Off Balance (Ballet Theatre Chronicles Book 1) (10 page)

He met her eyes. Butterflies bashed about inside her chest.

“Come with me upstairs,” he said.

“Are you serious?”

“I am. But follow a few seconds behind me.”

“So no one sees us together.”

He looked abashed. “Do you mind?”

She laid a hand on his arm. “I don’t mind in the least. I know you’re here for business.”

The room he led her to appeared to be the master bedroom. It looked like something she envisioned royalty living in. Gil waited for her to slip in before he shut and locked the door. That done, he took her by the hand and led her to the far side of the room.

“I want to show you this painting,” he said.

Although she knew little about paintings and fine art, she could tell this poster-sized, gilt-framed, Impressionist painting was a rare, exquisite one, dreamy and evocative. There was a lush garden setting, a patio table laden with food and wine, and in the periphery, a half-dressed couple reclining on a blanket, limbs entwined. The suggestion of sex, rather than an explicit portrayal of it, made the scene all the more alluring. They stood there, observing it in silence until Gil stepped behind her, his hands resting on her shoulders.

“Look at it,” he murmured against her temple. “That’s the closest image of paradise I’ve ever seen.” His hands began to caress her bare shoulders. She was finding it increasingly difficult to focus on the painting, but managed to nod.

Gil’s hands moved; she could feel him working the back zipper of her dress, down, down, until cool air touched the small of her back. His fingers slipped under her dress’s shoulders, nudging them off her. In the time it took Lana to realize how the laws of gravity might work against her here, the dress slithered right off, landing in a puddle of silky material down at her feet. Her first instinct, like the time her costume had come undone onstage, was to follow it right down, lift it back up in a flash. But Gil held onto her shoulders.

“No,” he whispered. “Lana. Let it stay.”

From the corner of her eye she caught her reflection in a mirror on another wall. She saw the scared pale face, her mostly nude body. As a dancer she was used to semi-nudity. Most of the women had nothing to hide on top; they hardly even reacted when one of the male dancers entered their dressing room. But this felt different, scandalously so. In the Macy’s dressing room she’d stuffed her white cotton bra into her purse because it had clashed with the black dress. Now, only her skimpy thong panties kept her from full nudity.

She saw Gil in the mirror and watched him watch her, a curiously erotic experience. His expression seemed to encompass pleasure, wonder, but sadness, too. He gently stroked her shoulders, her arms, before his hands fell to his side and he stepped around to the front of her. She stood there, swaying, unsure about what was expected of her.

Gil took a few steps back and sat on a chair. “Come here,” he said.

Like something out of a dream, she felt herself move toward him. He reached out and drew her closer, his hands closing around her waist, sliding to the small of her back. He bent his head so that his forehead was resting on her upper abdomen. He didn’t move, he didn’t try to turn it into sexual foreplay. She could feel his breath sending warm waves of air across her belly. When he looked up at her and spoke it was with the awed solemnity of a young boy.

“Something’s happening. I’ve never felt this way before. Never. Tell me you feel it too.”

This was moving too fast. She wanted to reach out, grab at his arm, tell him to slow down, that the wind was pounding her face too hard, tearing her breath from her. It was all too much, too soon. Instead she heard herself replying, as if in a trance.

“I do.”

“I knew it. Some things you can just feel.”

He sighed, his shoulders relaxing, as if released of a heavy load. Shifting back onto his feet, he straightened slowly, hands moving higher up her back. He kept his head close to her body, his lips grazing her still-pubescent breasts, her neck, a spot just below her earlobe that sent an electric shiver through her. One hand came around to cup her face. She was trembling, not just in hungry anticipation of the kiss, but at the unexpected intensity of what had just transpired.

The jiggling of the room’s doorknob jolted them both from their reverie. Another jiggle, followed by a knock. Lana panicked. Even Gil looked alarmed.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, clutching at her shoulders. “Tell him you’re fixing your dress.”

“I’m
what?
” she whispered back.

“You’re fixing your dress. Say it. Quick. Casual like.”

So she did.

“Oh. Sorry,” she heard a voice say. The host’s voice. “I was looking for someone else.”

“I’ll be right out. There was a pin digging into my skin,” she added and Gil, still alert as a cat, nodded in approval. “I had to take the whole dress off. I hope you don’t mind.”

“No, no. Take your time. Lana, is it?”

The host had remembered her name. She felt like Somebody. “Yes, it’s Lana.”

“All right. See you shortly.”

“Okay. And thanks!”

“No problem.”

Ten minutes later she and Gil were back in the kitchen, trying not to stand too close. She was smiling dreamily into her Perrier and lime, thinking about the way they’d kissed and kissed just before leaving the room, once he’d helped her back into her dress and zipped her up. Her lips felt chafed and swollen now, her mind reeling every time she thought of what he’d said to her.

Something’s happening. I’ve never felt this way before.

They’d agreed to play it cool so Gil could get back to business. It came as a jolt, nonetheless, when Andy Redgrave entered the kitchen a moment later and Gil turned his back on Lana.

“There you are,” Andy was saying to Gil.

“Here I am indeed.” Gil’s voice sounded uncharacteristically hearty.

Lana didn’t look up from her Perrier; surely her swollen lips and hastily reapplied lip gloss would reveal what she and Gil had just been doing.

“I was just talking with Ryan Dudek,” Andy said. “He’s interested in meeting you.”

“Viatech’s CEO? That’s fabulous.”

Again the hearty voice. Lana looked up and saw Andy’s eyes now fixed on hers.

“Hello, Lana. Where’s Alice?”

“I think in the living room, maybe,” she stuttered.

“And the pin?”

“What?”

“The pin. In your dress. Gone now?”

“Oh, that pin. Yes, it’s gone. Thanks. Sorry to be in your room like that.”

He offered her one of his cool host smiles. “It’s no problem. I like my guests to feel at home.”

She pulled away from the counter, sloshing Perrier on her hand, but too jittery to care. “Well, I think I’ll go find Alice.”

“You do that,” Andy said, already turning away from Lana to face Gil.

She hesitated. “Gil,” she blurted out, which she immediately realized was the wrong thing to do. Gil didn’t look at her.

Andy did.

“I’ll tell Alice you’re in the kitchen,” she improvised. “If she needs to talk to you.”

What a stupid thing to say. What a stupid girl she was. Out of her league didn’t begin to cover it, next to Andy Redgrave, in this mansion of Andy Redgrave’s, where it seemed as if even the portraits on the walls were now frowning down at her.

She left. Fled.

In the living room she found Montserrat and Alice, still, unfathomably, talking about music. She remained there, nonetheless, willing herself not to shrink when she saw Andy approach five minutes later, Gil by his side. Andy and Montserrat bantered about the night’s recital, about how Montserrat, Matthew and their pianist partner had been simply using the performance as a rehearsal for one of their upcoming recitals. Lana tried to avoid looking at Gil, but the moment she gave in and snuck a furtive look at him, his eyes were on her. It was like that first meeting; she couldn’t tear her gaze away.

Not after what had happened upstairs.

Alice’s nudge was a rude awakening. Lana looked over and the others were regarding her in an amused fashion. “What?” she stuttered.

“Andy wanted to know if you liked classical music,” Alice said.

Andy was studying her like before, but this time he wasn’t smiling. “Um, sure,” she managed.

She could feel confusion coming from Alice, who hurried to fill the awkward pause. “Of course you do, as a ballet dancer. All that Tchaikovsky, for starters.
Swan Lake, Sleeping Beauty, Nutcracker
.”

“Yes,” Lana said. “All that. Definitely.”

Andy looked over Lana’s shoulder and beyond. “Ah,” he said in reply. He nudged Gil, who’d remained silent. “There’s a couple for you to meet. Paul and Laura Giordano. Their endowment handed over a generous contribution to the symphony last year. Shall I introduce you?”

“I think you know the answer to that one.” Gil began to laugh, a low, conspiratorial sound.

“I do indeed.” Andy turned to Alice and Montserrat. “Ladies, we must leave you.”

“Gil, get to work,” Alice mock-commanded, and they all laughed. But the smile dropped off her face the instant Andy and Gil walked away, Andy’s arm now slung over Gil’s shoulders. When she spoke a moment later, it was in a tone that chilled Lana.

“What just happened?”

Montserrat looked at Alice in concern. “What is it? What’s the matter?”

Alice didn’t answer her. She turned to look at Lana, her expression troubled.

Lana’s heart began to hammer. “I don’t know.”

She didn’t. Andy had just caught her gazing at Gil, and he’d heard her call his name in that certain way in the kitchen. He’d probably figured out that Gil had been in the bedroom with her. But that didn’t explain the coldness now coming from him, not when he was looking so pleased with Gil.

Alice searched Lana’s face. Forehead creased, she turned to Montserrat. “Nothing’s the matter. It’s just that we want to make sure Andy’s happy with us. That he wants to work with us.”

“But he looked happy,” Montserrat pointed out. “With you and Gil both.”

Alice tried to smile. “You’re right. I just felt a little nervous there. No big deal.”

This was how the next hour proceeded for Lana: Gil became Andy’s best friend, his protégé, and Lana became invisible. No one spoke with her; no one even glanced her way. Gil wouldn’t even try and catch her eye anymore. Instead he talked to Andy, focused on Andy, joined any discussion Andy was lording over. Meanwhile, Andy’s polite disdain toward Lana morphed into an unspoken yet palpable hostility she could feel radiating from across the room.

She was no stranger to hostility. Look at how the other dancers had treated her when they saw the cast list for Program II. Her whole professional life, she’d produced this kind of reaction in others. But that was the dance world. The rules and hierarchies there were different.

A terrible thought worked its way into her mind. She’d been in the dance world for fifteen years. She’d learned to be a good observer, particularly of what was trying to remain hidden, in an environment that made no assumptions about gender attractions. Had they all been in the dance studio right then, the message Andy was giving off would read loud and clear.
Back off. You are poaching what has already been claimed.

But this was not the dance studio.

She stumbled out of the living room, sought refuge in the bathroom. There, she splashed cold water on her face, trying to calm herself, but the suspicion planted in her mind wouldn’t go away. She thought of Andy’s eyes on Gil, the hand on Gil’s arm, the proprietary nature of it all.

Gil owed her some explanation.

She wiped her face, her hands, slow and deliberate in her actions, as if that might allow her to approach her next task with equal control. Finally she left the bathroom to seek out Gil, whom she found chatting with Andy at the doorway of the study.

Gil spied her and looked alarmed. Horrified.

She faltered. And in that terrible moment, Alice swept in, sidled up to Lana. Gil sagged visibly with relief at the sight of Alice, which cut Lana even deeper.

“I think maybe Lana and I will head out now,” Alice said to Andy, her voice light and flirtatious, as if proposing a run to the liquor store to buy more party booze.

Andy regarded the women in confusion.

Lana was confused as well. Alice had draped herself all over Lana, caressing her bare arm, pressing close to her. She threaded her fingers through Lana’s long hair, as if they were lovers. Lana was too shocked to speak. Would the funhouse element of this night never end?

A smile spread across Andy’s face. “Alice,” he said, “you are a dark horse.”

“Ever in pursuit of that perfect stallion,” she quipped. “Or mare.”

Her reply delighted Andy. He burst into laughter and like that, poof, he saw Lana again. He became once again the charming host, beaming, telling them goodbye, girls, glad they could both come by.

It happened fast, Alice’s suggestion to Gil that she take his car and his agreement, his assurance that he’d find a way back to the city. Tomorrow. As the implication of this sank into Lana’s mind, Alice’s fingers dug into the soft flesh of her inner arm, a warning to keep her reaction to herself. They collected their belongings, bade Andy and Gil one last goodbye, then walked out of Andy’s Hillsborough mansion and away from whatever was happening between Andy and Gil.

They made their way down the steps into the now-chilly night air. Lana began to choke out a few strangled sobs. “Hold it in,” Alice muttered under her breath. “People are watching.”

The valets, spying them, sprang to attention. Alice pointed out Gil’s car a quarter-block away and asked for the keys. “We’ll go get it ourselves,” she told them. “We need the walk.”

The moonless night sky was dotted with millions of stars. It felt broader, more omnipotent than it did in San Francisco, lit by streetlights and never fully dark. A breeze sent the live oak leaves nearby rustling. Silence reigned, except for the
click-click
of their high heels on the asphalt and the throb of party music that receded as they continued on. She’d released her grip on Lana, but could tell the girl was trembling, taking little pained gasps of breath.