Dancing in the Dark (8 page)

“Oh, God, Carly. Let’s not ruin the night talking about Leslie.” He
groaned.

“I’d have thought you would care more about her, Shawn. You went out
with her for a long time.” Carly tried to stifle a hiccup.

“Look, Carly. It’s over with Leslie. That’s it.
Finito
.
I don’t want to talk about it. I thought you
got that.”

The liquor was working its wonders on her now. Carly didn’t like the
impatient tone of Shawn’s voice, and she wasn’t going to let things
lie. “Well, I’d hope that someday, if we’ve been going out for a long
time and I disappeared, you would give a damn,” she sulked.

“Well,
I
would hope that you
wouldn’t be crazy enough to run away and hide and pretend you were
kidnapped,” Shawn shot back. He turned to fill an order called from the
other end of the bar.

Trouble in paradise. She doesn’t look so
happy anymore.
]ust an hour ago, who knew how things would turn out? Such a simple
plan: find a girl to dance with
—a
nd keep hidden until she’s
served her purpose. Now that she’s leaving, heading for the exit, plans
need to change
.

Carly heard the low roar of the ocean as she crossed the street. She
turned right, heading south toward Ocean Grove. She could walk home
from the Stone Pony in less than ten minutes.

The night air was warm but fresh and salty and it sobered her
somewhat. How had everything gone wrong so quickly with Shawn just now?
Had she overreacted? Was he really a jerk and not the nice guy she had
thought him to be?

She walked along the curb, watching out for pieces of glass that
could cut through the thin soles of her sandals. The streets in Asbury
Park weren’t as clean as Ocean Grove’s. Nothing about Asbury Park was
the same as Ocean Grove. Fronting the Atlantic Ocean was the only thing
they shared.

As she approached the border between the two towns, she could see
the old brick Casino silhouetted against the night sky. The once grand
building had been deserted for years. In the light cast by a solitary
streetlamp, Carly could make out the danger: keep out sign.

She paused for a minute as she decided how to proceed. She could
walk all the way around Wesley Lake or just follow the narrow pathway
that edged around the Casino, then cut across the few yards of sand
that led to the beginning of the Ocean Grove boardwalk. Her house was
just a couple of blocks from there.

Though it was dark and she was a bit wobbly on her feet, she opted
for the familiar pathway, the one she had played on so many times as a
kid. She kept her left arm extended, her hand touching the Casino’s
outer wall as she followed the rounded contour of the building. It was
just as she was about to jump down from the pathway to the sand that a
gloved hand slammed an old brick down on her head.

SATURDAY
AUGUST 20

The promise of the sun’s arrival was signaled on the ocean’s
horizon. The light was changing, ever so slowly, the inky black sky
fading to dark gray. As he stepped onto the boardwalk, Arthur knew the
grayness would gradually get lighter and lighter until the sun’s orange
and yellow rays took over and finally lit up the azure sky over the
dark blue sea.

It was basically the same every day. Arthur knew because he never
slept well. He was usually out on the boardwalk by 4:00 a.m. It was his
favorite time of day, before the joggers came or the fishermen arrived
to cast their lines in the water. At this precious hour he had the
boardwalk to himself.

Since he came to live in Ocean Grove after he’d been released from
the VA hospital, there wasn’t a morning gone by, a stroll down the
boardwalk taken, that Arthur hadn’t thought of Bonnie. The first time
he saw the water every day, heard a seagull’s early cry, and listened
to the never-ending rumble of the ocean, he thought of her. Today was
no different.

A welcome breeze swept in from the ocean, blowing Arthur’s partially
unbuttoned three-color desert camouflage shirt open. A rare gift of
late, the gust felt good against his face and chest. Arthur enjoyed it,
dreading the unremitting heat that was coming again later today.

A blue-and-white Dodge Durango stopped at the curb alongside his
spot on the boardwalk. “How ya doin’, Art?” the overnight police
officer called over the strip of grass that separated the two men.

“I’m doing all right. How ‘bout yourself?” Arthur said amiably,
concealing his disappointment that no matter how many times he asked
the cops to call him Arthur, they continued to address him as Art.

“Fine, Art. Thanks for asking,” said the cop. “Been out here long,
Art?”

“No. I just got here.”

“See anything out of the ordinary?” the policeman asked.

“Like what?”

“We got a call from the parents of one of the local girls saying she
hasn’t come home since she left for a babysitting job last night.”

Arthur felt himself growing anxious. “Well, I didn’t see any girl,”
he answered quickly, before coughing three times.

“Nobody’s saying you did, Art. But if you do see anything, let us
know, will you? We’re looking for a blond girl, about five-foot-one,
thin, pretty. In fact, she’s a waitress at Nagle’s. Carly Neath. Know
her?”

Filled with trepidation, Arthur tried to decide how to answer. Yes,
he knew her. Shawn had brought Carly with him one time when he came out
on the boardwalk to talk. But Arthur was afraid to tell the cop about
that. If the police thought he knew Carly, they might think he had
something to do with her not coming home last night. People like him
were always among the first suspected when anything went wrong.

“Nope. Don’t know her.”

Arthur kept walking on the boards that hovered over the beach as the
police car followed slowly alongside for a while and then pulled away.
Arthur thought about the pretty girl who had smiled so brightly when
Shawn had introduced her that day. She’d reminded him a lot of Bonnie.

When he reached his favorite bench, he circled it three times before
taking a seat. Uncontrollably, Arthur’s mind segued from thoughts of
Shawn’s girlfriend to Bonnie, calling up the memories, still
surprisingly clear, despite the time gone by and the medication
designed to take the edge off his pain. The medicine, when he took it,
did the job, somewhat. Though Arthur didn’t get as agitated as he used
to when he thought of Bonnie, nothing could eradicate her from his
mind. And though he still harbored some anger toward her for what she’d
done to him, to them, that didn’t mean he would ever want to forget her.

She had been his first love and his only love. Arthur knew he could
never love someone again the way he’d loved Bonnie. He also knew that
someone like Bonnie was never going to love him. Not the way he was
now. Who was going to love a man without a job, a guy living on the
government dole? Who was going to love a man who spent his nights on a
lumpy mattress in a boardinghouse and his days drinking coffee and
wandering around town?

Arthur pulled a package from his breast pocket and shook out a
cigarette. Striking a match, he lit up and inhaled deeply, peering down
to the end of the boardwalk, where the old Casino was framed against
the now dove-gray sky. He let out a long stream of smoke through his
nostrils and let his mind wander farther down the torture trail.

What great times they’d had together. He pictured her petite figure
swirling around on the dance floor, her pretty face beaming up at him.
He remembered the way they’d laughed at the comedy clubs she loved to
go to, the way they’d cheered and hugged each other at those Yankees
games. He still remembered the fun they’d had picking out names for the
children they were going to have someday, after they got married, after
he finished his stint with the Army.

Arthur rose from the bench and, with an angry flick, threw his
cigarette out onto the beach. Bonnie had promised that she would be
waiting for him when he got back from Desert Storm. Bonnie had lied.

“Mom,” Anthony whined as they stood in the small lobby of the
Dancing Dunes Inn. “You have
got
to
be kidding.”

Diane had a sinking feeling as she scanned the space. A sleeping cat
lay curled up on a spindle-legged bench, the only piece of furniture in
the room. The wallpaper featured seagulls and sandpipers, faded, she
suspected, from blue at one time to almost white now. The beige cotton
curtains at the windows had been washed many times, to the point that
they were almost sheers. The gray paint on the wooden floor was scuffed
bare in spots. The lobby was devoid of color, but at least, Diane
consoled herself, it seemed clean.

“All right, so it’s not the Ritz,” she whispered to her son. “But
quit complaining right now. I mean it, Anthony.”

Diane stole a look at Emily, who rolled her eyes at her older sister.

“May I help you?” A good-looking Latino man had taken his place
behind the tiny registration desk. He wore a pale green oxford shirt
with the sleeves carefully rolled up, exposing tanned
and toned forearms. Diane judged him to be in his early thirties.

“Yes, thank you. I’m Diane Mayfield. We have some rooms reserved?”

“Ah yes, of course.” The man smiled, exposing a set of even,
dazzling white teeth. “You are with KEY News, right?”

Diane nodded.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t right out here to meet you. I was in the back
working at my computer on brochures for the inn. And I hope you can
excuse the decor—or lack thereof,” he apologized, gesturing outward as
Diane noticed the gold band on his left hand. “My partner and I have
just bought this place. We have big plans for it. But the renovations
won’t begin down here until after the summer season.”

Diane searched for something tactful to say as she looked around the
plain lobby. “Well, I’m sure it will be beautiful.”

“I know it’s not what you must be used to, Ms. Mayfield, but if
there is anything we can do to make you and your family’s stay here
more comfortable, believe me, we will be all too happy to oblige. My
name is Carlos. Carlos Hernandez.” He reached out across the desk to
shake Diane’s hand.

“Nice to meet you, Carlos. This is my sister, Emily Abbott, and this
is my son, Anthony. My daughter, Michelle, is getting her things from
the car.”

Carlos acknowledged his guests and then turned to the Peg-Board
behind the desk. “Three rooms, right?” he asked as he reached for the
keys that hung from the hooks.

“Actually, there should be four.”

Carlos frowned as he checked his registry. “Well, we do have four
rooms booked for KEY News here, but one has already been taken by Mr.
Gates.”

“Sammy Gates?” Diane asked.

“Yes. Samuel Gates.”

“Is Matthew Voigt registered?”

Carlos consulted his book again. “No. Just Mr. Gates.”

Diane shrugged. “Well, that still doesn’t explain why we don’t have
a fourth room for ourselves.”

“Gee, I’m sorry, Ms. Mayfield. I wish we had another room for you,
but we don’t. Everything is booked solid at this time of year. As it
is, we’ve reopened the top floor to accommodate you. We had been
working up there to have some really nice rooms ready for the fall.”

Diane looked at him with alarm.

“Don’t worry,” he reassured her. “It’s not a disaster area up there.
Kip and I worked all night getting things ready for you. We really are
hoping to draw in people from the city, and we consider this a big
opportunity. We want you to be satisfied.”