Dance to the Piper (10 page)

"I said I'd take you."

Inner strength came back. It might have been the underlying fury in his voice that did it. "I'm a big girl, Reed. I've been responsible for myself a long time. See you around."

Maddy walked to the corner and lifted a hand. Fate took pity on her and sent a cab steering toward the curb. She got in without looking back.

He stood there until he saw her get safely inside. Then he stood there longer. He'd done them both a favor—that was what he told himself. He continued to tell himself that over and over as he remembered how soft and fragile she'd looked in the bright glow of the streetlight.

Turning away, he began to walk. It was late before he headed for home.

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Maddy stood stage left and took her cue from Wanda. There was no audience, but the theater was far from empty. The rest of the dancers were positioned across the stage, and Macke stood at the front, ready to dissect every move. In addition, there were the stage manager, the lighting director, their assistants, the accompanist—with the composer standing nervously close by, along with several technicians and the one who would make it all work—the director.

"Listen, honey," Wanda began, in character as Maureen Core, a fellow stripper, "this guy's a pipe dream. You're asking for trouble."

"He's an answer," Maddy shot back, and crossed to an imaginary bar on the empty stage. She poured herself an invisible drink, tossed it back and grinned. "He's the ticket I've been standing in line for all of my life."

"Get it in diamonds, babe." Wanda walked toward her, running her fingers up her arm as if she were enjoying the sensuous feel of a diamond bracelet. "And put them in a nice dark safe deposit box, 'cause when he finds out what you are he's going to be gone before you can shake your—"

"He's not going to find out," Maddy told her. "He's never going to find out. You think a class act like him is ever going to find his way to a dump like this?" She cast a disdainful look around the empty stage. "I tell you, Maureen, I've got a chance. For the first time in my life, I've got a chance."

The accompanist gave her her intro, and Maddy's mind went blank.

"Maddy." The director, known more for his skill than his patience, snapped her back. She swore with the ripe expertise she reserved solely for foul ups on stage.

"Sorry, Don."

"You're only giving me about fifty percent, Maddy. I need a hundred and ten."

"You'll get it." She rubbed at the tension in her neck. "Give me a minute first, will you?"

"Five," he said, clipping off the word so that the dancers shifted uneasily before they dispersed. Maddy walked off stage left and dropped down on a box in the wings.

"Problem?" Wanda sat down beside her, casting a look around designed to keep anyone else at a safe distance.

"I hate to mess up."

"I make it a policy to keep my nose out of other people's business. But…"

"There's always a but."

"You've been walking around on three cylinders for about a week. I'd say you're due for a tune-up."

She couldn't deny it; she didn't try to. Instead, she set her jaw on her hand. "Why are men such jerks?"

Wanda considered a moment. "Same reason the sky's blue, honey. They were made that way."

Another time, she might have laughed. Now she only nodded grimly. "I guess it's smarter just to leave them alone."

"A hell of a lot smarter," Wanda agreed. "Not much fun, but smarter. Your guy giving you trouble?"

"He's not my guy." Maddy sighed and frowned down at her shoe. "But he's giving me trouble. What do you do when a man kisses you as though he'd like to nibble away at you for the next twenty years, then brushes you aside as though you were never really there in the first place?"

Wanda cupped a hand around her instep, then brought her leg up to keep the muscles Umber. "Well, you can forget him. Or you can give him another chance to nibble until he's hooked."

"I don't want to hook anybody," Maddy mumbled.

"But you are," Wanda put in, stretching the other leg. "Hooked and dangling."

"I know." Misery was something completely foreign to her. She tried to shake it off, but it clung. "The problem is, I think he knows, too, and he doesn't want any part of it."

"Maybe you should think about what you want first."

"Yeah, but first you have to know what that is."

"Is it him?"

Maddy gave a sulky shrug and hated herself for being petulant. "It might be."

"Take a lesson from Mary on this one." Wanda gave her advice as she rose into a
pile.
"Go after what's good for you."

It sounded so easy. Maddy knew better than most how it was to get to what was good for you. "You know the problem with being a dancer, Wanda?"

Two members of the chorus, currently in the midst of a blistering affair, began to argue with low, steady malice. Wanda eavesdropped without a qualm. "I can name a couple hundred, but go ahead."

"You never have time to learn how to be just a person. When other girls were out snuggling at the drive-in with their boyfriends, we were sleeping so we could get up and go to class the next morning. I don't know what to do about him."

"Get in his way."

"Get in his way?"

"That's right. Get in his way enough and he'll end up doing it to himself."

Laughing, Maddy took her own chin in her hand. "Does this look irresistible?"

"Never know unless you try."

Maddy's fingers stroked down her chin. Then she dropped her hand. "You're right." She stood then, nodding. "You're absolutely right. Let's go. I think I'm ready to give Don a hundred and ten percent."

They ran through the dialogue again, but this time Maddy used her own nerves to give an edge to her character. When the accompanist cued her for the song, she poured herself into it. Part of the staging called for her to go toe-to-toe with Wanda. When she did, the other's dancer's eyes glittered with a combination of appreciation and approval that had Maddy's adrenaline soaring higher.

She was all over the stage during the chorus, interacting with the other dancers, moving so quickly that the intense control she kept on her breathing went unnoticed. She whirled to stage center, threw out her arms—selling it, as her father had shown her years before—and let the last note ring out.

Someone threw her a towel.

They went over the scene again and again, sharpening, making a few changes in the blocking. The lighting director and the stage manager went into a huddle, and then they went through it again. Satisfied—for the moment—they walked through the next scene. Maddy took a break, downed a pint of orange juice and a carton of yogurt, then went back for more.

It was twilight when she left the theater. A group of dancers were going to a local restaurant to unwind and recharge. Normally Maddy would have tagged along, content to remain in their company. Tonight, she felt she had two choices. She could go home and collapse in a hot tub, or she could get in Reed's way.

Going home was smarter. The last run-through had drained her store of energy. In any case, a woman who pursued an uninterested man—or a man who pursued an unwilling woman—showed a remarkable lack of good sense.

There were plenty of other people, people who had her own interests and ambitions, who would make less complicated companions. It wasn't as though men looked at her and ran in the other direction. She was well liked by most, she was usually appreciated for what she was, and if she really wanted to she could find an easy dinner partner and while away an enjoyable evening.

She went to five phone booths before she found one with its phone book still attached. Just checking, she told herself as she looked up Reed's name. It never hurt to check.

More than likely he lived way uptown. She'd just have to forgo her impulsive visit until she wasn't so tired. Her heart sank just a little when she found his address. He lived uptown, all right. Central Park West. There were nearly fifty blocks between them, fifty blocks that meant a great deal more than linear distance.

When she closed the phone book, it didn't occur to her that she could have lived there as well. She couldn't live there because she didn't understand Central Park West. She understood the Village, she understood SoHo, she understood the lower forties and the theater district.

She and Reed had nothing in common, and it was foolish to think otherwise. She began to walk, telling herself that she was going home, getting into the tub, climbing into bed with a book. She reminded herself that she'd never wanted a man in her life anyway. They expected things. They complicated things. She had dozens of dance routines filed in her head. There wasn't enough room left to let her think about a relationship.

Maddy went down into the subway, merging with the crowd. After a search, she unearthed a token from the bottom of her bag. Still lecturing herself, she went through the turnstile that would take her to the uptown train.

It would have been smarter to call first, Maddy decided as she stood on the sidewalk in front of the tall, intimidating building where Reed made his home. He might not be there. She paced down the sidewalk and back again. Worse, he might be there, but not alone. A woman in raw silk slacks strolled by with a pair of poodles and never gave Maddy a glance.

That was what this neighborhood was, she thought. Silk slacks and poodles. She was a mongrel in denim. She glanced down at her own roomy jeans and worn sneakers. At least she should have had the foresight to go home and change first.

Listen to yourself, Maddy ordered. You're standing here complaining about clothes. That's Chantel's line, it's never been yours. Besides, they're good enough for you. They're good enough for the people you know. If they're not good enough for Reed Valentine, what are you doing here?

I don't know, she mused. I'm an idiot.

No argument there.

Taking a deep breath, she walked forward through the wide glass doors into the quiet, marble-floored lobby.

She'd been an actress for years. Maddy put on an easy smile, tossed back her hair, then strolled over to the uniformed man behind the oak counter. "Hello. Is Reed in? Reed Valentine?"

"I'm sorry, miss. He hasn't come in yet this evening."

"Oh." She struggled not to let the depth of her disappointment show. "Well, I just dropped by."

"I'd be happy to take a message. Miss—" When he looked at her, really looked, his eyes widened. "You're Maddy O'Hurley."

She blinked. It was a very rare thing for her to be recognized outside the theater. Maddy knew better than anyone how different she appeared onstage. "Yes."

She offered her hand automatically. "How do you do?''

"Oh, what a pleasure this is." The man, not much taller than she and twice as wide, took her hand in both of his. "When my wife wanted a treat for our anniversary, the kids got us two tickets for
Suzanna's Park.
Orchestra seats, too. What an evening we had."

"That's lovely." Maddy glanced at his name tag. "You must have wonderful children, Johnny."

"They're good sports. All six of them." He grinned at Maddy, showing one gold tooth. "Miss O'Hurley, I can't tell you how much we enjoyed watching you. My wife said it was like watching a sunrise."

"Thank you." Compliments like that one made the years of classes, the days and weeks of rehearsals, the cramped muscles, worthwhile. "Thank you very much."

"You know that part—Lord, my wife cried buckets—when you think Peter's gotten on the train, you think he's gone, and all the lights come down, with just that pale, pale blue one on you. And you sing, ah…" He cleared his throat. "How can he go," he began in a shaky baritone, "with my love wrapped around him?"

"How can he go," Maddy continued in a strong, vibrant contralto, "with my heart in his hand? I only know that I gave him a choice. And he didn't choose me."

"That's the one." Johnny shook his head and sighed. "I have to admit it brought a tear to my eye, too."

"I'm in a new musical that's scheduled to open in about six weeks."

"Are you now?" He beamed at her like a proud father. "We won't miss it, I promise you."

Maddy took a pencil from the counter and scrawled the name of the theater and the assistant stage manager on a pad. "You call this number, ask for Fred here and give my name. I'll see to it that you have two tickets for opening night."

"Opening night." His look of astonished pleasure was enough to warm Maddy all over. "My wife's not going to believe me. I don't know how to thank you, Miss O'Hurley."

She grinned at him. "Applaud."

"You-can count on that. We'll—Oh, good evening, Mr. Valentine."

Maddy straightened from the counter like a shot, feeling guilty for no reason she could fathom. She turned and managed a smile. "Hello, Reed."

"Maddy." He'd come in during the brief duet, but neither of them had noticed.

When he only stared at her, she cleared her throat and decided to wing it. "I was up this way and decided to drop in and say hello. Hello."