The Song of David (7 page)

“Yes. I guess I am.”

“I thought so.” Amelie smiled too, but her face was tilted away from me, her eyes fixed on nothing, almost excluding me. Her teeth were white and straight behind smiling pink lips, scrubbed free of the red lipstick she’d worn in the cage the night before. In fact, her face was completely devoid of make-up, and here under the bright lights of the chandelier, where I could really see her, she was young and lovely with her dark hair tucked behind her ears. The way she didn’t make eye contact felt strangely coy, as if she were playing hard to get, though I knew better. She wasn’t playing that game. She couldn’t.

I released her hand and stepped back, my hand reaching for the door. She tilted her head toward the sound of me moving away. I knew she was the one at a disadvantage technically, but damned if I didn’t feel like I was the butt of a private joke, the way her eyes never drank me in.

“Thank you for seeing me home, Mr. Taggert.”

“You’re welcome, Miss . . .”

“Anderson,” she supplied, although I already knew her last name.

“Goodnight, Amelie Anderson.”

I let myself out, pulling the door closed behind me.

(End of Cassette)

Moses

THE FIRST TAPE ended with the loud click of the play button releasing, and I exhaled deeply, as if I’d been released as well. I’d been holding my breath throughout, afraid to relax, worried I would miss the clues, that I wouldn’t pick up on what Tag wasn’t telling us. The problem was, he seemed to be baring his soul, leaving nothing out of their first encounters, even the details better left unsaid.

“I don’t watch movies. I listen to them. I’m partial to great dialogue and awesome soundtracks, and romance is a must,” Millie spoke up, as if she felt compelled to supply the behind-the-scenes details Tag hadn’t shared. “A while back, my cousin Robin and I had an eighties movies marathon, complete with
Dirty Dancing
and
Flashdance,
and I did my best to follow along while Robin filled in the blanks. I put
Flashdance
on again when Robin went home. I listened to it over and over, and I imagined how it would feel to dance in front of an audience, to dance in front of people who didn’t know I was blind. That’s where I got the idea. I did a little research, hired a handy man, and within two weeks a sturdy stripper pole was keeping the water heater and the furnace company in our basement. The handyman asked me out, too. I declined.”

“Smart girl,” I said. I was impressed. She was full of life, and I felt a brief flash of happiness for my friend before I remembered that he’d let go.

“I took dancing and gymnastics when I was younger, and I was competitive all the way up to the time my sight started to fail. But being blind didn’t take away my ability to tumble, or swing from a bar, or even balance on a beam. With the help of my mom and some patient coaches, I was able to continue with my gymnastics up until just a few years ago. I still work out at the training facility sometimes, but I’ve over-stayed my welcome. I’ve outgrown my pathetic appeal, and I feel like a burden more often than not, always having to have someone nearby, keeping an eye out for me.

“But in the basement with the pole, with the music pounding as loud as I want, I can put my dance and gymnastics training to good use. And no one has to help me. Nobody has to make sure I don’t fall or hurt myself. When I dance, I can pretend like I’m the real thing, I can pretend I look as good as dancing makes me feel. I even got brave enough to show Robin. She told me I looked amazing. She was so excited for me. So I started creating routines, you know, dreaming a little.

“I even choreographed a routine to “Perfectly Blind” by Day 26. It’s a sexy song and that’s funny, admit it. I figured if I could laugh at myself, then it wouldn’t bother me if other people laughed too. I wanted to dance. I dreamed about it. But I could just imagine the wave of new material available for stand-up comics. I would start a movement. Instead of blonde jokes, or Yo’ Mama jokes, it would be blind stripper jokes.”

“I can think of a few.” I was teasing her, and she giggled.

“Yeah, me too. I have a million of ‘em.”

I didn’t ask her to share, but I was curious. Her laughter faded quickly, and she smoothed her hair self-consciously.

“I make jokes, but I actually care about the way I look. I go to a lot of work to take care of my appearance. Robin’s a beautician and that helps. I’ve been told I’m pretty often enough, and there’s no reflection in the mirror to dispute it. So I choose to believe it. But dancing in front of people? That’s a whole different story.

“A few months ago, Robin told me they were hiring dancers at the club on the corner of Broadway and Rio Grande. She thought I should apply. I wanted to. I really, really wanted to. I could laugh at myself with Henry and Robin, and I could dance around a pole in my basement, but could I actually dance anywhere else? Could I actually get paid to dance?”

“Tag apparently thought so,” I interrupted.

Millie nodded but continued her narrative.

“Robin told me she would help me. And she would have. She would have had me looking like a million bucks. But in the end, I walked into the audition looking like a bag lady. A blind bag lady. Or at least what I imagined a bag lady looked like. I walked in off the street, prepared to be turned away, my clothes unflattering, my hair a mess. I did it on purpose. I wanted to give them every reason to turn me down. I wanted to provide them with an easy way out. But they didn’t turn me down.” Millie paused. “I guess now we know why.”

I had no idea why Tag included that part of his story on the tapes. I’d watched Millie when Tag had recounted the scene with Morgan, and her face had fallen like a house of cards. I’d wanted to throw the tape recorder out the window and hunt my best friend down, so I could slap some sense into him.

But then, as Tag had continued talking, Millie’s expression grew thoughtful and her stiff posture relaxed, and I realized suddenly why Tag was sharing the uncomfortable story. Tag confessed the details of Millie’s hiring because he didn’t want her hearing it from someone else and thinking that he was in on the joke. Tag clearly wanted Millie to know that the first time he’d seen her dancing, he’d had no idea she was blind. He’d thought she was beautiful.

“You heard what he said, Millie. He didn’t know. You convinced him you were the real deal. He thought you were even better than the other dancers.” My gut twisted again. If Tag were coming back, he wouldn’t have felt the need to make that clear or insulate Millie from gossip.

“I know,” she whispered and then stood. “I need to take a break, Moses. I need to go home and make sure Henry’s okay.”

I offered to give her a lift, but she refused, claiming she needed to stretch her legs. She had to dance at the club in a few hours too, and I was glad to hear it, even if she was only going through the motions. Going through the motions means you aren’t sitting still. Sitting still is what kills you. And so far, everyone was keeping up appearances for Tag, everyone was showing up for work, doing their jobs at his gym, his bar, and his store on the corner. Tag may have abandoned his world, but if we all went through the motions, maybe we could keep it turning for him until he came back. I didn’t let myself think any further than that.

MORGAN DIDN’T COME back to work. I made sure I was at the bar at two the following afternoon, ready to meet him or fill in for him, whichever it was going to be. When five thirty rolled around with still no sign of my manager, I cursed and started flipping through options in my head. I had a big fight to get ready for, and I didn’t want to be working late shifts at the bar every night. That’s why I’d hired Morg. I wanted to come in, make my rounds, slap some skin, and work the back room. I didn’t want to be working forty hours a week behind the bar managing the place. I already had too much on my plate. But I’d embarrassed Morgan. Hurt his pride. Still, I was surprised he hadn’t shown.

I spent the evening making drinks, chatting up my regulars, and watching the door. I was sure Morgan would slink in eventually. He just didn’t have that many options. Amelie came through the door at seven, using the front entrance instead of the back, which was customary for employees. Henry was with her, his riotous hair covered by a Giants ball cap, his eyes darting from one side of the bar to the other. It was interesting to see the siblings together, one so composed, one so uncomfortable.

I called a greeting to both of them, and Amelie smiled uncertainly, moving toward the bar with Henry in tow. She was on the schedule to dance, and I wondered what she was thinking, bringing her brother to work. Henry didn’t act like he heard me at all. His eyes shot straight to the television over my head and he halted about three feet from the stools, stuffing his hands in his pockets, shutting out everything around him. His lip looked swollen and there was a bruise on the side of his face. I wondered if Amelie had any idea.

“Uh, hi David . . . Mr. Taggert,” Amelie said, feeling for the edge of the bar.

“Amelie,” I interrupted. “Please, for the love of Pete, stop calling me Mr. Taggert.”

“Okay. Right.” She smiled sheepishly, but continued, discomfort evident in her voice. “Could Henry sit in here and watch the Laker game? My neighbor usually comes over and house sits while I work, just so Henry has someone there at night. But she’s not feeling well. He’s old enough to be alone, obviously, I mean, I’ve left him home at night before. But never for very long. And he’s had a rough day. Robin’s coming to get him, but she won’t be here for about twenty minutes . . .” Her voice faded off uncomfortably.

I wondered briefly about her parents and then decided it wasn’t any of my business.

“Does he like bubbles too?” I teased. If Henry could sit quietly on a stool and watch the game until Robin arrived, I’d keep him in drinks and pretzels. He wasn’t old enough to be in the bar, but as long as he wasn’t drinking—which I could make sure of—and as long as it wasn’t for very long, I wasn’t too concerned about it.

“Sprite. He loves Sprite.” She sounded so relieved I thought she was going to break into tears, but she turned to Henry instead, finding his arm and instructing him gently.