John Argo - The Firemen's Dance.pdf - John Argo - allforjesus2001

Argo Dark Fantasy. 3695 words long. English Short Story text/xml

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The Firemen's Dance

by John Argo

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Dark Fantasy

Clocktower Books

www.clocktowerbooks.com

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fines or imprisonment.

They were late coming home, and Jane wasn't feeling well, and the house was freezing cold. The sports

car rolled to a halt on the sprawling lawn, amid autumn leaves, and they got out—an elegant couple,

disinherited, stripped down to this poor lot.

Perry knew what was coming as he carried their suitcases to the house. Jane had that look as she stared

at their home and brushed stray hairs from her lovely face.

When he opened the door, and the chill hit them, she began to sob: “No-o!"

“Shh,” Perry said, taking her in his arms, “I'll light a fire.” She shivered uncontrollably as he carried her

upstairs. Quickly he tucked her under a pile of blankets and quilts. He knelt by the bed, stroking her arms

and speaking endearments. She stared at him bitterly, her eyes beaded with tears.

“There now,” he said, “We'll be warm in no time.” He rose from her side and went downstairs. In a short

time, between the cellar furnace and the living room fireplace, warmth began to fill the house—enough

even to open a window toward evening. Jane accepted a cup of hot tea and sat on the bed, sipping.

“Thanks,” she said, with the first flicker of a smile. She appeared to be feeling much better already.

“We'll go to the dance tonight,” Perry said happily, ironing his shirt.

Jane began to dress for the affair. Her way of doing this was in stages. Right now all she wore was her

chocolate miniskirt and a lacy beige bra. She sat by the vanity, combing her long amber hair. She was

thin and beautiful, Perry thought. She combed languidly, letting the brush rustle through her hair, then

letting the hair tumble soundlessly on her bare shoulder. She would look lovely in her dark velvet dress

the color of autumn leaves, he thought.

“I'm going to put on some more heat,” he said, inhaling the crisp scent of Fall night that came through the

bedroom window. An owl mourned outside. The wind tussled the curtains, leaving a faint breath of cold

standing water—a pleasant smell, with a hint of this and that: wood smoke; leaf rot; fresh air.

“Do, baby,” she said, combing in long lazy motions. She gave him an affectionate look. “Put another log

in the living room fireplace too, darling, will you?” He loved her voice—soft, full, sensuous.

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He left her at her vanity, a full moon over her shoulder framed in the window. The owl mourned again.

He walked out of the bedroom, through the extremely narrow corridor of their old house, and down the

cramped stairway. The downstairs was dark. Gloomy shapes occupied the living room, and he had no

yen to switch on any lamps. Somehow, it would be like casting unwanted light on his and his wife's plight.

They might be poor, but they were young and elegant, and they'd stuck together. They had each other,

where before they'd had fortunes. He lifted a thick log of dry oak and threw it in the brick fireplace. Wan

flames roiled up around the wood, eagerly licking it with blue tongues. The flue moaned, and sparks

spiraled upward from the disturbed embers. The flames took, grew robust, turning orange. He rubbed his

hands briskly together, breathed into them, stuck them in his pockets, and did a little dance of pleasure as

the fire warmed him.

Now she yelled from upstairs: “Hurry up, darling! Where are you, Perry?"

He heard her clattering around on high heels, searching for a lipstick, a cigarette, a hankie, a dram of

perfume.

“I'll be right up.” He descended into the cellar on creaky stairs to check the furnace. Reassured by the

red glow inside the drum, he rubbed his hands noisily together again and hurried back upstairs. On his

way up, he picked up a pair of glasses and a wine bottle from the mantle piece.

“How do I look?” she asked as he came down the narrow corridor.

He whistled.

She saw the wine and made a face. “Not on our way, darling. We can have a few glasses at the dance.”

She stood tall on stiletto heels, angled sideways, holding a cigarette to her lushly rouged lips. Her dark

eyes gave him a sultry daring look while she put her hands on her hips and cocked her tight buttocks

toward him. The crushed velvet chocolate-colored mini dress veiled only the sharp angles of her hips and

waist. It left her fine back bare, as well as her shoulders which had a pink sheen, as if the soft lamplight

loved to fly into every pore in her silky young skin. The light caressed her strong, wiry youthful legs. He

clapped softly, thinking her the most sexy woman alive.

“Watch this,” she said, wreathed in cigarette smoke. She produced an item of clothing the same color

and texture as her miniskirt and, using the tiny eye hooks provided for that purpose, turned the miniskirt

into an ankle-length skirt that reached her ankles. “Voila!"

“Bravo,” he said clapping.

“Kind of a cold night to walk to the dance,” she muttered. She carelessly, hurriedly threw the cigarette in

an ashtray and prettied her long dark hair before the mirror one more time. “We'd better go, Perry

sweetheart, I don't want to miss a thing."

He put on his heavy overcoat over his best brown suit. He held her fine wrap in the air and she stepped

back into it. He nuzzled her shoulder and neck, feeling the warmth of her skin, the beat of her blood, the

faint smell of soap from her bath. “I'm going to make love to you later,” he whispered into her ear.

She giggled, rubbing against him. “I can't wait!” Her smile was ivory in the glossy redness of her

lipsticked lips. “Hurry."

“Better put this on,” he said, holding up her old dark-green coat.

“Oh that thing!” she pouted. For a second he thought she would cry.

“It's okay. We can leave it outside. Nobody will see it. I want you to be warm."

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“Oh, okay!” She let him drape the worn coat over her shoulders. She smiled bravely. She fluttered a kiss

against his cheek, took his hand, and towed him along.

Outside, the wind flowed rustling amid huge tree crowns like an ocean current. Clouds drifted fitfully

before an alarmed moon whose face seemed frozen in an eternal yell of shock.

“Windy!” he said, laughing as he ran after her. They did not look back.

She was a bundled figure running up a grassy slope. “Try to catch me!” her voice flew faint and fragile

through the blowing air.

It was such fun to be out on a night like this! They ran—and laughed and played. When they came to the

sidewalk along the main street, they brushed themselves off. “We must be serious,” Jane said as several

glowering pedestrians passed. A woman glanced back, her mouth set in a light grimace of disapproval,

her eyes envious of their youth and good looks.

They fairly danced to their small sports car. The black canvas top was tightly buttoned down, and the

plastic windows were beaded with moisture. Inside it smelled of motor oil and leather seats—smells Jane

associated with Perry's manliness. She kissed him impulsively as he started up the car.

“Why don't we do this more often?” he enthused in a sudden fit of warmth. “Darling, we do have so

much fun together, don't we?"

She lit a cigarette and laid her head back. “Yes,” she said amid a column of exhaled smoke that wiggled

against the luster of the street lights on her skin. “We're lucky in spite of all. It's just—"

“Just what, darling?” Perry asked as he enjoyed the feel of the shift knob, the tight responsiveness of the

clutch as the powerful little car sailed over wet, leafy streets.

“I don't know—that—sickening sense of loss sometimes."

“Oh yes,” he said. He knew that feeling. “Try to push it away, sweetheart. Don't let it spoil our evening.

We get out so little as it is."

She glanced at his strong wrist. “Are you wearing your bracelet?"

“Yes!” He held up his arm briefly as they waited at a red light. “I thought I'd lost it for a while, but I found

it again.” She'd given it to him on his last birthday.

They came to the church hall. Perry parked around the corner, and they walked arm in arm. He enjoyed

the tight feel of her lithe body against his, the way she let him pull her close, each wanting to be possessed

by the other.

The church was shuttered, its windows black like lead. Its heavy brown stones made it seem like a

fortress in the night. The moon swam around its spire, and mourning doves cooed their melancholy song.

Inside the hall it was warm—almost too warm. There were people from all over, because this was a big

holiday around town. It was the annual firemen's dance, as well as the feast of all saints and all souls.

There must be a thousand people here, Jane thought as she and Perry walked about looking at the food

on the long tables—dish after dish, for this had to be the world's largest potluck.

On stage, a band played everything from polkas to rock, reggae to swing. That must be the talented guys

from the fire station, Perry thought, joining the townsfolk in clapping and whistling between numbers. Jane

and Perry found seats next to each other at a long people. Volunteer waiters and waitresses from the

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Associated Veterans’ Social Clubs hustled about, pouring beer and wine, replenishing water glasses. The

fun of dinner was that you got a little of each thing—whatever the waiters happened to pick—a surprise!

It was a town tradition.

The pastor took the stage, asked for silence, and, after a brief prayer, made his announcements, and

reminded the parishioners to come to church the following day. Then the band played some more.

During dinner, Perry and Jane befriended the couple opposite them, a man and woman in their early

fifties. His name was Roger, his wife's Maureen. Roger had a full head of graying hair, watery blue eyes,

and a bemused smile. Maureen was a little dark-skinned, dark-haired pip of a woman with a sharp

tongue but evidently a good enough heart. “That band ought to take a break,” she said, “it's hot in here!

Whew!” She fanned herself for effect.

“Lived in town long?” Roger asked.

“Years,” Jane said, tearing a dinner roll in half.

“We have an old place up on Beaker Street,” Perry said.

“We just moved here a few days ago,” Roger said. “Nice little town. I'm a retired policeman from the

city. We wanted a little village in which to spend some quality time."

Maureen had a mouthful of food but she spoke anyway. “Those old houses up along the Heights? Used

to be a lot of wealthy people up in that area years ago. Man, things have changed. Do you work?"

Perry winced, a bit pained. “Not for a while."

“Maureen—.” Roger said. He nodded apologetically. “My wife should learn some diplomacy."

Perry shrugged. “Oh, it's no secret. I was injured a couple of years ago. I used to be a lawyer. Had a

pretty nice practice. Kept us well heeled. No more. Well, that's how it goes."

“Darling,” Jane whispered, mortified, “don't tell everyone our whole life's story."

“I'm sorry,” he whispered back, “I'm just trying to keep the conversation going."

“They're nice, aren't they?” Jane whispered. At the same moment, she noticed that Maureen took off a

light blue silk neck kerchief and laid it on the table. Jane's eyes grew wide with desire as she regarded the

kerchief.

Desserts came.

“Not for me,” Jane said. Perry also raised his hand to signify no .

Maureen took two big pieces of chocolate cake. “That's how you stay so thin and healthy,” she crowed,

“never eat any cake or candy."

The band started up a lively reggae beat. Jane rose, pulling Perry along by the hand. “Come on, darling,

let's dance. See you in a few minutes!” she called to Roger and Maureen. They waved their forks,

smiling.

“Whirl me around,” Jane urged through gritted teeth as Perry took her in his arms and moved her about

in tight angles with the beat of the music. She gripped him in a sudden passion, hands behind his head, her

lips on his, her tongue seeking his. Her mouth felt hot and wet, and it made him think of how good it

would be to have sex when they got home. She whispered to him: “I want something of theirs."

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“Darling,” he said, “you know it's no good. Don't let yourself fixate."

“I'll try,” she promised. She would take anything that belonged to them—a key, a coin, a wallet, a credit

card, just something to remember them by.

A while later, Perry as a courtesy took Maureen out for a dance, while Jane joined Roger in a wild rock

‘n roll dance.

Then they all sat at the table together, talking and laughing. A bottle of red wine warmed them, and they

forgot about their troubles for a while. Roger and Maureen went to look for the potties. Maureen took

her purse, but left her thin, silky kerchief on the table. Jane looked at it. “Oh, Perry, I want that."

“Sweetheart—."

Tears tumbled down her cheeks. “I want it so badly, darling."

“Maybe if you ask Maureen then."

Jane dabbed her eyes. “Oh, my makeup is probably running. I'm a mess."

“No you aren't. But look at the time.” The clock said 10:30.

She sighed. “It's getting late. I guess we'd better go. I'm getting incredibly tired."

He yawned. “Yes, me too. It's been a long day.” He stroked her cheek, which felt chill. “We'll go home,

throw on another log, and make love all the whole long night together. What do you say?” He nuzzled her

ear, lightly biting her earlobe.

Roger and Maureen came back and sat down, but on the edges of their seats. “We're going home,”

Roger said. “It's been really nice meeting you young folks."

“It's been lovely,” Jane said, shaking Maureen's hand. “That is the loveliest scarf,” she said.

Maureen laughed. “What? Oh, this?” She held up her scarf carelessly.

“We've had such a lovely evening,” Jane said, “I wonder if you'd mind—?” She hugged the scarf to her

bosom and glowed. At first Roger and Maureen looked shocked, then sympathetic.

“Dear, if it's that old scarf you want, keep it, sweetie."

“Thank you!” Perry said for her. “My wife can be so silly and sentimental."

“I understand,” Roger said, rising. As he helped Maureen into her coat, he winked at Perry and Jane.

“We were young once, and we understand."

“That's right,” Maureen said, patting her coat and closing the buttons. “We understand. Though it's been

a long time and we don't remember too well.” She winked at Jane and dug an elbow into Roger's side.

He pretended to double over, making a face that said, “Ain't my wife a scream?"

“Do you kids have a car?” Maureen asked as if they had nothing—well, Perry thought, that was about

what they had.

“We'll be fine,” he said. “We have a car but it's not running. We'll walk home. It's not far."

“It may rain,” Roger warned.

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John Argo - The Firemen's Dance.pdf

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