And it would make Betsy happy.
As they drove
out of town in Betsy's car, a four-door sedan of undistinguished pedigree she’d
borrowed from a friend, she told him about her latest audition. She thought she really had a shot at this
chorus role. There might even be a solo
number. As always, Betsy was dressed to
impress, this time in a red jumpsuit that zipped up the front and shiny white
boots. Stani was pretty sure she wasn't
wearing anything else. She was evasive
about exactly who she was hoping to meet at the party. He was someone she'd been seeing, but it was
complicated. With Betsy, it usually
was. But this time it sounded
particularly so. This guy had been in
some serious trouble recently, she explained, and his father had really put his
foot down. If he made it to the party,
he'd have to be careful it didn't get back to his old man. Hopeless at keeping track of gossip, Stani
hadn't a clue who she might be talking about. It really didn't matter to him what she did tonight, as long as she got
him back to town in the morning.
As she
continued chattering on, he turned his mind to the music in his head. There was always something playing there, and
now it was today's rehearsal. Something
about the tempo, in just that one measure, had seemed a bit off. Had he rushed his entrance, or had the
conductor held back just a breath? He
played it over and over, and each time he was more certain it had been his
error. Nothing had been said, but surely
the orchestra had noticed. He would have
to be sure to mention it to the maestro before the performance, make his
apology and see that it was corrected. It would never do to have Milo hear it that way over the radio.
The lodge,
situated on a scenic crest, was ablaze with torches and strings of Christmas
lights when they arrived just after dark. The party was well under way, judging by the cloud of smoke that hung
over the crowd. Everywhere Stani looked,
there were bodies moving, dancing, pushing through the press, glasses held high
over heads. Somewhere out of sight, a
live band was playing, the sound pumped through speakers surrounding the
room. The volume was such that sign
language was the only effective means of communication.
He followed
Betsy to the bar along one wall. They
ordered drinks, pointing to their desired selections, and then Betsy stood
scanning the crowd for whatever face she was hoping to see. Finally, she nodded and waved, apparently
having located her target. When she
pointed with a smile to the direction she intended to go, Stani waved her
on. He quickly lost sight of her in the
crowd before she reached her mystery man.
Tossing down
his whisky, he ordered a refill, hoping he hadn't seen the last of her. There wasn't likely to be anyone else in this
crowd he knew, or at least no one he would trust to take him back to DC if
Betsy disappeared. He called down a
curse on his own head for letting her talk him into coming. This was just the kind of place he hated,
loud and jammed with people already lost to their pursuit of oblivion. He could either join them, or try to find
some place safe to wait out the evening.
He searched the
room for a less crowded spot, preferably near one of the open windows. He would never have admitted it, but a room
full of reefer smoke always made him slightly queasy. Setting his sights on a space along the wall
currently free of leaning bodies, he skirted the dance floor, holding his glass
a safe distance above his head. He'd
gone no more than a few steps when a girl twirled out of the crowd, colliding
with him and clutching at his sleeve to maintain her balance.
“Hold on there,
love. Are you all right?” With his free hand he tried to steady her, no
small feat as she continued to dance even as she attempted to put her arms
around him. Blonde, with huge blue eyes
already glazed by drink or drugs or both, she smiled vacantly
As they drove
out of town in Betsy's car, a four-door sedan of undistinguished pedigree she’d
borrowed from a friend, she told him about her latest audition. She thought she really had a shot at this
chorus role. There might even be a solo
number. As always, Betsy was dressed to
impress, this time in a red jumpsuit that zipped up the front and shiny white
boots. Stani was pretty sure she wasn't
wearing anything else. She was evasive
about exactly who she was hoping to meet at the party. He was someone she'd been seeing, but it was
complicated. With Betsy, it usually
was. But this time it sounded
particularly so. This guy had been in
some serious trouble recently, she explained, and his father had really put his
foot down. If he made it to the party,
he'd have to be careful it didn't get back to his old man. Hopeless at keeping track of gossip, Stani
hadn't a clue who she might be talking about. It really didn't matter to him what she did tonight, as long as she got
him back to town in the morning.
As she
continued chattering on, he turned his mind to the music in his head. There was always something playing there, and
now it was today's rehearsal. Something
about the tempo, in just that one measure, had seemed a bit off. Had he rushed his entrance, or had the
conductor held back just a breath? He
played it over and over, and each time he was more certain it had been his
error. Nothing had been said, but surely
the orchestra had noticed. He would have
to be sure to mention it to the maestro before the performance, make his
apology and see that it was corrected. It would never do to have Milo hear it that way over the radio.
The lodge,
situated on a scenic crest, was ablaze with torches and strings of Christmas
lights when they arrived just after dark. The party was well under way, judging by the cloud of smoke that hung
over the crowd. Everywhere Stani looked,
there were bodies moving, dancing, pushing through the press, glasses held high
over heads. Somewhere out of sight, a
live band was playing, the sound pumped through speakers surrounding the
room. The volume was such that sign
language was the only effective means of communication.
He followed
Betsy to the bar along one wall. They
ordered drinks, pointing to their desired selections, and then Betsy stood
scanning the crowd for whatever face she was hoping to see. Finally, she nodded and waved, apparently
having located her target. When she
pointed with a smile to the direction she intended to go, Stani waved her
on. He quickly lost sight of her in the
crowd before she reached her mystery man.
Tossing down
his whisky, he ordered a refill, hoping he hadn't seen the last of her. There wasn't likely to be anyone else in this
crowd he knew, or at least no one he would trust to take him back to DC if
Betsy disappeared. He called down a
curse on his own head for letting her talk him into coming. This was just the kind of place he hated,
loud and jammed with people already lost to their pursuit of oblivion. He could either join them, or try to find
some place safe to wait out the evening.
He searched the
room for a less crowded spot, preferably near one of the open windows. He would never have admitted it, but a room
full of reefer smoke always made him slightly queasy. Setting his sights on a space along the wall
currently free of leaning bodies, he skirted the dance floor, holding his glass
a safe distance above his head. He'd
gone no more than a few steps when a girl twirled out of the crowd, colliding
with him and clutching at his sleeve to maintain her balance.
“Hold on there,
love. Are you all right?” With his free hand he tried to steady her, no
small feat as she continued to dance even as she attempted to put her arms
around him. Blonde, with huge blue eyes
already glazed by drink or drugs or both, she smiled vacantly
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