It was a calm night in the firehall. In the upstairs lab, there was the steady bubbling of a pink mixture, complimented by the cheerful beeping of Egon Spengler's newest positron scanner. In the lounge, Ray Stantz was chuckling at the antics of Slimer as the little green ghost tried to stuff six packages of Twinkies into its gaping mouth, and Winston Zeddemore was cheering his favorite football team as they made yet another touchdown.
The peace was shattered by an angry yell from downstairs.
"DAMN!" The front door slammed, and there was a variety of crashes as unidentified objects began to hit the walls.
"Eeeeee," Slimer cringed, gulping the last of the Twinkies and scooting behind the couch. "Peeeter maaad!"
"Sounds like another successful date," Winston remarked wryly. "He and Melinda have been going ten rounds lately."
"Stupid woman!" came the irate tenor voice. "What the hell does she want from me? Do I look like a mind reader?"
Winston and Ray exchanged a glance.
"You gonna tell him, or shall I?" queried the black man with a slight grin.
Ray sighed. "Pretty bad timing, huh? But it might cheer him up."
"If it doesn't, I'll do laundry for a month."
"No bets on this one," said the occultist. "It's a sure thing."
"At least, I hope it is," Stantz thought, as he went down the stairs.
Peter was throwing the remains of what looked like a photo album into the trash and growling in a furious undertone.
"Get out of my life, you crazy woman! Who does she think she is? Why do I put up with this? This is the last time I am ever dating!"
The occultist waited patiently until the storm was over. Finally, all pictures shredded and most of his anger spent, Peter flopped down in his chair at his desk and glowered at his colleague.
"Women!" Venkman said bitterly. "I'm telling you, Ray, I am through. This is it. I don't want to see them, I don't want to talk to them, I don't even want to breathe the same air. They're all the same: impossible!!"
"Well … uh … you might want to hold back on that vow till I tell you the news, Pete," answered Stantz.
"What news?" the psychologist asked suspiciously.
"We've been asked to judge the Miss Mid-Manhattan Beauty Pageant!" exclaimed Ray, his round face beaming.
Peter sat up, his expression remarkably changed. "What?" he said incredulously."Ray, that is only the most important pageant in town. Twenty-five gorgeous girls! And they want us to judge? Be still my beating heart!"
Ray grinned. "It does involve seeing, talking and breathing around them, you understand."
"But this is different. Melinda is a mean-tempered shrew. These girls are–are–" Peter searched for the right description. "–airheads! They're perfect!" He leapt up. "I gotta get ready!"
"But it's not till Saturday," said Ray.
"That gives me just enough time!"
The psychologist went bounding up the stairs just as Egon was heading down.
"I can tell you're excited, big guy," he told the blond-haired physicist. "Beauty queens are just your speed."
"Speaking of beauty queens, there's been another development," said Egon, and the tone of his voice made Peter halt and Ray look up. "I was just on the phone with Mr. Evan James, the director of the pageant. It seems they have been experiencing some spectral disturbances at the auditorium."
"Wow, great!" exclaimed Ray.
"oh, brother,"wailed Peter. "Do we have to mix business with pleasure? My pleasure?"
"I told him we'd be over first thing in the morning to check out the building," continued Egon, eyeing Peter with some disapproval.
"Will the girls be there?" Venkman asked innocently.
"I believe they have some sort of rehearsal," the physicist replied. "A dance number of some description. We'll try not to interfere."
"Speak for yourself," commented Peter as he continued up the stairs. "I plan to do some major interfering."
"A beauty pageant?" Janine Melnitz's eyes narrowed suspiciously. This was not the sort of news she liked to hear first thing in the morning. Egon zipped up his jumpsuit as the others loaded the proton packs and traps into Ecto-1.
"Yes, Janine," spoke Spengler, "a contest to determine which woman out of a group of similar women has the desired physical and mental attributes according to a set of predetermined rules." He pushed his glasses up on his nose. "A rather pointless activity really."
"I know what a beauty pageant is, Egon," she said, annoyed. "I just don't like the idea of you going to one."
"This is a preliminary check of the building for any supernatural undertakings," he explained. "The contestants will be in another area."
Janine set her mouth in a firm line. "I still don't like it."
Egon looked at her, his blue eyes blandly unconcerned. "There shouldn't be any danger."
"That's not what–oh, never mind!" she fumed, busying herself with a stack of bills.
"This is a routine investigation, Janine." he said, realizing vaguely that she was upset about something. "I may even get the chance to experiment with my newer traps."
"Yeah … well … have fun," she said, her eyes averted. As he started off, she relented."Good Luck!" she called as they pulled out, and felt ridiculously cheered when the physicist waved back.
Ecto-1 pulled up in front of the Elliot Auditorium. As usual, their appearance gathered a small crowd of curious on-lookers and wide-eyed kids.
Peter hopped out, and after a wave to the group, was the first one up the marble steps and through the ornate glass doors. The others followed to find him in the auditorium, looking around forlornly.
"Where are the girls?" he asked almost plaintively. "Are you sure this is the right address?"
"Ghostbusters! Oh, thank goodness, you've come!"
A large man in a lavender suit and a screaming yellow tie bustled forward. He wiped his wide forehead with a handkerchief that matched said tie. "Horrible! Simply horrible I've never heard such screams! The girls cannot be subjected to such disturbances They have to be poised! They have to be perfect!"
"Who is this wiggler?" Peter asked, eyeing the vision askance.
"You must be Mr. James," Egon spoke calmly. 'We'll take care of the matter for you. Please describe these screams."
"Terrible wails, like banshees," answered James, considerably less agitated. "In the dressing rooms, cosmetics were thrown about and smeared on the walls and mirrors. The girls were in an absolute panic."
"Sounds like classic poltergeist activity"said Ray eager to get started.
"First things first, Ray," said Peter. He turned to Evan James. "Where are the girls?"
Mr. James looked surprised. "Why, we sent them back to the hotel, of course. Rehearsals were out of the question."
Ignoring Venkman's grumbles, Egon inquired about the layout of the building.
"There are three dressing rooms on each side of the stage," James said. "Then there's this main auditorium, a storage basement, the lobby, of course, and a lighting booth upstairs–oh, and the ballroom. It's behind the stage, part of the original building. We've been using it for dance practice."
Egon nodded. "Very well. We'll check everything. Ray, you take the basement. Winston, the lighting booth. I'll take the front area, and Peter, you check in here and in the ballroom."
"Might as well," the psychologist said, still irked. "There's nobody to get in my way. Darn."
"This just isn't my decade,"he thought to himself as he wandered down the aisle past the rows of plush red seats. "Maybe Melinda put a curse on me."
The stage was set with a replica of a Mississippi riverboat, complete with fake moss-laden trees and magnolia blossoms.
"'Way down upon the Swanee River'," Peter sang in his slightly flat voice as he carefully examined the area. "'Far far away.'" He paused as he rounded the edge of the paddle wheel.
Was that music?
Behind thick curtains at the back of the stage, he found heavy double doors. He decided that they must be the way to the old ballroom. There was definitely music coming from in there. Maybe one of the girls was practicing her dance number! Hey, all right! He carefully pushed the doors open.
The room inside was vast and dim, the dark polished floor reflected like the surface of a midnight lake. Pirouetting gracefully in the center of the darkness was a dainty white female figure, dancing to the slightly sinister yet infectious piano melody.
Was she real? For a few minutes, Peter couldn't tell and reached reflexively for his ion rifle, then stopped. He watched in growing admiration as she danced, her gestures beckoning. Her face was alight, clear eyes shining with the sheer joy of moving to the bittersweet tune. Her filmy white dress rose and fell in languid waves about her slim transparent body. Her long hair moved as if afloat in the sea current. Peter slowly lowered his hand from his rifle.
She was a ghost, but the most enchanting ghost he'd ever seen.
Then she saw him.
She paused a moment, the music transposing to a more cheerful key; then she approached him, swirling around him invitingly. Peter couldn't help but grin at her, she looked so mischievous. Around and around she danced as he turned to keep her face in view. Then she paused once more, curtseyed, and waited expectantly. Hesitating only a moment, the psychologist slid the pack off his shoulders and answered with a bow.
The ghost took his hand, resting her other hand on his shoulder. To Peter, it was like holding a wisp of cloud. He tried to match her steps in the old fashioned dance and finding it remarkably easy to whirl her around the dark ballroom. The music changed into a triumphant lilting waltz.
"Who are you?" he ventured to ask, but his ethereal companion was lost in the mellifluence, eyes closed, mouth in a half-smile. "Come here often?" he tried. "What's your sign? Er… I mean, what was your sign?" But his flippant attempts faded as his attraction for her increased. He wasn't in a bar, trying to pick up an ordinary girl. This was–
Who was she? What was she doing here? And where the hell was the music coming from?
"Nice tune," he comm ented. The ghost girl's smile widened and Peter's heart gave a little jump. 'Whoa, I'm on the right track,' he thought.
"Beautiful, in fact," he elaborated. 'What is it? Did you write it?"
She shook her head, opening her clear eyes. She laid one delicate feather-soft finger on his lips.
"Just shut up and dance, huh? Okay."
It was exhilarating to guide this lighter-that-air lady around the vast room, but his mind was whirling with questions. He tried to make out her features, but they were blurry with light. How long had she been here? Was she the cause of all the trouble? What had happened to her? And this music– not quite 1920's jazz, not quite Dixieland–what was it?
"Peter!"
"Yo, Pete, you in here?"
The music faded. The girl became mist in his hands and he stopped awkwardly in mid-turn, suddenly aware of Winston's deep chuckle.
"Hey, man, you tryin' out for Soul Train, or what?"
"Peter," Ray said worriedly, "where's your pack? What are you doing?"
"There was a girl–a ghost, I mean," he tried to explain. "She wanted to dance. So, I … well, that is… " His voice trailed away as he looked around, bemused. His companions were standing in the doorway wearing expressions that arranged from amused skepticism to professional interest.
"A girl?" commented Winston. "Might have known."
"Was it a full torso apparition, Peter?" Egon asked, PKE meter out and ready. "Can you estimate the class?"
Ray hadn't seen such a peculiar look on Peter's face before and it made him more than a little uneasy. With a Blight nod, the occultist gestured to Egon, and the physicist carefully moved the meter in Peter's direction.
No reaction.
"Everything checks out in the building," Spengler said with a shrug. "We'll have to wait for a manifestation."
Venkman abruptly came out of his trance. "Yeah, right," he remarked as he picked up his pack.
Suddenly, hoarse screams erupted from the direction of the stage, along with cries of horror from Mr. James.
"Sounds like we got our wish," declared Winston. "Let's go get 'em!"
Pushing back the curtains, they saw several large ghosts dive-bombing the river boat set. The spirits appeared to be female-shaped and all were screaming at the top of their phantom lungs.
James cowered in the orchestra pit. "It's them! It's them!" he shouted.
"Yeah, but what are they?" Winston asked, taking aim. The largest ghost shrieked and charged at him, fingernails glittering. He had just enough time to leap out of the way.
"I think that one was Miss Congeniality," said Peter, dodging a second creature.
Dropping to one knee to avoid having his face slashed, Egon remarked, "They do appear to be women." He took a closer look, noticing all the ghosts were wearing long sashes across their chests. "Could they be spirits of dead contestants?"
"Mr. James!" Spengler called. "How long has this auditorium been here?"
"Since the 1900's," came the muffled reply.
"So there have been pageants held here before?"
"Oh, yes. Hundreds."
Wailing, the ghosts rallied for another charge.
"I think," speculated Egon, "we are encountering the spirits of some very sore losers. Ray, look out!"
Stantz rolled over and fired, using the paddle wheel for cover. "They seem to be throwing something at us!''
"Remember, ladies, talent counts fifty percent, " came Peter's voice from behind one of the trees. He stepped out to fire and was pelted with small sticky, yet shiny objects. "Ouch! What are these things?"
"Ectoplasmic sequins," answered Egon dryly. "Over to you, Winston." He had snared one of the ghosts, and now Zeddemore's stream was finishing the job.
"Trap out!" called the black man. The trap did its usual efficient job
"Five more to go!"
"And the five lovely finalists are–" Peter announced in his best game show host voice ,"Miss Slime, Miss Ectoplasm, Miss Full Torso–and what a torso it is, ladies and gentlemen–Miss Apparition, Miss Dead Lady–"
"Trap out and ready!" Ray shouted, foot over the pedal.
"–and Miss Screaming Queen," Venkman finished with a nod. "And now the moment we've all been waiting for!"
Shrieking and clawing, the manifestations were pulled into the trap, which snapped shut with a click.
"Whew!" exclaimed Winston, approaching the smoking trap warily. "Those were some mean mamas. Did you see the fingernails on Miss Ectoplasm?"
Ray was trying to scrape some of the gooey sequins off his jumpsuit. "I wonder why they're here."
Egon picked up the trap, his long face serious. "There is a great deal of negative energy surrounding these contests, Ray. Extremely high expectations combined with desperation, jealousy, and the trauma of failure. I would imagine there are many more of these spirits."
"Attack of the Killer Runners-up," said Peter with a grin.
"Don't underestimate them," said Egon turning to the psychologist.
"These are intensely vengeful spirits."
"Egon," reasoned Peter, "all we need are some tiaras."
"Tiaras?" Egon said blankly, then his expression cleared. "Ah, yes, I see what you mean. They feel cheated of this somewhat questionable prize. I suppose I could construct some effective-looking crowns, but I seriously doubt this would solve the problem."
James peered over the edge of the orchestra pit at the four men.
"Please," he begged," you've got to get rid of them. You see how destructive they are. We can't have our pageant with these creatures threatening our every move."
"I believe I have just the thing, Mr. James," Egon assured him. "I've been wanting a chance to try my latest invention: a broad-range spectroscopic entrapment unit. It should clean this entire building of ghosts."
"All ghosts?" Peter questioned, alerted. "Wait a second, Egon. My little dancer's not part of the wrecking crew."
"Then you'd better find out why she's here and what she wants," the physicist replied. "My unit will be ready tomorrow."
Peter had been unusually quiet on the drive back to the fire hall, a fact that did not go unnoticed by Ray. He mentioned it to Winston, who didn't think anything of it.
"Ray, you know how Pete is when he's on the rebound," he said, helping the occultist unload the traps.
"But a ghost, " Ray stated worriedly. "This relationship has no future."
"Had no past." Winston shook his head. "Anything in a skirt."
"I don't know," said Ray. "He had a really odd look on his face."
"Well, ask him, Ray," Zeddemore grinned, knowing the stocky young man could be overly cautious about intruding on anyone's feelings. "Find out about her. Hell, he can only bite your head off once."
Ray sat down at the computer in the lounge and searched a while, looking under all the friendly and helpful spirits he could think of. When Peter wandered in later with the newspaper, he mentioned to the psychologist that he was trying to find out about the dancer.
"But no luck so far," he said almost apologetically. "Can you tell me anything about her?"
"Ray, she was charming," he answered giving Stantz an oddly serious look, "absolutely charming. I've never seen anything, or anyone like her."
"Did she say anything? Give you any clue?"
"Not a thing. She just smiled and danced. And that music! It was great. Sorta mysterious, but really happy and … quit looking at me that way," Venkman broke off warningly.
"What way?, said Ray, puzzled by the change in Peter's mood.
"That sappy sentimental way," said Peter, annoyed, whacking his friend on the head with the paper.
"I wasn't!" the occultist protested.
Peter headed for the door. "I don't know why I bother with you guys," he growled.
"I just asked about the ghost!" called Ray.
Peter halted, turned and leveled a stare of laser intensity that didn't faze Ray's steady expression. "Yes, Peter, a ghost," he continued. "It was a ghost, right? As in, not real?"
Venkman seemed to deflate. "Yeah, you're right," he said dully. Still puzzled by Peter's mood, the occultist tried a different tactic.
"Describe her," he said encouragingly. "Maybe she's in the Guide." An almost imperceptible hope gleamed in Peter's eye as he returned to the computer.
"She's about so high," he indicated, his hand just above his heart. "Slim, graceful, long hair, filmy dress, everything white and glowing."
Ray typed in the information. "Anything else? She obviously wasn't a threat." He brightened. "Maybe she's the spirit of a ballerina. There must have been lots of programs given in that old ballroom."
"No," said Peter shaking his head, "it wasn't that studied or precise. She was making it up as she went along. And we did some kind of waltz."
Stantz glanced up from the keyboard. Peter was gazing into space as if seeing a vision of pure delight. Whoever this ghost was, she sure had his friend snowed. "I'll check the records of the building. Maybe she was a performer, an actress of some sort."
"And perfectly beautiful," Peter rhapsodized. "She had such a look, Ray. Such a flirt."
This time, Ray had the presence of mind to keep a straight face. He continued to type. "I'm sure she's in here."
"Does it matter?" said Peter abruptly.
Ray turned to him. "Yes, it matters and you know it," he spoke. "You heard what Egon said. He's gonna use his new sweep unit. We've got to find out what she wants."
"I can tell you what she wants." Peter then launched into song. "'All she wants to do is, all she wants to do is dance '", Still singing, he waltzed over, and grabbing the firepole, slid melodically out of sight.
The next morning, the auditorium was quiet, with no sign of beauty competitors–alive or dead. Winston helped Egon haul the larger than normal trap down the center aisle while Ray carried in another piece of the invention.
"Egon," the occultist said, 'are you certain this will work?"
The physicist stooped to tighten a few screws on the side of the machine. "I haven't had a chance to test it, but in theory, yes it works. This will be the fastest and most effective way to clean the entire building of spirits."
"But what about Peter's ghost?"
Egon have the contraption a rap with the side of his hand and nodded when a small green light came on. "Unless we can determine why she is here and resolve her manifestation, she'll have to be contained with the rest."
"There isn't any other way?'
"I'm sorry, Ray. I don't want to trap a friendly spirit any more than you do, but we have little choice. If she'd just tell Peter what she wants."
"All she wants to do is dance," answered Ray moodily.
"So I've heard." Spengler sat back on his heels and regarded the younger man. "I told Peter I'd wait until he had the chance to speak to her again, but we don't have much time. The pageant is Saturday, and the contestants need time to practice. Will you get the next piece, please?"
"Sure," said Ray. He headed back up the aisle and almost bumped into the young woman in the lobby.
"Oh, excuse me, I'm–" he gulped. He had never seen such a woman, not in real life, anyway. Her skin was unbelievably smooth, her eyes a dazzling blue, her hair an elaborate confection of spun gold. She was wearing a pink dress that revealed creamy shoulders and a curve or two that made his cheeks flame. When she spoke to him, he gave a start of surprise. It didn't seem possible this lovely creature was alive.
"You're one of the Ghostbusters, aren't you?" she asked with delight.
"Uh, yes," he managed. "Yes, ma'am. Ray Stantz."
She extended one graceful manicured hand. The fingernails were a soft pink shade that matched her lips.
"I'm Lori Masters, Miss Avenue of the Americas. I'm so glad you've come to take care of these awful ghosts. They're ruining the pageant."
Ray had a moment to recover, although he was still amazed this glorious woman was speaking to him.
"We'll do our best," he said without stuttering.
"I hear about you all the time on the news," she said, blue eyes wide. "It must be awfully exciting work."
Ray felt himself puffing up with pride. "Yes it is. Very exciting. Why, I could tell you stories that–"He stopped. Why on earth would this beautiful young woman want to hear about busting ghosts? But, to his utter astonishment, she beamed.
"Could you? We don't have rehearsal till ten. Why don't you tell me about some of you adventures? I'd love that."
She had actually taken his arm when Ray heard someone call his name, he turned and saw Peter coming up the aisle.
"No, luck this time," said the psychologist. "I thought I'd try… again… " His eyes widened as he took in the unlikely sight. "Who's your friend?"
Ray had serious qualms about introducing Miss Masters, knowing Peter could turn on considerable charm, but Lori, other than being perfectly pleasant, did not seem to fall under the Venkman spell. Ray kept checking to be sure, but no, he wasn't imagining things. Lori's hand was still tucked in his arm.
'This is incredible,' he thought, as Peter cocked an inquisitive eyebrow. Obviously Pete was thinking the same thing.
Lori chatted on. "Ray is going to tell me about some of your fantastic adventures, and he assures me you won't have any trouble catching these ghosts."
Peter's eyes gleamed with barely suppressed humor, but his face remained perfectly straight. "Not with 'Ace' here," he said as he clapped the occultist on the shoulder. "Ray's the best shot on the team, Miss Masters. You show him a ghost and bam! It's history. You won't have anything to worry about with Ray Stantz around."
To Ray's discomfort, Lori's expression became even more dazzling with admiration.
"Peter's exaggerating–as usual," he said, directing a dark look at Venkman. "We work together."
"Awww, he's so modest," Peter said as he chucked Ray's cheek. "Ray invents all sorts of electronic gadgets. He and Egon Spengler are the world's experts on trapping ghosts. Anything you want to know, you just ask Ray. Gotta go, pal. Nice meeting you, Miss Masters."
The psychologist sauntered off, leaving Ray effectively tongue-tied.
Any other time, the sight of his friend with a gorgeous woman might have given him pause; but right now, he had to find his little dancer. Stepping over Egon, Winston, and a pile of metal gizmos, Peter made his way to the back of the stage, pushed past the curtains, and opened the doors. This time, he set a small tape recorder on the floor. If he could record the music, perhaps that might help him discover who the dancer was.
As if his thinking of the music evoked it, the tune began–softly at first, then slowly the volume rose. Peter pressed 'RECORD' and waited, his heart beating unexpectedly fast.
A white blur in the center of the room gradually took form; and there was the dancer, just as lovely and graceful as he remembered. He watched as she moved about the room, almost unable to follow the quick steps of her light, feet. When she saw him, she approached, but whether or not she recognized him from the day before, he couldn't tell.
"Look, " he said, "you've got to talk to me. You've got to tell me what you want. Otherwise, we come in here blasting, and you're scooped up with all the riff raff."
She ignored his entreaty, circling him lazily, eyes closed as if in her own private world. Her theme played softly.
"Is there something you need to do?" Peter inquired. "Something you need to finish?"
She turned slowly and faced him, arms out, beckoning.
"I'm not going to dance with you until you tell me," he said stubbornly, but even as he spoke, he knew he was lying. Dancing with this lovely spirit was all held been thinking about since he met her.
"I can't be in love with you. I can't. You're not even real." His thoughts spun.
She danced to him and paused.
"Tell me," he insisted.
A curtsey, all film and lace, a flower opening. He felt compelled to take her hand.
"I don't even know your name."
The clear eyes held his gaze, the mouth quirked in a smile as if to say– 'See? I knew you would."Then they were whirling around the ballroom, the ghost girl executing elaborate moves within the circle of his arms.
"Isn't there someplace else we can go?" Peter tried. "You have to leave. Don't you understand We're going to clean this whole place, and that includes you."
Her only response was a smile.
"We put ghosts in a big ugly containment unit in our basement," he tried to explain. "All kinds of nasty spuds and squids. it's no place for a nice girl like you. Come on, Belle, give me a clue!" He stopped in his tracks.
Undaunted, the little ghost danced around him.
"Belle! Is that your name? How did you–?"
She laughed silently and disappeared, leaving him with his mouth open.
After a moment, he ran to the recorder, rewound the tape, and pushed 'PLAY'.
To his relief, the music began.
"Any luck, Pete?" inquired Winston when Peter returned to the auditorium.
Venkman tapped the recorder. "I've got the music."
Egon looked up and frowned. "Nothing else?"
"And her name. It's Belle."
"Peter, you're going to have to find out more than that," said the physicist. "I'm almost ready to start the full sweep."
"Can you hold off just one more day? I know I can solve this."
"Well," Spengler considered thoughtfully, "I do need to make a few more adjustments."
"You're a pal, Egon." Peter looked around. "Ray back yet?"
"We may never see him again," Winston commented with a grin.
"Yeah, how did he do that?" said Peter good-naturedly. "I mean, the woman saw me!"
"You have more than enough women to worry about at the present," Egon remarked wryly. "Why don't you take your tape to the library? Someone there will be able to tell you what the music is."
"You are so smart," Peter said, straight-faced. "I would never have thought of that in a million years. Can you two hold the fort?"
"Been holdin' it all morning," mumbled Winston gruffly. "Go on."
"May I help you?"
Peter had been leaning against the reference desk, eyeing a young woman in a short skirt who was attempting to reach the top shelf, so the request took him by surprise. The reference librarian took him by surprise as well: an attractive blonde with brown eyes and a friendly smile. Her name tag said 'LESLIE REED'.
"Uh, yes, I think so," he gulped as he slid the recorder forward and regained his composure. "I … uh. . I need to know what this music is." As the haunting theme filled the small space between them, he felt his pulse quicken.
'I MUST be possessed," he thought. I've got to get this figured out and soon.'
Leslie Reed listened intently, a thoughtful frown on her face. "I'm not sure," she said as the tape ended. "I can limit it to the early 1900's, but as to the exact title and composer, I'd have to study it. Can you leave it with me a few days?"
"I don't have a few days," said the psychologist in earnest. "I'm Peter Venkman, one of the Ghostbusters, and we're on a very important case just now. I really need a rush job." He put on his MOST hopeful expression and was gratified to see it still worked.
"I'll do what I can," Leslie reassured him. "I can tell you one thing with certainty. It's ragtime."
"Ragtime?" he repeated, puzzled. "I thought that was faster, you know. Honky-tonk."
She shook her head. "It's a musical style utilizing syncopation. Most of the old sheet music says, 'Do Not Play This Piece Fast.'"
"When can you let me know about this particular number?" Peter asked.
"I have a friend who's an expert in this area," she answered. He enjoys a challenge. I should have something for you by tomorrow."
"Excellent," he said. "Thanks. Oh, and I'll need that tape back when you've finished."
Peter gave her his phone number and hurried back to the auditorium, and discovering to his delight, that the girls were all present for a dance rehearsal. Egon was predictably working with his back to the stage, frowning over some piece of equipment, but Winston was enjoying the show. The psychologist took a seat near the front and beamed up at the rows of long legs and flashing teeth. The opening number was a corny little tune called 'Here Comes the Showboat,' and the girls were singing and dancing with various degrees of success while Evan James clasped his hands in anguish.
"No, no!" he barked, cutting the music off with an impatient motion. "Miss Verrazano Bridge, you must keep in step! Just count, dear, count. You can do it. Let's start from the beginning, please!"
As the prerecorded music began, Peter looked the contestants over very carefully with a sense of something he could only call disappointment. Sure, they were lovely, perfect. Most of them. But none of them could move like Belle. They seemed, well, ordinary was the best he could come up with.
'What is wrong with me?' he thought. 'Any other time, I'd be drooling all over myself.But after dancing with Belle, this all seems so… fake. But this is reality, and Belle is a ghost. She is… Dead.'
This gloomy thought made him turn his attention from the stage and he soon spotted Ray a few aisles over, a glazed look on his round face as he stared up at Lori Masters. Peter grinned. Lori was amazingly uncoordinated, but the ability to keep time was apparently not high on Ray's list right now.
'Look at him,' Peter thought. 'Poor chump. He looks absolutely star-struck. Like me.'
Another sobering thought, and one that was abruptly shattered by shrill screams and Egon's warning cry. Peter, Ray, and Winston were up immediately, rifles ready, as five more ghostly ex-hopefuls zoomed down on the contestants.
The girls fled, adding their screams to the confusion of sounds: the high-pitched whine of accelerating proton packs, the sizzling bolts of energy, theshouts from Ray and Winston.
"Look out!"
"Pretender at five o'clock!"
"Peter!" Egon called. "Get those women to safety!"
The psychologist glanced behind him and. was a group of frightened females huddled near the river boat.
"Hang on, ladies!, he shouted, vaulting up onto the stage. A few quick blasts kept the nearest ghost at bay. "Okay, make a run f or it! I've got you covered!"
Three dashed for the wings, but the other three remained crouched down and whimpering.
"It's all right, " said Peter trying to reassure the scared women. "You can do it." He ducked as another ghost sailed over his head, bombarding him with ectoplasmic sequins. "Ouch! Run for it, girls!"
This time they scurried, squealing as the sequins plopped all around.
"Behind you, Ray!" Peter bellowed, seeing the third ghost homing in on the younger man. Momentarily distracted, he missed the fourth spectre. She gave him a sharp rap on the side of the head, and he tumbled over into the orchestra pit, landing with a whump in the middle of a bass drum.
Zeddemore had seen him fall and raced to the edge of the pit. "You okay?" the concerned black man inquired. "Man, talk about luck!"
"Yeah," Venkman replied, groggy. "I could've fallen on the piano."
Winston reached down and hauled his colleague up, when they heard a cry from Ray.
"They've got Lori!"
Two of the ghosts had backed Lori Masters into a corner of the stage, and Stantz was frantically trying to get a shot at them without injuring the young woman. Peter's eyes were still rolling, so Winston pushed him down in one of the seats.
"Sit down and stay put!" he ordered, and ran to Ray's aid.
"I can't get to her!" Ray exclaimed. "I need a diversion!"
Egon suddenly spoke up in his most authoritative manner. "And that concludes our evening gown competition. If the contestants will take one last turn for our judges…"
Instinctively, the ghost contenders turned. Ray grabbed Lori's hand and pulled her to him. "Now!"
Winston and Egon's beams effectively encircled the ghosts. Ray slid out a trap, stomping on it heartily and giving a cheer when the creatures were snapped up inside.
"That all of them?" Winston asked, looking around cautiously.
"All for now," said Egon grimly. "I'm afraid the readings indicate an almost unending supply of these ghosts. I must get my sweep unit operationalas soon as possible."
"Are you all right?" Ray asked the shivering Lori, who was clinging to him in a most satisfying way.
"You were wonderful," she said, causing him to blush even deeper.
"You okay?" he asked Peter, seeing his friend stagger up.
"Sure, Ray," he replied. 'I always dive head first into orchestra pits."
"This is horrible! Horrible!" Mr. James came out from hiding, wringing his hands. "Look at my set! Are you all right, Miss Masters? Come along, the chaperones will take you back to the hotel."
Lori reluctantly let herself be led away, looking back at Ray with adoring eyes. James glared at Egon. "Dr. Spengler, I realize you have your methods, but something must be done right away. If you can't get this contraption to work, then do something else!"
"I agree with you, Mr. James," he replied calmly, "but there are extenuating circumstances."
"I don't care," he said stiffly. "I hired you to do a job, and I expect results."
"Would it be possible to move the pageant to another location?"
"All other arenas and auditoriums are booked solid. We had to reserve this one month in advance. There is no way. You promised you could get rid of these ghosts!"
Egon gave Peter a look that said, I have tried my best. "We will Mr. James," he told the director. "Tomorrow they will be gone."
"They'd better be," he said and stalked off.
"Egon," Peter began in protest.
"You saw what happened, Peter, " he said. "It's far too dangerous – Miss Masters and the others could have been seriously injured. We have no choice."
He turned to the others. "Winston, if you'll assist me. Ray, I need a spool of number 42 wire from Ecto-1."
Peter sighed in exasperation and ran a hand through his hair. "Couldn't you at least wait until tomorrow? I've got a librarian on the trail. I'm really close on this one."
"I think we've waited long enough," said Egon.
"Thanks a lot!" he said angrily and stormed out, venting his fury by kicking Ecto's tires.
"Peter, we can't let this go on," said Ray, rummaging in the back. "You say what those ghosts tried to do to Lori." He glanced at Peter's stony face.
"Will you take it easy? Your dancer's not even real."
The hazel eyes flashed. "Well, while we're discussing reality here, Ray, just how real is Miss Avenue of the Americas?"
Ray looked taken aback. "Of course she's real! She's no ghost."
"oh, yeah? Fake eyelashes, hairpiece, all that makeup, and who knows how many other false parts. At least Belle isn't trying to be someone else."
"How do you know?" Ray countered. "You don't know anything about her. I know all about Lori. We had a very nice conversation today."
Peter folded his arms and leaned against the ambulance. "Sure. You're a Ghostbuster, aren't you? Medium famous?"
Ray gave up his search for the wire Egon wanted and glared at Venkman. "What is it with you? You think everyone has an ulterior motive? What about your little dancer? What's her angle?"
"I've told you. All she wants to do–
" –is dance, okay, okay," Ray finished impatiently. "And all I want to do is spend a little time with Lori. I don't get the chance to do this very often, you know."
Peter wisely decided to tone down. "You want to get involved? I'm used to being dumped, but you– "
" –can handle it," said Ray, breaking in again. "And don't talk to me about involvement. You've got just about as much chance of succeeding as I have."
Peter grinned. "Don't sell yourself short, Ray. Any girl would be lucky to go out with you."
Surprised by the unexpected sincerity, Ray searched for a reply and settled on, "Thanks." He busied himself for a few minutes and found the spool of wire; then he glanced back at Peter's abstracted face. "Did YOU say her name was Belle?"
"Yeah. Annabelle. Tinkerbelle. Who knows? It just popped into my mind. Maybe I made the whole thing up."
"Belle of the Ball," Ray said idly.
Peter gave his friend an incredulous look. "That's it. Of course! That's it, Ray! She's still dancing in some big dance. Wish fulfillment. I should have guessed."
"It doesn't solve the problem, though," said Ray. "If she's still dancing, she's going to get caught up with all the others."
Peter had jumped into Ecto-1 and was punching in a number on the car phone. "Maybe Leslie can help."
Ray waited hopefully while Peter talked to the librarian, but Venkman's expression was pensive when he climbed out. "According to her references, there was a big dance here in 1912, some sort of ragtime ball."
"Was it interrupted?" Ray asked. "The place burn down? Some tragedy occur?"
"Nope. Went on as scheduled. She's going to see if she can find anything else on it. "He shook his head. "I always did like older women, but seventy years?" He sighed. "Wish fulfillment. I wonder who's doing the wishing here?" He saw the look of concern on Ray's face and scowled. "You're doing it again, Ray. Don't worry. I'm not going off the deep end, and I'm not going to let the dead competitors get your girl."
"But they'll get yours." Ray said softly.
"So?" he said. "She's a ghost. She'll get over it. Come on, let's get this vacuum pump fixed." He knew his detached manner didn't fool Ray, but there was no point in delaying the inevitable.
'Come on, Leslie!" he prayed. "There has to be a way out of this. Maybe if I trap Belle separately and let her out afterwards … I but he winced at the thought of shooting the delicate figure, of stopping the dance. If only she'd talk to him!
The sweep unit was in place and ready, Egon agreeing to wait a few more hours the next morning in case Leslie called with more information.
"But we really can't wait any longer, Peter." he had said.
It was morning now, and Peter paced by the phone until Janine was ready to scream. when it rang, he snatched it up.
"Dr. Venkman? Leslie Reed here. I have that title for you."
"Great!" he said.
"It wasn't easy, but we tracked it down. An obscure rag by Paul Pratt, written in 1912, and recently discovered. It's called 'Teasing Rag."
"Teasing Rag." Wasn't that what the little minx had been doing all this time, leading him on?
"oh, and I managed to find a picture in the archives." Leslie added, "if you'd care to come by and see it."
It was a photo of the guests at the ball. Peter recognized the ballroom, resplendent with candle-filled chandeliers and velvet draperies.
Dozens of couples in period costume filled the dance floor, while other people sat at round tables watching the dance, eating and drinking. He searched the tiny faces; then read the caption: "The Grand Ball of 1912 formally opened by Mr. Charles Underwood. Seated with Mr. Underwood are his wife Amelia and his daughter Belle."
Peter found the man, standing with one arm outstretched as if welcoming everyone. His wife, wearing a large hat with a curling ostrich feather, was sitting beside him. Beside her was a young girl sitting in an ornate wooden wheelchair. Her features were blurred by age and the faded quality of the paper, but something in the tilt of her head – he could almost see that teasing smile.
Belle.
He was still for so long, Leslie touched his arm. "Dr. Venkman? Peter? I hope this answers your question."
"Yes," he said. "Yes, it answers a lot of questions."
The ballroom was empty, but after a few minutes, he heard the soft plaintive notes that introduced "Teasing Rag." When Belle appeared, he went to her, bowed, and took her hand. He couldn't say anything at first, his throat clogging with emotion. She looked so happy. But Egon was firing up the unit. He had to try.
"I've got you number now." he said lightly, wondering if he wanted to do this. "1912. Your music. It's 'Teasing Rag' isn't it? You just wanted the chance to dance to it."
She smiled brightly, and, to his surprise, stopped dancing. She reached up and cupped his face in hands softer than air. For a heartbreaking moment, he thought their lips would meet; then, true to her impish nature, she slipped away, darting across the dark floor like a candleflame.
"Wait!" he said, knowing and dreading what was about to happen. He ran after her, but she was too quick. She danced to the edge of the room, blew him a kiss, and vanished. This time, the psychologist knew she was gone.
Wait.
Screams and shrieks jarred him. "Peter!"he heard Ray call. "We need you out here!"
He ran back to the stage. "Go ahead!" he shouted to Egon. Overhead, he could see a crowd of angry competitor ghosts. preparing to attack. "Sweep 'em up!"
Egon pulled the lever on his machine, and it began to vibrate, sending out beams of blinding white light that snared the ghosts and sucked them into the top of the unit. More ghosts were pulled from their hiding places, including the ancient grey ghost of a doorman, and innumerable tiny spirits of dead mice and bats.
"Wow!" said Ray. "It's really working!"
Egon peered at the meter. "We'll leave it on for five minutes. That should do it."
Ray stared in amazement at the ghosts being pulled into the machine. "This place was full of them!"
"Just so we get all those… ahem… ladies," Winston remarked. "Thought I'd never get those sequins off."
The machine chugged briefly for the allotted time. Egon shut it off, pleased by the results. Mr. James was also pleased, and the contestants, watching fearfully from the wings burst into a round of applause.
"Excellent!" said the director. 'Dr. Spengler I'm sorry to have ever doubted you! Girls, we have time to get in a good day's rehearsal. Let's take our places!" The girls fluttered and smiled at Peter as they came out on stage, but he ignored them, smiling instead at Lori, who had wrapped herself around an embarrassed and beaming Ray.
Ray had to disqualify himself as a judge, but Winston and. Egon were surprised when Peter declined the honor as well.
"Thought I'd call Melinda and see about patching things up." he said. Leaving his friends speechless, he went upstairs to change his clothes. okay, so maybe he needed to give to another try. He knew he could be something of a tease, too, and now he had an idea of what it was like to be on the receiving end. Besides, all women weren't bad. Look at Belle.
Yes, look at Belle.
Leslie had returned his tape. He put it into his recorder, and, after a moment's hesitation, rewound the tape and pressed 'PLAY'.
There. He could see her in the music, glowing, flirting, dancing delightfully in the dark empty room.
Free.