Shall We Dance?

by Lynn Patrick

  Gabby stopped in her tracks and whirled around. “You’re going out again?” She was afraid all this running around would prove to be too much for her mother’s health. Gabby had arrived home earlier than Anita both Wednesday and Thursday nights. “Don’t you think you should rest in between social engagements?”

  Anita crossed the room and picked up the purse she’d spilled onto a chair. “What’s the point of sitting around here?” she asked, checking the contents of the clutch. “There’s so much I want to catch up on and we only have a couple of weeks to do it all in.”

  “But you shouldn’t overdo—”

  Anita’s head snapped up and her forehead pulled into a frown. “Gabrielle Brooks Lacroix! I am the parent, and you are the child. I wish you would remember that.”

  “But—”

  “No buts. We’re both adults. How would you like it if I started telling you when you could go out and what you could do and when you had to be home?”

  Though she would have liked to argue that it wasn’t the same thing, Gabby immediately backed down. This was supposed to be a vacation for Anita.

  “All right, Mom. I guess I’m a worrywart, but it’s because I love you.” She threw her mother a kiss. “You and Lucille have fun.”

  Gabby closed the door behind her. As she jogged down the stairs, her mind was on the costume and exactly how she was going to approach Kit about duplicating it without his getting bent out of shape. A dressmaker would have less than a week to prepare her three costumes, not impossible for a pro, since she’d brought the patterns. Still, they were cutting it close, and Kit had already suggested they rent or buy ready-made costumes from a local shop.

  Considering how her mother had compared Kit to Price, Gabby was determined to get her way on this one.

  As if thinking about the elder Garfield had conjured him up, Price was walking in past Elsie when Gabby got to the last set of stairs. The maid poked at her thick-lensed glasses and slowly hobbled toward the kitchen. Price looked up at her, his thin face lit in a smile.

  Halfway down the last steps, Gabby stopped and challenged him. “What are you doing here?”

  “I was invited.”

  Gabby sighed with exasperation. Now why would Lucille do such a thing when she knew how much seeing Price had frazzled Anita when they’d first arrived in California?

  “You’d better not upset my mother,” she warned the man.

  “I have no intentions of upsetting anyone,” he said in the most reasonable of tones.

  Gabby took a threatening step down. “You’ll have to answer to me if you do.”

  Price merely continued smiling. “You remind me of her, you know. Pretty, full of fire.”

  Taken aback by the compliment, Gabby was speechless.

  Unconcerned, Price rambled on in a wistful manner. “If I had married your mother, I could have had a daughter like you.”

  Gabby softened to his warmth until she remembered how abominably he’d treated Kit. “If I had been your daughter, you would probably have paid no more attention to me than you did to the son you do have.”

  A pained expression crossed Price’s features. “Some people find it difficult to reach out when they’re not sure of their reception,” he said. “Rejection sure can be intimidating.”

  Could it be that he’d changed over the years? Gabby wondered. Or that the coolness between father and son had gone two ways? Then again, perhaps Price was still the selfish, demanding man who had broken her mother’s heart.

  “Gabby, I thought you’d left.”

  Anita’s shocked tone made Gabby turn to see her mother coming down the stairs, her gaze shifting beyond her daughter to settle on Price.

  “Maybe I shouldn’t go just yet, Mom.”

  Anita didn’t even look her way. “But Kit will be waiting for you.”

  “So let him wait,” Gabby said. “I can call and tell him I’ve been held up.”

  “Nonsense. There’s no reason for you to stay.”

  Gabby looked from Anita to Price, who was watching her mother with a determined gleam in the green eyes so like his son’s.

  “But Mom—”

  “Don’t ‘Mom’ me. Just go,” Anita insisted, an edge of aggravation clipping her words. “I’ll be fine.”

  Reluctantly Gabby gave in, but not before searing Price Garfield with a look of warning. Unfortunately the effect was spoiled by the renewed grin he unsuccessfully tried to hide from her.

  Gabby flounced past the man and out of the house in a dark mood.

  “I JUST DON’T UNDERSTAND why you insist on wearing exact duplicates of your mother’s costumes.”

  “Because they’re perfect both looks-wise and dance-wise!” Gabby yelled from the guest bedroom where she was undressing. “They don’t get any better! I don’t understand why you keep objecting.”

  Though she’d brought the aged costume with demonstrating it in mind, Gabby couldn’t completely restrain her hostility. Price had put her back up. And she couldn’t help but wonder if her mother was correct. Maybe Kit was just like Price. Maybe hoping he wasn’t was a mistake.

  Carefully she drew on the sequined gown that had seen better days. Still, the fragile costume was more exquisite and finely crafted than anything she’d worn in all her years on Broadway. Furthermore, it suited her perfectly.

  The pale gold sequins emphasized her strawberry-blond hair. And other than being a few inches too short for her, the garment fit like a glove. The long lines of the style accentuated the length of her waist, the slenderness of her hips—or would if she could manage the zipper. Kit would have to finish the job for her.

  As she walked past the mirror to the door, she noted how the sweeping skirt merely swayed gently around her legs, held in place by the weighted hemline, the secret to the costume’s success.

  Gabby left the bedroom to find Kit staring out to sea through the vast expanse of living room window. Was he merely watching the waves, or was he remembering their romp in the surf two nights before? They were a step farther along in their relationship than most professional partners, she thought, even though they had worked together the day before without reference to their kisses. Still, she hadn’t been able to forget them.

  The reminder softened Gabby’s mood as she approached Kit, who looked too good in jeans and a T-shirt. His dark hair was rumpled and his feet bare. Her heart gave a little lurch when he faced her, even while his gaze critically swept over the costume.

  “I’m afraid I need assistance,” she admitted. “I can’t do it all the way up.”

  “Turn around.”

  He gathered the edges of the dress back with one hand and zipped with the other. His hands were so warm…

  As soon as he finished, Gabby moved away and hid her discomfort in modeling the dress. Arms held out gracefully, she turned slowly before him.

  “What do you think?” she asked.

  “Beautiful.”

  Unsure whether he meant the garment or her, she said, “That’s a start. But you have to see how this skirt moves when I dance. It’s quite unique. Why don’t you put on your shoes and I’ll get the music?”

  “If you insist.”

  Though Kit still didn’t sound convinced, he wasn’t as negative as he had been when she’d told him she would model the dress. Going to the stereo while he pulled on socks and shoes, Gabby cued up “Dance with Me” from Change Partners, the piece they’d worked on the day before.

  When he was ready, she started the music and waited self-consciously as he soloed for the first thirty seconds. He played a Broadway star who wanted his lady love to change partners not only professionally, but personally, and he was down in the dumps because he hadn’t yet been able to convince her he was the right man for her.

  Gabby made her entrance in character and came to an abrupt halt before him. She looked around wildly and took one step in retreat. Kit grabbed her wrist and tugged so that she made a quick spin into his arms.

  The weighted hem of the skirt follo
wed her movement and snapped around them both before gracefully swinging back into place.

  “See what I mean?” she said as they continued. “The skirt is fabulous, exactly what this number needs to emphasize the drama of the dance.”

  Rather than answering, Kit continued in silence, but Gabby noted that his focus was on the skirt. Every time they made a sharp turn, the weights forced the material to follow through and accentuate the movement.

  “Hmm,” Kit muttered. “Almost like a prop.”

  Gabby smiled. She knew she had him. “So?” she prompted with a straight face.

  “You do have a point about the skirt on this particular costume….” His thoughtful gaze met her hopeful one, and he sighed in resignation. “And I guess if we have this one made up, it wouldn’t hurt to go along with reproducing the other two if that will make you happy.”

  “Oh, it will,” she assured him, wondering exactly how much her happiness meant to him.

  “Then let me see if I can call in a favor from Elaine Carlisle. She used to costume my nightclub act, and my recommendation landed her her first costume drama a few years back.”

  Kit placed the call. Gabby was gratified when Elaine apparently agreed to help without any arm-twisting. Kit set up an appointment with her for later that afternoon.

  Kit wasn’t like Price after all, Gabby decided. Price would never have done a complete turnaround from his original position—at least not so agreeably.

  When Kit got off the phone, he said, “One thing I insist on, though. I want the dress for the last number, “Tango Olé,” to be black instead of white or pastel. Black will heighten the drama.”

  Gabby knew it was her turn to give in gracefully. “Black will be absolutely perfect,” she said, smiling at him. She was pleased when he couldn’t help but grin back at her.

  AFTER SEVERAL DAYS of intensive work, Gabby was delighted by Kit’s suggestion that they spend a few hours in pursuit of recreation before getting down to business on Sunday. She was to dress casually and have a light breakfast, and he would pick her up at ten.

  Therefore, when she awoke to a bright, sunny morning, Gabby slipped into a deep orange sundress, French-braided her hair and spent more time than she normally would on her makeup. On her way to the kitchen she passed a ladder set up in the hallway near a wall whose plaster was crumbling. A large hole gaped near the ceiling. Obviously someone was preparing to fix the damage.

  Gabby entered the kitchen to find Elsie carving up a fresh pineapple. The maid looked up from her work and peered through her thick lenses.

  “In the mood for an omelet?” Elsie asked. “One of my specialties.”

  “Mmm, I’d love one, but my orders were to keep breakfast light.”

  “Croissant and coffee?”

  “And maybe some of that fresh fruit.”

  Gabby picked up a plate to help herself, but Elsie took it from her with a cluck.

  “Tsk, tsk, this is still my kitchen.” She arranged fresh pineapple, orange wedges, strawberries and a croissant on the plate. “Here you go. Coffee’s on the sideboard.”

  “Thanks, Elsie.”

  Realizing she had to be more sensitive about Elsie’s feelings concerning her duties, Gabby entered the dining room. She filled her cup and was setting it down on the table when she heard a commotion in the hallway.

  “I can do this myself,” Chester was saying as he clumped over to the ladder, which was just within Gabby’s view. He set a pan down on the attached shelf. “So stop breathing down my neck and giving me doggone instructions I didn’t ask for.”

  Neil followed close behind and spoke over the protesting creak of the old wood as Chester rose with painful slowness. “Just because you know how to climb a ladder doesn’t mean you have the first idea of how to do a good job plastering.”

  “You wouldn’t even touch the ladder,” Chester grumbled in return. “Might wrinkle your fancy duds.”

  Neil straightened the open throat of his short-sleeved shirt and sneered at the other man’s jeans and plaid shirt.

  “You could take a tip from me in the clothing department, too.”

  “In addition to your advice about plastering?” Chester muttered. “Sidewalk supervisors. Know-it-alls. Bah!”

  Trying not to laugh, Gabby almost choked on the piece of croissant she was in the midst of swallowing. Contrary to what she’d been led to believe, not everyone in the house got along all that well.

  “At least I know how to plaster correctly…if theoretically.” Neil was waving a finger at the hole. “If you don’t get rid of every last loose particle, the job won’t be right.”

  “If I remove every last goldurned loose particle, there won’t be no wall!” A noisy clatter emphasized Chester’s outburst. “Damn it all, now look what you made me do! I dropped the trowel.”

  “I didn’t do anything. It’s your hands. You shouldn’t be messing with something that’s so physical in the first place, you know.”

  “My hands may be a little stiff, but I’m not ready for a coffin yet. Now don’t give me no more lip. Just give me the trowel!”

  “It’s full of plaster.” Neil’s tone implied that Chester had lost his mind. “Even the handle is smeared with the stuff.”

  “Course it is—”

  Gabby was about to leave the table and retrieve the tool for Chester herself when, from down the corridor, she heard footsteps and Lucille’s strident voice.

  “Chester, what in tarnation do you think you’re doin’ up on that ladder?”

  The former stuntman let out a sound of exasperation. “I’m trying to make one of the repairs needed around here!”

  “You know you shouldn’t be climbing so much as a step stool. Get down this minute!”

  “Fine!” Chester began clumping downward. “A man tries to feel useful and all he gets is instructions and flak just because he can’t do what he used to!” The ladder screeched as if emphasizing his anger. “I got better things to do with my day, anyway.” His shoulder knocked the wood as he stormed past it. “Let Neil finish the job.”

  “Sorry, Lucille,” the other man said, already backing away from the teetering ladder, “these are my good clothes. I might get them dirty. I was planning to go down to the Ocean Club. Maybe I can find a wealthy woman to take me out for a good lunch.”

  He quickly strode away, leaving Lucille muttering after him. “Only thing worse than an old mule is an old peacock! Now look at this mess. It’s worse than it was in the first place.”

  “Let me,” Gabby said, taking a last sip of her coffee before joining Lucille in the hall. “I’ve had a little experience with plaster.”

  Eyeing the hole, which seemed even bigger than it had a few minutes ago, she only hoped the job wouldn’t take too long.

  “Toots, you’re a peach. Well, that fixes this problem, but we gotta take care of plenty more,” Lucille muttered to herself as she left Gabby alone in the hall. “Or someone does. I can’t be personally responsible for everything anymore. The club’s gotta succeed so we can hire the help we need around here.”

  Sighing, Gabby stared up at the gaping hole, a symbol of the shambles these people’s lives were in. A Band-Aid couldn’t fix a wound that needed major surgery, but she guessed fixing the hole would be a start. Picking up the trowel, she scraped free the plaster that was already drying and tried not to think about what would happen to the elderly people who lived in the mansion if the club didn’t make it.

  KIT ARRIVED exactly at ten and entered the house without knocking. “Hello! Anyone around?” he called.

  “Over here. In the hall.”

  He followed Gabby’s voice, unprepared for the sight that greeted him. Wearing a sundress, she was on a ladder putting the finishing touches to a neatly executed plaster patch.

  “Decided to go into a new line of work, have you?” he asked, staring at her long, lovely legs.

  “Just helping out a friend,” Gabby was saying. “There. So much for that job.” She set down the trowel an
d descended the ladder, skipping the last rung. “I can clean up this mess later on. Just give me a minute to wash my hands and I’ll be ready to go.”

  “You’ll need to wash more than your hands.” Kit grinned at her while wiping a blotch of plaster off her cheek, then gave her a good once-over. “You’re a mess,” he said, removing another hardening blob from her bare shoulder. “And you sort of sprinkled your hair with the stuff.”

  Gabby sighed. “All right. Give me five minutes. I can cut the parts that are plastered if I need to.”

  She trudged toward the stairway, Kit close behind.

  “Don’t ruin your beautiful hair on my account,” he told her. “I can be patient…when what I’m waiting for is worthwhile.”

  Gabby flashed him a smile that Kit would happily wait hours for. She took the stairs two at a time while he stared after her. Images of Gabby in his arms made him smile, too. Though they would have but an afternoon stolen from their heavy rehearsal schedule, he would savor every minute with her.

  Leaving the staircase, Kit searched the downstairs rooms looking for Lucille. She would be miffed if he didn’t at least make an effort to say hello. But she wasn’t inside. He crossed the living room and wandered out onto the patio, his godmother’s favorite resting place. Rather than Lucille, however, Kit found Jayne relaxing in a lounge chair in the shade, poring over a script.

  “Good morning,” he called out.

  Jayne removed the half-glasses she was wearing, as if she were embarrassed at being caught in them. “I don’t really need these,” she said, confirming his suspicion.

  “Neither does my mother, but she uses reading glasses, anyway. Don’t worry,” he whispered with a wink. “Your secret is safe with me.”

  Jayne sighed. “I’m trying to memorize lines for my audition so I won’t have to use glasses.”

  “Audition? When you made your announcement, I had the feeling all you had to do was show up at the producer’s office and the part was yours.”

  “You’re not the only one. Unfortunately I sometimes forget my agent tends to be a bit overenthusiastic and optimistic.”

  “Sounds like a morale booster, though.”