Death by Polka

Chapter 9

9The music grew louder as Eddie and I drew closer to Polka Central. Just as we topped the four cement steps leading to the front doors, the crowd inside the hall let out a great whoop all at once.

As we stepped in out of the sun, the volume of the music suddenly dropped, and a woman’s voice cut in over the P.A. system. “Ladies and gents, look who just strolled in!” It was none other than Polish Peg. “Let’s give a big Kocham Taniec welcome to my brand new partner, Lottie Kachowski! Daughter of the one and only Polish Lou!”

Everybody whooped and spun to face me. A new song started playing, which I couldn’t identify at first. But then, I figured it out.

It was a mid-tempo polka version of “Hello, Dolly.”

People sang along as they passed, changing the lyrics to “Hello, Lottie.” Most of them waved white handkerchiefs at me in a kind of salute.

Even as I smiled and waved back at them, I elbowed Eddie in the ribs. “Polka still sucks, Eddie. Big time.”

“Let’s get off on the right foot, Lot.” Eddie was waving, too. “You know what would really win everyone over? If you and I danced our way across Polka Central.”

“Try it and I’ll stomp you blind,” I said without dropping my smile.

So the two of us just stood there, smiling and waving, as the polka people danced past, flapping their hankies. Most of them looked to be in their sixties, at least; the age range wasn’t as broad as it had been at Dad’s wake. These were the true believers, the core audience--silver-haired men in gold chains and golf clothes, white-haired women in pantsuits and sneakers. These were the fans who turned out at six in the morning on a Sunday to dance around a scuffed old gymnasium in a dilapidated former church activities hall.

All because they loved to polka. They loved dancing the same circling three-step again and again, singing along with the same goofy lyrics, being part of a show that would never be seen, only heard on the radio.

I didn’t get it. It didn’t seem possible that I ever had.

And it didn’t seem possible I could stand to be part of it again, not even for three lousy weeks.

Polish Peg, on the other hand, was totally in her element. As the dancers swirled past, she glided between them with microphone in hand, at ease and in charge.

“Well, hello Lottie!” Peg spoke into the microphone when she said it. “Welcome back to Kocham Taniec! You remember what the title means in Polish, don’t you?”

How could I forget? “’I love dancing.’” How many times had I heard Dad say it at the start of the show or at a Polish Fly performance?

“That’s right, Lottie!” Peg turned and pumped a fist in the air, calling out to the crowd of dancers. “And we sure do love dancing, don’t we, gang?”

The crowd waved hankies and roared in approval.

When Peg turned back to me, she had a more somber expression on her face. “Now, this is our first show in forty-five years without the great Polish Lou. So this is a landmark for us. How do you feel about that, Lottie?” Peg pushed the microphone toward me.

How do you feel about broadcasting a dance program the day after you buried the man who was supposedly the love of your life? That was what I wanted to say to her. Though, to be fair, she was wearing a black t-shirt with the Polish Fly logo on the back (a cartoon housefly playing an accordion shaped like a pierogi), so maybe she was still in mourning after all.

But I didn’t say any of that. “I feel sad that he’s gone.” That was what I told her. “He was a great man.”

“Amen to that.” Peg nodded and stepped forward, pushing between Eddie and me. She put an arm around my shoulders and sighed. “But you and I will honor the Polka Prince’s last wish, won’t we? We’ll keep the fire burning for Kocham Taniec and Polish Fly and Polkapourri. And we’ll do it together, just like he wanted, won’t we?”

Suddenly, the dancers stopped triple-stepping and stared in our direction. It was then I realized Peg had backed me into the proverbial corner. She was trying to get me to sign on with Polish Lou Enterprises then and there, in front of dozens of witnesses in Polka Central and thousands of listeners over the airwaves.

I glared at her. My hands curled into fists; punching her would feel so very, very good. So what if there were witnesses?

“We’ll work together to honor Lou’s legacy, won’t we?” Peg’s frizzy, clownlike ‘fro bobbed as she nodded. Her giant eyes fixed on me from behind the magnifying lenses of her trademark glasses--red framed with white polka dots.

I didn’t answer. I’d told Eddie I’d go along with my father’s wishes, at least for the week until the payoff. I wanted to use the money to help my family and Luke and myself.

But I didn’t like being pushed, and I didn’t like Peg. I didn’t want anything to do with her. Standing there with a mic shoved in my face, I felt a change of heart coming over me.

As I glared back at Peg the Clown, Eddie’s face tipped into view. His eyes were wide, his eyebrows raised, the corners of his mouth curled up in an expectant smile. As much as I wanted to help him, the added pressure boosted my stubbornness. Since when was I responsible for him?

Then, to make matters worse, the dancers started chanting my name. “Lottie...Lottie...Lottie...” Like that was going to encourage me to stay.

Enough. I took a deep breath and narrowed my eyes. I was ready to get out of there.

But then she said it. “If your Dad was standing here right now, what would you say to him?” She pushed the mic a half-inch closer to my face. “What would you say as he handed us the reins?”

I frowned. I hated her more than ever.

Because the question had gotten to me. What would I say if Polish Lou were standing right there? What would I say if he was the one asking me to my face to do this?

My father, who’d worked so hard to provide for me. Now that he was gone, I’d never have a chance to make things right with him.

Or maybe this was my chance.

I cleared my throat and took a deep breath. I stared the Clown right in the eyes, and then against my better judgment, I said what I said.

“’Thanks, Dad.’ That’s what I’d say. ‘I hope I’ll make you proud of me.’”

Polish Peg beamed. She tipped the mic back toward her. “Hear that, folks?” Her giant eyes held mine a moment more, and then she looked at the crowd. “Lou’s girls are taking the wheel! How do you like those apples?”

The dancers roared and shook their hankies. Some couples started three-stepping, though the music was no longer playing.

“We’re gonna make this the best Polkapourri of all time!” Peg squeezed my shoulders hard, then let go and bolted across the room. Seconds later, a surge of polka music blasted from the speakers, overlaid with Peg’s voice. “Now let’s get this polka party back into high gear, people! Strona twarde!”

The crowd leaped back into action, prancing and spinning with abandon. Two old ladies in matching pink sweatshirts and white pants trotted over and swept Eddie into the excitement, each grabbing one of his arms. As I watched him go, I backed toward the door, hoping to avoid his fate.

A deeply tanned senior citizen in a bright green golf shirt, yellow trousers, and a dozen gold chains ambled toward me, and I waved him off. Another old guy in a red velour sweater and pink and white checked Bermuda shorts with black socks made a move, too, and I just kept backing away. A few others looked my way, but I pretended I didn’t notice.

When I reached the door, I turned my back on the dance floor, which turned out to be a huge mistake. I was almost out, just about to plant my foot on the top step, when someone grabbed my arm and pulled me back.

My captor spun me around, which was when I got a look at her. It figured Polish Peg wouldn’t let me get away that easy.

“Better get used to it, sweetie,” said Peg as she hopped along in a polka three-step. “We’ll be dancing together all the time from now on.”

I considered planting my feet and refusing to budge...but then I figured why not play along? Consider it a peace offering.

So I let Peg guide me in a shuffling one-two-three rhythm, close enough to a polka without putting any bounce in my step. And I kept a fake half-smile on my face so no one would know what a miserable time I was having.

Except Eddie Kubiak Jr. I could see it in his smirk when he spun past on the arm of an old lady in a hot pink jumper. Eddie knew I was having a lousy time, and he was getting a kick out of my discomfort.

Let him laugh, I thought. I’d teach him a lesson later. After all, I was in a position of authority now.

Maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing being one of the bosses of Polish Lou Enterprises after all.