe now, a part of this theater family.

A warm thrill filled her chest and spread to her stomach, then her arms and legs. She had never experienced this closeness. Her mother seldom touched her. She had few memories of her father. She had touched other dancers in her classes and recitals, but the experience, the sensation, never held this—this—what? Love? Maybe love was the right word. This was all new to her and a bit overwhelming.

She wanted to sit, alone, and think—or not think. Remember. Bottle up these feelings so she could keep them always.

“Let’s take a break,” Barron suggested, as if he knew that Miki needed some time. “Half hour. Bathrooms are in the front hall, Miki.” Barron pointed to the back of the auditorium.

Miki hurried away, willing no one to speak to her. She stayed in the bathroom, alone, as long as she dared. Washing her face with cold water, she sprinkled drops on her warm wrists, and toweled them dry. The ceramic tile beneath her bare feet was cold, and she let the chill steady her legs.

Slightly recovered, thinking she could work again, Miki started back down the theater’s center aisle. She stopped at the cushioned seat where she had placed her things and took a peach from a brown bag in her dance case. The sweet juice ran over her chin as she bit into it, and she mopped it up with her sleeve. She didn’t eat much when she was rehearsing, but suddenly she felt starved. Did the troupe stop for dinner?

Where was everyone?

Davin stepped out of the wings and walked toward her. “We decided to call it a night, Miki. Everyone is hungry and tired.”

“Are you going someplace together?” She hungered to be even more accepted and hinted to be included in their dinner plans.

“Not really. Would you like for me to take you home?”

“Oh, no. I’m not afraid to go home alone. I do it all the time. I’ll catch the bus.”

He seemed to think this over. “All right, but I’ll worry about you.”

“Thanks, Davin, but I’ll be fine.” She wanted him to take her home. She wanted to say yes. But she didn’t want to appear too eager. There was a look on his face that she couldn’t read. Had he gotten carried away and now felt embarrassed or had second thoughts? “I like a lot of time alone. I want to think about the routines, go over them in my head so I remember them.”

“That’s a good idea. You did well. I’m glad you’ve joined the show.” He turned and disappeared into the shadows.

She swallowed her disappointment and hurried to gather her bag. She’d worn her rubber boots again since it had been raining outside earlier in the evening. And they were easy. It took only a few seconds to tug them on over her bare feet, to slip into a yellow plastic poncho, loop her bag and umbrella over her arm, and head for the stage door.

The door was open, and it puzzled her that she saw no one on the way out. Where had they disappeared to in such a hurry?

A steady drizzle greeted her at the alley. She raised her huge black umbrella and hurried through the wet darkness toward the slick, milky reflections of the corner street light. Her bus pulled into a slot near the curb almost a block away. She ran.

Her boots clumped, echoing into the rainy night. She collapsed the umbrella and swung onto the bus just before the doors swooshed closed. “Thanks.”

She didn’t know if the smiling driver had seen her and waited or if her timing had been lucky. But she was glad not to have to wait on the corner for half an hour.

She shook water onto the floor and sunk into a seat, more exhausted than she realized. She willed herself not to think as the bus wound its way through the dark glistening streets and into her neighborhood. She willed her mother not to be home. She craved time alone to think the rehearsal through over and over. To try to figure out what had happened to her.

The apartment loft was two blocks from the bus stop. The streets were strangely empty. What time was it anyway? It couldn’t be later than seven or seven-thirty. She’d gone to rehearsal right after her classes at five. She dug in her small purse for her watch, pulling it into the palm of her hand. Midnight? That couldn’t be right. She shook the watch, held it, watching the minute hand flit from number to number. It was running.

Hearing a soft rustle behind her, she glanced around quickly. She never came home alone this late. She quickened her pace, pulling out her key from the open purse.

Did a shadow across the street move parallel to her? She watched the row of small shops as she practically ran, but she saw no one.

She heard footsteps behind her again. Matching hers. She glanced behind her. No one.

She was breathless when she got to her doorway. She fumbled with the key. Feeling the lock click open and the doorknob turn in her cold hand, she gathered some courage.

“Who’s there?” For some reason she said, “Davin?”

There was no answer, of course. And Davin hadn’t followed her home. She was being a silly goose. A scared, silly goose, she added. She spun into the apartment and closed the door behind her firmly, clicking the lock, then the dead bolt. She leaned against the door for a second or two to breathe.

The room before her was terribly dark. Her mother wasn’t there. She’d gotten her wish to be alone tonight. And now she’d like to change her mind.