The Midnight Dancers: A Fairy Tale Retold (20 page)

“Well, a lot of things
are
pagan,” Melanie said reasonably, glancing behind her. “I don’t like the music they’re playing.” Paul agreed with her. The rest of the girls were all on the dance floor now, and the song, which Paul had heard before, was among the more crass popular tunes of the summer.

“Come on and explore with me,” Debbie said invitingly. “I’m sick of dancing.”

“No thanks,” Melanie said. “I just wish I could go home and go to bed. I don’t like coming here.”

The song ended, and a faster song started at once, and the dancers picked up their pace. Tammy was dancing with one of Michael’s pals now. All the other guys were dancing as well. The party was heating up.

Just then, a figure lurched in their direction. He ducked beneath the overhanging willow branches and blinked at them. “Hey there.” Paul recognized one of the drinkers and lightly leapt to the ground, still in the shadows.

“Hi, Mark.” Instantly, Debbie adopted the chilly air of an utterly bored socialite.

“Either of you girls want to dance with me?”

“No,” Debbie said distantly.

“Aw, come on. You have to have some fun too. What about you?” the man looked at thirteen-year-old Melanie, who flushed.

“I don’t think so—” she faltered.

“You’ll enjoy it.” And he reached and grabbed her hand and drew her out to the dance floor, where the music chattered faster than a racing pulse. Paul tensed, reining in his desire to spring out and stop the man. Was this the time to intervene?

Debbie sucked in her breath angrily as Mark started to dance with her stepsister. Paul leaned around the trunk and watched Melanie, conflicted. Mark was whipping her around in a frenzied disco-type dance, and Paul couldn’t tell if she were laughing or simply terrified. Debbie’s eyes were fixed on her stepsister, and she was clenching her fists.

At last, the relentless screaming song reeled towards its end. Paul endured it, feeling for Melanie, who was looking more and more dizzy and helpless. In an attempt at a grand finale, Mark slung her around, but, being slightly tipsy, he misjudged his timing and lost hold of her. Melanie careened away from him, flying straight towards the oak tree.

Paul lost no time. He darted forward as Melanie was hurtled towards the trunk, and lightly caught and redirected her momentum to the mossy ground on the other side of the tree. Then he vanished back into the shadows in one fluid motion. Melanie stumbled to the ground, caught herself, and got to her feet, trembling. Paul was sure that Debbie had seen him, but he didn’t think that Melanie had—although she would have felt his touch.

Some others on the dance floor had seen Melanie go flying into the trees and were running towards them. Mark staggered along with them, disoriented.

Debbie flew on him, her eyes flashing. “You stay away from my sister!” she yelled. “She didn’t want to dance with you, and you shouldn’t have made her!”

Mark retreated as Tammy strode forward. “What’s going on?”

“Mark made Melanie dance with him, and almost threw her into that tree!” Debbie pointed.

The other girls, particularly Melanie’s biological sisters, were incensed. Mark found himself edging away in embarrassment, and Melanie found herself being surrounded by comforting sisters.

“Poor Melanie,” Taren hugged her sister. “Are you all right, baby?”

“I think so,” Melanie said, still bemused. She glanced towards the oak tree uncertainly.

“That Mark is a jerk,” Brittany said.

“I’ll say,” Debbie said. “He just barged on in here.”

“Look, you two,” Miriam said authoritatively. “Stick with Pete and me, okay? Or one of the older girls. You shouldn’t be off by yourself. We’re supposed to stick together.” She wrapped a strong arm around Melanie and the other around Debbie. “Come on. Let’s go get some soda for you two.”

“I’ll be there in a minute,” Debbie said, disengaging herself from her big sister. “I think I dropped something back there.”

She walked back into the shadowed glade and hovered by the oak tree. After giving one more searching glance around, she said in a low voice, “You’re the best, Paul.” Then she turned away with a toss of her black hair over her narrow shoulders.

Paul restrained himself from answering her back, but he couldn’t help grinning.

After Rachel and the rest had finished looking at what might have been a hiding place for escaped slaves, Michael set the flashlight in a convenient niche so that the light bounced off the ceiling of the cave and gave the hollow a gentle, indirect glow.

“I still come here occasionally to chill out, and I keep some refreshment here. The stone keeps things cool,” he said, and pulled out a case of wine coolers. He offered one to Rachel and Prisca, who accepted. The other guys also helped themselves, and they all sat down and relaxed and talked. Rachel still didn’t like the feeling she got in the cave, historical or not, and tried to calm herself. She started to wonder what the other girls were doing down on the portico, and began to feel as though she should go back.

Then she noticed Michael had taken out a cigarette and was offering it to Dillon. He offered another one to Alan, who took it hesitantly and looked at it. 

“It’s weed, isn’t it?” he asked.

“Ever tried it?”

“No.”

“Want to?”

Alan looked at Rich, and the two of them looked uncomfortable. “No thanks.”

“No problem,” Michael took the cigarette back and tucked it away in some hidden recess. He glanced at Rachel. She shook her head. “Not for us.”

“I know,” Michael said. “I’m not rushing you girls.”

Rachel looked at him, critical, and he met her gaze candidly.

“It’s not an addictive drug. I don’t mess up people’s lives. I’m not a dealer. I’m not trying to get anyone hooked to ease my own guilt. I have friends who happen to enjoy the stuff—” Here he nodded to Dillon, who had lit his up and was breathing it in. “—so I make it available to my guests. Discreetly. I use a mix that’s very mild.  It’s probably safer than regular cigarettes, which are chock full of nicotine, highly addictive.” He added, sitting back, “What’s so ironic is that it’s cannabis that’s illegal, and you can get nicotine in any grocery store in America.” 

Rachel dropped her gaze, feeling herself accused of being small-minded and legalistic. But then again, she had no direct experience with marijuana. Michael and his set were from such a different world—maybe people in that world were freer to discover their own rules, and, unbound by legalities, had discovered something genuine that the rest of the populace had yet to be enlightened about. Not that she was about to smoke a joint, but she was willing to be a bit open-minded.

Then she looked at Prisca, and saw such a look of trusting belief and acceptance in Michael’s words that she immediately pulled back. Give Prisca another minute and she would start begging to try some weed herself.

“Michael,” she said timidly. “I’m not trying to be rude, but we really should get back soon. My parents are starting to complain that we’re too tired in the morning.”

Michael rose immediately. “No problem. I understand. Let me bring you girls back.” The other guys got up, but Dillon remained where he was.

“Mind if I finish?” he asked.

“Go ahead. I’ll come back after I’ve seen the girls off,” Michael said.

He took Rachel’s hand and started to lead them back up the way they had come. Going up was much harder, and they found talking too difficult while they climbed. Prisca had taken off her heels in the cave but still required Rich’s assistance to get up.

Rachel took a deep breath of fresh night wind and felt the fog clear from her brain. She hadn’t liked the cave at all, for some instinctive reason she couldn’t lay her hands on. All she knew was that she was glad to have left. The music from the portico below helped soothe her spirits.

As they hurried down the stone steps back to the portico, she started to feel that she should say something to Michael—she wasn’t sure what, but something. Something about how she felt strongly that drug use was wrong, illegal or no, and that it
was
wrong for her younger sister. That Prisca wasn’t old enough or smart enough to realize what she was doing. All that talk she had heard in church about standing up for what was right—being “the salt of the earth”—was starting to work on her conscience now.  Not that she wanted to make a scene, but some of her sisters were so impressionable—

She was just formulating the opening words in her mind when they reached the portico.  “Michael,” she began.

He looked at her and held out his hand, which he had dropped during the walk down. “Care to dance with me?”

He had never asked her before. Emotion rushed over her even as she tried to quell it. “Sure,” she said, straining to not sound eager. Or at any rate, as eager as Prisca.

His hand held hers, raised it a little higher, and drew her across the floor, and curled in and she found herself whirled into his arms, held lightly, so that she was still free. His right arm held her up, firmly, while he pushed her away and twirled her back in perfect rhythm. Rachel didn’t know the first thing about ballroom dancing (couple dancing was not looked upon smilingly at Bayside Christian Academy) but she knew some folk dancing. Enough to keep from tripping. And of course she had watched her share of Fred Astaire movies, enough to know how it looked.

None of this prepared her for the actual experience of dancing with Michael, for the strong wizardry in his touch and the delicacy of his moving her. She was both held and not held, and it was a rush, a complete rush. Before, she had intellectually recognized that she found him physically attractive, but now she was swept away.

All too soon, the song was over, and he let her go. She stood there, a bit out of breath, trying not to look as foolish as she felt.

“Thank you,” she gasped.

He smiled, and picked up her hand. “I know sometimes I make you uncomfortable, Rachel, but you know I don’t mean to.” His eyes were sincere, and almost a bit sad.

“That’s all right,” she said, attempting to cover herself with the remnants of her self-possession. “It’s a new experience. It’s—exciting.”

“I’m glad,” he said, and let go of her hand. “I hope you’ll come again tomorrow.”

Tomorrow. Usually she had let the girls have at least one night for everyone to catch up on their sleep, but—but—

“All right,” she said. “Tomorrow.”

“I’ll be waiting for you,” he dropped his voice low, and she thrilled.

At that point, she had to turn away under the pretense of calling to her sisters that it was time to go.

Of course she couldn’t say anything about it on the way home, because Rich and Alan were there, and she couldn’t help thinking that Alan was a tiny bit threatened by Michael. She told herself that she had to remind Prisca to pay more attention to him and Rich. If they were to lose their boat chauffeurs, the girls would indeed be sunk.

But she didn’t feel inclined to talk much to either guy herself on the way home. Melanie, who had been looking lost and pale all night, fell asleep, leaning against Debbie. Debbie grimaced under her weight. Rachel looked at the shore and fretted to be home. Not that she wanted to be home, but she wanted time to speed up, go faster, and get her to tomorrow night quickly. And Alan’s boat seemed to be more sluggish than usual. She glared at the humps of canvas-covered objects that they were forced to share the boat with and pushed one with her toe. It was an odd shape.

“What do your parents keep in here that makes the boat so slow?” she asked, before she thought.

She wished she could have bitten her tongue off before she said it. Alan tightened his lips. “I don’t know,” he said, and his voice was testy. “I keep asking them to put the stuff in storage, but it keeps staying here, slowing me down.”

“Not that much, it doesn’t,” Debbie said immediately, and Melanie, who seemed to have woken up said, “I can’t tell the boat is going that much slower.”

Rachel looked at them both, astonished. But before she could say anything, Rich said, “How much further should we go in before you want us to cut the engine, Rachel?”

Tonight, she was anxious to move on, and she could tell the two guys were tired too.  “Oh, go all the way in,” she said. “It’s so late it doesn’t matter.”

twelve