2 Dancing With Death (4 page)

    
Betty cracked open her eyes. Clarise was standing over her with a grin on her face, arms crossed across her chest.

    
THWAPP! A pillow thudded into Betty’s stomach from the side. She snapped upright, tugging the pillow away from her attacker and holding it in readiness for retaliation before her brain had even registered that she had gotten up. Next to her, Bill grinned like a madman.

    
“You—you--” Betty sputtered. She expected shenanigans like that from Clarise, but from Bill?

    
“I what?” Bill teased.

    
“You took her side!”

    
Bill nodded while attempting to school his face into a serious expression. His lips twitched. Betty glared at him, ticked at being jerked so rudely from the nirvana of her hotel bed.

    
“I did,” Bill agreed. Betty glared and lifted the pillow, ready to retaliate with all the strength she could muster. Unfortunately for Bill, given that she’d been a regular attendant at the gym in the past few months, that strength was considerable. Bill held out his hands and rushed to add, “But I have a good reason, I promise!”

    
Betty paused, poised to strike. “Well?” No reason would be satisfactory, but she was getting a wicked sort of glee from watching him try and wiggle his way out of this one.

    
“Yes, well.” Bill grinned, his eyes sparkling. “I wanted to see you put on something sexy.”

    
Blood rushed to Betty’s cheeks. She felt torn between belting him in the face with the pillow and finding a hole to hide in. She should’ve known she couldn’t win this. She flicked her gaze between a smug-looking Clarise and an unrepentant Bill, and suddenly wondered exactly what she had gotten herself into on this road trip.

    
I think I’ll go find the nearest Chia Pet convention, she thought in despair.

    
“Fine,” Betty said, instead of following her instincts and fleeing helter-skelter into the night. “Then you be a good boy and go find somewhere else to be while we girls work our magic.”

    
Betty showered first, claiming that she had the right of first call because of cruel and unusual wakeup methods. When she came out, Wes and Bill had changed and gone off in search of a schedule for the competition, so it was just Betty and Clarise in the suite. Once she’d dried off, it took only a few minutes for Betty to throw on her deep pink dress and makeup. Betty eyed herself in the mirror, straightening a few minor details. The pink color complimented her complexion and dark hair wonderfully, and her light makeup was just enough to bring color to her lips and accent her eyes. She looked… sultry, which felt a bit odd. Odd, but wonderful.
The dress had a broad neckline, so that the tops of her shoulders were left bare while fabric draped over her upper arm. It was her favorite type of dress: stretchy material for comfort, with a skirt that flared when she spun without flying too far up. Marilyn Monroe eat your heart out, she thought, twirling and watching the fabric swish around her legs.

    
A knock at the door pulled her out of her girly moment. She backed up across the room to make sure the dress fell properly, and grimaced as she faded into a pink blurry blob.

    
“Just a moment!” Betty called. It was probably the boys. She pulled on her black, two-inch heels, unwilling to open the door without the full impact of her outfit. She took a breath before opening the door, willing the fluttering in her stomach to fade away. Bill had been joking when he said that he wanted to see her in a sexy outfit. He probably hadn’t meant anything by it. Steeling herself, Betty pulled open the door.

    
A hotel staff member in a suit looked back at her. His nametag read “Hello! My name is Gregory. How can I help you?” He was a couple of inches shorter than her, with dirty blonde hair, a handlebar moustache, and a rather large belly for such a small man. Betty blushed as she watched his eyes flick up and down over her outfit. She cleared her throat.
    
“Yes?”

    
Gregory smiled at her. “I just wanted to inform you that the weather is picking up Miss. We’re suggesting that guests stay in the hotel for the remainder of the night, and in case the lights go out there are flashlights with extra batteries underneath every television station in the rooms.”

    
Betty felt a knot of unease form in her gut. “How bad is it?” she asked.

    
Gregory flashed his teeth in a grin, but Betty wasn’t fooled. “Not to worry Miss, the hotel is well prepared for all sorts of weather. And if you need anything, please don’t be afraid to call down to the desk.” He eyed her again, and Betty fought the urge to cross her arms in front of her chest protectively. Unfortunately, in this dress that would only serve to accent body parts that she didn’t want accented for George. “You can even ask for me personally. I’d be happy to assist you.”

    
“Who’s at the door?” Clarise asked from the bathroom.

    
“In a minute,” Betty called back. “Thank you very much for the information Gregory. I have to get back to getting ready.”

    
Gregory nodded. “Of course, Miss. Thank you for your time. I hope you enjoy your evening.”

    
After Betty closed the door, she leant back against it. Perfect. Just perfect. All she needed was the threat of a heavy storm.

    
Still… Betty didn’t even try to suppress the tiny upwards curve of her lips. If George’s reaction was anything to go by, she might just make an impact on Bill.

    
When Clarise learned of the storm’s potential severity, she twirled with glee. “How romantic!” she said. “I hope we get snowed in.”

    
Betty rolled her eyes.

CHAPTER 5
                   

    
The look on Wes’s face when Clarise stepped out of the elevator was one of a man struck dumb. Betty suspected that if they had been living in a cartoon world, Wes’s tongue would’ve been lolling to the floor, his eyes popping out of his head in surprise and little hearts with wings fluttering around his head. In all honesty, Betty couldn’t blame him. Bill and Wes may have been dressed snappily in suit jackets and neat jeans, but Clarise was dressed to kill. And, while Clarise’s fashion sense certainly assured that she was well-dressed every day in Lofton, she rarely had occasion to use her considerable beautification skills to their full advantage.

    
Tonight, in the space of half an hour, Clarise had morphed from pretty and casual to the Belle of the Ball. Betty was torn between admiration and envy. She was sure that she could never look half as good, even with a team of perfectionist makeover artists strapping her to a beautician’s chair for a whole day.

    
Clarise’s dress was a vibrant red, with golden embroidery on the bodice, neckline and hem. It fell almost to her ankles in straight, satiny folds reminiscent of a Greek Goddess statue. A slit up the side to her mid thigh swished aside with each step, flashing just enough skin to make Wes drool. Her hair had been swept up into a bun held in place by gold pins, and soft ringlets fell to either side of her face.

    
To top it all off, Clarise was smiling. And it wasn’t one of those half-smiles she used in photographs, but a full-blown “I’m-in-love-and-don’t-care-if-the-whole-world-knows-it” smile that made her look positively radiant.

    
As they exited the elevator, Clarise went to Wes and Betty walked towards Bill. When she reached him, Betty jerked her head at the smitten couple, who were trading clumsy compliments like an awkward high school couple.

    
“They’re hopeless,” she said seriously.

    
“Sickening,” Bill agreed. “At this rate, they’ll be dancing around each other for months.”

    
“Oh no,” Betty said.
 
“Not if I have anything to do with it! You’ve only been here a few months. I’ve had to watch them for years. No more!” She gestured dramatically to emphasize her resolution, while trying to convince herself that the butterflies in her stomach had nothing to do with her sudden need for silly theatrics. None at all. “It ends now!”

    
Bill leaned in. “I agree,” he said in a conspiratorial whisper, his eyes dancing. “Let’s find an excuse to leave them alone in the room tonight. What do you think?”

    
Betty laughed, stepping back slightly as she fought a blush. There was no reason to blush, she reminded herself sternly. Never mind how good Bill looked in his navy blue blazer, or that she could see that his eyes had three different shades of blue…

    
“So,” she said, keeping her voice light, “If I happen to steal their keys and lock them in the room until they move things along, will you help me?”

    
“Absolutely,” Bill promised. “I’ll turn the key myself.”

    
Wes and Clarise started moving to the opposite end of the entrance room, towards a sign in the corner saying “Ballroom Dance Competition This Way,” with an arrow pointing down a hall. Bill held out his arm and half-bowed to Betty.

    
“Well my beautiful Betty,” he said, causing Betty to promptly lose her blushing challenge. Blood rushed to her cheeks at the compliment, and there was absolutely nothing she could do about it except hope that Bill didn’t let her reaction go to his head. “Shall we?” He asked.

    
Betty placed her hand on his arm. “Why not?” She and Bill trailed behind Clarise and Wes, letting them led the way towards the dancing.

CHAPTER 6

    
Betty knew that ballroom dancing had earned its name for a reason. She had no problem at all imagining dancing at balls in mansions a hundred years ago, when such parties were commonplace and part of the elegance and mystique of the era. But it was another thing altogether to walk through double doors twenty feet tall and be greeted with the sight of just such a ball. Even with everything blurry, Betty could see the elegance all around her.

    
The room was easily the size of two large basketball courts, but there was no set of bleachers and far too much gilt paint for anyone to mistake the room for a gym. A chandelier hung in the middle of the ceiling: a behemoth of rainbows and shininess that shed light over all below, rendering the lit sconces along the wall all but useless. The chandelier looked like it belonged in an opera house, not a hotel in the middle of nowhere high in the mountains of North Carolina.

    
And then there were the people. A string quartet playing on the far right end of the ballroom provided the music, and dancers crowded the ballroom floor. They twirled and glided in a beautiful cacophony of blurry gowns and suits, jeans and sundresses. The competition started tomorrow, so tonight was just for fun. But these people had come to North Carolina to dance, and so dance they did. There were dancers of all ages, all different heights and weights, ranging all across the various skill levels. There were couples who looked like modern Ginger Rogers and Fred Astaires, moving surefooted and gracefully across the floor and between the other dancers as though they were extensions of each other, and couples who fumbled along, laughing when one partner stepped on the other’s toes.
 

    
Along the walls tables with punch, snacks, desserts, and registration information had been set up. People stood in small groups and pairs, chatting softly as they sipped cool beverages. To the left of the entrance, directly after the registration table, was the prize table. Policemen stood at attention on both sides of the table. While Wes and Clarise went to register, Betty and Bill went to investigate. As they approached the table and the prizes went from blurry to in focus, Betty realized why it was closely guarded.

    
The grand prize was… well, grand. Grand as in huge, gaudy, and ridiculously valuable. On a pedestal, right in the center of the table, sat a huge silver loving cup filled with $100,000 in cash. As though the cash itself wasn’t enough, the cup was smattered with jewels and imprinted gold designs. A plaque at the base of the cup was engraved with the names of the past grand prize winners, the dates and names stretching back and back for decades. A sign in front of the cup read: