Dancers in the Dark

Dancers in the Dark

A gritty, biting novel that exposes the excitement, grace, glamour and backstage of the ballet world with lusty dancers in cutthroat competition. Allison Fain's desperate hunger for love and fame drives her from the lights of the stage to the dark realms of jealousy, sex and deception destroying lovers and friends along the way.

What others are saying about Dancers in the Dark...

A fascinating romp through the dance world with cutthroat competition and lusty dancers. The pages flew by and I wished it wouldn't end.

An entertaining, well crafted look at the excitement, grace, glamour and underbelly of the ballet world - written by someone who knows that world intimately. Reads like a movie.

Anyone who has ever danced will love, hate and empathize with the characters in this gossipy, gritty, novel, and for everyone else, it's great eye-candy, a fast read and a darn good story.

A perfect description of the hard reality of ballet, this novel opened my eyes.

I was not familiar with the world of ballet, but, it is so well written that the reader is immediately into the story. The main issue is the need to be a star. Are all the means allowed to obtain this goal? This novel is the answer.

Amazon Book Reviews

Recommended Advisory List – Michigan Public Library

DANCERS IN THE DARK

Howard Dando

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2001 Howard Dando

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CHAPTER 1

The senior class of Grand Chenier High circled the Prom King and Queen, clapping to the beat of pounding rock and roll. Billy whirled Temple around the dance floor, but bourbon and soda stirred in Billy's brain and the dance hall swirled in a vortex of spinning lights. Billy slipped to the floor. The crowd had seen it many times before. Billy LaVoi, the star quarterback, had led the school to a winning season, but at each victory party he was usually the first to pass out.

Johnny Muskoke, a three hundred pound linesman, hoisted his teammate on his shoulder and carried Billy out of the dance hall and down to the dock. Johnny propped Billy at the front of the boat, and then helped Temple into the boat. He's broken up about you leaving, Temple.

You always look out for him. Temple wrapped her white shawl around Billy shoulders.

That's what guards do for their quarterback. Johnny stepped out of the boat, Be careful.

Temple was surprised by the warning, Don’t be silly, I’ve run the backwaters all my life.

Johnny waved vaguely to the north. I mean in New York, they got more gators up there then in this swamp.

Temple Drake watched Johnny depart and vanish into the dance hall. In the distance she heard the lush melody of This Magic Moment, one of her favorites. As the song ended, she pushed an oar against the dock, and headed in the direction of a yellow moon that sat on the black swamp. Temple breathed in the seductive scents of Jasmine that grew wild along the marshy riverbank of the Bayou.

When she came to Grand Chenier channel she pulled in the oars and let the current drift her home. The music had long faded, and the only sound was water gently lapping the boat. A soft mist rolled in from the sea, curling clouds over the water. Surrounded by blackness with only stars above, Temple felt aloft on a celestial raft in a diamond sky.

She slid her hands softly down her scarlet satin gown, cool to the touch, yet soft and silky against her legs. She had made the dress herself, it took nearly a month, but it was worth it, even if only for a few hours. Rarely had anybody seen her in anything but blue jeans. The low cut dress surprised those who thought she had no breasts, since she habitually wore oversized dance T-shirts and jackets. She had cheated a bit, sewing some extra padding underneath the cups of the bodice. It worked like magic. Boys on the dance floor positioned themselves for a peek at her pert breasts. She arranged her loose blond curls on the sides of her face to frame her clear green eyes and transform herself into a bewitching Southern Belle.

A sultry June night such as this could have conjured up a wicked potion of Louisiana lust, but Billy was asleep, sprawled at the front of the boat. Temple held a lantern over his head. The glow on his face, and the white shawl around his body made him look ghostly.

She had known Billy since they were kids. Billy delighted in pranks like putting spiders in her sandwiches. She hated him with a passion until High School when Temple fell in lust with Billy's thick, black hair, and the Elvis Presley curl of his upper lip.

Billy’s folks were poor potato farmers until oil gushed from their land. After that Billy was the catch of the county, and marrying him was a guarantee to the good life. But that was not enough to keep Temple home.

She did not need a crystal ball to foretell what a future with Billy would bring. He had never said or done anything that was not totally predictable, if he had, there was an outside chance Temple might have given up her dream, fallen into his arms and stayed.

And there was no way Billy would go with her to New York City. For Billy to move out of Grand Chenier was unthinkable. The LaVoi family lived in Louisiana before the Civil War, they were mangrove trees with branches that formed vines that grew into the swamp water and formed deeper roots. But Temple was a river, running unchecked, full of capricious twists and turns leading to inlets of dark lagoons and secret hiding places.

Billy woke, rubbed his face and peered through his hazy eyes at Temple with her rhinestone tiara sparkling in the moonlight, You look like a beautiful Princess.

Temple unpinned her tiara, Thanks, but Cinderella has left the Ball.

I guess I tied one on. Billy suddenly stood, causing the boat to wobble wildly. Billy lost his balance, and was about to tip over when Temple caught him.

Billy, sit, you'll capsize the boat.

Billy stumbled to the bench beside Temple, reached into a pocket, and pulled out a small, black velvet box, and opened it. By the light of the lantern a diamond ring flickered like a swarm of fireflies.

Temple could hardly breathe.

You're the only one for me, sugar, Billy pleaded.

Billy, you’ll always be in my heart, always. Temple gently brushed Billy’s hair. If it doesn't work out after a year or so, I'll be back.

She knew that was a lie, a whopper. Temple would never go back, not even if she had to sweep sidewalks on Times Square. She wanted more in her life than the weekly regimen of Grand Chenier: the Friday night School Football game, Saturday nights at the Grand Cinema, All day Sunday football, Sunday night’s football at Bayou Pizza, Monday Nights Football, Thursday Nights football, and then endless college bowl games and professional playoffs.

Temple returned the box. Billy pushed it back. I can’t, Temple forced the ring back into his hand, and looked out into the darkness.

Billy snapped the box closed, and stood on the bench. Then let the Bayou have it. Billy brought his arm back, and threw a fifty-yard pass into the swamp.

Billy! No! Temple jumped up to grab his arm, but too late, the box soared out of sight. Billy teetered on the boat. The boat lurched wildly. Billy fell forward and clutched at Temple, but the satin fabric of her dress slipped through his hands, and he splashed into the swamp.

Billy!

Billy's head bobbed to the surface, seaweed entwined in his hair. Temple put her hands to her mouth, tried to stifle a smile, but could not, and laughed uncontrollably.

What's so damn funny?

I never thought you would do something so crazy.

Another splash was heard in the water. Temple screamed, Billy, get in, hurry!

Billy heard the panic in her voice, and recognized the danger. He swam madly to the boat, grabbing its side, and putting one leg over the boat. Temple struggled to haul him inside. She saw the gator heading for Billy's dangling leg. She picked up an oar, and swung madly, hitting the creature on the snout. It stunned the alligator long enough for Billy to fling his body into the boat. Temple picked up the closest thing, her tiara, and threw it at the gator. It bounced off his head and the gator slinked away.

Temple collapsed on the floor of the boat, gasping for breath. For a long time, Temple held the oar, to stop her hands from shaking. When her pulse stopped racing, she let go the oar, and released a soft, quiet cry. Billy crawled to her.

Baby, it's all right. He took her in his arms. Temple snuggled her face in his neck, That was so reckless, but very romantic.

It was, wasn't it? So marry me.

Temple smiled. I can't now, there's no ring.

Billy reached into his pants, and pulled out the ring, Presto!

The smile left Temple’s face. You took the ring out and threw the box.

I might be drunk but I’m not crazy? Billy slid the ring on her finger.

Take it back, please.Temple tried to slip the ring off, but Billy stopped her.

I’m not going to put it on someone else. Besides you saved my life tonight. Some day it might bring you good luck.

Temple felt the strings tugging on her heart, the strings that would keep her from her dreams. She held back the tears and would not cry. She would not let the vines of the mangrove trees drag her into the black mud of the Bayou.

The boat nudged at Temple's dock. Temple took off her heels and climbed an old wood ladder. On top of the dock she knelt down, kissed Billy on the mouth, a smoldering, 'you'll-never-forget-me-kiss.'

Billy cupped his hands around her waist. Temple felt a rush of arousal through her body. She gripped his hair and pushed his face to her neck. He kissed her softly then bit into her neck. She whimpered slightly then groaned as Billy pulled away enough fabric to expose her shoulder. His tongue, wet and warm, then encircled her neck. She jerked her head back. The sudden movements made the boat sway under Billy's feet. He grasped her tightly, and pulled her towards him.

How about one last night, babe.

Temple threw her shoes on the dock, and climbed down the ladder. Temple turned and entangled her arms around the ladder. With one foot she pushed hard, the boat rocked wildly into the channel.

Good night, Billy.

Why?

Because we'll have this passion whenever we think of each other, Temple smoothed her hand against his face.

I don't get it.

One day you will.

Billy knew the battle was lost; all that was left was the formality of surrender. Billy dipped the oar into the water, and called as he drifted away. I'll always love you.

Temple stood on the dock, silhouetted by a large yellow moon; she blew a final kiss, and waved as Billy disappeared into a river of gleaming golden moonbeams.

CHAPTER 2

Temple Drake stood at the front of the subway train; both hands tightly gripped two metal bars as the train snaked through the dark tunnel, screeching and careening back and forth on winding tracks. The wind through the open window whipped her hair. She watched the black tunnel illuminated for a few seconds from the sparks of the train's steel wheels. Concrete pillars in the tunnel were rooted deep in murky water. It reminded her of the mangrove trees in the swamps and that make her think of Billy. She closed her eyes, and reproached herself not to think of the past.

A voice from a loudspeaker shrieked, Spring Street, let'em out.

Temple slung her backpack over her shoulder. The doors opened and she was sucked out of the train by the crowd, whisked up a flight of stairs, and deposited on the sidewalks of New York City.

Coming out of the darkness of the subway the sunlight was blinding. She shaded her eyes to read a map; but it was incomprehensible, little boxes with lots of squiggly colored lines running amuck. She was about to ask for directions, but she heard her Aunt's voice, In New York they kidnap young girls, then sell them into Harems and never heard from again. Playing it safe, Temple walked straight ahead, if Spring Street did not intersect Mercer Street she would then know she had to gone in the wrong direction.

Spring Street was a bazaar of sidewalk salesmen, vendors hawking baseball caps, fake Rolex watches, black market IPods, sunglasses, toys, belts and plastic jewelry. Temple walked by the black, wrought iron doors of La Grille; the cafe doors were open and inside a young bartender in a crisp white shirt with red suspenders smiled at her. Temple smiled back, and then quickly turned her head, thinking it not proper to flirt with the first good-looking man she saw in New York.

She peaked through the window of a Boutique where a gaggle of secretaries rifled through racks of black leather skirts. The chattering secretaries hardly ruffled the trance of a salesgirl with orange hair and skin the color of tofu. The salesgirl leaned casually against the door and scanned Temple's outfit, a pale yellow, puckered cotton dress with a stiff white collar.

Temple looked at the salesgirl's flimsy long black dress with combat boots, then looked down at her white flats, realized she looked like a tourist, shrugged, and continued walking along the street passing more jewelry stands. She stopped to look at a pair of earrings. The vendor, a short, ruddy-faced man with a missing tooth turned to his friends, and spoke from the side of his mouth, Real gold, little girl?

There was a genuine insincerity in his voice, and Temple returned the earrings and resolved to have nothing more with street vendors, until she reached the corner. There in front of her was a wide brimmed straw hat with a brown band with white polka dots. The same kind of hat Julia Roberts wore in 'Pretty Woman.'

She tried it on and looked at herself in a hand mirror. It made her feel sophisticated.

How much? she asked.

Forty.

She would negotiate the way she haggled at the fish market in Grand Chenier. I only got twenty.

Then you ain't got a hat.

She poured extra syrup on her Southern accent, Truly, you could part with this hat for twenty dollars.

Truly, you could be arrested if you don't put it back.

Temple admired herself from another angle then advanced to another tactic. I could die of heat exhaustion without a hat. Surely, you could find it in your heart to help a hatless visitor to your fine city.

Stop, already! You some kind of actress?

Oh, no, a dancer.

In New York City? What are the odds of finding a dancer in New York City? he laughed. You're good, sweetheart. Take the hat. Twenty bucks.

Temple handed over the money. When I become famous I'll write about you in my autobiography.

Write about some poor schnook who went broke giving away hats. Keep me out of your book, or I'll sue you.

Temple laughed and started to walk away but stopped. She reached into her jeans, and pulled out another twenty-dollar bill. Here.

What's this?

What I did was shameless. Please take it.

The vendor shook his head. Sorry kid, all sales are final.

No really. Please.

The vendor pushed the money back. When I was your age I was something of a piano player. Then I met a girl, and then came a little one, and then another one, and another one, and another one. So now I sell hats. You got a dream to be a ballerina, right? Temple nodded. Then go for it! Now get out of here before I double the price.

Temple somehow found Mercer Street; she turned right, and in the middle of the block stood St. Mary's Boarding House, a double-width brownstone with two crusty brown columns framing a flight of cracked cement steps. Temple opened the stained glass doorway, and trotted carefully across the creaking oak floorboards, and put her backpacks on the reception desk.

She was eyed through the bifocals of Miss Libby Haig, a gray haired woman with a long face.

May I help you?

Temple Drake.

Ah, the scholarship student, In a single motion Miss Haig reached underneath the counter, grabbed a sheet of paper and slid it on the desk.

These are the House Rules. Breakfast is Eight AM sharp. Dinner is six sharp. I hope you know the meaning of the word 'sharp' or you will be one hungry young lady. No drugs, no alcohol, no boys allowed in the rooms. No loud music at any time. Curfew is midnight. Any deviation will result in the loss of your scholarship aid.Miss Haig slid a key along the counter. Room Three Hundred and five. Elevator is to your left.

Temple picked up her backpacks and heaved them onto her shoulders.

By the way, Miss Drake.

Yes.

It's nice to see young ladies wearing hats again.

CHAPTER 3

A taxi screeched to a stop in front of St. Mary's.

For God sake, driver, you almost missed it.

But I didn't miss it, lady. The driver looked through the mirror at Ruth Fain, a woman in her late forties, but trim with a chiseled face, a Roman nose and full lips, brown eyes, and dark brown hair cropped around the ears, she wore a tailored navy blue suit.

That’ll be fifty-five bucks.

Ruth Fain handed him the money. You drive like a maniac.

The driver was not interested in what Ruth had to say; he fixed his eyes on the other passenger.

Alison Fain, Ruth’s only daughter, had inherited her mother's strong features, but her eyes were blacker with flecks of green light, her white skin a sharp contrast to her jet black hair which she wore loose, letting it fall over the collar of her denim jacket, underneath her coat was a black halter top displaying more than ample breasts. The ensemble was finished off with black stockings and black combat boots.