Off Balance (Ballet Theatre Chronicles Book 1) (31 page)

“Alice, who once again had to enlighten me on the details of your plans last night that you conveniently omitted. The part about the two of you meeting Andy for dinner.”

“Look. I didn’t want anything to distract or upset you before a performance.”

“Well. Thanks for your consideration. It’s a shame you can’t have the same consideration toward Alice.”

“I do.”

“Oh. Like on the message you left on her machine last night?”

A dull red flush rose to stain his cheeks. “That message was for her, not you. Do you make it a habit of listening to her messages?”

She could feel her own cheeks growing warm. “With her permission, yes. My mother calls and leaves me messages there. As proof I’m living where I say I’m living.”

The muscle beneath Gil’s jaw ticked. “Alice behaved inappropriately last night.”

“How so?”

“She was flirting in a ridiculous manner with Andy over dinner.”

“Don’t you see how comical that accusation is?”

“Why?”

“Why? Because of the way
you
were acting, that night at Andy’s party.”

There. It was out.

His expression grew cold. “That was business, Lana. Business that produced today’s awarded grant.”

“Oh, I think there was more than business going on.” Her voice shook, as did her whole body.

“What has that bitch been telling you?”

“Who?”

“Alice, that’s who. What lies has she been feeding you?”

It was as if she were speaking to another Gil, a cruel, unlikeable one. She leaned closer and spoke in a slow, clear tone.

“Alice didn’t have to tell me anything. I saw it, that night. Did you think I was blind? I saw that look in Andy’s eyes and the acceptance in yours.”

“This conversation is ridiculous,” he spluttered. “You’re overwrought, I need to go prep for my next meeting, and I think the best thing for us to do is—”

“Over
wrought
? Did you really just call me overwrought?”

He stopped. “I’m sorry, that was a cliché. A stupid guy response. You’re not overwrought, you’re…” He gestured with his hands like a magician trying to conjure up a less inflammatory word.

She
was
overwrought. Not about her dance, her career, as she should be, but about a guy
.
Someone who couldn’t muster the courage to call her “my girlfriend” in public. The realization chilled her. What had she allowed herself to get drawn into? Alice was wrong; it wasn’t Mom she’d handed too much power over to, it was Gil.

He was still trying to justify himself, his words, his own anger. “Just stop it right there,” Lana interrupted. “I’m sick to death of these games. The others are welcome to you. I want out.”

He stared at her, stunned. “Are you trying to break up with me?”

“Is that even possible, when I’m not even ‘your girlfriend’? But to answer your question. Yes.”

The reality of her words seemed to wash over them at the same time. Gil’s next words echoed her thoughts.

“You can’t do this. We’re not ending things here, Lana. Not over some little dispute.”

“No, Gil. What I can’t do is live like this.”

She turned around and walked away. Ran away. To the ladies’ room, where he couldn’t follow. There, she ran the water, splashed it over her face, tried desperately to retune her brain.

Tonight was the final dress rehearsal with orchestra for Program II.
Souvenir
was better than it had been, but it would take everything in her to excel in it. She’d willingly give it all that, and more. Because this was the only world that mattered for her. Her place of safety.

She repeated this to herself like a mantra as she dried her face, her hands, studied her pale face in the mirror.

She was safe. She needed only focus on dance.

When she walked out of the restroom and saw Gil, leaning against the opposite wall, she exhaled in impatience. She felt like telling him this wasn’t the Ritz, that she wasn’t looking to be talked out of her decision. She didn’t need to be rescued.

He didn’t say anything. He merely regarded her with mournful eyes, and she knew he wasn’t going to let her off easily.

“Will you just sit with me for a few minutes?” he asked.

She sighed and nodded.

She followed him to a less public spot, a bench in a far corner of the hallway. The place, perhaps, where Courtney had spied Gil and Gabrielle in their cozy exchange. They sat. She was wordless, and it was a while before he spoke.

“I just want to know why you would want to break up with me because I left an angry message on Alice’s machine,” he said finally. “Or because Andy Redgrave was being a flirt that night. Talk to me. Please.”

“Jewel. Andy. Gabrielle. Where do you want to start?”

“Jewel?” His confusion seemed genuine. “I’m not following.”

“Gil. He—or she—was caressing you, hugging you, all but humping you while I stood there, watching.”

He relaxed, even chuckled. “It’s all part of the Jewel act. All for show, and everyone who knows her knows it. That’s the friendship, weird as it is. Nothing more to know, or see.”

“Fine.” Her heart began to hammer wildly. “Andy. That night.”

No confusion here. Gil hesitated, plowed his hands through his hair before looking at her. “Look. That’s not going to be an issue again. He knows I don’t go that way.”

“Did he know, that night?” She could hardly hear her words for the way the blood was whooshing through her veins, clogging her ears, her throat.

He studied the linoleum floor. “He found out.”

Oh, the ugly scenario that had surely transpired. Andy, holder of so much power. Telling Gil to kneel before him, bow his head and pay homage to the king, so to speak. Or Gil would have offered to do so. Begged. Anything for that account.

She didn’t need to watch Gil squirm through a detailed recounting of what actually happened, or, worse, offer a prettier, made-up one to better suit his audience. Neither of them would profit from that. “Is it ever going to happen again?” she asked him instead.

“Never,” he said to the floor.

“Does he know that?”

His gaze rose to meet hers. “Yes.”

The effort required to ask these questions, visualize what she’d long pushed out of her mind, drained her of words, of spirit. Gil looked equally depleted. They sat there in silence, letting the subject waft away like a bad smell.

“So, that’s why you’re trying to break up with me?” Gil said finally.

“Oh, Gil. That was just two examples. There’s Julia. And today I heard about Gabrielle.”

“Who?”

“One of the dancers?” she supplied.

He looked perplexed, yet again.

“Someone told me she caught the two of you together the other day in the hallway, all close and cozy.”

He gazed at her as if waiting for a punch line to a joke he hadn’t really caught.

She sighed in impatience. “Whether you remember it or not is beside the point. Or maybe that
is
the point. There are so many you don’t even remember names.”

She shut her eyes. It was easier that way.

“I don’t want to be involved in these guessing games. I don’t even want a boyfriend. That was never my goal. Dancers don’t date
.
They dance. In a way, I feel like this whole thing has been about you getting what you want. In fact, that defines your whole life, doesn’t it?”

“Lana, please, it’s not like that anymore.”

Silence.

“Lana. Look at me.”

“No.”

She could feel him slipping from the bench and hunkering down next to her, pressing against her thighs. She opened her eyes and met his gaze.

“I’d do anything for you,” he said. “Tell me what you need and I’ll do it.”

The answer seemed to rise up from within her. “I need space from you.”

He hesitated. “I can appreciate that. This is all terrible timing, I know, with the opening of the big ballet tomorrow night. I’ll give you that space.” His tone changed; it became canny. “But I told you weeks ago that I’d help you find a more permanent living arrangement. That was my job. It still is. Why don’t you let me take you out, for a few hours on Saturday or Sunday afternoon?”

His eyes were still soft, coaxing, but in his manner she could feel the same pressure he’d applied to Jewel. He got this way, so caught up in what he wanted, that he’d just push on, bullishly, determined to get it at any cost, regardless of the other person’s feelings.

It turned her off like nothing else. It made rejecting him that much easier.

“Oh. That won’t be necessary, after all,” she told him.

The softness receded. “Why?”

“Alice has invited me to stay there, at her house, through the end of the year.”

“Wait. She did? Why?”

“The company is touring soon. Alice pointed out how silly it would be to pay rent for the time I’m gone. And after that the whole
Nutcracker
season—the craziness of it, the way all you want to do when you’re not at the theater or the studio is go home, sleep and try to stay uninjured. She understands that. And her house is an easy commute to the theater.”

“Alice isn’t the one who really cares about you here.”

“Oh, yes she is.”

Gil’s eyes grew hard. “So. Alice gets your company, you get your space, and I’m pushed to the periphery, until you say the magic word.”

She held her ground. “Yes. That’s how it has to be. That, or a clean breakup.”

Her body tensed, waiting for the awfulness sure to come. But Gil surprised her.

“Okay. It’s a deal. I’ll give you the space you need. You mean that much to me.” He rose, unsmiling. “But if you’ll excuse me now, I need to go. I’ve got a three o’clock meeting with Alice.”

Something inside her faltered. Her goal had been to support and defend the person who’d helped her so much, in the hope that it would help Alice in return.

It might have done just the opposite.

Alice was putting the finishing touches on a correspondence when she looked up to see Gil standing by her door. “You’re late,” he said with a frown.

“Late for what?”

“Our three o’clock meeting.”

Their Thursday “show up whenever it’s convenient” meeting. She smiled politely at him.

“It’s five minutes to three, Gil.”

“My watch says 3:02.”

He looked as petulant as a little boy, lips pursed, arms folded.

“I’m sorry, I’m not ready to meet yet,” she said. “I’ve got something important to take care of first. I’ll join you in your office the minute I’m done.”

He scowled, nodded and disappeared.

She sighed. Yet another mood swing on his part. He’d stormed into the office at eight-thirty that morning, probably to berate her for her behavior the previous night, for not returning his nocturnal calls. When he’d caught sight of the letters of agreement on his desk, topped with a big, obnoxious bow, however, his mood had cleared immediately.

She finished and saved her computer document, filed her nails for five minutes. Only then did she rise and make her way over to Gil’s office.

It was not a good meeting. He questioned her about her log sheets and call reports. He nitpicked at her written summary of the WCBT’s most recent Form 990, used to assess compliance with the tax laws and detailing how the Ballet Theatre spent its money. Frowning, he asked why the output on proposals was low and she pointed to a stack of papers on his desk and said that once he’d approved those, it would put her fifteen percent over her monthly goal.

She asked about how the meeting with Andy—largely symbolic since the letters of agreement had already been signed—had gone.

Andy was a touchy subject. Gil had wanted to know what had transpired the previous night. Alice told him they’d gone back to his place, but would say nothing more. No need for Gil to know they’d spent two hours merely listening to violin concertos in the darkness. The innuendo of it all was infinitely more exciting. An added bonus was the way not knowing had irked Gil.

“It went fine. He left happy.” Gil focused on his pad, and drew a line through one of the items.

“And?” she prompted.

He said nothing.

“I’m sorry, I’m missing something. Did the ball get dropped in any way? Is Charlie Stanton not happy?”

“No. Everything is fine.”

“So what’s the problem here?”

He peered down at his button-down oxford shirt, brushed at an invisible imperfection. “Long story short? Lana just tried to break up with me.”

She couldn’t believe it. Jubilance filled her, which she immediately tried to quell.

“Gil, I’m sorry. What happened?”

“She saw Andy and me talking. Came right up and started chatting with us, like everything was fine. But afterward, when she and I were talking, she freaked. Over the Andy business, over a rumor about me and someone else, even over Julia, even though we all know Julia’s no threat to her.”

“Um, regarding Julia. You really don’t see any reason why such a compromised situation should bother Lana?”

“What? I’m being up front about it. It’s a tricky situation, but it’s all working out.”

“Gil. Maybe you need to rethink your success here from the woman’s perspective.”

“You’re feeding those kind of thoughts to her.”

“I’m what?”

“You heard me. She wasn’t herself today. All this talk about needing her space, this sudden need to challenge things that were just fine. It was vintage Alice-speak. What are you having there at your place? Little coaching sessions for how Lana should act and speak?”

She drew a deep breath. “The irony here, Gil, is that you are the one who pushed us into this closeness. You’ve been orchestrating our relationship all along. Asking me to spy on her in the studio, leaving me to rescue her the night of Andy’s party, begging me to let her move in. I think you’ve acquired a very convenient memory about these things.”

“Stop talking to me like you’re the boss here.”

Jesus. Twenty-nine-year-old males and their sensitive egos.

“Yes, you’re my boss,” she said, keeping her tone bright. “And I’ve tried hard to accommodate you and your needs, which, in the aforementioned circumstances, I’ve done. So now I’m trying to figure out how I’ve suddenly become the villain.”