looking at him; Danny felt his collar tighten, but the big man winked and nodded, and the couple started doing steps Danny could follow with relative ease.
By the second chorus, Danny and Ginevra were actually moving as a unit, off each other's toes. Danny hadn't done this since well, he'd done this, but he had never enjoyed it before.
The piano crashed, the sax cried, and the music stopped. Everybody applauded, even the waiters. Ginevra tugged Danny's arm; he turned and saw Patrise in the doorway, clapping furiously.
'Delighted you could both make it,' he said. 'And that you kept each other busy. Come up here, let's get to dinner.'
Danny looked at Ginevra; she looked slightly away from him. Had Patrise told her to be his date for tonight? There were four couples plus one at the table: the two of them; McCain and an older woman, certainly over thirty, in black and pearls, introduced as Chloe Vadis; Cloudhunter and Carmen Mirage; and the two expert dancers, whose names were-that is, who were called Matt Black and Gloss White. Patrise sat alone at the head of the table.
Other people took the cue, drifting up to the tables and the bar. Fountain had gone back to a slow swing tune. Two couples were still dancing, half melted into each other.
Danny ordered a rare steak. McCain had his well done, with a lobster tail on the side. Ginevra had chicken salad, Gloss a dinner-sized Caesar, Matt a rack of barbecued ribs. Chloe Vadis was brought some kind of multicolored pasta dish. Carmen just had a little fruit cup, and Cloudhunter didn't eat at all. Patrise had a half duck glazed orange he caned like a surgeon.
There were occasional bursts of conversation as they ate; people came by to say hello, to admire Matt and Gloss's dancing, to mutter into Chloe's ear. Patrise had a compliment for every compliment, a quick answer for every question. He gave things a center. Danny still felt one part in three dreaming. He looked at Ginevra. Ginny. He wondered how she felt.
Carmen stood up. So did Cloudhunter. 'Well,' she said, 'here goes nothing.'
Patrise said, 'Knock 'em dead, primoroso?
Cloudhunter took Carmen's hand and kissed it. She shut her eyes for a moment, then went around the curve toward the Stage, disappeared through a curtain. Cloudhunter bowed and followed.
As the plates were cleared away, the room lights went down. Candles flared to life on the tables-like magic Danny thought, and then let go the 'like.' The music stopped, and the last dancers left the floor.
A soft-edged spotlight showed Cloudhunter on the bandstand. He was wearing a blue velvet tailcoat and white tie, boots with silver trimmings. 'Ladies and gentlemen,' he said, sounding like the rise of a summer storm, 'Miss Carmen Mirage.'
He stepped back. She came out, bowed at the light applause, and began singing, a slow, torchy tune.
Tell me what my true love loves
'Cause I want to fit him
Like my hands in gloves
Will he get in motion
For a carol of devotion
Or a cooing like a soft gray doves
You know I can '/ take the waiting
Or the silence or the doubt
So will you tell me what my loves about
Carmen had a nice voice. She seemed to be pushing hard, as if she really wanted the crowd to break down and cry for her.
Tell me what my true love needs
Should I dress in satins
Or in old gray weeds
Would it suit his style
To be Emperor of my Nile
On a barge among the whispering reeds
Even Moses wouldn '/ travel
Without spying out the land
So will you tell me where my loves heart stands
Everybody applauded. Someone whistled. Carmen took a bow, went off, came back for another bow. Another spot came on, moved around the room, stopping on Matt and Gloss. More applause.
'Would you mind?' Patrise said.
'Should have had one less rib,' Danny heard Matt say, but they stood up to applause. Matt took off his jacket (there wasn't a speck of barbecue sauce on it) and they went out on the floor. Gloss White whispered to Alvah. He nodded, cracked his knuckles with a flourish, and barrel-rolled into 'Saturday Night's Alright for Fighting.'
Matt and Gloss danced: they moved like fury, they lit things up. When he spun her round, cometary light followed them. By the chorus, the crowd was up, shouting 'Saturday! Saturday, Saturday!' and hell, it was Thursday. Finally they pressed back-to-back for a tap routine that seemed to take place in air. And there was a cheer. The dancers took their bow, scrambled out through the door Pavel was holding open.
'Coffee, I think,' Patrise said. When it was poured, he held up his delicate china cup and said, 'Once upon a time, when you had to go to the Shadow country for a drink of anything worth going out somewhere to drink, they served it in teacups. Now the World drips whiskey, and we slip the coffee over the line.'
Danny said, 'Was there a Levee-' He stopped, afraid he'd said something out of turn.
But Patrise smiled. 'The first Chicago Levee existed at the end of the nineteenth century. But the Shadow regions have always been, and always will be. It's… other places that come and go.'
Carmen reappeared. 'How did I do?'
'You did,' Patrise said, 'And you do, and you are.' She leaned down to kiss him.
Matt and Gloss came back, in fresh outfits, still all white, all black: Matt in a loose cotton suit over a crewnecked shirt, Gloss in a shiny ebony skintight, with thin satin straps that crossed and wound to her throat, and an oval of elf-white midriff showing behind a gauze panel.
'I must speak to Boris,' Patrise said, as if to himself. Then the spotlight was on the stage again, on Cloudhunter.
'Ladies and gentlemen,' he said, and now his voice was a faint breeze on a still pond, 'friends of all lands and all origins. La Mirada is pleased to present… Phasia, the Voice.'
Cloudhunter stepped back, out of sight There was absolute silence. Danny felt his heart hammering in anticipation of god knew what. The curtains opened. A woman in a plain white bare-shouldered gown stood in a column of light. She was pale, but not an elf; dark brown hair fell in curls around her bare throat, and her eyes were piercingly blue in the downlight
It was the woman he had seen last night… Danny thought. The face was the same, he was sure, but she did not have the extreme, unreal, frightening beauty he had seen then. Maybe he had been dreaming.
She raised her arms, curling long thin fingers with bright red nails, and began to sing.
No, this had to be the dream.
There was a singer Danny's mother had liked, a woman with a multiple-octave range who could use it all as an instrument, making silly pop lyrics sound profound, meaningless be-bop-a-lula syllables meaningful.
There weren't even distinct syllables now, just a continuous flow of sound. Danny could faintly recognize the tunes: they were, had been, 'Orange Blossom Special' and 'Walk On By' and 'Can't Help Lovin',' but that didn't matter either; with the voice, the Voice-it was silly to call it pure music, like saying rain was pure water and the sun was pure light, so a rainbow was-there it just was, and Danny thought how much better it would be to be blind than deaf. It was hard to move one's look away from Fay, but Danny saw Alvah Fountain sitting straight up on the piano bench, his hands folded, his fingers knotted tight enough to snap right off. He wasn't playing a note, so where was the music coming from?
She wound down to the last note of a song that was 'My Funny Valentine' when it had words, and they all woke up, back where they had been, wondering what they had done in their sleep. Phasia took a sweeping bow, and the curtains closed on her. Danny wondered why there was so little applause-why the walls weren't cracking with it-and when he tried to clap, found that his hand wouldn't move, and hurt. In a moment he realized it was because Ginny was squeezing it in both of hers. She was crying.
