Shall We Dance?

by Lynn Patrick

  “Not offhand, but I will…” Gabby quickly moved to the dining room table where he’d left his dance diagrams and she her large rehearsal bag. Digging into its depths, she pulled out a DVD and offered it to him. “After we watch this.”

  She had been amazed that they’d been able to agree on the numbers they would perform without argument, and she expected Kit to balk at this suggestion. He didn’t prove her wrong.

  “I don’t need to watch the movie version of Happy-Go-Lucky to stage this number.”

  “I’m not suggesting we have to duplicate the way our parents danced to it, but a little inspiration couldn’t hurt.”

  Kit remained adamant. “I don’t need choreography lessons from my father.”

  Realizing how sensitive he was on the subject—he obviously had some kind of competition thing going with Price—Gabby figured she’d better try to soothe his ruffled feathers or they’d never get anywhere.

  “I’m not denigrating your ideas, Kit. Given enough time, I’m sure you could outdo Price,” she told him, even though she didn’t really believe in that sort of competition. Everyone had merits of his or her own. “But you know we don’t have that luxury. I thought watching our parents’ movies might help us move along a bit faster. Your all-day meeting yesterday took up valuable time, and—”

  “The meeting couldn’t be helped,” he said tersely. “I have obligations in the real world that I can’t ignore.”

  “I’m not criticizing. I’m just trying to point out how limited our time is. We need to have this number choreographed at least roughly before the day is up.”

  “True. I guess watching the film wouldn’t hurt,” Kit said grudgingly. “As long as we agree that we only use the original for reference, not as a bible.”

  “Agreed.” Gabby hadn’t expected convincing him would be this easy. She smiled and handed him the DVD.

  Taking it from her, Kit approached the single windowless wall in the room. The heavy pale wood unit that filled the large space held the audio-visual equipment. While Kit turned on the DVD player, Gabby wandered to the nearby sliding glass doors, which he’d left open to the ocean breezes. The roar of the surf beckoned, and she stepped out onto the wooden deck that was a good twenty feet above the sand beach.

  Kit’s house was on stilts, one of hundreds lining the sweep of Malibu’s oceanfront property, a locale more concentrated with celebrities than anywhere else in the L.A. area, if not in the world. The advantage of living here was the breathtaking view. The disadvantage was nature’s price for such glory—tides and storms and landslides.

  A few swimmers and surfers enjoyed the perfect summer day, Gabby noted, part of her envying them. The beach was hardly crowded, however. Kit’s place was part of a celebrity compound called Malibu North Cove. Privacy was the biggest benefit of living in an ultraexclusive enclave of beach houses guarded by gates, barrier reefs and a large security force.

  “Do you ever have thrill-seekers get by the guards?” Gabby asked. She’d felt as if she were crossing the border to a foreign country when she’d checked in. She wouldn’t have been surprised if the guard had asked her for a passport.

  “Rarely. More often than not movie lovers haunt the shopping center on the public side of the Cove gates. They get their thrills by catching stars shopping at places like the market or the pharmacy or the bank…just as if they were ‘real’ people.”

  “The price of fame comes high, I guess.”

  A price Gabby wouldn’t mind paying, given the opportunity. She remembered how she’d bristled the day before when Kit had asked what was important to her. That he’d been inordinately sensitive when she’d shut him out came as a pleasant surprise. When he caught up to her on the path, he’d apologized for putting his foot into his mouth and sworn he hadn’t been trying to bait her. Gabby hadn’t been able to resist his charming—and unnecessary—apology.

  And, for a brief moment, something special had passed between them….

  “Ready?”

  Kit’s voice snapped Gabby out of her reverie. She turned and admired his trim, fit body clad in a green T-shirt and white cotton pants. He wasn’t a man who was hard to look at, that was for sure.

  “Ready.”

  Kit began repositioning a buff-colored love seat in front of the television, where a freeze-frame of Anita and Price awaited them. She hurried to help as she had earlier when they’d cleared the living room area to make an impromptu dance floor. She wouldn’t give Kit the opportunity to say she wasn’t pulling her share of the weight—not that he had said anything negative until they’d gotten to the DVD issue.

  She plumped up a brightly patterned pillow and threw it onto the love seat. Then she sat, kicking off her dance heels and tucking her legs under her while Kit headed for the dining room.

  “Going to get the popcorn?” Gabby teased.

  At the dining room table he picked up a notepad and some pencils. “Nope. Popcorn’s fattening, and terrible on a dancer’s figure.”

  “Only if it’s loaded with butter,” she returned, eyeing his organizational tools with distaste.

  “I thought you were in a hurry to get this dance choreographed,” Kit said, plopping down next to her. Using the remote control, he started the DVD.

  Gabby watched their parents as if she hadn’t viewed this disc over and over in the past week. She was aware of Kit scribbling notes to himself, making quick little dance diagrams. Annoyed when he stopped and hit Rewind to play a sequence over, she wanted to tell him to forget the notes, to watch for enjoyment. Afraid that he’d tell her to forget the old choreography altogether, she kept silent until they’d watched “Mesmerizing You” several times and Kit had filled page after page with scribbles.

  Knowing she was taking a chance on ruining their friendly rapport, Gabby suggested, “Before we follow those copious notes you made, why don’t we play the movie from the top and mimic the steps. That way we can get a real feel for the music. We can improvise as we go along,” she added quickly.

  She figured Kit was about to disagree when his brow furrowed. Then he seemed to change his mind. “It won’t hurt to give your way a try first.”

  Gabby smiled as she stood and waited for him. Kit reset the DVD to the beginning of the dance sequence and threw the remote onto the love seat.

  For the next few minutes they mimicked the screen characters as the magician first took “control” of his assistant without touching her—he hypnotized her with his hands. They moved through swirls, leaps and floating lifts with hardly a pause. Gabby suspected Kit knew his father’s choreography better than he’d let on. He added some new twists to the original, however, and increased the intensity of movement.

  Her hand in his, Gabby swirled around Kit as if in a dream. Then he partnered her from behind, his body swaying with hers. His warm breath ruffled her hair. Emotion shot through her at the delicate contact. She tried to convince herself that she was totally in character, no more, but her response was very real.

  Kit took her wrist and turned her, then with his free hand extended, palm toward her face, dramatically commanded her to stop just as Price did to Anita on-screen. He passed the hand in front of her as if issuing a command.

  “Let yourself sway and fall limp,” he told her, “as if I’m overpowering you.”

  “Make sure you catch me,” she muttered breathlessly.

  Gabby went limp as requested and fell backward into Kit’s embrace. Then he drew closer, his face mere inches from hers. Her breath caught in her throat. He was so close, his expression so intense, that she was convinced he was feeling the same attraction she was. Was he about to kiss her?

  She was holding her breath expectantly when Kit let her up, leaving Gabby unreasonably disappointed. She’d felt real attraction, while he’d merely been acting. Embarrassed, she hoped he wouldn’t notice.

  “Let’s do the lift we were working on,” he said, sliding his arm around her, lifting and turning her in a double circle. “Feet down…”

 
; Instead of following the movement with the second lift, Kit drew her across the floor. They drifted together, her dance skirt swaying around her legs. They separated briefly while still holding hands. Then Kit snapped her inward so that she spun toward him.

  “Now,” he said.

  He gathered her in his arms horizontally and carried her across the floor while whirling in a circle. Finally he set her on her feet. Gabby allowed her body to flow naturally out of the turn to glide backward as he still held her. He dipped forward and she arched toward him, ending the piece in the classic Hollywood kiss position.

  As the last strains of music built to a climax, Gabby impulsively reached up, wrapped her arms around Kit’s neck, then gradually, languorously, pulled her body up until her face met his.

  The kiss was an exploration of what might be, she thought before they both became caught up in the moment. His lips searching, Kit drew her closer. She felt the power of his lithe body and forgot about the dance, about the audience they would have at a real performance. She was lost in the wonder of Kit’s embrace.

  Suddenly Kit seemed startled. He straightened and let her go. Gabby tottered and caught herself. Reality rushed back with a bang, making her flush. The music had ended and Price and Anita were arguing on-screen. She and Kit stared silently at each other for a moment. Before she could even guess what he was thinking, he broke the tenuous connection.

  “I need to get this down in my dance diagrams.” His back to her, Kit was already heading for his pad on the love seat. “Then we can try it again and refine the patterns. Perhaps we should drop the kiss, have the lights fade out and leave what happens to the audience’s imagination.”

  Gabby stared at his straight back throughout his little speech. Hands on her hips, she shook her head. “You’re incredibly uptight about this, aren’t you?” He whipped around and seemed about to deny it. “It was only a kiss, for Pete’s sake! And a staged one at that,” she added, though the kiss had felt real enough to her.

  Kit smothered a smile and glanced back down at his pad. In a professional tone he said, “All right. If your considered opinion is that the number will benefit by ending it with a kiss, we’ll leave it in.”

  “Forget it!”

  Gabby knew she sounded peevish, but she couldn’t help herself. She was flushed and breathing with difficulty, but if he dared accuse her of being affected by the kiss, she’d swear the exertion had done her in.

  She was thankful when Kit let this one pass.

  “Let’s rehearse to the music alone,” he suggested. “We can break the number into segments, make changes and get the ideas on paper.”

  Gabby sighed. It was only fair to try it his way now.

  Kit was a perfectionist when it came to getting the choreography exactly right. They went over and over the same steps and lifts, Kit making subtle changes each time they went through the routine. Gabby supposed she should be adding her ideas, but the truth was, she couldn’t improve on his now that they’d come to a compromise inspired by the video. He was good; she had to give him that.

  They stopped briefly for lunch, then began again. By the time the afternoon sun slanted into the room, filling it with brilliant light, Gabby was exhausted. But Kit made her go over and over each movement until her every body position was exactly right. His perfectionism reminded her of her mother’s stories about Price. She was ready to drop and still they hadn’t gotten all the way through the music.

  “Do you think we can call a halt?” she finally asked, wanting nothing more than to take off her dance heels and prop her feet up.

  Kit seemed lost in his notes, but he’d heard her. “Not yet. As you reminded me before, with my schedule, we have to make the most of every moment.”

  “What’s so time-consuming that you can’t take what amounts to a vacation from the dance studio business?” Gabby asked, thinking the question reasonable.

  Kit apparently didn’t.

  “The corporation is a lot bigger than the dance studios,” he explained tersely as if he, too, were tired. “We own a dance-wear company, a recording studio and a major club. While each division is run by a vice president, there are always problems that I need to take care of.”

  “Surely you can count on one of your assistants for a few days.” Gabby couldn’t envision Kit hiring anyone who wasn’t efficient.

  “I still have to check in at the office every morning and take some meetings as I did yesterday,” he insisted.

  “What about Price—”

  “What about him?” Kit’s voice rose, startling her. “My father certainly never wanted to be bothered with the corporation or with anything else that wasn’t directly related to his own dancing and choreography.”

  His words made Gabby think Kit believed Price didn’t care about him, either. His tone made her wonder if he wasn’t using corporation business to outshine his father in an area that didn’t interest Price. Even though she empathized, she was ready to revolt.

  “Look, I think we’re both tired and should call it quits for the day,” she insisted.

  “But I’m willing to continue until we get this dance right.”

  “Well, I’m not. My feet are already tender,” she said, limping to the love seat. Now she was beginning to sound testy. “Don’t think you can make me keep working until my feet bleed like Price did to my mother.”

  Kit seemed taken aback. “Why didn’t you say your feet were in such bad shape? Sit down and slip off those shoes.”

  That was one order Gabby was willing to take. She kicked off the heels and sprawled across the love seat, her legs up on an arm-rest. “That’s better,” she murmured.

  Before she knew what he was up to, Kit had one of her feet in his hands. He was checking it over. “A few red areas, but no blisters.” He began rubbing the foot gently.

  Gabby sighed, “Oh, that’s heaven,” and felt as if she were being mesmerized by his touch.

  She closed her eyes for a few minutes and felt herself relaxing totally as Kit worked on first one foot, then the other. The toes, the ball, the arch, the heel. When she peeked up at him, she noticed a subtle difference in Kit’s stance—he was tense, like a bow strung too tightly, as if massaging her foot was somehow too personal. The notion made her smile, but she bit the inside of her lip to quell the response. After all, he couldn’t even handle a little stage kiss.

  He must want to stick to his preconceived notions of her, and she would be smart to do likewise, Gabby decided. Remaining impersonal with each other would be the wisest course….

  Gabby pulled her foot free and sat up. “Thanks. You made a new woman of me—almost.”

  She was surprised when he said, “Maybe a walk along the beach will complete the transformation.”

  Thinking that a walk along the beach sounded too romantic to be impersonal, Gabby knew she should refuse and take her leave. Getting involved with a Garfield would be a dumb move on her part.

  Her eyes met Kit’s, and she found herself saying, “Yeah, maybe it will.”

  KIT WAITED IMPATIENTLY for Gabby to change out of the dance clothes that made her look like a dancing angel. She could probably wear rags and still look like that, he decided, thinking of her grace and style. He didn’t know what impulse had prompted him to suggest the walk along the beach. Probably a dumb move on his part. He didn’t need a Brooks to foul up his life the way Anita had ruined his father’s.

  But when Gabby entered the living area wearing her turquoise sundress and carrying matching sandals, his good sense vanished. He wanted to be with her.

  “All set?” he asked.

  Gabby nodded as she swung past him. “I thought I’d go barefoot. The sand and water will be a finishing touch to that wonderful massage.”

  Dropping her sandals onto the deck, she descended the stairs before him and rushed across the sand to the ocean’s edge, where a small wave was rolling in. The breeze played with her long cotton skirts so that they billowed around her bare legs. She laughed delightedly as water
drowned her feet and ankles and splashed upward to leave sparkling drops on her arms.

  “This feels wo-o-onderful,” she said, spinning around.

  Kit smiled at her enthusiasm. She was a charmer, all right. So free and open, whether with opinions or enjoyment. He managed to catch up with her while staying out of the water’s reach, trying to keep his deck shoes dry.

  “Tell me the bleeding feet story,” he said.

  She looked up at him, her pale brows lifted in surprise. “Stories, plural. Every time they made a movie, Price forced my mother to rehearse hour after hour until her feet got blisters that opened and bled. She said that one time she had to use so many bandages afterward that she couldn’t get into her street shoes.”

  “That sounds like my father the perfectionist, all right. So what other stories did your mother tell you?”

  “Let’s see. She used to play practical jokes on your father, like the time she had a mouthful of gum and blew a bubble right when he was supposed to kiss her. Mom said that no matter how hard she tried, though, she never quite managed to lighten Price up. I think my favorite is the one about her costume made with feathers.”

  “But he’s allergic to feathers.”

  “I know. Mom hid the costume so that he couldn’t get rid of it, as he was threatening to do. Then, after they had a row over something, she wore the dress and made sure feathers flew everywhere until he had a sneezing fit.” Gabby laughed. “Didn’t your father ever talk about any of this?”

  “Maybe…but not to me. He and I rarely shared intimacies.”

  “Something else we have in common.”

  “You certainly seem close to your mother. Weren’t you close to your father, too?”

  She shook her head and turned away from him toward the ocean. Because she wanted to watch the gulls as they wheeled and dived for supper? Or so he couldn’t see her expression?

  “My father was a very successful and busy doctor,” she said, stopping.

  The sun haloed her loose hair, giving it a rich golden sheen that fascinated Kit. He wanted to touch it, but the rigid set of Gabby’s shoulders stayed his hand. She drew a line in the sand with her toes, but a wave soon erased it.