Shall We Dance?

by Lynn Patrick

  “I wouldn’t have thought you were a man who takes orders.”

  “Depends on who gives them….” The skin around his green eyes crinkled as his smile broadened. “And whether or not I want to do what’s demanded of me. Then again, I just can’t say no to some people.”

  His affection for Lucille was so obvious that Gabby smiled in return. “Well, you arrived in the nick of time. The others are already at the table.”

  Kit followed closely as she crossed the foyer and parlor and entered the spacious dining room. Overhead, a wagon-wheel chandelier softly illuminated the room. The rough-hewn wooden table was long enough to accommodate double the number of people who gathered there. Elsie picked up a turquoise stoneware bowl from the intricately carved wooden sideboard and set it on the table in front of Anita.

  “Dinner is family-style,” Elsie told her.

  Placing a polite hand on Gabby’s arm, Kit escorted her to her seat. Too aware of his closeness, of his warmth, of his after-shave, she was relieved when he helped her with her chair, then moved away. Kit kissed Lucille’s cheek before taking his seat on the other side of the table.

  “Glad you could make it, kiddo. I wanted to celebrate new beginnings with the two young people who’re making it all possible.”

  Once more Gabby felt the burden of responsibility press down on her. She exchanged a significant look with Kit. It seemed that he, too, was somewhat uncomfortable with his godmother’s expectations. Still, they both lifted their glasses in a toast with the others.

  “May your partnership be more successful than mine ever was,” Harvey Morris grumbled.

  Gabby knew the balding little man dressed in a dapper if threadbare suit was a comedian who had broken up with his partner in the sixties. Lucille told them Harvey’s career had hit the skids soon afterward. These days, if he was lucky, he emceed shows at local clubs for a little extra money.

  “To success,” Gabby said, smiling at Harvey and taking a sip of the California blush.

  Two of their dinner companions shared the toast but not the wine. Risa Shaw, in her mid-eighties, had been one of the most respected dramatic actresses in Hollywood for decades. Now the Academy Award winner was thin and brittle and one side of her face drooped slightly. Two strokes, Lucille had said. And Chester Novak, a former stuntman whose hands were deformed by crippling rheumatoid arthritis, looked as if he might not be able to lift his glass.

  “It will be wonderful to see this mansion restored to its former glory,” Risa said, her Boston accent as distinctive as ever.

  Lucille took a platter of turkey from Elsie. “So much is riding on the success of the club,” she admitted, taking a slice. “This place won’t ever be another Motion Picture Country House, but at least a coupla dozen show biz retirees will be able to call it home.”

  “What’s the Motion Picture Country House?” Gabby asked as Lucille passed the platter to her.

  “A luxury retirement home. Johnny Weissmuller stayed there in the early ’80s,” Lucille added with a grin. “Until he started roaming the halls at all hours of the day and night, yelling like Tarzan.”

  Everyone smiled at the story, which was at once funny and sad.

  “The buildings and grounds are often used as a backdrop for some television series,” Yancy rasped, heaping his plate with salad. “Residents are sometimes employed as extras.”

  “Maybe they’ll want to use this place once it’s fixed up,” Neil said hopefully. “We might even be able to get work again.”

  “Just be glad you’re among friends.” Chester fidgeted awkwardly with his fork as if he were trying to find a comfortable way to hold it. “We’re all blessed to have a place to live where people care about each other. Last week a guy I used to work with died alone and in poverty over in Watts.”

  Harvey muttered something under his breath and adjusted his horn-rimmed glasses. Gabby wondered why Chester’s news agitated the comedian so much.

  “Hollywood has little use for the aging,” Risa said, carefully tucking a napkin over the bosom of her old-fashioned flowered dress. “Unless someone has been a big star for many years and has never lost her audience.”

  Gabby knew Risa must be thinking of herself as well as the others. Lucille had confided that Risa had stopped getting roles long before her first stroke, and that Chester had been forced into retirement two years before, even though, at fifty-five he still could have been useful training new stunt people or creating new gags.

  That she was in the presence of these people who had been at the top of their professions in their prime and now were literally forgotten made Gabby angry. Society’s values left a lot to be desired when it came to respect for the experience that came with age, and nowhere was that more apparent than in show business. Her dinner companions were examples of how fleeting fame and how fickle audiences could be. She hoped that no matter what came out of the club engagement she would keep her perspective.

  “Maybe things are changing a little,” Jayne said. “I didn’t want to say anything until I was certain…but my agent heard about a new series that’s being cast. The producers want a ‘Jayne Hunter’ type, and I plan on offering them the original! I have an appointment with the producers next week. My agent says the part’s in the bag.”

  Yancy set down his fork and frowned, making his already homely face formidable. “Then you’ll be leaving. We’ll miss you.”

  “Leaving?” Jayne echoed. “Are you kidding? I have no intention of moving out. This is where I belong—with my friends. Besides, I like having a Beverly Hills address.” Smiling, she looked down the table at Lucille. “But maybe I can move into one of the empty third-floor suites and renovate it. And I’ll have the elevator fixed and I’ll be able to contribute more to the expenses.”

  “You pay your fair share,” Lucille stated.

  “Well, if you let me have more space, my share will have to be more generous, as well,” Jayne insisted.

  Conversation continued in a more positive vein, thanks to Jayne’s news, and dinner ended on a happy note. The boarders left the table one by one until only Kit, Anita and Gabby were left with their hostess.

  Lucille’s expression was worried as Chester slowly made his way out of the room.

  “He’s in such misery,” she said, keeping her voice low. “His arthritis is getting worse, and his disability money barely keeps him going. If only the big swimming pool was usable, he could get the kind of exercise that would help him. And one doctor told him a special medication with gold in it might help, but so far Medicaid hasn’t approved the prescription because of the expense. The club just has to be a success so I can help him.”

  Kit frowned. “Lucille, until that happens, maybe I could contribute—”

  Lucille interrupted. “Aw, kiddo, that’s a real generous offer, but Chester’s too proud to take money from you.”

  Gabby was staring at Kit, impressed and touched that he was willing to help the former stuntman whom he didn’t seem to know all that well.

  “What makes you think Chester will let you help him if he would refuse to take money from me?” Kit asked his godmother.

  “Because we’re more than friends in this home,” Lucille explained. “We’re family. And when this family gets on its feet, we’re gonna get Chester his medication and hire a nurse-nutritionist and a part-time physical therapist. We’re gonna get all these old bodies into working condition yet.”

  “That’s it. Concentrate on the positive,” Anita said as she rose from the table. “Now, why don’t you show us those old scrapbooks you were telling us about last night?”

  Lucille chuckled. “We’d bore these two kids to death. Kit, why don’t you show Gabby around while Anita and I do a little reminiscing.”

  “How about it?” Kit asked. “We could take a short walk down to the old stables.”

  “Sounds great.”

  Twenty-four hours ago Gabby had been wary of getting too close to Christopher Garfield, but now she felt her best interests wou
ld be served by spending a little social time with Price’s son. Maybe getting to know the real man better would ease the tension that was sure to arise out of their working together so intensely for the next few weeks.

  Stripping off his jacket and tie and leaving them in the large family room, Kit opened one of several sets of double doors that led onto the patio. He held out an arm, indicating she should go first. Gabby exited and took in the hilly panorama spread out before them. Her gaze skimmed the empty, cracked pool and the awningless cabanas—relics like the house, only less useful.

  She looked up at Kit. “This estate must have been magnificent when it was built.”

  “I wasn’t around then,” he said dryly, “but I’ve seen those scrapbooks of Lucille’s.” His voice turned wistful. “And I remember what this place was still like when I was a kid.”

  Though the early-evening breeze was cool, Kit undid the top two buttons of his shirt and rolled up the sleeves. He started down the broken concrete footpath that wound around the grounds. Keeping up with him, Gabby enjoyed their companionable silence as they passed a weathered gazebo that sat on a knoll overlooking neighboring mansions. Ahead, tucked among the trees and camouflaged by the overgrown grass and scrub on the hillside, were several tiny boarded-up guest cottages and a small free-form swimming pool.

  “The grounds are more extensive than I realized,” Gabby said.

  “But not as enormous as they once were. Lucille’s late husband, Jim, bought almost thirty acres before Beverly Hills was even a gleam in some developer’s eye. He was much older than Lucille and back then, this whole area was nothing but bean and barley fields, orange groves and cattle ranches. His was one of the first of the famous ‘dream palaces’ ever built.”

  “Was Lucille’s husband a native Californian?”

  Kit shook his head. “Nope. Born in Arizona…on horseback, to hear him tell it. When they first married, he and Lucille kept a half-dozen quarterhorses on this property. Things changed when Jim Dix movies stopped making money.”

  “Then he became a stuntman.”

  “Not exactly. He stayed behind the scenes, masterminding stunts for other stars’ movies. He had to sell all but these three acres of land, though he managed to buy a modest ranch in the San Fernando Valley. It would have killed Jim to get rid of his beloved horses. He never even had the heart to tear down the stables here. Of course, they’ve been in the process of falling down for decades.”

  “Like all the other buildings on the estate.” Gabby looked at what was left of the shabby L-shaped stable and oval corral ahead—truly an eyesore. “Lucille must have had a tough time after her husband died.”

  “She hadn’t been able to get work for years by then, and that didn’t change. Unfortunately neither did Lucille.” Kit shook his head but didn’t really sound disapproving when he said, “She should take my father’s advice and sell this place, then buy a cheaper house and live off the money. Even empty lots in Beverly Hills are worth millions. But she won’t hear of it—the Silver Stallion is a shrine to her late husband.”

  “And the expenses have broken her.”

  “They’ve broken her bank account, but not Lucille herself. She has too much moxie to let life beat her down,” he said, using one of his godmother’s colorful expressions.

  Gabby noticed that Kit sounded proud of Lucille. The woman hadn’t chosen the easy path, but one that had a great deal of integrity. How many people took on responsibility for others the way Lucille had? Gabby looked at Kit covertly and thought the elderly woman must have instilled at least some of her values in her godson, or he wouldn’t have made the generous offer to pay for Chester’s medicine.

  Her mood as soft as the summer evening, she wanted to reach out and touch Kit’s face, wipe away the worry and leave a smile in its place. She tried to assure him instead. “Well, now Lucille has another chance at success.”

  “Through Cheek to Cheek,” he said. “I really hope all her dreams come true—the club being a success, her being able to turn this estate into an official not-for-profit group home as she wants. Who knows what kind of mess those people would be thrown into if something happened to Lucille.”

  Touched by his very real concern for the elderly woman and her retirees, Gabby said, “I’m beginning to feel personally responsible myself.”

  “I know what you mean. I just can’t fail that lady. Talk about proud—I’ve been trying to ‘lend’ Lucille money for years, but the stubborn woman won’t take a cent from me. She wants to make the money on her own.”

  Kit put a hand on Gabby’s arm to turn her to the right where the path circled around the back of the guest cottages they’d passed. Feeling extraordinarily close to Kit, she savored the light touch.

  “We all have our pride, don’t we?” Gabby said. “You can’t blame Lucille for wanting the sense of accomplishment that comes with a job well done.”

  “I guess you’re right. A lot of older people must miss feeling useful.”

  Gabby nodded. “Even though Mom is semiretired, she always has to have her fingers on the pulse of the dance school. Lucille has that very same attitude about Cheek to Cheek.”

  “What about you? What’s important to you?”

  The personal question startled her and instantly put distance between them once again. Older people weren’t the only ones who had pride. And Gabby’s had been stomped on quite enough. If she told him the truth and then failed…

  “It’s a little chilly,” she said, avoiding Kit’s eyes. “I think we should head back for the house.”

  Without waiting Gabby raced up the footpath, away from the man who made her question her own ability to succeed.

  ANITA STOOD on the balcony overlooking the property. They’d barely gotten into the scrapbooks when Lucille had to take an important telephone call. The interruption had been a relief, although Anita would never admit that to her old friend. While she’d had fun looking back on the past, the pictures and souvenirs from her movies with Price brought back too many wrenching memories.

  Below, movement caught her eye. It was Gabby striding up the walk as if the hounds of hell were after her and Kit catching up. They stopped for a second. Gabby raised her head, her back straight with what? Defiance? What in the world could her daughter be angry about? Anita wondered. Then, when Kit spoke to Gabby and put a hand on her shoulder, she seemed to relax.

  Anita’s heart drummed unevenly. Not only did she sense something special pass between the two, she could almost imagine she was looking at herself with Price.

  How many times had she and Price visited this estate together?

  Too many to remember.

  Anita started to turn away, then changed her mind. She had to start remembering…and dealing with her feelings. She had to face the past, or she would forever be running away from ghosts. She had to face Price the way Gabby was facing Kit. Below, her daughter and Kit were walking—and talking—together. Whereas before Gabby had seemed closed and angry, now she was animated.

  And Anita’s sense of déjà vu was overpowering. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something special might easily happen between the two young people….

  “Hey, Anita, I’m off the phone,” Lucille called. “Ready to get back to those scrapbooks.”

  Anita’s mind was made up. “I’m coming, Lucille. And I’m more than ready,” she added, ignoring the thrill of fear that shot up her spine.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  SWEPT AWAY BY THE MUSIC, Gabby arched as Kit lifted and turned her, then swung her effortlessly around his hardwood living room floor. Two rotations. He slowed; she touched one foot to the ground, then the other. Kit stopped suddenly and held her fast as momentum propelled her forward.

  “Great,” he said, his hands warm where they securely encircled her waist. “Let your head drift toward my shoulder next time. I want to make sure the audience thinks you’re totally under my spell.”

  “No problem.”

  Pretending to be under Kit’s spell wasn�
�t difficult. When they danced together, reality had a way of disappearing, leaving in its place a magical dimension where anything was possible. They complemented each other so well that Gabby was beginning to think she and Kit were destined to be partners. She almost felt bereft when he released her.

  They were working on the choreography of “Mesmerizing You” from the movie Happy-Go-Lucky. Kit was the famous magician, she his new assistant, a rich girl who, on a lark, was pretending to be from the working class so that she could experience life firsthand. The dance would be both romantic and sensual—the magician putting his assistant under his spell only to fall under hers by the end of the number.

  Kit reset the CD they’d been using for the session. “Let’s try that part again without the music. Only this time, when I let you down, I want to go directly into the horizontal lift.”

  “We can try it,” she said doubtfully.

  Kit led Gabby into the movement once more, but when she put both feet down, she couldn’t keep her balance as Kit then tried to shift her back into his arm. Almost falling, she grabbed his shoulders.

  “Whoa.” Gabby pulled herself upright, for a moment wondering if she was breathless from the near miss or from the close contact. She quickly removed her hands. “This isn’t going to work.”

  “So I see. We’ll have to add an intermediary step or two.”

  “How about a whole bunch? We don’t have to do one lift after the other so quickly.”

  “But that’s how I envisioned it. Intense.”

  His eyes were intense. So green. So alive. So mesmerizing that she almost let him have his way. But she thought of how well the original worked.

  “Lyrical might be smoother,” she said. “Let the tension build.”

  “Who’s choreographing this number?”

  A spurt of annoyance overpowered the attraction, and Gabby took a step back. “In case you forgot, we both are.”

  Kit’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t argue with that. “Do you have anything more special to add than ‘a whole bunch’?” he asked.