Childlike

Chapter 4 The Lady at the Dance

Chapter 4

The Lady at the Dance

             True to her word, she was waiting on the front steps of the Victorian, still dressed in the little red miniskirt and white blouse. She stood up as I approached apparently recognizing my car.  I stoppedat her driveway and she came to the passenger door, opened it and got in.

             “Hey Josh-o,” she sang out. “Ready to dance?” She buckled her seatbelt as I gunned the engine, the motion flopping her back in her seat like a rag doll.

            “As ready as I'll ever be,” I answered dryly.

 “I'm ready too!  I've got my dancing shoes on,” she said holding up her left foot, modeling a red sneaker.  Surprisingly it looked okay with the tight skirt.

             “Sneakers, huh? I guess they're comfortable.”

 “I'll dance all night,” she said, starting to laugh, a rare whopping belly laugh.  I waited for the laugh to die out then asked her what her name was.

 “Missy Chidel, Mick just calls me Chidel.  He kind of sings it with a Chi-del!” She sang out the two syllables, holding each as if pressing a doorbell and keeping it in for five seconds before releasing it.

“What would you like me to call you? Missy or Chidel?” I asked.

“Missy, Or Just  Miss!  My father always called me Miss Missy but you don't have to do that.” She giggled, holding her blonde hair up in handfuls, like ponytails. A little girl waiting for daddy.

 “What happened to him, your dad?” I added for clarification, watching her drop the ponytails and smooth out her hair.

 “He died from a heart attack.  My mom says it was too much fat from all the hamburgers he ate.  I think that it was just time for him to go, you know?” I nodded my head, noting the sadness in her voice.

 “Hey, is Mick coming?” Her face brightened up, lip stick smeared above her upper lip.

 “Nah, I was invited to this by a co-worker.  Mick doesn't know him.  In fact I just met Mick myself.”

“Still could have asked him to go.” She said, a pout in her voice, emphasizing it by punching me mockingly in the shoulder.

“Next time,” I said, “Tonight is just you and me and my friend Bobby.”

I pulled into the parking lot of the church where Bobby said they held the dances.  Each one of the church precincts had a basketball court built into them, where a lot of church socials are held.  On Friday nights they all had dances for the youth in hopes of keeping them from getting into trouble in some other place of the city.

             I drove through the parking lot finding a space in the very back.  I parked between a red Pontiac Solstice and a black Mini Cooper.  The muffled sounds of the contemporary rock music forced its way through the church walls to the parking lot attacking our ears like summer gnats.  Missy had already gotten out on her side, not waiting or perhaps not expecting me to go around and open it for her.  I closed my door and locked it with one of my keys, the Cortina not caring which one.  Missy then slammed shut her door, leaving it unlocked, forcing me to go over to her and lock it.  She didn't notice my actions, or didn't care, her attention was on the church.

 “This looks like a church.” She said, staring at the building. “But it doesn't have a cross on it.”

 I looked up at the steeple, the dark tree covered Santa Cruz Mountains outlining it.  She was right, the steeple came up to a peak, yet without the customary cross on top. “Maybe it broke off in a storm or something,” I offered.