Off Balance (Ballet Theatre Chronicles Book 1) (23 page)

Finally Alice excused herself to use the bathroom. On her return, she spied Montserrat and Carter, now in the kitchen, standing close. Carter’s hands were on Montserrat’s hips, his face buried in the crook of her neck. Montserrat’s hands were moving up and down Carter’s back, having slipped under his shirt. Carter raised his head and the loving look he and Montserrat exchanged, the palpable aura of their affection, made a lump form in Alice’s throat. It was so intimate, so exclusionary. She felt a recognition somewhere inside her, an “ah, so that’s what true love, enduring love looks like.” It made her feel both happy for her friends and more achingly alone.

She slipped into the living room, finished the last of her wine and called out in a loud voice, “Well, I’ll be going now!”

A whisper from the kitchen, a chuckle. A moment later Montserrat and Carter appeared in the archway, dazed smiles on their faces. Alice knew the minute she left they’d make a beeline for the bedroom.

Montserrat pried herself from Carter’s side and gave Alice a hug. “Thanks for coming over,” she said.

“Thanks for inviting me.”

“Any time. When Niles comes back we’ll have a beef bourguignon cook-off.”

Neither of them made reference to the earlier conversation.

Enough damage had been done already.

Lana was vacuuming Alice’s living room floor and enumerating the reasons why it was a good thing, or at least a productive thing, that Gil had left town for the weekend. She’d be able to catch up with sleep, with tasks. Come down from the week’s hard work and ramp up for next week’s opening night. And it wasn’t Andy Redgrave he’d left town with, after all. It was Julia, the lesser of the two evils.

“It’s only for two nights,” Gil had told Lana over the phone. “I’m sorry, love. It was a last-minute decision, Julia being capricious. She wasn’t ready to go to New York just yet, and suddenly Los Angeles and the Beverly Wilshire seemed like the perfect solution for her. Only, with an escort.”

Gil sounded gloomy about not being able to stay in San Francisco with Lana on her last free weekend, but duty called, he admitted. Once he began to describe the hotel, however—did Lana know that this was the hotel
Pretty Woman
was filmed in?—and the suite Julia always insisted on, she could hear his undercurrent of excitement. Whether or not he wanted to be there, she sensed, he was going to enjoy it.

But Lana would never be far from his thoughts, he told her. Not after this week together.

They’d made love finally, a dizzying, thrilling experience that had kept them up long past midnight the first night, touching each other, reveling in the closeness, the deep satisfaction of bare skin against skin, body parts clicking into place just right. Afterward, lying there next to him, stroking the length of his bare backside as he slept, she’d wondered how she could have ever let Mom persuade her this was wrong. They’d used protection. Gil had been wonderful and caring, before
and
after. She’d never felt so sheltered, so nurtured by one person before. The next day when she saw him in the café, they’d acted breezy and casual around each other, as they’d agreed was best, but when he met her gaze and held it, she knew he was taking this as seriously as she was. That night when he came over, and the following night, he proved it all over again.

The flip side was that he was gone for the whole weekend. She decided that nothing felt quite so empty as the emptiness that had temporarily been filled by something perfect. She could rationalize all she wanted, but in the end, her body missed him with an ache she would have found impossible to imagine, only two, three weeks earlier.

A tap on the shoulder sent her airborne with shock and fright. She swiveled around to see Alice there behind her, hands on her hips, regarding Lana in amusement. Lana switched off the vacuum cleaner.

“Boy,” Alice said. “You were in your own world. I was practically shouting your name.”

“I’m sorry,” she stuttered. “I was lost in thought. Vacuuming always puts me in a sort of trance.”

“So I see. Tequila might do the same thing, with considerably less effort involved.” She surveyed the room. “How did you ever find the vacuum cleaner?”

“I didn’t mean to go snooping around in your storage closet or anything. It’s just that I was feeling sort of restless and wanted to put my energy to good use, and I saw the vacuum there.”

“Oh. Well, thanks for cleaning. But really, stuff like that isn’t necessary.”

“It’s no problem. My mom would always tell me, be a good guest and keep your host happy.” She prepared to turn the vacuum back on but Alice held up a hand.

“Lana,” she said, and hesitated. “I’m not expecting a ‘clean in exchange for rent’ kind of setup here. I want to make sure you know that.”

The cleaning lady thing. Lana felt a blush rise up her neck and stain her face.

Alice looked uncomfortable as well. “Excuse me. I’m going to go start my dinner prep,” she said, and headed to the kitchen.

Lana finished the vacuuming and put away the cleaner as quietly as she could, before going into the kitchen. Alice was there, chopping vegetables for a salad, a glass of wine beside the lettuce bag. She surveyed Lana and took a sip of wine before speaking.

“Gil abandoned you this weekend, it sounded like.”

“Yes. L.A. The Beverly Wilshire with Julia. I guess she didn’t want to go there alone so she begged him to join her.”

Alice grimaced. “Is that what he told you?”

Lana thought back to the conversation. “Well, I don’t know if those were his exact words. Just that she wanted to go and he was going along to keep her company, to be nice.”

“Nice,” Alice repeated. “Yes, it was ‘nice’ of him. Particularly since he was the one who persuaded her not to go back to New York so soon. And since he was the one to suggest the Beverly Wilshire and make the arrangements.”

Lana regarded Alice, appalled. “But he made it sound like she was dragging him out.”

In response, Alice only shrugged.

“How do you know this?” Lana asked.

“Because the wall that separates our offices is thin and I heard him make both calls.”

It felt like someone had driven a fist into her stomach. “But why?”

Alice’s expression softened. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything. Really, it didn’t sound like some sneaky business, anything for you to get worried about. It was just Gil being Gil. But, I have to say, sometimes I get tired of listening to the way he works people. He puts so much energy into positioning them right where he wants them, making sure he’s on their good side at all times.”

“You mean like Julia? I thought the two of them were fine with how things were. That it was a convenience thing. Why would he feel the need to invite her away for a weekend?”

“Preventative maintenance, if I had to guess. I’ve got a hunch she’s caught on to you two.”

“How would she know? He says she never asks when he comes and goes.”

“Lana, he’s come over here three out of the past four nights and stayed long past socializing hours. Don’t you think that’s maybe just a tiny clue?” She shook her head. “He’s got to be careful here. He likes his free rent, his pretty little car, but she’s not stupid, nor is she that desperate. But if he invests a few nights into making her feel special, important, he can continue to play both sides.”

Alice gave an irritable wave of her hand. “Can we drop the subject of Gil’s behavior? It’s going to make me lose my appetite.”

“Sure. Sorry.” Lana tiptoed over to the counter adjacent to the sink. There were a few scattered items from her own meal that she quickly popped into the dishwasher. While she was at it, she picked up the soaking saucepan Alice had used earlier for morning oatmeal and began scrubbing it clean. Alice’s voice cut into her activity.

“I’ll get to that.”

“Oh, it’s no problem. I’m right here, I’ll take care of it.” Lana continued scrubbing. “My mom always tells me, when I’m in a cleaning groove, I shouldn’t stop, I should just keep powering on. Of course, she profits from that, huh? That part is a little annoying. I’ll bet your mom wasn’t like that.”

“Stop it!”

Lana shut off the water and turned to regard Alice in confusion. Alice didn’t look grateful for the help. She looked angry.

“Stop cleaning my house,” Alice said. “And Stop. Bringing. Up. Our moms.” The last sentence was exaggerated, bit out.

The awkwardness was terrible. Lana didn’t know what to say.

Alice shoved away the knife and cutting board, ignoring the chopped carrot circles that rolled off and tumbled to the floor. “Look. I don’t mean to be rude. But I just want to prepare my food in peace. Alone. Can you give me that?”

Lana felt tears rising, like nausea, in the back of her throat. She could only nod in reply.

Alice grabbed her glass of wine, only now noticing the carrots she’d sent to the floor. With her free hand, she stabbed a finger in their direction.

“I’ll take care of that later,” she said to Lana, her own voice trembling. “Please do not clean it for me.” With that, she left the kitchen, hurried up the stairs. A moment later Lana could hear the thump of her bedroom door shutting.

She stood there in the now silent kitchen, still frozen into place. Then the tears began. She crept up the stairs and made it to the safety of her own room before the deluge commenced. She headed straight to the little tub chair that felt like a pair of arms holding her close. Whenever she sat in it sideways, legs tucked in, it gave her that precise feeling, these two strong arms, like Gil’s but not. Gil, who was spending the night in a fancy hotel tonight with the woman he still publicly referred to as his girlfriend. Gil, who’d extended the invitation to Julia, not the other way around. She curled up in the chair, squeezed her eyes shut and cried.

Five minutes later a tap sounded at the door. Lana froze, mid-sob, horrified. “Yes,” she called out in a high, phony voice.

“Can I come in?”

This was Alice’s house; of course she could. “Yes,” Lana managed. She knew she should straighten up, pretend to be fine, but she couldn’t move from her huddled position.

Alice entered, saw her and stopped short. “That was the chair I had in my bedroom all through my teens. And the way you’re sitting is exactly what I would do.”

In response, Lana could only sniffle and offer a hiccup.

Alice came closer. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry. My impatience was about me and my stuff. It had very little to do with you.”

“Thanks for saying that.”

“It was rude of me.”

“This is your home.”

“That’s no excuse.” She sank to the bed and sat facing Lana. “Look. The mom thing. I owe you an explanation. You see, when I was a kid, I lost my mom.”

“Like, lost her in a crowd?” she asked stupidly.

Alice’s expression didn’t change. “No. She died.”

She stared at Alice in horror. Oh, God, how many times had she brought up Mom? Asked Alice whether her own mom was the same, simply as a way of making conversation? Dozens of mom references. Dozens of gaffes, over and over. Could she have been any more of a bull in a china shop?

Before she could begin to stutter her way through an apology, Alice lifted her hand.

“Wait. It’s not some ghastly tragic story that’s haunted my life. You are not irreparably damaging my psyche by bringing up moms. Marianne, my stepmom, has been like a mother to me since I was thirteen. I couldn’t have asked for a better second mom. I’ve called her ‘my mom’ for years. Decades. Really, I’d even stopped thinking about it until recently. Until…”

Here she hesitated.

“Until I showed up,” Lana finished.

Alice paused to ponder this. “You might be right.”

“I’m sorry,” Lana whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

“Oh, it’s not you
.
I think it’s just what happens at my age.” Alice spoke slowly, her expression pensive, as if she were figuring this out for the first time. “The stuff you thought you’d successfully run from, well, damned if it doesn’t show up at your front door. Literally, in this case.” She chuckled, good mood restored, but Lana only felt worse.

“Anyway,” Alice said, “I don’t talk about it much—the truth is, I’ll go out of my way to avoid discussing it—but I thought you should know. I’ve had an atypical experience in the mother department. And I’ve never considered this before, but maybe I’m a little envious of you and your closeness with your mom.”

Oh, if Alice only knew.

Alice rose but made no motion to leave. Instead she angled her head and studied Lana. “Are you okay? Did I say the wrong thing?”

“No,” Lana managed.

“Well, what’s going on, then? And don’t tell me you’re fine. Because you’re not.”

In response she could only shake her head.

Alice sat back down. “Tell me.”

“I’m scared,” she said. A great sob escaped and suddenly she was crying to Alice, babbling how she felt so ungrounded and worried, about her own mom’s welfare, about how it no longer felt like Kansas City was her home, but neither did San Francisco feel like home. And Gil, so reliable at times, so flaky other times, like this weekend, so how much could she count on him? And the way she kept annoying Alice; what would she
do
if Alice kicked her out? She’d have nowhere to go. She’d end up just like Coop.

Alice looked sad. “Were you really thinking I’d kick you out? Because you made me irritable?”

Lana wondered if admitting to the truth would hurt or help her case. But Alice had taken her silence as an affirmative.

“Oh, Lana,” she said softly. “I would never, never do that. I may be prickly, but I’m not a monster. I’m on your side here, even when I don’t act like it.” She gazed down at the comforter, tracing the nubbed pattern with her finger. “I’m sorry. I wish I could be a bigger person about this all. Sharing a house. Having functional relationships. It just doesn’t come easily to me.”

“You’ve been the greatest to me,” Lana said. “Really.”

A dubious expression crossed Alice’s face. “Well, that’s considerate of you to say. But anyway, know that this is your home for as long as you need it. Until you find some place you like more.”