Polkacide by Samantha Shepherd Read Free Book Online

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.

Chapter 10
     
    Twice around the dance floor
was plenty for me. The second time Peg whisked me toward the stage,
I pulled away and walked over to check it out.
    Five long tables were set up
on the stage, overflowing with equipment. Looking up from where I
stood, I saw a control board on the middle table, studded with
plugs and wires. A digital clock with red numbers on a black
display sat atop the rear edge of the board, facing outward. The
display showed the hour, minutes, and even the seconds as they
raced past.
    An old-fashioned turntable
and reel-to-reel tape machine occupied the table to the left.
(Lou's music library still included plenty of vinyl, and he
recorded all his shows on reels of tape.) The table on the right
was cluttered with CDs and record albums. Blocky speakers were
stacked on the remaining tables at either end of the
row.
    The setup hadn't changed
much since the last time I'd seen it, which must have been ten
years ago. For that matter, it hadn't changed much from the early
days of Kocham Taniec . Dad had broadcast the show from his basement, not a church
hall, but much of the equipment looked the same.
    When the tattered gray curtain at the
back of the stage parted, I half-expected to see Lou himself storm
out with a huge smile on his face. Just another day in the life of
the Polka Prince, just another broadcast. For a moment, I thought
I'd give anything for that to happen.
    But no. Instead of Lou, a
heavyset young woman with shoulder-length wavy red hair bustled out
from behind the curtain. Like Peg, she wore jeans and a black
Polish Fly t-shirt. She had a pair of silver headsets wrapped
around her neck, the cord swinging free behind her.
    The red-haired girl marched
up to the control board and started making adjustments I couldn't
see from the floor. She looked down once, and I caught her eye, but
her flat expression revealed no trace of recognition or interest.
Then she turned back to watching the readouts and controls on the
board.
    Suddenly, I heard Eddie's
voice in my left ear. "Haven't you met Peg's niece yet? Show
engineer Glynne Corcoran?"
    I watched as Glynne pulled
the headsets over her ears and plugged the cord into the control
board. "My father hired her?"
    "More like Peg hired her.
Trying to keep her out of trouble. Glynne's fresh out of
rehab."
    Up on stage, Glynne pulled a
record out of its sleeve and loaded in on the