THE STARLITE BALLROOM
Paul Andrews
Copyright 2014 Paul Andrews
All Rights Reserved
The characters and events portrayed in this story are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
License Notes
This book remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be reproduced or redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes without the express permission of the author.
Click below to visit the Author’s website at: www.paulwandrews.wordpress.com
CONTENTS
The Starlite Ballroom
About the Author
Other Books by this Author
It don’t mean a thing if it ain’t got that Swing
– Duke Ellington
The walk across the meadow was unnervingly quiet. Emma could hear the wind rustling the tall blades of grass at her ankles. From the nearby pines came the anxious chirping of evening crickets. She wished a car would drive by to break the silence, but she was completely alone. Ahead of her, in the darkening dusk, lay the old Starlite Ballroom. The large structure loomed on the horizon, like some distant mountain. Back in the 40’s, the field would have been jammed with cars, old Packards, Hudsons and De Sotos. The Ballroom would have been booming with the driving sounds of the Big Band Era. Emma remembered it all so well. The energy inside was palpable. Just when one dance had tuckered you out, another tune would start and you’d head back for more. Today however, it stood lonely and deserted, its heart long since silenced. Looking at it saddened her beyond words. Not just for its past life, but for her own.
As she drew closer, fear began to gnaw at Emma’s stomach. She pulled her sweater tighter around her shoulders. Maybe she should have called the police instead. What if someone dangerous was inside? She could still turn back, return to the same old home she’d lived in for decades. But no, nothing bad had ever come from the Ballroom. And it wouldn’t allow anything bad to happen tonight. For something in that old place was drawing her towards it. She felt tugged along, like a compass pointing north. She knew that made her sound like a crazy old lady. And while she was surely old, she did not consider herself crazy … at least not yet. So instead of calling the cops, she grabbed a sweater and headed out across the meadow.
She shouldn’t have listened to Millie’s advice. They’d been sipping Chamomile tea in Emma's kitchen less than an hour ago. Her old friend had been coaxing her out of the blues when all of this started. Millie insisted it was only a case of empty nest syndrome. All of Emma's children were long since out of college and married, some living clear across the country. These days she saw her grandchildren only on holidays. She’d missed out on many of so many birthdays and graduations she’d lost count. Both Emma and her husband were long since retired and had settled into a routine (some would say dull) lifestyle. But Emma knew it was more than that.
"I know what you’re thinking," she had protested. "I am not ... depressed."
"I didn’t say that," Millie responded. "But now that you mentioned the D word, I’ve seen people on bran diets happier than you are."
Emma flashed a quick smile. Her friend could always make her laugh, no matter what the problem. Thank God she had Millie for times like these. They’d been the closest of friends since childhood, sharing thoughts and secrets for over seventy years. No one knew Emma quite as well, not even her own husband.
Emma's frown resumed though. It accentuated the wrinkles around her mouth and eyes. Her once golden hair, long since faded to silver, was pulled back into a simple bun. A plain beige dress sat snugly on shoulders and hips. Not much of her youthful figure remained. It had expanded just about everywhere from having three children and the now the idle life of a retiree. She had been a real looker once, catching the eyes of all the GIs back from the war. She missed that vibrant time in her life, now more than ever - the bottomless energy, the youthful gusto. This evening, she felt every one of her seventy-eight years.
"You've got to get outa this house," Millie had said to her. "Look at me, I sure as heck don't stay at home and take care of my Fred all day long. My God, that would depress a circus clown. You should get out, get involved in charities, go on senior trips.”
Emma shook her head. “James doesn’t care for those tours. He’d rather stay at home.”
“Then go with me instead. Hell, we’ll hit the casinos and give them one armed bandits a run for their money.”
“You know I’m not much of a gambler.” Truth was she’d taken few risks in her life, always choosing the safe and trodden path. That of course meant little excitement as well.
“What about the ‘Save the Starlite’ Project you started?"
Emma waved a hand in disgust. "That old thing. I should have never gotten involved in the first place."
“What’re you talking about, if it weren’t for you that place would be a strip mall. You can’t stop now. What about the restoration?”
Last year, she managed to convince the town council to save the old Ballroom from the wrecking ball. Of course, that was before the last of her grandchildren moved states away. Now it was just a dilapidated building filled with prehistoric memories.
Emma turned and looked out her kitchen window. The Starlite Ballroom sat about mile away, across a long open meadow.
"Remember when the big bands use to play there?"
"Are you kidding me? Glenn Miller, Benny Goodman."
Emma nodded. "Woody Herman, Harry James. God those were the happiest years of my life."
"Mine too. It was before I married Fred."
Emma laughed. One night in particular was forever burnt in her memory. “Remember the night Kay Kyser played the Ballroom?” More than any other, Emma felt that single evening was the turning point for her entire life. She was presented with a fork in the road and the direction she choose had troubled her ever since.
“Oh no, don’t you go dredging up that again.”
“Why not? It was the night Jonathan Pierce asked me to run away with him to New York.” She tried to imagine how different her life would’ve been if she'd married him instead of James. He was the closest thing to a real gentleman the town ever had, dashingly handsome, dazzlingly wealthy. “But no, I chose plain, safe James and stayed in town for the next sixty years.”
"I can't believe you're talking like this. What about the family you raised? What about your grandkids?"
"Maybe I'm finally admitting to myself the mistake I made. I let Elaine Warner steal away the man of my dreams."
Millie snorted. "Elaine Warner was a snotty little bitch that got everything she ever asked for. And Jonathan Pierce was nothing but a spoiled rich kid. If you ask me they deserved each other. Besides, you know what happened next. They had two kids and divorced five years later. He cheated on her, so she cheated on him. I’d hardly call that a match made in heaven."
“He never really loved her so what do you expect?”
Millie threw her hands in the air. “I can’t reason with you when you’re like this.” She stood up from the table. “Call me when you snap out of it.”
After Millie left, Emma had wandered the house aimlessly. A cluster of family pictures on the mantel only deepened her mood. She loved her children and grandchildren dearly, but that did not shake off her nagging qualm. Emma drifted back to her kitchen windows. The sun had already set, leaving the Ballroom in deepening shadows. It sat out there like a huge road sign to the past. Oh what if? she wondered, what if?
It was at that moment a light flickered on inside the Ballroom. A faint glow emerged from the long row of windows.
Now who
could be in that old place at this time of night? She didn't think the electricity was even connected anymore. The hall hadn't been used for anything but storage in years. The current owner used it for a flea market for a spell, they gave up on it. It was probably some teenagers playing around inside. She did sort of feel responsible for the old place, especially after calling for its restoration. If it was kids, she should go and chase them out before they caused any damage. The last thing she needed was beers cans and shattered windows to clean up.
Now with every step, the old Ballroom grew larger and larger. Her skimpy flashlight barely lit her path, let alone the hulking building. She tried to take her eyes off the shadowy, old structure, but couldn't seem to. Something in that faint light was drawing her toward it, like a moth to a flame. She swallowed her fear and strode forward as fast as her old legs could carry her. After all, who was going to mess with a seventy-eight year old senior? She’d shoo out the teenagers and be home in time for her favorite show.
In a few minutes, she reached the Ballroom doors. Here it was at last – screens busted, windows dirty, paint peeling. The old relic made her smile though. She reached out and touched the side lovingly. She was glad she’d saved the old place. It was like the faded photo of an old friend you kept tucked away in a scrap book. Sometimes memories alone were enough reason