Dancing in the Dark (4 page)

Her sister picked up on the fourth ring. “Hello?” Emily sounded out
of breath.

“Hey. It’s me. What are you doing?”

“My abs.”

“Good girl.” Diane had the mental image of her sister standing
barefoot in her shorts and cropped T-shirt as she talked on the kitchen
phone. Her short brown hair would be tousled. The ever-present water
bottle would be in her hand.

“What’s up?”

“I’ve got bad news, Em.”

“And that would be… ?

“We’re not going on our trip. I have to work.”

“You have
got
to be kidding.
The kids are going to freak.”

“I wish I were, Em.” Diane recounted her conversation with Joel
Malcolm and his suggestion that Michelle and Anthony come with her to
Ocean Grove while she worked on her
Hourglass
story. “But it really wasn’t a suggestion, Em. It was more like
an order.”

“God, Diane, the kids are going to be so disappointed.”

“Tell me something I don’t know. I’m dreading telling them.”

“Want me to do it?” Emily offered.

“I was hoping you might suggest that.”

“All right. I’ll tell them when they get up.”

Diane glanced at her watch. It was after eleven o’clock. She envied
her children’s ability to sleep so soundly for so long. It would be
such a relief not to wake up in the middle of the night and stare at
the darkness in her bedroom, to have hours of deep sleep with no
tossing and turning. Perhaps nature had planned it that way, knowing
that, since the waking hours of adolescence and the teenage years could
be so difficult, it would be necessary for kids to have long rests to
regroup. Too bad adults hadn’t gotten the same pass.

“Thanks, Em. You don’t know how much I appreciate it.”

“I’ve got a vague idea.”

Diane could sense a knowing smile on her sister’s face. Emily had
been born an old soul, their mother used to say. Even as a little
child, Emily had seemed older than her years. Diane thought there was
something fey about the baby sister seventeen years her junior. From
the time she began to talk, Emily could figure out people and
situations in an uncanny manner. Maybe it was because, as a child, she
spent so much time in an adult world.

The sisters talked for another few minutes about what needed to be
done. The call to the travel agent to cancel the flight and tour
reservations, decisions about what needed to be packed for the new
vacation venue. As she hung up, Diane took solace in the thought that
Emily would be with her in Ocean Grove. She would be able to work with
at least some level of comfort, knowing that her children were not
being neglected. Truth be told, she knew Michelle and Anthony had more
fun with their aunt than they did with their mother these days.

In Nagle’s Apothecary Cafe, Shawn Ostrander sat on a swivel chair at
the Formica counter and asked the cheerful waitress for two cups of
coffee to go. The ceiling fans whirred quietly, creating
turn-of-the-century atmosphere while moving the air within the old
pharmacy turned ice cream parlor and sandwich shop. Though the
air-conditioning was cranked up inside, the excessive heat outside
blasted through each time the front door opened.

As he waited for his order, Shawn stared at the black ceramic
rosettes on the white tile floor, his mind trying to focus on the task
at hand. No matter what Leslie had been through, he had work to do this
morning. He had to concentrate on his research. But first, Shawn wanted
to see if Carly Neath would meet him tonight at his bartending job in
Asbury Park.

As the waitress affixed plastic lids to the paper coffee cups, Shawn
made his pitch. “It’s Guitarbecue at the Stone Pony tonight, Carly.
Guitar and barbecue. Wanna come?”

“For who?” Shawn asked.

“The Richeys. Tent people.”

“What time will they be home?”

“Not too late.” Carly shrugged. “Elevenish, I guess.”

“You could come after that,” he offered.

Carly looked down at the counter. “I’m kind of surprised you even
want to be seen with someone tonight, Shawn,” she said in a low voice.

“You mean… because of Leslie?”

Carly’s blond ponytail bounced as she nodded.

“Look, Carly,” he began slowly. “I feel bad about Leslie. I really
do. But I can’t help her anymore. I have to get on with my life. And I
can’t worry about what people might think, either.”

Carly felt sorry for Shawn as she watched the dejected expression on
his face. He’d told her a little about his former girlfriend, and she
didn’t sound all that stable. But if Leslie had faked her own
kidnapping to get his attention, as the gossips were yakking about this
morning, Carly felt some responsibility. She knew Shawn had told Leslie
that he wanted to see someone else right before she disappeared.

“Okay,” she said. “I guess I could meet you there.” She felt better
as she saw Shawn’s face brighten.

Carly looked at her watch. “Oh, I wish I could come with you, but I
still have a couple hours to go here.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll tell Arthur you were asking for him.”

Carly smiled. “I really enjoyed meeting Arthur the other day, Shawn.
I admire you for wanting to help him.”

Shawn brushed off the compliment. “It’s no big deal, and sometimes,
I think I get more out of it than he does.”

He paid for the coffee and exited the restaurant, turning left on
Main Avenue. Squinting in the glaring sun, he peered out toward the
Atlantic Ocean as he walked the two long blocks to the boardwalk.

As he trudged on through the heat, irrepressible thoughts of Leslie
clouded his mind. Shawn felt guilty about having broken up with her
when she was so needy. He felt ashamed he hadn’t joined the search
party that had scoured the town looking for her. He was sorry he really
didn’t care anymore about what had happened to her and was feeling such
relief that he was finally done with her.

If anyone had told him the day he met Leslie, when he went to
Surfside Realty to find out about a new apartment, that the rail-thin
young woman behind the reception desk was going to be so much trouble,
Shawn probably would have ignored the warning anyway. He found himself
immediately attracted to Leslie Patterson. She was not particularly
pretty, not like Carly; but her dark brown
eyes pulled him in like magnets. There was a wistfulness to her, as if
she was waiting for someone to come riding in to save the day for her.

As he reached Ocean Avenue, Shawn stopped to let the cars pass
before crossing over to the boardwalk, telling himself that Leslie was
not his problem anymore. Out of pity and a sense of responsibility, he
had stayed with her way too long. He’d thought he could help her, cure
her, fix her. He’d thought that he could
will
her to get better, that patience and attention and affection
would nurse her to health.

What colossal ego he’d had.

Finally, Shawn had come to understand that neither he nor anyone
else could make Leslie Patterson well. Her problems went too deep. Much
deeper than the cuts she made with safety pins and broken glass behind
her knees and into the flesh of her inner thighs.

His conversation with the police had been deeply troubling. Owen
Messinger breathed a heavy sigh as he replaced the phone receiver in
its cradle.

All the hours of therapy over the last years hadn’t made Leslie
Patterson healthy. The police believed she had staged her own
abduction, an obvious cry for help. Leslie was still a very sick young
woman.

Owen got up from his desk and went over to the bookcase, where he
pulled out the bright yellow binder from the shelf. Yellow was Leslie’s
color. The green, red, blue, orange, and purple binders contained the
files of the other young women he was treating for eating disorders,
self-inflicted wounding, and other impulsive behaviors. Each book
contained pages of the therapist’s progress notes on both the illness
and therapy for his patients.

Taking a seat on the couch that Leslie had sat upon so many times,
Owen opened the yellow binder and began flipping through the pages. The
entries went back eight years. Leslie had been a high school sophomore
when her mother first noticed the razor marks on her daughter’s legs.
Not the minor nicks inflicted by an inexperienced adolescent shaving
her legs but angry slits executed with the sharp edge of the blade.

In his unique brand of shorthand, Owen had scribbled down his
impressions:

— l.p.’s eating disorder = extreme weight loss.

— l.p. talks of eating 3x a day. closer analysis shows amount of food
actually consumed very limited.

— L
.p, has engaged in excessive strenuous exercise as a weight
control measure.

—
l.p. has persistent preoccupation with body image. Sees herself
as overweight
.

—
l.p. denies seeing herself as emaciated though she is severely
under recommended weight levels.

—
l.p. is trying to relieve stress by cutting. Unexpressed or
unresolved anger
.

Owen realized that the notes he had made back then weren’t all that
different from what he would write about his patient today. Only now he
knew for certain that Leslie had expanded her arsenal of cutting tools
from razor blades to safety pins and shards of broken glass. And that
she wasn’t responding at all to the new therapy.

The intercom buzzed, and his assistant’s voice came over the speaker.

“Anna Caprie is here, Dr. Messinger.”

“All right, Christine. I’ll be just a minute.”

He closed the yellow binder and slid it back into its place on the
shelf. As he pulled out Anna Caprie’s green book, he hesitated for a
moment, wondering if he should continue with his innovative therapy.
But he quickly dismissed the thought as he went back to his desk and
pulled a package of razor blades from the drawer.

“I’m not hungry.” Leslie shook her head as her mother rested the
plate on the coffee table. “Why are you always forcing me to eat when I
don’t want to?”

“I’m not forcing you, Leslie. I’m offering you some lunch. You have
to eat something, honey.”

Audrey Patterson tried to keep the frustration out of her voice. For
the past three days she had made bargains with God. If her daughter was
returned to them, if Leslie came home, healthy and in one piece, then
she would be more patient with her daughter. She would not nag; she
would try harder to be a better mother and friend to her only child.
But the initial relief over having Leslie back safe and sound was
ebbing away as Audrey felt the familiar pattern reestablishing itself.
Three days spent away, God only knew where, hadn’t changed things.
Leslie was right back to her old behavior.

“Look, sweetheart.” Audrey pulled back the edge of the whole grain
bread. “It’s turkey. The white meat. Nice and lean.”

“Please, Mom. Just leave it there, will you? I’ll have some later.”
Leslie pointed the remote control at the television set. With
trepidation, Audrey took a seat on the couch beside her daughter as the
WCBS noon news broadcast began. The anchorwoman Cindy Hsu welcomed
viewers and launched into the top story. A record heat wave was
gripping the Northeast. Hospitals were reporting an increasing number
of cases of heat-related maladies. People were fainting in the New York
City subway. Macadam was melting on city streets. Officials warned of
power outages if consumers kept their air conditioners cranked up, and
the fire department cautioned that there would be a catastrophe when a
fire emergency arose if hydrants continued to be opened by those
seeking relief from the oppressive heat.

Audrey watched from the corner of her eye as her daughter tucked the
crocheted afghan around her thin legs. Though it was scorching hot
outside, the temperature was pleasant in the house. There was certainly
no need for a blanket. But Leslie was always
cold. It was no wonder, thought her mother. There wasn’t any flesh on
those bones.

As Audrey had feared, the story after the first commercial break was
about her daughter, the girl who authorities claimed had faked her own
abduction and forced the entire shore town into a frenzied three-day
search.

Leslie whispered at the TV screen, “It wasn’t the entire town. Shawn
Ostrander didn’t bother to look for me at all.”

Audrey went to take her daughter’s hand, but Leslie pulled away.
“Don’t bother, Mom. You can’t make it all right. Just leave me alone.”

Together, they watched the rest of the local news in silence. As the
news anchors were thanking their audience and saying good-bye, the
phone rang. Audrey’s brow wrinkled with concern as she looked over at
her daughter.

“It’s probably another one of those reporters.” Audrey sighed. “Why
can’t they leave us alone?”

“I’ll get it,” Leslie said and began to get up from the couch. A bit
too eagerly, thought Audrey.

“No,” she said quickly, gently pulling her daughter back. “It’s
better if I handle it.” Picking up the receiver, Audrey heard a female
voice.

“Hello. This is Diane Mayfield from
KEY
News.
Am I speaking with Mrs. Patterson?”

“Yes.” Audrey held back from executing her original plan to shut
down immediately any request for comment. This wasn’t some local news
reporter. This was the national news calling.
Audrey was a regular
Hourglass
viewer and admired Diane Mayfield. Diane had a nice way about her,
getting the information she wanted by coaxing her subjects to open up,
not hammering at them. Not like some reporters. The ones who were
sharks going in for the kill.