By Leaps and Bounds

by Diamond, Jacqueline

  Chapter Fourteen

  The last time Kerry had visited Tony's restaurant in Brea had been for the wedding on New Year's Eve. Then, its Pompeii-inspired decor had been lush with imported vegetation and ripe with flowers.

  Now, instead, it echoed with the merry calls of young dancers, who darted from table to table visiting one another beneath the indulgent eyes of their parents. The mood was carefree, as if school were over for the year, even though she and Myron had held the recital a few weeks early to avoid scheduling conflicts.

  If only Chris would get here. Kerry glanced at the door again, but although it was almost midnight, there was no sign of him. Whatever had happened at the Ahmeds' must have been serious.

  Without him, the evening echoed with hollow moments. She almost felt like going in search of him, but of course that was out of the question. He wouldn't appreciate it, and she'd hurt her students' feelings.

  Darn, but she was proud of these kids. In all fairness, despite missing Chris, she'd nearly burst with pride watching the youngsters, noting how much they'd progressed since last fall. She’d never imagined teaching could bring such satisfaction.

  She would miss these kids terribly if she went back to dancing. Of course, she could always teach in later years, but these particular youngsters would be grown by then. Some of them were nearly grown now.

  Melanie, Jamie, Tom and a few other teenagers sat together at a table covered with soft drinks and antipasto, looking remarkably adult as they bent their heads together. Yet amid the gossip and levity, Jamie maintained a silent, almost sullen, air.

  What was eating him, anyway? Suzie had performed delightfully, and the duet had impressed even Alfonso and Larisa, who attended as Kerry's guests. Whatever caused Jamie's recurrent moodiness seemed to have intensified rather than eased tonight.

  "More wine?" Leila, holding a bottle of zinfandel, slid into the vacant seat beside Kerry.

  "Sure. Thanks." Kerry couldn't help smiling at her hostess. Always beautiful, Leila had bloomed as a bride. "Did I introduce you to Alfonso and Larisa?"

  "No. I’m dying of curiosity." With her ready warmth, Leila made everyone at the table feel at ease as Kerry completed the introductions.

  When she finished, Myron pulled up a chair. "I'd say our kids done themselves proud."

  " 'Done themselves proud.' Is that a French phrase?" Kerry teased.

  "Really, you both should feel good," Alfonso said. "Especially those two in the duet. Very talented, both of them."

  Kerry couldn't help turning toward Melanie and Tom. The girl was making a wry face at Jamie, who didn't seem to notice. "We have great hopes for them."

  "And the choreography." Larisa laid her hand on Kerry's arm. "You always show off their strengths."

  "Let's hope I do as well with more mature dancers." Although she kept her tone light, a familiar wave of anxiety roiled through Kerry's stomach. Did every choreographer feel this uncertain while mounting a new work?

  The vision that had struck her at Alfonso's theater had arrived with an inner certainty that seemed irresistible. It wasn't until later, too late to turn back, that the doubts had crept in.

  Why had she picked something open to criticisms of being a mere pastiche? She doubted the critics would be enthralled by her choice of music, either. Andrew Lloyd Webber might be immensely popular, but despite a few serious works, he was sometimes wrongly dismissed as simply a Broadway composer.

  She imagined the barbs that might be flung her way. Crassly commercial was one. Chaotic. Cutesy. She could imagine the insults vividly, how they would look in print and how they would embarrass her parents.

  And how they would sting her, and the dancers, and the people who’d trusted in her talent.

  Not that Kerry believed there would be any validity to the criticism. She knew exactly what she was doing, why each step was there, how the characters needed to interact. The tone was intentionally light, even campy in places, but that was true of dance itself. Classical ballet was only a few centuries old, but dance went back to the dawn of time. Her pharaohs and cats both had a statement to make, whether anyone but Kerry understood it.

  "Where's Chris?" Leila asked.

  "An emergency at work." Kerry checked her watch. "I was hoping he'd be here by now."

  "Well, I'm sure it's important." Tony came by, and with a wave, Leila bounced up to join him. Watching them, Kerry felt a pang of envy.

  When the two were out of earshot, Alfonso said, "What a charming woman. And I like this restaurant. Must be my Italian heritage."

  "What is your name, really?" Myron asked.

  To Kerry's relief, Alfonso didn't take offense. "Carrera's my family name, but someone changed it at Ellis Island to Carney. My first name is Alfred, but can you imagine a dancer named Alfred Carney? Sounds like a carnival barker."

  "And you?" Myron asked Larisa. He wasn't normally this blunt; wine must have loosened his tongue.

  "You think I'd make up a name like Larisa Keller?" She shook her head. "People said I should Russify it. Kellowsky or Kellarnikova. Can you imagine?"

  "Larisa Kellarnikova," Alfonso said. "A person could run out of breath trying to pronounce it. I can see it now, critics keeling over left and right from lack of oxygen.”

  "Not a bad idea," Myron said, and they all laughed.

  Their merriment flashed Kerry back to other cast parties, other tables of dancers cracking industry-related jokes. Maybe soon she'd be part of that scene again.

  What had for so long seemed an impossible dream hovered close to her reach now. These past weeks, in between rehearsing Alfonso's company, she'd joined in the classes with increasing dedication.

  The pain hadn't vanished; that would be asking too much. But it was no longer intolerable. With proper massage, maybe some pain pills for performances, she thought she could handle it.

  Even though, eventually, it might result in additional nerve damage? Even though, under the extra stress of coping with her condition, she might lack stamina, might find herself merely a supporting player instead of a star?

  Kerry tapped at the stem of her wineglass. She had to try, didn't she?

  If only Chris would get here. More than ever, she needed his reassuring presence. He was the one person she could talk to. Being with him might help to clear her head.

  On the other hand, this wine wasn't helping much, and she had to drive home. The next time a waitress came around, Kerry ordered a diet cola.

  An hour later, the party began breaking up. Kerry stretched, feeling the cramp of muscles that had been immobilized too long. She couldn't remember stiffening up this easily when she was younger. But it wasn't because of her injuries, she tried to tell herself. Or, if it was, she would simply work past it.

  Melanie wove through the crowd of departing guests. "Kerry? Can you give me a ride?"

  "Of course." There was no sign of her boyfriend. "You and Jamie didn't quarrel, did you? I'm sorry. It's none of my business."

  The girl shrugged. "No, we didn't. He's just—I don't know what's eating him tonight. He just handed me the DVD he made and took off."

  Kerry knew better than to criticize him. "Well, let's push off, then. We're both going to be exhausted tomorrow."

  When they arrived at Melanie's house, the windows were dark. "Boy, Dad's still out there," the girl said. "I guess I won't get to show him the video tonight."

  "Want me to walk you in?"

  "No, thanks. We've got dead bolts and burglar alarms— Dad's a real stickler." Melanie hauled her costumes and bag out of the back seat, then paused with the door open. "Listen, Kerry, would you come watch the DVD with us tomorrow night? I could fix dinner. About six?"

  "You're sure I wouldn't be intruding?"

  "It's kind of like you belong here. And it’ll make it more like a movie premiere."

  Warmth crept through Kerry. “I'd be delighted to come."

  "See you then."

  Maybe it wouldn't be so lonely in New York after all, Kerry mused on the
way home, not if Melanie was there. She might not even mind so much if she couldn't be a star, as long as she could help the younger girl reach her potential.

  As for Chris...

  Kerry couldn't finish the thought. She was too tired. But it made her feel better to imagine that after all these years, life might allow her to have her cake and eat at least a few bites of it, too.

  The next night, when Kerry arrived at the Laynes' door at six as arranged, Melanie wasn't there.

  "She went to the supermarket," Chris said after he gave Kerry a welcome hug. "Fortunately for us."

  "You didn't arrange a flat tire for her or anything?" she teased.

  "No, but believe me, I considered it." He held her against him as if unwilling to let go. "Amazing, that a man can want to get rid of his own daughter. Temporarily."

  "I have a feeling she'd understand." She pressed her nose into his hair, inhaling the spicy masculine fragrance. "I missed you last night."

  "I would much rather have been with you." He stepped aside to let her in.

  "No luck, I take it." She brushed him deliberately as she moved past.

  "You shouldn't have done that." He caught her wrist. "I'm going to have to change the locks, fast."

  "Don't you think she might suspect something if she finds herself locked out?”

  "Damn. I just remembered: she's getting ice cream," he said. "It'll melt."

  They both laughed. "As if we'd really lock her out," Kerry said.

  "You think I wouldn't?"

  "Debatable." She dumped her purse on the floor and wandered into the kitchen. "Where are you hiding the beer?"

  "Beer?" He followed her. "Is that what world-famous ballerinas drink?"

  "When it's this hot, they do." The May weather was giving an unwelcome preview of summer.

  "Coming right up."

  Watching him dig through little pots of deli salads to retrieve a beer, Kerry wished she could live right here. She missed him so much when they were apart. Yet if she left…

  The front door scraped open and Melanie staggered in beneath a pair of overstuffed grocery sacks. "Gangway!"

  Chris grabbed the reusable bags before they could slide to the floor. "Hey, if I'd known you were going to buy this much I'd have driven you."

  "I need the exercise." Melanie rubbed her shoulders ruefully. "Besides, this way I'm totally motivated to sign up for those driving lessons."

  The easy camaraderie between the two reassured Kerry. She hadn't been sure whether the new truce would last.

  They all pitched in to make hamburgers, baked beans and salad. The meal took half an hour to prepare and less than ten minutes to wolf down.

  "I guess we were hungry." Chris surveyed the crumbs that remained.

  "I can't wait to see the DVD." Melanie hopped up and began clearing the table. "You don't know how tempted I was to preview it today, but I resisted."

  Her father took a deep breath. "Wouldn't Jamie like to join us?" he offered. "After all, it's his video."

  With a shrug, Melanie said, "I don't know where he is."

  Chris looked relieved. Evidently the offer to include Jamie had been made out of concern for his daughter, not out of any particular desire to get closer to the boy. "Let's watch, then."

  They settled in front of the TV and turned on the DVD.

  The camera work was jumpy and at first Kerry couldn't tell what was going on. Gradually, she realized she was looking at some teenagers clowning around in a garage filled with junk. She recognized them vaguely as the boys who'd picked Jamie and Suzie up once at the studio.

  "He must have put some other stuff on here," Chris said.

  Melanie frowned. "No, I'm sure he didn't. He was so uptight last night I'll bet he gave me the wrong disc. He's been working on some special project—"

  "What's that?" Chris replayed a short section of the DVD. "In the background—what's on the cover of that magazine?"

  "It's just junk," Melanie said impatiently. "Let's—"

  "That's a swastika." His voice was tight.

  They sat silent for a moment, watching. The boys didn't seem to be doing anything harmful, but Kerry made out another pamphlet with a swastika on it, too. Hate material.

  "Whose garage is that?" she asked.

  "It must belong to Russ." Melanie spoke in a small, shocked voice. "That's where they hang out."

  "Gasoline." Chris pointed.

  "Lots of people keep extra gas—" Kerry began.

  "Empty bottles," he said. "Rags."

  "Dad—" Melanie's fists were clenched "—it's not unusual to find that kind of stuff in garages."

  "Hush." They listened to the chatter on the video, but it was almost indecipherable, slurred words spoken one over another with a background hum from an old refrigerator. Still, once or twice an obscenity broke through, making Kerry wince.

  Abruptly, the picture shifted to outside, where the boys were piling into a car, waving beer cans out the windows. Chris didn't comment, but his face was a mask of disapproval. Melanie sat motionless, not even trying to defend Jamie.

  "Midsize car," Chris said at last. "Peeling blue, almost gray."

  "What?" Kerry turned toward him.

  "Nothing."

  The scene shifted to a school yard. Youngsters swarmed toward the parking lot, retrieving bicycles and swatting one another with book bags.

  "There..." Melanie came to life at last. "See, there's Suzie. It's just a bunch of shots..."

  Chris froze the image. Kerry could clearly make out two little girls in the crowd. Two dark-haired, dark-skinned girls.

  "Are those the Ahmeds?" Kerry asked in dismay.

  "None other."

  The scene changed again, to a tidy suburban home. The same two girls skipped up the driveway, one of them carrying a doll.

  'Their house," Chris said.

  Kerry could scarcely breathe. Jamie was involved in the attacks?

  The picture wavered. Now they were looking at the garage again, at the three boys posing proudly in front of a poster that read America for Americans. One of them—Kerry thought it was Russ—brandished a small-caliber handgun.

  "Too bad Jamie couldn't get in the picture, too," Chris said angrily.

  "Oh, come on!" Melanie exploded as the video ended. "That doesn't prove anything!"

  "No, but it's enough to bring them in for questioning.".

  Melanie gasped. "You can't—Dad! Jamie gave that DVD to me, not the police department. You can't just haul him in."

  After a sharp intake of breath, he said, "I'm sorry, babe, but this is a serious matter. A family narrowly escaped serious injury or death. What do you expect me to do, ignore the evidence?"

  "What evidence?" she challenged. "Some magazines with swastikas on them? Half the novels in the grocery store have swastikas on the cover."

  "Those weren’t novels in Russ’s garage," her father said tautly. "What are their full names, Melanie?"

  "I don't know!" she snapped. "And if I did, I wouldn't tell you!" She jumped up and ejected the DVD. Chris took it out of her hand.

  "I'm sorry," he said. "I have to impound this."

  "Impound!" she fumed. "I'm your daughter, not some criminal."

  "Then stop defending that—that racist thug."

  Watching the two of them square off, Kerry felt her chest tighten. Although it was hard to believe Jamie would be involved in such vicious acts, the video was damning.

  Melanie glared at her father, then stormed into her room. The door slammed behind her.

  Chris rubbed his forehead. "Why?" he muttered. "Why did it have to be Jamie?"

  "Maybe there's some other explanation." Kerry searched her mind for possibilities. "It doesn't actually show a crime being committed."

  Chris scowled at the DVD. "I wonder how he missed the firebombing."

  "Maybe he didn't know about it," Kerry said.

  "Do you honestly believe that?" Chris slid the disc into its sleeve. "At least now we know who the perpetrators are."
<
br />   Kerry pictured Jamie bending down to give his sister a hug. Why would he try to hurt those other little girls? It didn't make sense. “The other boys, maybe—"

  "Going along with the crowd is hardly an excuse." Chris grabbed his phone and wallet off an end table. "One thing's for sure. He's not coming anywhere near my daughter, ever again."

  Didn't Jamie deserve a chance to explain or at least to apologize? "You can't chain Melanie down."

  "I've given her plenty of leeway." Chris opened the front door. "Too much, maybe. Will you stay with her?"

  "As a shoulder to cry on, sure," Kerry said. "But not as her jailer."

  The anger flashing across his face caught her off guard. “Then I want you out of here. This is between me and my daughter. She's going to have to toe the line. My trust has been betrayed, Kerry. Not deliberately, but if she sees that creep—" He left the threat unfinished.

  She rose slowly and moved toward the door. "I'm sorry this happened. I can't believe Jamie’s involved in those attacks."

  "Believe it," he said. "I've been a cop too long not to accept what I see with my own eyes." He turned and yelled toward the bedroom. "You're grounded, Melanie, as of right now. You got that?"

  Only silence.

  Reluctantly, Kerry walked ahead of him o her car, feeling helpless and uneasy. She loved these two people, and they were both hurting. When tempers calmed, she'd have to find a way to help.

  At a tapping on her window, Melanie lifted her head. She reached for a tissue, blew into it, then added it to the pile littering the floor.

  When Jamie's face appeared, she stared at him for a moment before opening the window. After only a moment’s hesitation, he loosened the screen and climbed inside.

  He'd never been here in her bedroom before, and Melanie retreated to the bed, instinctively clutching her oldest, best-loved teddy bear. Right now she didn't know whether she wanted him to stay or to jump off the edge of the earth.

  "I know they're looking for me," he said. "I was having this argument with Russ when the police car pulled up. I took off, but his dad came out and grabbed his arm and started demanding to know what stunt he'd pulled this time."