Dance of the Bolero

The seductive melody of the Bolero held her captive. She turned up the volume, needing to free herself in the music. She sat in her chair facing the window. The ocean waves lulled her into daydreaming. She longed to run outside and feel the grainy sand between her toes.

The mesmerizing strains played on. It was her ten minutes of sanctuary.

She did this once every day—walked into the den and turned up the Bolero on her iPod, music which commanded attention, her attention. She could listen all day, but that was not possible. He wouldn’t allow it.

“Music is a waste of time,” he always told her. What does he know, she thought, since he’s always stuck in the office? Then she looked up at the camera in the corner of the room and quickly turned away. He was always watching. She couldn’t get away from him even when he wasn’t at home.

The music reached the crescendo now, all the instruments coming together for a fantastic ending that satisfied her soul. She knew every note by heart. She should since she listened to this piece each day. The cymbals clanged. A big bang. Then nothing.

***

His harsh voice cut into the Eine Kleine Nachtmusick, an allegro by Mozart.

“Emily…”

She turned down the volume on her iPod, defiantly keeping Mozart playing. She didn’t acknowledge him. Instead, she simply closed her eyes and swayed to the music, waiting for his anger that was sure to come. She boldly kept the music playing, living in her own sanctuary.

“Just what do you think you’re doing?” His harsh words cut through her haven. Then silence. He ripped the earbuds from her ears and snatched the iPod from her hands. Chills shook her body. She waited for his angry voice to slice through the room again.

Fear took root. She heard Beethoven’s symphony number 5 playing in her head as she tried to remain in her sanctuary. He can’t turn that music off, she thought as a small triumphant smile curled the edges of her lips.

“This is my house, Emily.” His neatly manicured finger pointed in her direction. “You will do as I say. That means no more music. Nothing!” He took off his designer suit jacket and gently placed it on the sofa. He took care with things that were important to him like his precious clothes, but not me. She rubbed her arm where a yellow bruise still showed on her skin from his last attempt at getting her to listen to him. He waved his hand in her direction. “This nonsense with the music has made you late with my supper, as usual. You know I expect better from you.”

Emily trembled in fear and anger as she held back a biting reply. She knew retaliating would only make things worse for her.

“Go. Now!” His command rattled her, but she ran off dutifully to the kitchen. Emily heard him running the water in the hall bathroom. She kept reminding herself not to cry. She would not give him the satisfaction of knowing that his words and actions were slowly squeezing the life from her very body and soul.

As she grabbed the stainless steel frying pan, she saw her iPod and earbuds on the marble countertop where he’d put them after grabbing them when he’d first come home. She ached to pick them up and go back to her safe place but heard the toilet flush and knew he’d be back in the room soon.

Desperation overwhelmed her. She knew he’d never leave. She was stuck here with him. Unless…

“Emily,” again his grating voice cut into her thoughts. Couldn’t she ever have a moment alone when he wasn’t berating her, beating her, breathing down her neck, or watching her from cameras all over the house. “Be ready tomorrow night at seven. We’ve been invited to the Whitfield’s party.”

Emily turned sharply in his direction. “But, I’m not…how long did you know about the party? You’re just telling me now.”

He grabbed her wrist and twisted it behind her and pulled her towards him. “You’ll be ready.”

“Richard,” she whimpered, “you’re hurting me.” He tightened his grip, not letting her go free.

“Just be ready. Don’t keep me waiting.” He loosened his tie as he walked into the living room and turned on the large 65-inch TV mounted above the ornate fireplace.

Tears came and she didn’t try to hide it this time. She tried to muster the strength to stop crying so he wouldn’t come back in the room, but she failed miserably. I can’t take this any longer.

***

Sleep evaded her. She kept tossing and turning. Richard haunted her dreams, but only a version that was one hundred times worse than he already was—if that was even possible. The wind howled outside, creating an eerie sound in her bedroom. A storm was brewing.

She sat up in bed, terrified. The breeze blowing in from the window chilled her, so she walked over to close it. Glancing outside, she felt compelled to open the balcony doors and stepped out.

Her eyes focused on the tumultuous ocean. The waves were restless tonight, just like her anxious heart. White foam washed up onto the sand, depositing seashells on the shore. Emily wrapped her white robe tighter around her shoulders, trying to block out the cool air. Then she saw them, running on the beach in the moonlight.

“Moonlight lovers,” she whispered to the night air. The man chased the woman. She playfully ran away, but he caught up to her. Emily noticed the woman showed no fear as she fell into her lover’s embrace. If only… Emily sighed and turned around, resignedly going back to bed—hoping to fall back to sleep.

She gasped. Richard appeared like a ghost as she walked into the bedroom. The moonlight shone on his face, a dark illumination that sent chills up and down her spine.

He reached for her and she quickly stepped back. “Come here.”

“No, Richard. Not tonight.”

“Emily.” He spoke her name with a forceful tone that carried a hidden message. If she didn’t obey, there’d be consequences.

She rubbed her forehead. “I have a headache. I don’t feel well.”

“Come on, baby. I want you tonight.”

This time Emily didn’t care that he might see the tears sliding down her cheeks. She moved away again. “No, Richard. I really do have a headache. Please.”

“That’s an old excuse, Emily.” His tone turned icy. “One you use too often, but I won’t buy it tonight.”

Her heart started racing and fear took over. “No, get away from me.”

Richard quickly closed the gap between them. A menacing look in his eye frightened her to the core. “You’re my wife.” Emily thought about fighting him, but that would be no use. Ten years of marriage to this controlling man had taught her that fighting back only hurt her more. What Richard wants Richard gets—even if he runs you over in the process.

Emily lay limp on the large king size bed that seemed to swallow her whole. She closed her eyes tightly as Richard took off his robe and then got into bed with her. In the beginning of their marriage, he used to caress her and love her more gently. Now, he treated her roughly and only used her for his selfish desires.

The entire time he had his way with her, Emily cried. She kept hearing his words you’re my wife repeatedly in her mind. He had said those words with a cold tone as if he had the right to do whatever he wanted with her. Her spirit felt broken. All she wanted to do was run on the beach and fall excitedly into her soulmate’s arms. But, she had no soulmate. He was her prison guard.

***

The ornate grandfather clock chimed seven times, waking Emily from her dozing position on the sofa. She walked into the den and turned on the Bolero. She needed her sanctuary of music that always carried her away from her prison of physical and emotional abuse—and the daily pressures of getting her to do list done before Richard came home to complain and turn on her for even the smallest action.

Inside her heart, rebellion brewed every time she tried to conquer the daily chores. Emily was not a lazy person and she had no problem keeping the house clean and doing what needed to be done. However, dealing with Richard’s unrealistic expectations and the constant fear of retaliation if she didn’t meet his daily tasks had taken its toll on her.

All she ever wanted from Richard was kindness and respect. All she received was brutality and disrespect. She knew her husband could never love her the way she’d hoped, not after the way he’d loved and adored his first wife. She died. Something inside him broke that day. At least that’s what Emily assumed. Richard never shared his raw emotional pain with her. She only received his anger and hatred.

Emily felt like a glorified maid. Maybe if I didn’t fight him, he’d be kinder. Just as quickly as that thought entered her mind, she realized that not fighting back would mean losing herself. His actions had been slowly chipping away at her dignity and soul.

The Bolero ended. Just like that. She’d missed the crescendo, her favorite part.

The doorbell rang, startling her out of her reverie. She stood there transfixed, not wanting to deal with any visitors right then. The person rang the bell again. She opened the door.

“Mrs. Alexander?”

She nodded. Two men stood at her front door, holding badges. “L.A.P.D. May we come in?” Anxiety welled up in the pit of her stomach. She opened the door to let them in. “Nice place. Do you mind if we ask you a few questions?”

Finding her voice, she said. “No, go ahead.” Emily started to sit down. “Oh, excuse me. Please have a seat.” She motioned to the two chairs across from the sofa.

“Are you nervous, Mrs. Alexander?”

“Nervous? No, I’ve just had a lot on my mind today. Would you care for something to drink?”

The man who had been silent, answered for both. “No, we’re fine.”

“When was the last time you saw your husband, Mrs. Alexander?”

Emily bristled under his direct gaze. She wondered at his abrupt tone and attitude. “Please call me, Emily. I prefer things to be informal.”

“Okay, Emily. Can you answer my question?”

She shifted in her seat. “I, uh guess that would have to be last night. I didn’t see him when I woke up this morning. I must have been sleeping soundly when his alarm went off and he got ready for work.”

“I see,” he said.

The other detective leaned forward. “Mrs. Alexander, we have reason to believe your husband may be involved in drug trafficking.”

“Richard?” Emily couldn’t believe that. Abuser, yes, but selling drugs? That didn’t seem like Richard’s style.

The Bolero began playing again in her mind, helping her calm down under their intense scrutiny. “Mrs. Alexander, are you feeling well? You look pale.”

Emily shook her head and walked to the window. “I can’t believe this…” she kept mumbling. She heard them shifting on the sofa. The silence became deafening.

A sigh escaped from her lips. She turned around. “What’s going to happen now?”

“We don’t know where he is. We think he fled the country.”

“Do you think you’ll find him?”

“We hope we do.”

“Then what?”

“He’ll go to court, hopefully be found guilty, and then go to prison.”

The word prison played over and over in her head. The tables were turning. Emily turned to face the window again. It was dark outside already.

“Thank you for your time, Emily. We’ll see ourselves out.”

***

Emily stood watching the detectives walk down the driveway to their car. When they drove out of sight, she let the curtain fall back against the window and walked into the kitchen. Grabbing her iPod, she put her earbuds on and scrolled through her playlist looking for her song.

She opened the French doors that led outside to the patio then walked down the wooden stairs to the beach in the back of their home. The poignant sounds of the Bolero seeped deep into her soul.

Emily kicked off her green kitten heels. She shrugged off her jade green jacket and threw it on the sand. Their house was on a private beach so she knew no one would see her, unless her neighbors on either side happened to be outside on their decks. She struggled to unhook the emerald satin dinner party dress that she’d dutiful put on an hour ago—as she’d waited for her husband to get home so they could go to the Whitfield’s party. Relief washed over her body as her dress fell to her feet on the sand. She stripped down to her undergarments.

The Bolero played on and she danced in her satin and lace bra and panties, on the sand. The crescendo came. The music ended. Throwing her iPod and earbuds onto her dress, she laughed in sweet abandon, feeling free for the first time in a long while.

Screaming, she ran toward the ocean waves and rushed in. Immersing herself in the cool water, thoughts of staying under the water until life ran out, no longer plagued her mind. Freedom. Stroke after stroke, she swam and then floated on her back, staring up into the night sky. Then she swam some more until her limbs tired. Then, panting, she stood up and slowly made her way back to the shoreline.

Rolling in the sand, she smiled contently. If only Richard could see her now. He’d surely reprimand her with an acrimonious tone. Tomorrow was a new day. A new beginning. She was free to enjoy the dance of the Bolero, uninhibited and able to sway as she wanted to the seductive melody. Freedom began for her in this moment.