Slow Dance in Purgatory(49)

Dara hadn’t been able to hide her surprise when she’d seen Maggie, standing to the left of the table, taking tickets and chatting with a few of the dance team members and their dates as they arrived. Maggie tried not to smile, but Dara‘s expression was priceless. Didn’t someone once say “looking good is the best revenge?” They were absolutely right.

But though revenge is sweet, it turns bitter with time. More than an hour later, long after every one had arrived, Maggie still stood alone behind the ticket counter, watching the couples swing around the floor, laughing and holding each other tightly. Maggie desperately wished she could dance, but that clearly wasn’t going to happen. Everyone already had a partner. The pleasure she had felt in her appearance had faded, and her fancy dress and high heeled shoes now seemed a silly mockery. The depression she had felt earlier descended on her once more, and Maggie abandoned her now irrelevant post. The money and tickets were locked away, and there was no one to stop her from leaving. Maggie walked down the long corridor back toward the girls’ locker room to gather her things.

“You should be dancing.” Johnny’s voice spoke out from a shadowy somewhere, and Maggie cursed her tell-tale heart for singing in her chest.

He was suddenly beside her, his long stride slowing to match her own. Maggie struggled with dueling urges to slap him and fling her arms around him. She settled instead on silence. Her heels clattered on the hard linoleum floor; his boots made no sound whatsoever. She wondered if she should pretend she couldn’t see him. If she should just walk along like he wasn’t there, but she knew she could never pull it off. Her hair literally stood on end with awareness. Still, she was angry that he played that very game, staying away for days on end, and she was helpless to fight back.

“Maggie?” His voice coaxed her, nibbling at her anger, and with a sigh, Maggie let it slip away – for now. She was just too glad to see him.

“I’m not dancing because I would look very silly dancing by myself.” Maggie turned to look at him, and Johnny stared down into her up-turned face.

“You’re beautiful,” he confessed, and Maggie felt the sincerity of his words travel down her flushed cheeks, flood her neck and breasts, and pool like hot cider in her belly. Maggie reminded herself to breathe.

“Would you like to dance?” Johnny extended a hand, and Maggie stepped back reluctantly.

“Here?” she protested softly, her eyes traveling down the hallway toward the music spilling from the cafeteria that wasn’t nearly far enough away. Anyone could walk around the corner and see her waltzing with her invisible partner. She would never hear the end of it. She would be labeled “psycho” at the very worst, pathetic at the least. Neither term appealed to her much.

Johnny didn’t answer for a moment, and then he reached for her, pulling her into the circle of his arms. “Put your arms around me.”

Maggie hesitated again, but he smelled like sunshine and leather, and she couldn’t help herself. Surrender was far too easy. She set her hands on his shoulders and stepped into him, eyes glued to her shoes.

“Hold on tight. I’ve never done this before.”

Maggie’s head jerked up in confusion, and she let out a startled squeak as Johnny’s arms locked around her like steel bands. Without warning, she was swept up, like being caught in the vortex of a tornado, where the world spins around you and you are absolutely helpless in its power. Maggie’s hair whipped around her face, and she buried her head in Johnny’s chest, her arms clinging to him desperately.

Hallways and doorways, ceilings and floors, melded into flashing colors and shades of grey, without form or delineation. Within seconds, the tornado that had swept them up touched down without sound or fury, setting them weightlessly outside the dance room door. Maggie opened her eyes slowly and swayed on trembling legs. Johnny’s arms remained locked around her, but he lifted one warm hand to smooth her wind-blown hair. Like before, it fell heavy and straight over her shoulders, perfectly restored to its proper place.

“That was…interesting.” There was laughter in Johnny’s voice, and his face was slightly euphoric.

“What was that?” Maggie stuttered, closing her spinning eyes once more, trying to regain her equilibrium.

“That was me, taking you for a little ride. It was a little slower than I usually travel – but then I usually travel alone.”

He was laughing. Maggie shook her head in amazement. She still stood clutched in his arms, and his silent laughter reverberated through her like an electric charge.

Johnny stepped back and opened the dance room door. Bowing slightly, Johnny smirked and drawked, “After you, Miss Margaret.”

Maggie curtsied sassily and tossed her hair. Two could play this game. Turning on her heel, she sashayed into the room. Johnny groaned right out loud.

“Oh, baby,” she heard him mutter under his breath.

Right on cue, music blasted from the speakers, and Johnny’s arm snaked out and caught Maggie around her waist, his hand capturing hers as he spun her right into the Jitterbug. “Rockin’ Robin” shook the room, and Maggie shrieked and laughed, falling immediately into step with him. The boy knew what he was doing, and she was adept enough to follow his lead.

In and out, over and under, he swung her. Their bodies moved in concert, their feet flew, and Maggie’s skirt swooshed and floated around her in time to the beat. One song rolled into another, and then another, and Johnny didn’t miss a step. Maggie threw herself into the music, trusting her partner, mimicking his swagger and swings, letting him instruct her in a style of dance she knew very little about. She didn’t know how long they danced that way, frenzied, laughing, and never tiring as song after song wailed the forgotten soundtrack of an interrupted life.