by Norma Lehr
Abby nodded. “Strange, huh? She only wore the bun when she went to meetings. The rest of the time she brushed her thick hair out and pinned it behind her ears. Sometimes when I think back, I realize Grandma went without her dream. When I started dance lessons, her eyes lit up and she said she always wondered how it would be to perform on stage. Maybe she was a bit of a maverick. Guess her upbringing wouldn’t allow her to follow her bliss. Her church-going worked out good for you though, didn’t it? You and your sisters began singing there.”
“True. We learned singing from an early age. First the church choir. A few solos for your aunt Dorie. Then the chorister decided we Malone girls did well as a trio. Guess we owe a lot to Miss Wiseman. Wonder if she’s still around. Not much of a voice, but she had a good ear. Seems like another lifetime ago.”
Abby set up a rectangular tap practice board in the dining area. She’d heard the story of the trio’s beginning many times. One version from her grandma, a few others from her aunts, and this one from her mother. Each had her own take on how the trio got started. She figured one was as good as the other, but no matter who spun the tale, Miss Wiseman the choirmaster always got her credit.
Abby reached for a shoe. “It’s good we wear the same size. I can let you have those and the black jazz shoes to wear to the audition. Your dancing will be smoother with worn shoes. Much smoother than if you bought new ones.”
Trish turned away. “So, what do you think? Should I get Botox?”
“You look good for your age, Mom, but if Botox gives you confidence, then go for it.”
“A friend of mine, a former dancer, had Botox and the recovery was surprisingly quick. She returned to her normal activities almost immediately.”
Abby studied her. “I saw the Follies a few years ago. Are you absolutely sure you can walk down a staircase in three-inch heels while balancing a huge headdress?”
“What? I won’t be wearing a headdress. Those are for the showgirls. I’ll just sing.” Trish gave Abby a determined stare. “Your aunt Ginny is two years older than me. If she can sing on stage solo, so can I.”
The same old competitive spirit between the sisters. Abby raised her palms. “Okay, it’s cool, but if you have to go down any steps, lean back on your heels for balance.”
Abby slipped Donald O’Connor’s Let’s Tap tape in the VCR and angled the screen so they could face it. She pressed the on button and took hold of her mother’s elbow. “Balance your weight and follow these fundamental steps. Remember, tap is all about stomping to the beat.”
After a half hour of brush, flap, shuffle, ball change and cramp roll, Trish grabbed Abby’s hand. “How am I doing?”
Abby hesitated. The truth was that her mom’s turns were too jerky, and her legs too stiff. But now was not a good time to critique her. The awkward moves might be caused by stress. Maybe from Thomas’ call. Abby would give her a chance to loosen up. “Fair,” she said, “but you’ll get better each time. You know the old adage. Practice makes perfect.”
Trish sat to remove a shoe and rub her toes. “Right now I’d settle for a little better than fair. I’m not a dancer. The show needs a good singer. My background and professional name should be more than enough.”
“Don’t panic,” Abby said quickly. “I found a couple of numbers from Chorus Line and Chicago. I’m sure they won’t have you do the whole routine for the audition. The director will probably stop you halfway through and allow you to sit.”
“What if they don’t stop me halfway through?”
“Well then, you’ll show them what you’ve got. I’m going to coach you. You’ll do fine.”
Another half hour passed and Trish was shiny with perspiration. Abby called it quits for the night and put on a kettle of water. She ushered Trish into the kitchen and handed her a face towel. “Rest. Dry off while I make tea.”
Trish settled next to the window in a wicker chair with a red floral cushion. The vertical shades were open and lights from neighboring condos and walkways twinkled around the well-kept grounds. She lifted a leg and pulled at the purple leotards she’d brought from Starduds. “Hope I break these in too. They seem awfully tight.”
“They feel tight because you’re sweating, not because they’re new. You’ll get used to them. Then you’ll feel like you’re falling apart without them. They’re designed to hold you firm, especially when you dance.”
The room grew quiet as Abby poured tea. She served the cups on saucers while Trish wiped around her neck and blotted her brow.
Abby sat across from her, stirring milk into her tea. “So, how did lunch with Blade go today? Where did he take you?” She wasn’t so much interested in where he took her as what was said, but she didn’t let on.
Trish’s eyes lit up. “He’s a darling. So gallant and handsome. If I was twenty years younger,” she smiled conspiratorially, “even ten years, you’d have a run for your money.” She folded the towel and set it on a chair. “He thinks you’re great. Admires your courage. He told me the entire story of what happened at Lake Tahoe. How you solved the case for the local cops.” She took a long sip of tea. “You put yourself in danger to clear your friend. Admirable, yes, but dangerous.”
Abby stood and stared out the window into the night. “I didn’t realize the danger until I was smack in the middle of it.” She turned and faced her mother. “At the time, I didn’t feel like I had a choice. Things happened so fast.”
“Getting back to your detective, he carefully pumped me about your ex. Didn’t fall for it though. I watch too many detective movies. I know how sneakily they interrogate. I immediately changed the subject. Your past is your business, sugar.” She laid a hand on her daughter’s. “You’ll tell him what you want him to know.”
Abby smiled gratefully. “Thanks. Who knows, I may never tell him anything.”
“Honey, don’t make it sound so final. Aren’t you at all interested in the man? He’s not only a gentleman, but there’s an aura of adventure and danger about him. Especially in his line of work. Tell me you don’t find him attractive.”
Abby slowly sipped her tea. “Yeah. Guess I do, but I’m busy. Actually too busy.”
“I know. I hope you don’t think I was snooping, but the computer was on in your guestroom, so I sent an email to a friend staying in Palm Springs. I couldn’t help but see Chapter One of what looks like a mystery novel with your byline.” She smiled. “Are you writing about those horrible murders in Tahoe? You know my uncle Stewart wrote pulp fiction in the thirties. He was well known in the state of Kansas. In the whole country, I believe.”
“No, Mom. I’m not writing about Tahoe. Actually, not doing much writing at all.” Abby yawned and slumped in her chair. “So much I want to accomplish. There’s no time for any gal-guy thing. Once Starduds is really stable, then I might think about dating.” She shrugged. “If I’m not too old.”
Trish gave her daughter a knowing sidelong look. “Believe me, sugar. The women in our family are never too old.”
After her mother kissed her cheek and retired to the guestroom for the night, Abby stacked the CDs and nestled into her favorite red plush easy chair. She pulled the matching down throw over her knees and looked out the picture window at the flickering lights. The digital clock on the end table showed 10:45, but Abby knew from past experience that going to bed now probably wouldn’t work. Each time her mother came to visit, she tossed and turned for hours. Reflections from her early years crowded her thoughts.
Trish was a teenager when she gave birth to Abby. Abby had never known her real father. She remembered whispers and innuendos about her mother made at her grandma’s kitchen table by her aunts when Trish wasn’t around. They all figured Abby was asleep. Yet in daylight, when she questioned her aunts Dorie and Ginny about her father—asking where he was and why he didn’t live there or come see her—all she ever got were knowing smiles and condescending nods. They reassured her that someday he’d return and she’d meet him. It never happened.
Her gran
dma refused to speak of her father at all. A widow, she raised Abby on her own. Some days, while cooking on the old black stove, she muttered something about how Abby was much better off staying in one place with her. She got proper schooling in town rather than being hauled all over the country with who knew whom, meaning the most recent man Trish was involved with. Not that they were not nice guys. Abby remembered two handsome, nicely dressed young men her mother brought home to meet them. Grandma had only sniffed her disapproval as she served them all iced sugar tea on the front porch.
One of those men could also have been Abby’s dad, but the one she daydreamed about was Thomas Levine. She imagined him picking her up and saying he was her daddy. That never happened, of course. Once, in a heated argument with her mother, she demanded the truth. Trish, back in the day with a drink in hand, turned pale and almost collapsed. “Can’t talk about it now, sugar. I promise you’ll know someday.”
Through the years—raising kids, dealing with a womanizing husband, then dealing with a messy divorce—Abby stopped dwelling on who her father was. Sometimes, such as now, she wondered if he was alive or dead. Or just dead to the Malones.
She sighed deeply. All those family secrets buried in Kansas. The hush-hushes and the whispers. Many times she wished her son and daughter knew something of their maternal grandfather. They certainly felt the love of their three existing grandparents from both sides of their family. Abby thought she’d finally let go of that part of the past. Now the old niggling feeling reminded her she hadn’t. Each time she had a visit from Trish, or from one of her aunts, the questions flared again. Each time, she got the same old rehearsed answers.
Her grandma was gone now and so were the Rollins’ grandparents. Trish was Abby’s only living grandmother. Though she never had much to do with the twins when they were little—in fact, no one in the family saw much of Trish during those years—she became more involved as the kids matured. Now she paid their college tuitions and never once threw it up to Abby.
Abby yawned. Her eyes grew heavy. One day the truth would come out.
She tossed the blanket off her lap. The most important thing right now was getting a good night’s sleep. She pushed the tap shoes to one side and wove her way into her bedroom. She changed into a long pink sleep shirt, and before the bed covers reached her chin, she was asleep.
The next morning when Abby came out of her bedroom, Trish was already up, wearing a peach satin negligee and drinking coffee at the kitchen bar. Abby wrapped her blue fleece robe around her middle and rubbed her eyes. “Wow, you’re up early. How did you sleep?”
Trish took a long draw from her cup and sniffed. “I slept okay, but I woke during the night with a horrible feeling that you really resent me.” She blinked and patted the stool next to her. “We need to talk.”
Abby passed Trish and went behind the counter, where she filled a kettle with water for tea. “Let’s not do this today. Let’s concentrate on getting through the next few days doing what we’ve planned. You need to learn a few dance steps and I’m coaching. Can’t handle any more on my plate right now.”
“I know you think I probably deserted you when you were a child. That isn’t entirely true. Maybe I wasn’t there for your dance lessons, but one summer when you were twelve, I took you on a trip to the Grand Canyon.”
Abby sat on the stool next to Trish and waved a hand. “Don’t worry about it, Mom. I guess you did all you could.”
Trish straightened her back. “What do you mean—all I could? You have no idea what things were like back in the early sixties.” Her hand flew in the air. “With tight schedules, rehearsals, personal appearances, and recordings.” She bit her lip. “I felt like I was surrounded by desperate people who all wanted a piece of me.”
Abby stared at her mother in awe. I did theater, too! Why interrupt? These talks, as Trish called them, always ended up being about her.
Trish stood, holding a spoon like a microphone. “And the men in my life back then ….” She shook her head and her uncoiffed curls bounced around her face. She inched closer to Abby until she stood directly over her. Quite unexpectedly she began to cry. In a bleak second she bent over, her head on Abby’s shoulder, sobbing.
Like a good daughter, Abby patted her mother on the back until she quieted.
Trish straightened and took a deep, quivering breath. She carefully placed the spoon next to her cup and swished from the kitchen into the guestroom. Minutes later she emerged with her hair brushed dramatically back from her face. As if the previous conversation had never happened, she told Abby what time she would relieve her at the shop.
Abby nodded. She turned and went to her room to get dressed to go to the mall. Before they left, she gave Trish a rundown on what the dance practice would be this evening. “If you get a chance, watch the dance video again. Sometimes, if you sit quietly without moving your feet, the routine takes root in your subconscious.”
Trish smiled. “You’re a good girl, you know that?” She preceded Abby to the front door, her peach feathered slippers clicking against the wood floor. “Have a good morning, sugar.”
Abby started down the steps.
Her mother’s voice made her stop and turn around again. “You were only twelve when we went to the Grand Canyon. I remember how scared you were standing on the rim.” Trish’s eyes had a faraway look. “Scared of heights, you were. Scared, scared, scared.” Trish’s eyes came back into focus, and she added, “Solving those two murders, you’ve proven to everyone how brave you are. I suppose nothing can scare you now.”
Nothing? Abby grabbed the banister tighter. After the Grand Canyon, I never rode a Ferris wheel again. Never took the elevator to the top of the Empire State Building. Never even hiked in the Sierra. She took the loose end of her woven scarf and tossed it over her shoulder. I wasn’t twelve when you took me to Arizona. I was only ten, but who’s counting? She continued down the stairs and to her car.
On the drive to the mall, Abby tried to shake the past from her mind and concentrate on business. Nothing regarding her shop or anything else materialized until Blade Garret’s image flashed in her mind. The image of his rugged face appealed to her right now. Seemed she only allowed herself to have warm feelings for him at times like this. Her alone times. Fear of getting involved. Fear of rejection. She knew all this. Understood it. Still, she couldn’t afford the time to work on it. Or work it out. Not now. Maybe later. There was one plus. His image temporarily shoved both her mother and Starduds into her mental Rolodex.
Renee and her mother thought she and Blade made a good couple. The two of them might be right. If the time ever came when she could offer more energy to a possible relationship—as long as he still showed interest. If it happened, she might be able to let down her guard. Right now, if she allowed herself to get involved and if things didn’t work out, the emotional devastation might set her back big-time.
She pulled into the parking area. Before going to Starduds, she entered the lower level of the mall and stopped at the AT&T store to buy a Smartphone, which she immediately used to call Renee. As an afterthought, on the way to the escalator, she called Blade. He answered.
She caught her breath when she heard his deep voice. “Hey, believe it or not I was just thinking about calling, but since your cell hasn’t been picking up incoming—”
“Problem solved. I bought a new phone. Just called to leave my current number.”
Blade grunted his laugh. “Good to know. Are you at work?”
“Not yet. On my way.”
“I called Starduds and left a message with Margie. She’s an early bird. I’m in Santa Barbara. Got a call from a client to come down here. Be here for two days then I’m off to Palm Springs for the Bob Hope Celebrity Event. Coincidence, right? Your mom will be there at the same time. If I recall, she’s auditioning on Thursday. This Palm Springs caper is an all-expense-paid trip. Business mixed with some great golf. So, how about it, can you get away for a couple of days? There’ll be a Southwest ticke
t waiting for you at the airport and I’ll pick you up at Ontario LX. We can celebrate Trish’s acceptance into the Follies.”
A weekend in Palm Springs sounded divine. Then reality set in and her shoulders drooped. “Thoughtful, Blade. Sounds great, but how can I leave? You know the saying, ‘who’s going to watch the store?’ ”
“Taken care of. Talk to Margie.” A beep sounded. “Gotta bail, but don’t let this one pass.”
She stepped off the escalator and picked up her pace. The thought of getting away to a resort in the middle of winter sounded like a dream. She patted the new phone and stepped lightly through the marquee entrance of Starduds. No customers yet, but Margie was behind the counter and hummed as she straightened shelves.
“Good morning. What’s happening?”
Margie turned and grinned. “Guess who called and made me an offer I couldn’t refuse?”
CHAPTER 3
Saturday morning, on the way to the Sacramento Airport, Abby turned to Margie. “Thanks for doing this. Parking at the airport can be a mess on the weekends. You can drop me off at the departure gate. Since I’ll fly back with Blade, he’ll give me a ride home.”
Margie gripped the steering wheel and kept her eyes on busy Interstate 5. “I’m glad you’re taking a break and I’m excited about the offer your guy made me in order to get you down there.” She shook a finger and pursed her lips. “He’s sending me two tickets to those Fabulous Follies. Also offered gas money if I decide to drive down to Palm Springs with a friend.” A blush touched her cheeks. “I’m thinking about asking my ballroom partner if he’d like to go.”
“Ballroom partner?” Abby studied her with sudden interest. “I didn’t know you had one. I thought most of your women friends partnered with each other.”
Margie nodded and lifted her chin. “True. Most of them do. There are three older men who take lessons. One of them chose me. He says I make smooth turns and he likes my sturdy legs.” She started to laugh.