Off Balance (Ballet Theatre Chronicles Book 1) (13 page)

He smiled. “I’d surely like that.”

She bought the coffee and brought it out to him. Their hands touched in the transfer, his so rough, calloused and cold, they felt more like gloves than flesh. She pulled her own hands back quickly, bade him farewell. He thanked her profusely before settling into his nook, breathing in the coffee fumes, warming his hands on the cup.

As she trudged up the stairs to her floor, she was heartened by the thought that they’d established a sort of camaraderie. Maybe this would turn out to be the friendship that defined her life here. Not Gil after all.

The thought produced a dull, dreary ache.

Inside, she listened to her phone messages. Sure enough, the promised message from Courtney, left ridiculously late; how had Courtney thought she’d get it in time? She listened, as well, to the previous night’s messages from Mom. The first one was polite confusion—had Lana gotten the time wrong? The second sounded wounded, that clearly Lana was having too much fun in her new life to remember her poor mother, who’d only been trying to help anyway. The third was Mom’s voice, chilly with anger, telling her to call.

Lana called now, dreading the confrontation, but well aware that the longer she waited, the worse Mom would be. Dad answered and told Lana that Mom was at the grocery store. Lana, relieved, asked him to put Luke on the line instead.

Luke was Lana’s favorite brother, smaller and slower to develop than his twin, Marty. The doctors kept assuring Mom he was still within normal standards on both motor and mental development, but he’d always required extra effort and attention. For Lana it had been a pleasure to lavish attention on him; he was the sweetest of the Kessler kids and never complained. For Mom, however, Lana knew Luke’s developmental delays meant extra work, particularly when last year’s kindergarten teacher suggested they keep Luke behind for another year, while moving Marty on to first grade. Mom, looking forward to more daytime hours without kids underfoot, had been crushed.

Luke entertained her, breathlessly detailing every little event going on in his classroom at school, his ever-expanding Lego Star Wars collection, his latest Pokémon card acquisitions. Then pure delight filled his voice. “Lana, guess what?! Mom just walked in!”

Lana squeezed her eyes shut. “Oh, goodie!”

“I guess you’ll want to talk to her now, huh?”

“I guess I should.”

“Well,” Mom said coolly when she came on the phone a moment later. “Hello.”

“Mom, I’m so sorry. Something came up.”

“I guess.”

“Please, I’m sorry. It was so unexpected.”

“Where were you?”

“I was invited to a party at the last minute. With friends.”

“But you told me you hadn’t made any friends. You told me that, Friday night, about how lonely and homesick you were.”

“I was. I am. But then this, um, new friend who was showing me around on Saturday, insisted I go to last night’s party. Three of us did. We went together, me and this woman.”

“And a man, I take it.”

“Oh, well, yes.”

“What was his name?”

“Well, my friend’s name is Alice. That’s the girl.”

“I’m not dumb, Lana. I would have figured out that was the girl. I asked you what the boy’s name was.”

“Gil.”

“Just Gil?”

“Gil Sheridan,” she stammered. “He’s from Chicago. Catholic, like us.”

Lana, knowing her mother, continued to emphasize how she’d gone to the party with Alice, left with Alice, spent extra time with her afterward. In a burst of inspiration she brought up Coop, her new friend Coop. Who was a guy. They’d gotten a coffee earlier this morning, in fact.

She could almost hear Mom’s brain ticking and whirring, looking for holes in the story. When Mom spoke again, she sounded suspicious. “You watch those boys. You’re a pretty girl and that California liberalness—oh, I’ve heard all about it. You tell those boys to keep their hands out of your pants, do you hear me?”

“Mom!” Lana protested, her cheeks growing hot. “Please.”

“You listen to me here, Lana. I know men.”

“As it turns out, you’re so far off the mark with Coop, you just don’t know. He’s this humble guy who only wants to have a quiet life and exchange conversation from time to time.”

“So, this Coop. He’s not the one who kissed you last night?”

“Mom! Of course not!”

Too late, she realized the correct answer should have been,
“Nobody kissed me, what on earth are you talking about?”

For a moment neither of them spoke.

“That Gil character,” Mom said. “I can just see him. Handsome, charming, making you feel like the only one in the room.”

A chill came over her, that Mom had Gil so well pegged.

“Watch that type, Lana. They’ll only break your heart.” A heavy sigh followed. “Oh, I hate that you’re alone out there, without family.”

“This woman, Alice, you’d respect her, Mom. She’s sort of no-nonsense and she really did watch over me last night. And, oh, Mom, guess what? I met her friend, a famous violinist, and she played last night in a recital with—you’re not going to believe this—the cellist guy from the commercials. Matthew Nakamura! I got to meet them and talk with them. They’re all friends with Alice.”

“Well. Lucky you.”

It grew quiet. Too quiet. She’d successfully diverted the conversation away from Gil, only to land here. The omnipresent knot deep in her stomach, dormant for so long, began to stir. “Enough about me,” Lana said. “How are you doing?”

“Fine. I guess.”

It wasn’t the words; it never was. It might not even be the expression on Mom’s face. She could be smiling, but Lana would know, the instant things shifted. It was as perceptible as the shift in the air when storm clouds swept over the sky and you could smell the moisture, feel the turbulence swirl around you, making your skin prickle in anticipation.

“Is it your back, or the kids?” Lana asked, trying to inject equal amounts of sympathy and cheer in her tone.

Mom issued a heavy exhale, one that managed to convey fatigue, exasperation, discouragement, and the burden of lifelong pain. “The doctor is saying I should take a thirty-minute rest every afternoon. What is he thinking? That I live a life of leisure?”

“Oh, Mom, it’s my being gone, isn’t it? Those afternoon breaks that you’re losing out on now.”

“Well, maybe so,” Mom admitted.

“I’m so sorry I’m not around to help out anymore. I feel awful. And I miss you guys so much.”

This seemed to cheer Mom up. “Well, we all miss you too. Apparently more than you miss us.”

She bristled. “I think about you all the time. Last night was the first time I’d done anything social and fun since I arrived. You don’t think I’m lonely the other ninety-eight percent of the time?” Her voice caught at these last words.

“Well, that’s good.”

“That’s
good
?”

“What I mean to say is, that shows you love your family. That we’re important to you.”

“Of course you are. Was there ever any question? Do you think this is easy for me, being all alone out here?”

It was as if the full force of Gil’s betrayal hit her all at once. Had it really only been yesterday afternoon that she’d been out with him, flying so high? Only to land so hard, so low. She wanted to climb under her blankets and cry.

“Honey,” Mom said after a pause, “just remember what I told you. There’s no shame in coming home, if all this proves to be too much. You just come right back to us.”

How good it felt right then to hear the conviction in Mom’s voice. “I’ll be okay,” she said. “I just need a quiet day, a good night’s sleep.”

“All right. But you call me, any time you’re down, you understand?”

“I will. Thanks, Mom.”

“You’re welcome. Bye-bye, honey.”

After a long afternoon of reading and napping, a dinner of grilled cheese and Campbell’s chicken noodle soup (comfort food, Luke’s favorite), Lana settled down for the night, finding solace in all the little rituals. Teeth brushing. Washing her face and applying moisturizer. Making sure she had clean tights and leotards for tomorrow, hand-washing a few for Tuesday. At the thought of company class, her heaviness lightened. This was the single best reality of her dance life: there would always be class. This reassuring sameness, day after day, year after year grounded her, defined her. And tomorrow afternoon there would be a rehearsal for the sprightly
Arpeggio,
with the partnered trios of dancers, some of whom were warming to Lana. That counted for something.

If it was the best life was going to hand her tonight, she’d take it.

The thick fog that blanketed the city on Monday morning mirrored the subdued atmosphere in the WCBT offices. Employees shuffled in, heads bent, mumbling their hellos to one another in froggy voices. Coffees in hand, they made their way to their various cubicles and offices, the ensuing clatter of fingers to keyboard lackluster compared to the way it would sound by mid-morning. Alice, holed up in her tiny office, didn’t expect to see much of Gil this morning. He tended to be elusive on Mondays, in and out of meetings and off-site. Given the weekend’s drama and Alice’s reproof when he’d come by to pick up his car, she sensed today he would be all but invisible.

She looked up from the report she was drafting to see Lucinda, the director of public relations, striding toward her office. Her heart sank. It was too early in the morning for Lucinda.

They’d known each other for years, since training as administrative assistants together, Lucinda in public relations, Alice in special events. Lucinda, already holding a college degree, had been promoted long before Alice, who’d been juggling part-time work with college classes. Even though Alice had obtained her own degree and risen up the ranks as well, Lucinda continued to lord over her with the overfamiliarity and scorn of a big sister, never mind that Alice was three years her senior.

“Sarah is out sick today,” Lucinda called out without preamble. “She has an interview with a reporter from the
San Francisco Arts Times
. The reporter won’t reschedule, she says this
is
a reschedule. No interview today, no feature article. I’d do it, but I’m booked all day.”

Sarah was the director of special events. Apparently Lucinda still harbored the notion that Alice should be forever affiliated with that department.

“Sarah has her own assistant,” Alice reminded Lucinda.

“She’s too green. She’s only been here four months and says she’s afraid she’ll get a fact wrong and get quoted on it. She has a point. So, you need to do it.”

“Need to? Or you’d like me to? Because I’ve got my own work here, you know.”

Lucinda gave an exaggerated sigh, hinting at the troubles that lay on her shoulders, troubles Alice alone was exacerbating.

“Alice. I need your help, please.”

“Oh, all right, I’ll do it.”

“Thank you.” Lucinda handed Alice a press release. “The interview is at ten o’clock. The journalist will meet you here.” She tapped a finger on the press release, which Alice had set on the desk without looking at it. “Those are the details I’d like you to share with her. Stick to facts, not opinions. Do not bring up any of the dancers’ names or quirks. Remember that the integrity of the WCBT and its dancers is at stake every time one of us speaks to the press.”

“Oh, give it a rest, Lucinda. I’ve taken interviews before, you know.”

“Well, just be careful. That’s all I’m saying.”

“Of course I’ll be careful. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get through this report before that interview interrupts my morning.”

Lucinda offered her a curt nod. “Fine. And, um, thanks.”

The reporter arrived at ten, a pale, waif-like girl with sharp, intelligent eyes and expression that belied the waif persona. She introduced herself as Sam, offered Alice a firm handshake, and launched right into her questions. Alice steered each one around to the subject of the October fundraising event, the WCBT in general, to which Alice then offered staid, Lucinda-sanctioned replies, straight from the press release. The interview had all the charisma and spice of a bowl of Quaker Oats without the raisins and brown sugar.

Sam paused her onslaught of questions to peer around the office. Her eyes settled on a framed photo on the wall, an old publicity shot of Alice in an arabesque en pointe, taken from a dress rehearsal performance of the ill-fated
Tomorrow’s Lament.
The photo was the sole nod to her dancer’s past, doubling as a cautionary reminder of what happened when you didn’t pay attention on the job. She’d almost forgotten about it, up there next to her college diploma.

“Wow,” Sam said. “That’s so pretty. So mesmerizing.”

Alice smiled. “It is a nice photo, isn’t it? It really captures the artistry of both photography and dance—the play of light against the black floor, the purity of body lines, the expression on my face.”

“On your face,” Sam echoed, puzzled. Her eyes widened. “Do you mean to say that’s you?”

“Well, yes,” she admitted.

“You were a dancer with
this
company?”

“Years ago.” Alice gave an expansive little wave of her hand. “That was another life.”

“How long ago?”

“Eight years. And we all know how much things change in that time.” Reluctant to revisit the subject that had brought her such distress on Saturday night, Alice seized on this new issue.

“The performing arts world and its audiences are really evolving. We’ve had to work hard and rethink the equation. How do you sustain interest in ballet in an era when so many other entertainment options exist now? I have to say, I think the West Coast Ballet Theatre has done a stellar job in capturing the pulse of the 21
^st
century and capitalizing on it. Which is crucial.”

Sam nodded and shot another glance at the photo. “So, if I might ask. Why did you switch to administration?”

Today her composure held.

“Oh, an injury forced me to reconsider my priorities. Through pursuing my degree, I discovered dance administration was a better fit.” Alice angled her head toward Sam’s notepad. “Anyway. Do you have any other questions for me? About the October event?”