Off Balance (Ballet Theatre Chronicles Book 1) (37 page)

“Oh Alice, I’m in deep shit. Please, please be kind to me here.”

“What on earth are you going on about? Your message made no sense.”

“It’s Andy. He heard about your leaving.”

“My
leaving
? Gil, call it what it was. You fired me.”

“Okay, semantics. He heard. And it’s not what he wants. And now he’s threatening to invoke that three-day clause if I don’t get you back in your position. Right away.”

Her head spun. “Andy said all this?”

“Trust me. I wouldn’t lie to you here.”

“Can he do that? Invoke that clause?”

“It’s fine print at the end of the letter of agreement. Three business days to pull out if the factors are irrevocably altered. He says he wants to work with you on this account, not anyone else I hire. Not even
me.
”

Gil sounded as if he couldn’t believe the last part.

Neither could she. A chuckle slipped out of her. “Wow. Damn.”

“Please. Can you just come in? We’ll hash out the rest later.”

She relished this moment of control, the pause that so agonized this person who had let her agonize for days. Then she decided to ease up on him. She was the one getting laid now, after all.

“Give me an hour.”

“Okay, that’s great. And, hey, thanks.”

Her return to the WCBT offices ninety minutes later—she was late, she didn’t care and Gil didn’t comment—felt surreal, askew, like stepping into a funhouse version of her job.

Gil issued her into his office, all smiles and courtesy, offering her a seat, a cold drink.

“Of course I wasn’t serious about going through with firing you,” he said. “How could you think that? Sure, I was pissed off. Very much so. But Lana would never speak to me again if I went through with firing you. Besides, what would my grounds have been?”

He spoke fast, throwing all this at her in a mildly accusatory manner, as if this were all Alice’s fault, that he was getting ready to fire her all over again for being so obtuse as to not know he’d been bluffing about firing her.

“It’s almost lunchtime,” he continued. “Should we go get something to eat? Why don’t we go off-site? Stop by Human Resources afterward to make sure everything’s smooth?”

The other administrators, when they saw the two of them together, were wide-eyed and silent. Only Lucinda beamed at her, giving her a little “you go, girl” nod of her chin. Her good friend, Lucinda.

This was indeed a funhouse day.

Following a bite to eat, the two of them visited Human Resources, where Gil had them tear up the grievance report he’d filed on Alice—not quite the firing he’d boasted, but nonetheless inflammatory and probation-worthy. Gil made a big show of apologizing to Alice again, enough for her to tell the HR director that no, she herself did not feel compelled to file her own grievance report against her boss for his self-admitted egregious behavior. They were fine, Gil and Alice assured her, putting on big phony, professional smiles for her and each other.

Back in their offices, Gil asked if she wanted to go across the street to Murphy’s later, for an afternoon meeting over beers. She didn’t. She felt drained, curiously sad. That specialness, the cozy team spirit they’d shared for three years was gone. Maybe for good.

Once upon a time, they might have even been able to discuss it, brainstorm on how to get it back. No more. Instead, she told him she was feeling a little disoriented from all the upheaval, and if it was all right with him, perhaps she’d just head home, call it personal time off if she needed to, and start fresh early the next morning.

Gil nodded. “Just go, no need to call it PTO. But would you mind giving Andy a call from here? Tell him you’re still gainfully employed here, and such.”

“I can do that.”

Andy, when she spoke with him, made no comment about what had transpired, only asking if she could stop by his Hillsborough house the next morning, for a logistics meeting over coffee. She agreed, and informed Gil of her plans.

“No problem,” Gil said. “Absolutely no problem. Give Andy as much time as he wants.”

“Okay. Well, then, see you tomorrow.”

“One last thing.” He hesitated. “Tell Lana I’m thinking about her. How’s she doing?”

She knew Lana had asked him for time apart, and the irony was surely not lost on him that he’d mocked Alice for having had the same setup with Niles. Remembering her own pain, she decided to go easy on him.

“Truth is,” she told him, “she’s going through a bumpy patch with family back home. Her mom’s scaring her, intimidating her, but being passive-aggressive about it. It’s really tearing Lana apart.”

“God. The poor thing.”

His care and interest were genuine. She found herself thawing further to tell him about the car crash. He looked horrified.

She nodded. “I know. Lana was in a pretty bad way Friday afternoon. It’s a good thing I was home. She really needed someone to help her through it.”

“They told me you went to her performance that night.”

Who were “they”? So she’d been spotted. In reply, she only nodded.

“To support her?”

She paused. They were entering dangerous territory.

“Yes,” she said, vowing to herself that if he said one cutting thing, offered one snarky or derogatory comment, she’d walk out of the room.

But Gil surprised her.

“Thank you,” he said.

“For what?” she asked, wary.

“For taking care of her.”

The two of them sized each other up uneasily.

“That’s all that matters to me, Alice,” Gil said. “Whether you believe that or not. I love her, and I want her to be happy. Feel safe.”

“That makes two of us.”

Laughter outside the room, two workers joking, eased the tension inside Gil’s office.

“Anyway,” Alice said, “she’s muscling her way through it. Keeping focus on her dance, resting, staying uninjured.”

“Could you, maybe, tell her how much I care? That I understand and appreciate the challenge of family problems, and for her to call me anytime, anytime I can help.”

He looked so serious, so somber. It was like knowing two different Gils.

“I’ll do that,” she said.

“Thank you. I’d appreciate it.”

Amazing to behold, this other Gil, she mused as she headed toward the elevators to go home five minutes later. Granted, professionally, she still thought he was an asshole. But through Lana, he was revealing himself to be vulnerable, wholly human, surprisingly compassionate.

No, not necessarily a better boss. But a better person.

Tuesday morning she headed down the Peninsula to her meeting with Andy. The Redgrave mansion looked different in the weekday morning light, more austere, almost like a posh private school. She ascended the front steps and knocked on the door. A moment later his housekeeper greeted her and led her back to the conservatory, a sunny room enclosed on three sides by glass and filled with flowering plants and vines. It was like being outside, with all the benefits of the indoors. It smelled like gardenias. A young man was serving Andy croissants from a proffered baking tray as Alice entered the room.

Andy acknowledged her with a nod, a cool, “Good morning, Alice. Join me for a bite?”

The croissants smelled heavenly. She accepted one, along with a cup of coffee.

A Vivaldi guitar concerto played softly in the background, piped in through invisible speakers. Andy didn’t speak as he ate his fruit salad. She was getting used to this facet of his personality. He couldn’t have been more different from Gil, who liked to chatter, establish some warm, friendly bonhomie before allowing any silence to fall over the conversation. Alice felt comfortable with Andy and his silences. They brought calm into the room.

Only after he finished his fruit salad did he speak.

“Alice. Tell me a joke.”

She sipped her coffee reflectively and gave a little nod.

“Okay. There’s this lonely old woman sitting in her living room, pondering her lonely life, when all of a sudden a fairy godmother appears in front of her and tells the old woman she will grant her three wishes. ‘All right,’ says the old woman. ‘First, I’d like to be really rich.’ And poof, the furniture and accessories around her turn to gold. The old woman smiles and says, ‘Okay, I want to live in a big castle.’ Poof, it happens—they’re suddenly in a room that looks like something out of Versailles.

“‘And your third wish?" asks the fairy godmother. Just then the old woman's cat wanders through the living room. ‘Ooh,’ the woman says, ‘can you change him into a handsome prince who loves me?’ Voila, it’s done. The cat is now a tall, incredibly gorgeous man. He offers the old woman this sexy smile that just melts her. He comes right up to her and whispers in her ear, ‘Bet you're sorry you had me neutered.’”

She liked the way Andy reacted, the twitch at the corners of his mouth, the delight in his eyes, his otherwise composed demeanor.

“Thank you,” he said.

“Any time.”

He chuckled a moment later as he tore another piece off his croissant. They continued eating in a relaxed silence, enjoying the music, the morning sun spilling into the room.

“So,” Andy said finally. “I had the pleasure of meeting your partner once again.”

For a moment she thought he meant Niles. “My partner?”

“The pretty girl you brought to my party.”

“Oh,
Lana
.”

“Yes. That partner. The one who told me you two were living together.” His brows knitted. “Is that not the case?”

She laughed; she couldn’t help it. “Okay, I have to be honest. Here’s the thing. Yes, Lana and I are living together. I invited her to move in shortly after your party. But, I’m not gay, Andy.”

To her relief he didn’t look angry, merely expectant, waiting to hear more.

“That night at the restaurant—that couple?” she continued. “It was
him
I was eyeing. Not her.”

“Well. That made two of us.”

She laughed again, pleased that he’d divulged such a candid opinion. Gil was wrong. Andy did like her. And he trusted her. “Anyway, that guy is my boyfriend. Although, that night, he was close to being a ‘was.’”

“And so the ‘almost was’ is now safely an ‘is?’”

“Yes. He’s very ‘is.’”

“And this suits you?”

Her face grew warm. “Very much so.”

“Well. Good for you. Sex is good for the complexion.” He regarded her from over his coffee cup. “Nice color to your cheeks today.”

The warmth of her cheeks grew into a fire.

“Why, Alice. I do believe I’ve made you blush.”

She was too flustered to come back with a witty retort, which seemed to entertain him further. “All right,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “Let’s talk some business. But first, tell me. Are you glad to have your position reinstated?”

At moments like these, she was reminded how tricky Andy could be, how quick to disarm and subtly attack.

“Um, yes,” she replied carefully, which made him shake his head in amusement.

“This is off the record. This is not a test for which you need to provide the right answer.”

“Oh, Andy.” She allowed a note of exasperation to creep into her voice. “How could it be otherwise? You’re the power holder here. Ask me to jump and I will. Ask me if I like my job and I’ll say yes sir, thank you.”

“Here’s the reason I’m asking.” He sat up, eyes more alert. “There’s a development position at the San Francisco Symphony just opening. I’d like to know if you’d have any interest in it.”

She couldn’t believe what he was saying.

“When did this come about?” she asked, trying to sound casual.

“I heard about it on Friday.”

“But you had a conversation with Gil on Monday morning. Why strong-arm him into reinstating me when you could have just mentioned the job to me directly?”

He grimaced. “Maybe I wanted to remind Gil who the real boss is in this equation.”

She felt it again, a flash of insight mixed with unease, that neither she nor Gil truly knew Andy. Foolish Gil, to have thought there’d be no consequences for choices he’d made over the past few weeks.

“All right. Tell me about the job,” she said.

“There’s been some change of staff at the symphony. My key contact in development there has moved on. They want to put a junior staff member in his place. I can’t stand the guy. He’s an ass and I don’t want to work with him. Maxwell asked me to think about whom I’d consider a better fit.”

Maxwell, Alice knew, was the director of development there. She’d met him and found him to be both likeable and impressive. His was a position of status; the symphony ran a much bigger development operation than the WCBT. She wouldn’t be able to touch associate director for years. She’d most likely be taking a pay cut.

But it was the symphony.
The symphony.
She tried to keep her expression neutral, aware that now it was Andy watching her, the way she took a leisurely sip of coffee before replying.

“Keep talking,” she said.

“You’d be reporting to Maxwell and dealing a lot with me. A few other accounts as well. But I tend to be the squeaky wheel.”

“With reason. You supply them with a lot of oil.”

A shrug was his only reply.

She couldn’t keep her excitement at bay any more. She began to laugh. “Gil would kill me. Tear me apart.”

“You say that a lot, you know.”

“I do, don’t I? And I don’t have to.”

The thought of leaving Gil to go work at the symphony astonished her, shook her, but in a not altogether unpleasant way. “You’re fully serious here?” she asked.

He studied her, his pale blue eyes now bright with animation, almost like Andy on cocaine. “I am. Of course, I’m not the decision maker. You’d have to go through the usual routine there. Résumé, application, a few rounds of interviews.”

“Sure. Of course.”

“But they’ll have your name on the table, and Maxwell will know it meets with my approval.”

“Thank you,” she stammered. “I’ll get on it.” Fearing a trap, she added, “Of course I won’t let that get in the way of servicing your account at one hundred percent effort right now. Here at the WCBT. We value your financial and professional support there above all.”

He chuckled.

No trap, then. And she’d probably just made herself sound idiotic.