By seven in the morning, music was pulsing from the dance studio, causing both Colonel Ka-markla in the dining room, and the garage-level security sergeant, to tap their feet.
Lisa emerged from the dining room sipping a steaming mug, and ambled toward the source of the music. She paused at the top of the stairs, yelled,
“Coffee’s ready, Sergeant!” then continued toward the dance studio and looked in.
Heather was stretching and warming up to the music.
“Good morning, kid.”
“Hi, Lisa. Do I get to be with you today?”
“Yep. I only took the promotion with the understanding that I wasn’t being kicked upstairs to do paperwork all the time.”
Heather chuckled. “I’d hate that too. But . . . do you know how packed my schedule is today?”
Lisa rolled her eyes. “Where do you find the energy?”
“Not from coffee! It’s very bad for your kidneys.”
If that had come from anyone else, Colonel Ka-markla would have brushed it off. Considering who had just spoken, she stepped to the nearest table and set down her mug.
The song ended and a moment later the reel-to-reel tape player stopped and began to rewind itself. Heather leapt through the door. “Wanna eat whole-grain banana pancakes with me?”
NEBADOR Book Nine: A Cry for Help 125
The little store, nestled in a quiet corner of the old downtown area, was about half antiques, one-third rare books, and the remainder hard-to-find music. The owner, a short man with thin hair and bright eyes, had barely unlocked the door when Priscilla and Colonel Ka-markla entered.
Priscilla took a deep breath. “I love old things! Good, quality, enduring old things. Good morning, Mister Ta-sorel!”
Lisa, in civilian clothes, began to browse while also checking to see if anyone else was in the shop.
“Good morning!” the owner called. “I had a hunch I’d be seeing you today, Priscilla. That tape compilation you ordered is done, and I have two new things you might like.”
She grinned. “Let me listen, please, please, please!”
He handed headphones over the counter and carefully placed the needle on a rotating vinyl disc.
Half a dozen bars into the song, the girl was moving her feet, then her arms, and finally her whole body, limited only by the headphone cord and the narrow aisle. She flashed him a thumbs-up before she was halfway through the song.
“They
really know how to use full orchestra to make good dance music overseas!” she declared as she set the headphones down. “Why can’t our country do that?”
He
shrugged.
“Can you get it on tape?”
“I knew you’d like it, so I went ahead,” he replied, setting the thin box on the counter. “I think you’ll like this one, but I’m not sure . . .” He placed the needle on another record.
Priscilla took up the headphones, and was soon swaying to the erotic drums and wind instruments.
“Almost . . . primitive. It’s a new genre for me, but I like it. Tape?”
“No, sorry, and considering where it’s from, I doubt that’ll ever be available.”
“Okay, make me one, use all your noise-reduction tricks, you know.”
The bright-eyed little man nodded and began to ring up Priscilla’s
NEBADOR Book Nine: A Cry for Help 126
purchases.
Three well-known ballet teachers, all with trophies in glass cases from their performing days, watched intently as Priscilla danced to a piece of music they would not have chosen.
The twelve-year-old wore only tights, leotard, and leather dance slippers, allowing her critiquers to see the slightest mistake or weakness.
Colonel Ka-markla sat off to one side, feeling quite amazed that such a talented young dancer was willing to continue working for the Department of Defense when doing so put such strict limitations on her public accomplishments.
The song ended, Priscilla bowed to her judges, then seated herself on the floor in front of them.
“Nice,” one began, “but every so often I see a hint of sloppiness where you could have perfect precision if you studied in a regular ballet program. Your port de bras breaks the rules constantly, your turnout is irregular, and your fourth and fifth foot positions are weak. I’ll admit, it’s nothing the audience is going to notice, only your teachers and advanced fellow performers.”
Priscilla nodded. “I’m aware of some points when I want to tighten up my fourth and fifth, but my port de bras will probably always be . . . unusual.”
“Your
relevés are lower than they could be,” the second teacher began,
“and your frappés and dégagés could be much crisper, but I have to say that your over-all interpretation of the music is . . . amazing.”
“Thank you. Frappés have always given me trouble.”
“You could work out all those little issues,” the third teacher declared, “and a few more that I see, if you would just accept our invitation to join the Metropolitan Ballet Company. I know that going professional can be a scary step, but you really are ready for it. You would immediately be in the middle ranks, working directly under world-class dancers.”
“But you know I think most of the music you play is . . . boring.”
The second teacher sighed. “Most great dancers humble themselves for the honor and fame, then discover that the music grows on them when they dance to it every day.”
Priscilla smiled, then continued to listen as they critiqued her dancing for
NEBADOR Book Nine: A Cry for Help 127
the next quarter hour. Finally she handed each teacher the agreed-upon amount of money and slipped into the dressing room to change.
“Do you get your money’s worth from those critiques?” Colonel Ka-markla asked as they sipped drinks and waited for their sandwiches to be made.
Priscilla shrugged. “Sometimes. I really do try for better fourth and fifth foot positions, but they’re almost not . . . humanly possible.”
Lisa chuckled. “You should have seen their faces when you told them their music was boring.”
“They’ve heard it from me before. Mostly what I get from those critiques is reminders, every time, that dancing might be something I love to do, and I guess I’m pretty good at it, but it’s not my real purpose. It’s not what I am.”
“Are you sure?”
Priscilla’s sandwich was placed before her, so she took a bite while she thought about the question.
“Yeah. I try it on, so to speak, every time, for a few minutes, an hour, maybe a day. I roll it around in my head, imagine living and working in a world-class company. That might be ten steps up for a little girl dreaming of being a ballerina. I was once that little girl, five, six years old. For me, now, it would be ten steps down.”
Lisa finished chewing a bite. “I see what you mean. It would be hard to top what you do three times a week. And the Department appreciates your continued commitment to your work. We have many independent contractors who make much more than you, and are worth much less.”
Priscilla laughed and took another bite.
When they arrived for the afternoon session at the skating rink, Priscilla immediately spotted the tall boy waiting for her in their usual spot. They wrapped arms around each other and shared a deep kiss before she turned her attention to putting on skates.
The large woman from the orphanage struggled into the seat beside Colonel Ka-markla in the snack bar. “If they made these any smaller, I’d have to use two.”
Lisa smiled. “I think they designed everything for the kids.”
NEBADOR Book Nine: A Cry for Help 128
“You fit in them okay. How do you stay so trim?”
“Join the military. You’ll find out,” the colonel said with a friendly smile.
The woman laughed. “I don’t think they’d take me.”
Lisa held her tongue.
“Do you think this relationship is good for them?” the woman asked, gesturing toward the skating floor where Priscilla and the boy were skating together slowly, holding hands.
The colonel didn’t immediately answer, remembering the three or four other times they had had this exact same conversation. “For Priscilla, it’s very important. Her therapist practically ordered it.”
“Oh, yes. That’s pretty unusual, isn’t it?”
“Not for someone who does the kind of work Priscilla does.”
“Which you can’t tell me about.”
The colonel smiled slightly. “How are you feeling about its effect on Brian?”
“Have to admit, all his bad habits seem to be gone, almost like they were never there. He hasn’t had an incident since you sat down in my office two years ago, I called him in, and you showed him pictures of Priscilla . . .”
The young couple huddled close at a little table in the dark restaurant dining room. A candle flickered in its holder between them. Sparkling cider bubbled in stemware.
“Your body guard’s giving us more space tonight,” Brian observed.
Priscilla glanced, and could barely see Lisa at a table in the lounge.
“Remember, it’s not you she’s protecting me from.”
“I know, but it’s nice that she’s farther away.”
Priscilla smiled, leaned forward, and they kissed until the candle started burning their chins. They both chuckled and leaned back.
“Partly it’s because I just passed all my tests,” she explained, “and I’m packing now, too.”
His eyes opened wide. “Your own piece?”
Priscilla opened a side compartment of her shoulder purse and handed the purse to him. “Look, but do not touch.”
“It’s a cannon!”
NEBADOR Book Nine: A Cry for Help 129
“It’s only a thirty-eight,” she said, taking her purse back. “I’ve fired a forty-five. That’s a cannon!”
Warm bread and garlic butter arrived. Brian spread, then handed her the first slice. “How did you get a concealed-carry permit at twelve?”
“The military can make just about anything happen. When I asked to take the classes and tests, they smiled and said okay. When I got better scores than most of their security people, they started thinking and talking, and realized it would make their jobs easier. Of course, they had to emancipate me — minors can’t get carry permits — but that was easy considering my educational level and income.”
Brian chuckled. “I get the feeling you could do anything you set your mind to.”
“I
hear
you’re getting some pretty good grades, too!” she declared with gleaming eyes.
He squirmed. “Yeah, well, every time I’m tempted to get into trouble, I think of you, and I know I’d lose you if I screwed up . . .”
She nodded. “It wouldn’t be my choice, it would be the orphanage.”
“I know. And I just don’t want to lose the only good thing I’ve ever had, so I have lots of time for homework.”
Baked salmon with asparagus tips appeared in front of Priscilla, and a sirloin steak with baked potato in front of Brian.
“Anyone . . . interested in adopting you?” she asked between bites.
He laughed, not quite between bites. “You asked me that last year. People don’t adopt thirteen-year-old boys with criminal records, and they don’t adopt fourteen-year-old boys with criminal records.”
Priscilla smiled. “Just checking. From my point of view, being completely selfish, if anyone did get interested, I’d have to do something to ruin it.”
He grinned and shook his head. “I don’t think it’ll be a problem.”
“How long do I get to keep you tonight?” she asked.
“The usual — in by ten.”
“I really look forward to the day I can keep you all night.”
He looked into her dreamy eyes for a long moment. “Me too.”