Chapter Eight
Spanish Ballroom
As
the lead singer issued his best Joe-Cocker moan and backed away from the
microphone, all three saxmen raised their horns and the first tenor launched
into a wailing lead. The bass and rhythm
guitar set a crawling floor under the horns and the keyboard player hammered
trills. Spinning through a swing-dance
sequence with Vin, Nicky saw the dimly-lit features of the Spanish Ballroom blur
into panorama: the walls painted pale
yellow with inlaid patterns of faded blue, orange, and green tiles; the
mission-style squared-arch openings to the outer arcade that surrounded the
floor; the tall, worn obelisks with art-deco accents flanking the raised stage;
the second-story casement windows and balconies with balustrades, looking down
on the dance floor; and the blond, rock-maple floor itself, dulled and dry but
unbroken, stretching off over a hundred feet from the stage through dim light
to the far end of the ballroom. Toward
that end, two long tables formed a bar that faced the stage. Past the bar stood a Christmas tree, fifteen
feet tall and twined in colored lights and ornaments.
The
singer strode forward again, grabbing the microphone from its stand and
shooting a look at the two women singing backup vocals. When the lead sax fell back into the rhythm,
he belted out the final verse of “Unchain My Heart.” And the whole band let loose on the refrain,
with the lead singer clutching and bleating and the backup singers wailing
soulfully against the saxes.
Vin
spun away from a swing move as he and Nicky segued into solo steps. The floor had grown crowded near the stage and
Nicky felt an elbow spear her upper arm.
She looked over at Vin, who was bobbing his head and shoulders toward
the floor and holding his outstretched fingers before him, aping the saxmen as
his black blazer flopped from his sides.
He arched upright again, released the imaginary sax, and swept his hair
back from his glistening forehead. He
smiled at Nicky and the sharp point of his upper canine tooth gave him a
wolfish look. The dancers around him
thrust and spun.
She
smiled back, closed her eyes, and danced a rhythmic shuffle as the refrain
repeated and built toward a climax.
Opening her eyes she saw the painted balustrade of a windowed balcony on
the side wall and suddenly felt disoriented.
She looked at the crowd, at Vin, and recognized no one. The arm she extended wasn’t her own. As the band held the final note and the
cymbals rattled into a terminal bass-drum thump, she turned toward the
stage. The music stopped and she felt a
light hand on her shoulder. She turned
and saw Vin. Through the whistling and
applause, the lead singer said the band would take a break.
“That
was strange,” she said, catching her breath.
“I had the feeling for a moment that I didn’t exist, even though I could
see and hear everything around me.”
“Like
a trance?”
“No,”
she said, shaking her head. “Like a
combination of amnesia and déjà vu.”
“I think they call that ‘early-onset
Alzheimer’s’.”
“Great,”
she said glumly. “It only lasted a
second.”
Vin
prescribed champagne and set off to retrieve two glasses. Nicky
said she’d wait near the side wall as he turned to negotiate the drifting
crowd. Making her way toward the wall,
she felt someone squeeze her forearm.
“Hey,
you!”, said Abby Tuckerman. “I was
hoping you and Vin would be here!”
“We
weren’t going to miss it,” she replied.
“Especially since it was the only New Year’s party we heard about! Plus it’s for a good cause, and Vin was
excited about the band. He’s been doing
his Joe Cocker imitation for days.” She
rolled her eyes as Abby laughed.
“Speaking of that good cause,” Abby said,
leading Nicky away by the forearm, “let me introduce you to one of the
beneficiaries.” She tapped a tall black woman
on the shoulder and the woman turned toward them. Faint lines around her mouth and eyes told
Nicky she might be in her early forties.
She wore a tight-fitting gold sweater over black pants and leather
mules. Casual and elegant at the same
time, Nicky thought. The woman greeted
Abby and listened.
“Teresa,
this is Nicky Hayes. Nicky’s a vet; she
works with me at the Potomac Clinic.
Nicky and her fiancée just moved here from
“Well,
welcome,” Teresa said. She held out her
hand and Nicky took it -- long fingers and artistic onyx and amber rings.
“And this is Teresa Carillo,” Abby said, “one
of the original members of the Glen Echo Artists Collaborative.”
Teresa’s
laugh was quick and bright. “I was
afraid you were going to say oldest!” To
Nicky she said earnestly, “Thanks for coming to our party. I’m glad someone told you to dress warm,
since the Spanish Ballroom has never had heat!”
“It’s
an amazing place, anyway,” Nicky said.
“It
still is,” Teresa agreed, surveying the room.
“Even though it’s just a ghost of its former self. In the 1930s and 1940s, hundreds of couples
came to dance in this ballroom on spring and summer nights.”
“And
the old Glen Echo amusement park here was the biggest and best in the area,”
Abby said. “It had a roller coaster, a
carousel, and the Crystal Pool… People
used to take the trolley out here from D.C.
I think they finally shut it down in the late 60s.”
“Too
bad,” Nicky said. “It seems like a
perfect location… on a hillside above the river.”
“But
now it provides studios for struggling local artists,” Teresa said.
“Don’t
give me that struggling stuff, Teresa!
Maybe in the 70s, but not now!”
“What
kind of art do you create?”, Nicky asked.
Teresa
explained that she was a sculptor, and that early in her career she had
designed large architectural and spatial compositions out of mixed media, “the
kind of stuff you’d see in a public park”, but that those pieces were hard to
sell. Now she was working primarily in
bronze, creating smaller abstract works for the grounds of suburban estates.
Abby
mentioned that Teresa’s dog Floyd, an enormous Great Dane, was well known at
the Clinic, and Teresa said she hoped Floyd would meet Nicky soon. She excused herself and Abby turned toward
Nicky. “How’s everything going with you
guys? I never get a chance to chat with
you at work. Is Vin still consulting?”
“We’re
doing well. We’ve almost got a date for
the wedding, which looks like late October.
And Vin’s plugging away on his consulting project. He hasn’t begun looking for a permanent job,
but I’m hoping he’ll get started after the holidays. Sometimes he goes off on tangents. Right now he’s fascinated by the history of
the
Abby
nodded. “The canal is like the Spanish
Ballroom. What’s left is just a
skeleton, but that’s enough to give you a sense of what it used to be.”
Teresa
slipped through the crowd and walked out into the arcade surrounding the dance
floor. She stopped to greet a stocky man
with bushy black hair and a streaked beard who was having an animated
conversation with a younger couple.
“Great
party, Lewis. Seems even busier than
last year.”
Lewis
grinned and nodded knowingly. “The gate
is looking good so far.” He wagged a
thick finger at Teresa. “Marketing,” he
said. “Posters, newspaper mentions,
getting the right band. It makes a big
difference. Tell Bonnie you agree with
me!”, he added with a wheezy laugh.
“Next year we’ll have the word on the street working for us!” He winked and turned back toward the young
couple.
For
all of Lewis’ bluster and pedantry, Teresa thought, the Collaborative was lucky
to have him involved. Like Teresa, most
of the artists were willing to help with maintenance and community outreach,
but few wanted to take responsibility for organizing programs or events. Lewis was willing to throw himself into those
roles. Teresa wandered past small
clusters of people, then spotted a group of familiar faces standing underneath
an archway.
“Hey,
Teresa,” said a tall man with a leather jacket and gray ponytail. “Where did you hide the good champagne?”
“Moi? Ask Lewis, he’s the major domo.”
“Yeah,”
said the man’s companion, a curvy redhead.
“We keep telling the bartender that we saw a case of Mumms in the
hallway earlier, but he says he only has Korbel!”
“Maybe
Lewis is having an after-party he hasn’t told us about,” Teresa said.
“Maybe
we’ll just have to squeeze some answers out of him,” said a slim blond woman
wearing a cashmere sweater, short black skirt, and tights. She ground her knuckles into her palm, pursed
her lips, and squinted menacingly. “I
think you know what I’m trying to say.”
“Hmm,
could it be…” Teresa said, “…Fashodan jujitsu?”
“Exactly.”
“You’re
hired, Kelsey,” said the redhead. “Lewis
doesn’t stand a chance against the two of you.”
“C’mon,”
Kelsey said, pulling Teresa aside.
“Let’s do our reconnaissance.
First, we’ll interrogate the bartender.”
They walked arm-in-arm into the back half of the ballroom.
“Did
you bring Peter tonight?”, Teresa said.
“Nah,
he’s in
“Maybe
he’s available as a stand-in,” Teresa said.
“Not
bad. Maybe I should look around. There are a lot of unfamiliar faces here.”
“Same
for me,” Teresa said. “I’ve already met
a few. Abby Tuckerman introduced me to a
new vet she hired. Nicky something. Cute girl.”
“Nicky
Hayes,” Kelsey said, eyeing Teresa sidelong.
“She moved here with her fiancée.”
“Wow,
you’re well connected,” Teresa said.
“I
met them a couple of months ago on the towpath.
We had a little dog-on-dog encounter.
I dropped by their house to pick up some meds for Allie.”
“You
know, it’s funny,” Teresa said. “She
reminded me of someone we knew a long time ago.
In high school. Even though they
don’t look anything like each other. I’m
not really sure why, but it’s something about her eyes, or her mouth.”
Kelsey
nodded. “I know who you’re thinking
of. Des Gowan.”
“That’s
it,” Teresa said, her voice softening.
“You saw it too. Des.”
As
he left the bar with two glasses of champagne, Vin was greeted by a bear-shaped
man who was standing nearby and talking to a wiry younger man with rimless
glasses and a goatee. It took Vin a
second to retrieve the name of the larger man:
Doug Tuckerman. Vin said hello
and wished him a happy new year.
“Cheers,”
Doug said, raising his glass. Looks like
scotch on the rocks, Vin thought while lifting a champagne glass in
response. He hadn’t seen any scotch on
the bartender’s table.
“You
and Nicky must be pretty well settled in by now.”
“Pretty
well. At least we’ve unpacked
everything, and we don’t have to look at maps every day to find our way
around.”
“Well,
you found your way down to Glen Echo.
Vin, let me introduce you to an old friend of Abby’s and mine, Bryce
Lemond.” He pivoted and Vin introduced
himself.
“Bryce
and Abby were neighbors growing up in
Vin
confirmed that he and Nicky had moved to
“Bryce
is a rock climber,” Doug offered. Bryce
explained that the
“I’ve
always wondered whether I’d like climbing,” Vin said. As Doug ducked away, Vin added that he’d never
climbed outdoors but had tried climbing at rock gyms a couple of times, and his
impression was that footholds were more important than handholds. The band had started its second set, so Vin
and Bryce angled behind the bar toward the Christmas tree, where it was quieter. Bryce confided that there was a great
climbing spot for beginners and experienced climbers on the
“Hi,
Bryce,” chimed a woman's voice from over Vin’s shoulder.
Bryce
grinned and leaned in to kiss the woman on both cheeks. Her dirty-blonde hair was pulled back and she
wore a gray cashmere sweater. When she
backed away, Vin recognized her and his pulse quickened for an instant.
“Hi,
Vin,” she said, extending her hand and smiling.
“Kelsey Ainge.”
“Nice to see you again. How’s your dog?”
“Her
ear healed without a trace. Please thank
Nicky again for the ear spray.”
“Kelsey,
you used to do some climbing,” Bryce said.
“I was just telling Vin that Carderock is a good spot for beginners.”
“It’s
true. The terrain around
“Even
the trails are a nice escape,” Bryce said.
“The woods are beautiful.”
Vin
said that he was from
“Oh,
you’d be surprised,” Kelsey said. “You
can see all kinds of interesting things in the woods here. And trees you probably don’t see in
“In
fact,” Kelsey continued, “there’s a spot just downstream from Carderock, a few
steps off the Billy Goat Trail, where three old sycamores are joined together
near the base.” Vin looked at her
gray-green eyes, which flickered infinitesimally side to side before coming to
rest on his. By reflex he found himself
silently reciting Lee Fisher’s message again:
I
may be buried along with the others at the base of three joined sycamores at
the edge of a clearing.
The
room seemed to tilt a few degrees and grow hazy as the music and nearby
conversations fused into an ambient hum.
He squinted hard at Kelsey as she returned his stare and his thoughts
darted forward like a rabbit through the haze.
You’ve read Lee’s note. How? When?
Did you write the penciled message in the library book? Maybe you authored Lee’s note yourself and
planted it in the shed. No, that makes
no sense: the photo, the drill… it was a
complete fluke that I found it in the first place. You’re drawing me into some kind of
game. To what end? What is it you want?
“Excuse
me for a few minutes,” he said, raising the full glass a few inches and smiling
uncertainly at Kelsey and Bryce. “I need
to go find Nicky.”