Drummer Loves Dancer: She Has Secrets. He Has Hope.

By Fred Jessett

From the night in July 1954 in Seattle when LAD MacADAM meets beautiful and talented GINGER DEFOREST, a dancer from New York, their lives change forever. As different as Seattle is from New York, neither has any idea how deep their relationship will go nor where it will lead. This extraordinary love story brings an unlikely pair of 20 somethings together as they struggle with grief, trauma, secrets, religion, race, sex, and their hopes for the future. Lad, a drummer in the Puget Sound Scots Pipe Band, still grieves the death of his brother, while beneath Ginger’s sophisticated exterior she hides secrets that will test Lad’s love and faith. Their story begins as if it’s a simple summer romance but soon changes into something deeper as Ginger challenges Lad’s faith. After a stunning encounter with Lad’s sisters, Ginger reveals her first secret. Lad falls deeply in love but Ginger does not. For her love is a game, for Lad it can never be a game. As they struggle with issues of what true love is, why good people suffer, and whether God is real, Ginger reveals her other secrets. "Drummer Loves Dancer" is a love story for grown-ups.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fred Jessett
• Release date: Dec 3, 2019
• ISBN: 9781370079407

Fred Jessett

Fred Jessett lives and writes fiction and creative non-fiction in Washington State. His work has appeared in 17 different publications including the Seattle Times and The Sun. His first book, Remembering Grace, a collection of true short stories, was published in 2006. A retired Episcopal priest and one time US Army officer, he and Kris, his wife of 54 years, have 4 children and 7 grandchildren.

Book preview

Chapter 1

All that remains of the Aqua Theater that once stood on the shore of Seattle’s Green Lake is the aging cement grandstand. I climb its steps on a warm summer evening and sit to watch the runners, skaters and strollers thronging the shoreline trail while kayaks and crew shells skim over the lake like giant water bugs.

As evening darkens, the homes and businesses dotting the low hills around the lake fade to specks of light; stars and moon grow bright in the sky, and the sights and sounds of the city grow dim. I close my eyes and in my mind the flood-lit stage stands once more in the lake alive with dancers. And then she appears, dazzling and elegant, dancing into my life, and into my heart. I’m twenty years old again and it’s the summer of 1954.

* * *

Everyone, take it from the entrance of the dead body. Drummer leads playing a long roll on muffled drum. Reggie, the director, pointed at me, Let’s hear that long roll, Drummer.

Sure thing. I laid down a roll for five seconds on the old rope-tension drum I was using that night.

That’s just right. Reggie turned to the rest of the cast, Piper follows Drummer followed by the men carrying Harry’s body. Drummer and Piper stop at their marks. He gestured at pieces of tape on the stage floor. The rest continue to your places. Dancer moves down stage and Piper plays for her dance.

We were on the stage of the Aqua Theater rehearsing Brigadoon, the musical set in Scotland. Reggie had decided he wanted a drummer as well as a bagpiper for the funeral scene, so there I stood at my first rehearsal.

The piper, Alex MacLean, was my best friend, and his role was playing for a young woman’s solo dance. He’d told me the night before, MacAdam, you have a death wish when it comes to girls, always falling for ones you have zero chance with. So I’m telling you right now, do not get a crush on this dancer I’m playing for. She’s beautiful, sophisticated and cool so she’s way out of our league. She’s from somewhere else— maybe California, or back east. He didn’t know her name, only that the director just called her Dancer.

I thought, Alright, let’s see this super cool dancer Alex has been talking about.

Reggie turned to Alex and me, Piper and Drummer, remember your marks. Places, everyone. He gestured to the music director in the orchestra pit. We’ll take it from the cue.

The orchestra played the cue, and I laid down a long roll as I slow-marched to my spot. Alex and I halted and the men bearing dead Harry passed us. I ended the roll, Alex struck in his pipes, and Dancer stepped forward.

She wore a white blouse and a tight gold-colored bodice laced in front, with a matching apron over a long multi-striped skirt, and a blue tartan sash.

The sight of her flawless figure, large eyes and wavy light brown hair stopped my breath for a moment. She danced with confidence and grace, her face full of grief and love.

Then we took a break and the other dancers clustered around her. A tall guy with curly blond hair jockeyed his way next to her and touched her shoulder.

I hated him—instantly.

When tall and curly walked away, she rolled her eyes and gave the girl beside her a What a jerk look.

She glanced toward me, and without thinking I mouthed and gestured, I saw that. Her eyes lit up in surprise, and she laughed, winked, then turned and went back on stage.

We did the funeral scene again and took another break. I unhooked my drum and set it down. Not wanting to get caught again staring at her, I walked to the edge of the stage and looked at the pool separating the stage from the theater seats.

I heard a voice behind me. Please excuse me but..

I turned, and looked right into a pair of large clear eyes, so light brown they appeared gold. She was standing two feet from me. My heart went flam, flam!

... is that a real Scottish kilt you’re wearing?

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. I tried again and managed, Yeah.

Up close her round face was exquisite: small ears, nose and mouth, unblemished skin, and long curled lashes. The gold bodice emphasized the curves of her breasts.

I was stunned. Dear God, she’s gorgeous and she’s talking to me.

She touched the tartan material hanging from the silver broach on the left shoulder of my red coat. Is this part of your kilt?

Ah... No.

Really? It looks connected.

Everything around me faded and there was nothing but the two of us. I tried to concentrate on her questions. It used to be, but it isn’t now.

She let go of it. Why? Did you cut it off?

Oh, I didn’t do it, it... it happened a long time ago. I mean, kilts used to be... all one piece, but somebody changed them. I’m babbling. Get a grip.

If it’s not part of your kilt, what is it? Her teeth were perfect and brilliant white.

It’s a plaid.

A `played’? Her eyebrows made twin arches. How do you spell that?

Heart pounding like a demented bass drummer beating double quick time I said, It’s spelled p-l-a-i-d, but pronounced `played.’ In Scotland there’s no such word as plaid, you know with that ‘ad’ sound.

Isn’t your kilt plaid?

I hope I’m giving her a cool smile, but I bet I’m grinning like an idiot.

The, um, pattern’s called a tartan.

She said, "Your cap is tres chic. What’s it called?"

I took it off and held it out, hoping she would put it on. It’s a glengarry.

She set it on her head.

The back of my neck started to tingle. I really enjoy watching you dance. You’re very good.

Thank you, kind sir. She smiled, and her dimples totally flustered me.

Holy crap, that smile could drive a guy crazy. Really, I mean it, you’re very graceful, and... and... you have such good posture. Oh, damn, why did I say that? I’m such a fool.

She laughed a musical little laugh. That’s sweet. Do you tell all girls they have good posture? Her smile dimmed, Or do you really mean a sexy body? She handed my glengarry back.

I know it sounded dumb, but I meant posture. I’m so stupid, trying to explain what I said but I’ve got to, the look on her face says so. It’s true, you do stand straighter than most girls. I’m sure it’s ‘cause you’re a dancer.

You’re funny. Her smile was bright again. You have good posture too. I’m sure it’s because you’re a drummer.

She leaned closer and lowered her voice, If I tell the tall fellow walking toward us that you’re taking me out, don’t panic, I have a ride home. I’ve told him ‘No’ but he keeps trying.

Instantly, everything came back into focus: the stage, the set behind us, and the people around us. You mean, the jerk?

She stifled a laugh as tall and curly arrived.

Hey, Ginger, you sweet chick, how about I show you Seattle tonight? Sorry, Earl. Drummer’s taking me out.

Earl frowned, Drummer? Who’s that?

She gestured toward me, Earl, meet Drummer. Drummer this is Earl.

Earl glanced at me, and I held out my hand. He didn’t shake but looked back at Ginger. Him? I don’t believe it.

I smiled, You’ll have to move faster next time, big guy.

Just then Reggie called, Places everyone! Market scene again.

Since I wasn’t in that scene, I hustled offstage, moving to stand behind the high wall that separated the stage from the back stage area.

Alex pulled me aside. You were talking to that dancer. What’s up?

I think I might have a chance to take her home. I told him what had happened.

Alex put a hand on my shoulder. No harm trying, but don’t get your hopes too high.

I stood where I thought she’d make her exit and I was right.

When she saw me, she smiled. Drummer, you were perfect. Thanks for lying for me.

A sudden reckless courage filled me. It won’t be a lie if you really let me take you home. Or out some place. Whatever you’d like.

For a moment she looked me up and down. Then those clear, golden eyes looked straight into mine, holding steady for what seemed like hours. Drummer, what’s your name?

Lad MacAdam.

That fantastic dimpled smile broke over her face. Okay, Lad, the drummer, I’m Ginger DeForest. Meet me after at the north exit. She turned and went back on stage.

Holy cow, she said she’d go out with me. Now what do I do?

Alex came up then. What happened?

I stammered, Sh-she said, `Yes,’ so we’re going out after.

Alex slapped my shoulder. Good work, MacAdam. Hey, ask her if she’ll introduce me to that dark-haired girl with the Royal Stewart tartan sash...

Reggie interrupted us. Piper, the conductor wants to talk with you for a few minutes.

Alex turned away. Okay, see you in a few, Lad.

I walked over to the edge of the platform backstage. What should I do? Probably she said yes because she thought I’m funny. Usually I can make girls laugh, but Ginger was so smooth and cool and beautiful, I just knew I’d screw up some way. She didn’t know I drove a ‘48 Hudson Hornet with a missing rear fender. Still, she said she’d go out with me.

Man, I can’t wait to tell Brian about...

A dark cloud descended, the sensation of unreality, the dread feeling that what I knew to be true was absurd. A voice inside my head screamed, It’s not true, Brian’s not dead. The cloud deepened and I was inside it.

Standing on the edge of the platform backstage, I looked out over the lake. Brian, Junie, Angel and I had walked, run and biked around this lake, and fished and swum here every summer for years. This was our lake.

It can’t be true that he’s dead. It’s not right. I have an older brother and two sisters. That’s how it’s always been, the way it’s supposed to be.

It couldn’t be true that I had a date with this fantastic girl and I’d never talk to Brian about her. How could I possibly be happy? How could life be wonderful and terrible at the same time?

Tears filled my eyes but I didn’t cry. I hadn’t been able to since they had said Brian was dead. Something had gone numb inside me, and the now all too familiar dark cloud had overshadowed my world. Gradually over the eighteen months since Brian’s death, the cloud had lifted little by little, until now it came only occasionally, always unexpectedly.

How long I stood there staring at the lake, I don’t know. Finally, I felt a hand slap my back and heard Alex’s voice.

Hey, MacAdam, rehearsal’s over. Get ready for your big date.

I turned and started walking, not looking at Alex.

Alex tone of voice changed. Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize.

Glancing at him, I tried to smile. I’m ... it’s okay.

In the dressing room, I changed quickly into a blue and white checked shirt, khaki chinos, and loafers. The dark cloud gradually faded into the background as hopes and fears of the evening to come filled my mind.

After putting my uniform in my car’s trunk, I walked to the north exit. Light still lingered in the sky. I wished I knew how to be a Joe Smooth-date. Putting my gray sweatshirt on my back, looping the arms in front, might look cool. But a sweatshirt was stupid on such a warm evening. I had washed the car and vacuumed the inside so it was clean. But what if she sees it and laughs? Or won’t ride in it?

My heart jumped when I saw her.

She had changed into a light blue short-sleeved shirt with the collar turned up, khaki shorts that came to mid-thigh, and blue sneakers. Everything fit her perfectly showing off her slim waist, the curves of her breasts and hips, and her sensational tan legs. Small gold earrings brought out the gold in her eyes. A big blue canvas bag hung from her shoulder.

Hi, Drummer, where’s your car?

Right this way, Dancer. I reached for her bag. Here, let me take that for you.

She slipped it off her shoulder, and as I stepped close, I caught a faint scent of spring flowers. Geez, she even smells beautiful. Excitement mounted inside me as we walked to my car.

Where would you like to go?

I’m hungry. Is there a good place around here to get a hamburger?

I opened the door for her. Yeah, there’s a drive-in just up on Aurora. Sound okay?

Sounds fine. Looking up at me with those big eyes, she slipped into the front seat, sliding her long, tanned legs in last.

The combination aroused me so much I had to half turn away from her to keep from being mortified. I put her bag in the trunk and went to the driver’s side.

She reached across to unlock my door, which wasn’t locked. You don’t lock your car?

Naw, nobody’d want to steal this.

This front seat looks brand new. She ran her hand over the plush gray material, and the back of my neck felt as if she had just put her hand there.

Taking a deep breath I said, It’s always had seat covers ‘til I took’em off last week. Just sitting on the other end of the same seat with her made my hormones riot.

She glanced at the back seat. Well, I think it’s cute. She rolled down her window. I just love how long it stays light here. Seattle must be much farther north than New York.

The engine coughed as I revved it up. Is that where you live, New York?

Yes, in Queens, on Long Island. She moved her head close to mine to check her makeup in the rearview mirror. Have you been there?

No, I’ve never been east of Montana.

She turned to face me. Are you a professional drummer, or a student, or what?

I’m not a professional anything, just a junior at the University of Washington. I drove slowly across the gravel parking lot.

She was smiling, "You’re really a junior? You don’t look old enough.

Are you very smart?"

I pulled the car onto Aurora Avenue. No, just smart enough, I guess. But not about girls or how to be cool.

So how old are you?

Twenty. Are you smart?

She laughed, Why, do I look young?

I stopped at a traffic light, and glanced at her. No, but you look smart.

Her eyes were wide and full of light. How does smart look? Does it have anything to do with good posture?

My ears started to heat up. Some people just look like they’re intelligent, and I think you do. Are you a professional dancer?

The light turned green and I stepped on the gas.

I’m a junior in theater at Hunter College, and I study dance with Martha Graham. I try to be professional about all I do in the theater because that’s where I want to spend my life. What’s your major?

I turned the car into the right-hand lane. Biology, with a philosophy minor, and education courses so I can teach, and ROTC so I can be an officer when I do my hitch in the Army.

She raised her eyebrows. That must be a lot of work.

It probably sounds harder than it is. Biology’s a lot of work, but philosophy’s easy for me. And so far education courses aren’t particularly challenging, and ROTC is a snap.

At a drive-in topped by a big orange barrel with XXX in yellow on it, I nosed the car into a stall next to a Chevy station wagon full of kids and rolled down my window. The smell of French fries filled the car.

What would you like, Dancer?

"A burger, fries, and coffee, s’il vous plaît."

Wow, does she really speak French?

The carhop arrived and I recognized her. Hi Janet.

She took a second look at me, Oh, hi Lad. Then she looked past me and her eyes grew large as she saw Ginger.

I turned to Ginger. This is Janet Gray. She was in my class at Lincoln.

Ginger smiled, Hi, Janet, I’m Ginger.

I turned back to Janet. How long have you been working here?

Janet looked confused. Oh, on and off... are you at the U now?

Yeah, I’m a junior. Are you there too?

Not now. I tried the U but I, uh... didn’t stay.’ She looked down. What would you like?"

Two deluxe burgers with fries and two coffees.

Okay. Be right out. Janet headed back inside.

Ginger reached into her purse and pulled out a pack of cigarettes offering me one.

I pushed in the lighter. Oh, thanks, but I... don’t smoke. I pulled out the ashtray. So there’s another proof I’m not hip.

Is that someone you dated in high school?

I shrugged. Oh, no. She wouldn’t have given me the time of day then. She was a big wheel and only went out with big wheels. I doubt she said ten words to me.

Then let’s give her something to think about. Ginger slide next to me. Put your arm around my shoulders and look at me adoringly when she comes out.

With pleasure. I slipped my arm around her and it felt so intimate I almost didn’t react to the lighter when it popped out. I pulled it and held it for her as she leaned toward me. Her hand felt smooth and soft as she took mine and guided the glowing coil to her cigarette. It felt so sophisticated I couldn’t believe I had actually done something that smooth. Maybe I was dreaming the whole thing.

She blew smoke out the window, "Merci."

I plugged the lighter back in. How come the director calls you’ The Dancer’ instead of by name, like everyone else?

He’s worked a lot with dance companies which have Principle Dancers. Apparently he considers me to be that, because I choreograph the dances and do the solos.

Then she turned to me, If you’re Lad, do you have a sister named Lassie?

No, I have two sisters, Junie and Angel. And a brother, Brian, who is dead. Can’t say that or she’ll think I’m asking for sympathy.

Are they older or younger?

I rested a hand on the steering wheel. Junie’s older and Angel’s younger. Do you have brothers or sisters?

No, I’m an only child. She sounded matter-of-fact. Do you like your sisters? She was giving me a very intent look.

Yes, we’re pretty close.

The speaker on the post in front of us began purring out Rosemary Clooney’s Hey There. The car with the kids next to us pulled out.

Is Lad your real name, or a nickname?

It’s real. I stretched, letting my left hand extend out the window.

She nodded, Well, Lad MacAdam, with that name, you must be really Scotch.

Well, no, I mean, actually Scotch is a whisky. I’m Scots, or Scottish, ‘cause my grandparents came from Scotland. What a dumb thing to say, correcting her like that. I’m an idiot."

Oh, I see.

I need to change the subject. How long have you been a dancer?

She took another pull on her cigarette, "I’ve danced all my life. My mother’s a dance teacher. She started me as soon as I could walk. My father’s a music teacher, and both of them are theater people, so I’ve been on stage as long as I can remember.

She tapped the ash off her cigarette into the ashtray.

Anybody watching you can see you love dancing. You are so graceful, I should have stopped there but I was trying too hard, and so peppy.

Her eyes lit up in genuine surprise and she burst out laughing. What did you say?

Oh hell, I screwed up again.

I mean...

You called me `peppy,’ didn’t you?

I shook my head. Yeah, but I meant...

She gave me a wide-eyed, innocent look. My goodness, you certainly know how turn a girl’s head, telling me I have good posture, and I’m peppy.

I felt the blood rushing to my face again. Well, I mean you really put yourself into it, anyone can see you love dancing. I don’t know the right words, but I could watch you dance forever.

Her laughter became a smile again. You’re very nice to say that. I’m glad people see I love to dance. She took another drag on the cigarette, holding it between her first and second fingers. "J’adore my part in Brigadoon."

She stubbed her cigarette out in the ashtray, then looked over at me.

Do you love to drum? I watched when you and the piper were warming up. You were playing quite intricate beats, but you looked so detached and cool.

Cool? I looked cool to her? Wow! We’re supposed to keep a military bearing all the time, but... yeah... I really do love drumming.

I saw Janet heading toward us with our order.

I looked at Ginger with what was genuine adoration and she touched my face with her hand. My face tingled where she touched it.

Then I looked at Janet and saw her mouth hanging open. I thought she might drop the tray, but she recovered and hooked it on my door.

Her voice sounded shaky. That will be a dollar forty-three.

I dug a silver dollar, a half-dollar and a quarter from my pocket and handed them to her. Keep the change.

Thanks, Lad. Janet took one more look at Ginger and me, then turned and walked away.

Ginger nudged me with her elbow. I bet we just gave your high school classmates something new to talk about.

Yes, I think you have just raised my status from ‘Drip’ to ‘Smooth Operator’ in some people’s eyes.

I handed Ginger her burger and fries.

She moved away just a bit so we both had room to eat. "Merci. Have you lived in Seattle all your life, Drummer?"

Yep, my whole life. I handed her a cup of coffee then reached over and opened the glove box so she could put her cup on the open door. How long have you lived in New York?

All my life too. She took a delicate bite of hamburger and a sip of coffee. So where in Seattle do you live?

Even the way she eats is so cool and elegant. This summer I’m taking care of our family’s home just up the hill from the Aqua Theater. My folks are away. Where are you staying?

With another girl from the cast, Lisa Pisano. We’re house sitting a place right off Ravenna Boulevard. You’ve seen Lisa. She’s very pretty, dark hair, big brown eyes. She wears a red tartan sash.

I took a French fry and carefully bit it in half. Yeah, Alex, the piper wants to meet her. He thinks she’s cute. He’s staying with me this week.

Does he think she’s peppy and has good posture?

I’m sure he does, Dancer, but he’s too shy to say so. Is she from New York too? I took another careful drink of coffee.

No, she’s from Portland, Oregon. She selected another French fry.

I set my drink on the tray and picked up what was left of my burger.

How did you happen to come to Seattle this summer?

As I asked that question, I saw something like a shadow come into her eyes and it startled me; then it disappeared as quickly as it had come. What was that?

She said, I wanted to try something new, Drummer, be somewhere different.

Are you here just for Brigadoon? I put the last of my burger in my mouth and felt relief that there were no stains on my shirt. I like that we’re calling each other Dancer and Drummer. Dancer and Drummer are more like equals. Ginger and Lad definitely are not.

"Oh, no. Next week, we do Student Prince, and then start rehearsals for Carousel, which happens in August. And I’m also on call as a backup for the Aqua Follies, just in case. Do you have a summer job?"

Her dimples are killing me. Oh yeah, I work for a guy... fencing. Fencing? Her eyebrows went up and her eyes widened. "That must

be very interesting. What do you do for him?"

Just about everything, dig holes, set posts...

She interrupted, What’s that got to do with fencing?

Well, you can’t put up a fence without digging holes.

Put up ... ? Oh, I get it. That soft, musical laugh came again. When you said `fencing,’ I thought you meant fencing with foils, you know, sword fighting.

Boy, I’d love to get paid to do that, but I’m afraid this is the other kind of fencing.

Sounds boring.

Yeah, but it’s outdoors and it does help build up the ol’ muscles. If you don’t mind my asking, Dancer, do you get paid for these musicals, or are you just doing them for fun?

Oh, we’ll get paid something. At the end, when all the expenses have been paid, such as stage hands and musicians, what’s left is divided among the cast members. I doubt it will be much.

What is she living on? Besides being beautiful and smart, is she rich too?

We talked about movies and popular music we liked. I hadn’t spilled anything on myself or said anything really stupid, and I’d been smooth about lighting her cigarette.

As I finally put my empty coffee cup on the tray hooked to my window, she asked, Is your father a drummer?

No, he isn’t.

What does he do?

Now why did she have to ask that? Oh, well, here goes. Um, Dad’s a minister. I tried to sound casual, and Mom’s a school teacher.

A minister? You mean a minister in a church? She was looking at me quite intently.

Yeah. It was okay with me that my Dad was a minister but some girls thought preachers’