“Forget it,” mumbled another.
Marty reached into his pocket, pulled out his wallet. “Here,” he said, taking out all his money. “It’s yours for just one dance.”
The musicians looked at each other indecisively.
“It’s O.K. with me,” said Reginald, “except that Marvin cut his hand opening the car trunk.”
“Yeah,” Jordan added. “He can’t play with it like that. And we can’t play without Marv
in. He plays lead guitar, man. You can’t do anything without that.”
“But you’ve gotta play!” Marty urged. “That’s where they kiss for the first time—on the dance floor! If there’s no music, they won’t kiss and fall in love! And if they don’t fall in love, I’m a goner!”
The black men looked at each other. “What the hell’s this guy talking about?” one of them asked.
“Hey, man,” said Reginald, handing the money back. “The dance is over…unless you know somebody who can play guitar.”
Marty smiled.
“Of course!” he said. “I can do it.”
“Come on…”
“Trust me,” Marty said.
Reginald smiled. “Why not?” he suggested. “It might be worth it just for the laughs.”
Grabbing their equipment, the musicians followed Marty and his friends back into the gymnasium. The surge created a ripple of interest among the other students which soon became a tidal wave. Within two minutes, the entire gymnasium was again filled with bodies.
“What’s going on here?” Gerald Strickland shouted over and over. Grabbing arms, he tried to force the students out of the hall but his efforts were ineffectual.
Meanwhile, Marty had set himself up with the band in the far corner, plugged in the equipment and shouted into the microphone. “One more dance,” he said. “A special number for my parents.”
He and the Starlighters launched into “Earth Angel” and the students paired off to dance. Lorraine slipped into George’s arms, put her cheek against his.
At first following the band and then confidently taking the lead, Marty looked around. The musicians were casting quick glances his way, glances that told him they admired the job he was doing. He could see his parents dancing just a few feet away, their heads together. Now it was just a matter of time…All was going well.
During a brief sax solo, he put down his guitar and looked at the family snapshot in his wallet. Sister Linda and Dave were gone but his own image was intact. Then…as George and Lorraine’s lips moved toward each other, Marty thought he could see Linda beginning to reappear.
“Great…” he breathed.
His moment of exultation was short-lived. No sooner had the positive transformation taken place than it reversed itself. Linda faded and Marty’s right hand disappeared from the photo.
“What the hell—” he began.
Looking toward his parents, he saw the cause of the reversal. Just as the couple were about to kiss, a rough hand had been placed on George’s shoulder. It was Dixon, wearing his usual malevolent expression.
“Beat it, McFly,” he ordered. “I’m cuttin’ in.”
On the bandstand, the sax solo had ended and the full orchestration started again. Marty joined in, but his right hand couldn’t seem to follow. Instead, fishlike, it flopped along the strings like a numb or completely dead object.
“Hey, man,” Bob Jordan whispered. “What’s wrong?”
“I can’t play,” Marty murmured. “I don’t know how to play the guitar!”
He lifted the offending right hand and gasped with horror. He could see through it!
Bob Jordan, losing the beat himself, stared at Marty’s wide eyes and open-mouthed expression.