by Lynn Patrick
“A movie? And you’ve been offered a leading role?” Anita immediately approached to hug her daughter tightly. “How wonderful!” Then the older woman held Gabby at arm’s length. Her expression was proud. “This is the break we’ve been hoping for! I knew something would happen if we came to California. Wait, you’re not smiling.”
“Kit isn’t interested.”
“What is his problem?” the older woman asked, her tone incredulous.
“He doesn’t want to act or sing. And he doesn’t consider dancing at Cheek to Cheek a professional engagement.”
“My heavens, he’s content to waste his talent? Even his father says Kit is fantastic.”
“I know. But Kit could care less what anyone thinks, especially his father.”
Anita shook her head. “That was apparent last night. Everyone could tell Price was trying to reach out to his son. And Kit would have none of it. That young man’s got an attitude.”
Gabby fully agreed. “He’s willful, arrogant and pigheaded. He wouldn’t even read the script. I got so disgusted that we ended up having a fight.”
“Poor baby.”
“He said I was self-centered.” When her mother quirked her eyebrows, Gabby went on to explain. “He thinks it’s selfish of me to want him to take a movie role so I can have one, too. I told Kit he was being selfish by refusing.”
She wasn’t going to explain her more complex motives for wanting to capitalize on the opportunity. She couldn’t tell Anita that she loved Kit and that making a movie would give them more of a long-term chance to build a relationship.
“It sounds like you’re asking him to have all his teeth pulled out rather than star in a movie.”
“Doesn’t it?”
“Oh, dear, this is terribly upsetting.” Picking up the script, Anita glanced at it.
Gabby watched her, feeling a bit guilty for giving her mother a hard time rather than a shoulder to lean on when Anita had been complaining about Price the other night. But surely that was different. Anita was only trying to come to terms with her old feelings—to rid herself of them, Gabby told herself—while she was trying to come to terms with new, acceptable ones.
Gabby stretched out on the bed, fluffing up a couple of pillows behind her. Anita relaxed on the ornate chaise longue that sat in front of the bedroom window. Reading glasses perched on her nose, the older woman thumbed through the first few pages of the script.
“I’d have to read this more thoroughly to give you my opinion,” Anita said. “But it certainly sets the mood. It looks promising.
“You mean it would be promising. I’m not even sure I’ll read it at all. I might feel too bad about the missed opportunity.”
“Can’t you convince Kit to change his mind?”
“I don’t want to try. He’s adamant about his disliking show business.”
“He’s a chip off the old block in more ways than one.” Anita shook her head. “Price used to claim he hated the business, too.”
“But he worked in it, anyway.”
“He said that was only because he didn’t have another way to earn a decent living.” Anita took off her reading glasses. “He did love creating dance routines, though, if not performing them. Once he got started in professional choreography, he would have had a difficult time giving it all up.”
“Kit’s just as talented,” Gabby maintained. “I don’t see how he can work in a corporation day in and day out.”
“Such a waste.”
“But try to tell him that. He’s impossible.”
“Don’t forget that he’s only known about the script for a few hours,” Anita pointed out. “Perhaps you should give him some time to think about it. He didn’t want to work at Cheek to Cheek at first, either. Lucille says he used the excuse of helping her to avoid facing his own desires. He may be tempted yet.”
Gabby smiled. “You really believe that, don’t you?”
“I’ve had more experience dealing with Garfield men than you, darling. Price is as stubborn as a mule. In the old days I knew I had to remain cool and logical so that we wouldn’t argue when I was trying to get him to change his mind about something.” She paused. “Not that I always had the patience to do so. I sometimes lost my temper and didn’t give a fig.”
“You’re only human.”
“Nevertheless, if I were dealing with Kit in this situation, I’d try to curb my own anger and resentment so that I could appeal to him both logically and emotionally.”
“How’s that?”
Gabby was seriously interested. Her mother could be quite clever. Dare she let a shred of hope creep into her heart?
Anita went on. “As I’ve already mentioned, give Kit some time. Read over the script, and when he’s reasonable again, point out its money-making potential.”
“He already has enough money.”
“Then tell him it has artistic depth—the kind that demands a truly wonderful dancer/choreographer. Suggest that ‘art’ will suffer because of his refusal to be in the movie.”
Gabby chuckled.
“But that’s really true, dear,” Anita insisted. “Be sincere with Kit. Tell him how much it means to you to be able to dance professionally. Perhaps he doesn’t get the same thrill from dancing—though I find that highly unlikely—but tell him there’s nothing you would rather do and that you long to share your grand passion with the largest audience possible. Movies are seen by more people than musicals or plays, you know.”
Gabby wasn’t sure Kit would go for that, but it might be worth a try. “And by people of all generations. Audiences are still thrilled by your old dance movies.”
Anita smiled. “Yes, I ran into a young fan the other night. She watches Price and me every New Year’s, and she actually wanted our autographs.”
“How nice.”
Gabby remembered the absence of Anita’s footprints in front of Mann’s Chinese Theater and wondered how long it would be before her mother found out.
“I guess I forgot to tell you about the autographs,” Anita went on. “But we were discussing my difficulties with Price at the time.”
Again Gabby felt guilty. “And I’m sorry I wasn’t as supportive as I should have been. I guess I did more lecturing than listening.”
“You were merely stating your opinion. I’ve been thinking about what you said about your father. Do you remember when you began to feel he was distant?”
“I don’t know. Maybe I was nine or ten.”
“Hmm, I wondered. About that time Robert and I had a big disagreement about something that must have been bothering him for years. He demanded that I throw out all of my Hollywood memorabilia.”
“Your dresses and publicity photos?” Gabby knew how her mother loved the stuff.
“And the old films, too. I refused.”
“But why would he insist you do that?”
“He knew I’d always loved Price Garfield.”
Gabby almost dared not ask. “More than Dad?”
“I loved your father dearly,” Anita insisted. “He had nothing to fear. If Price had divorced every one of his wives and come to me on his knees, I would never have left Robert for him.”
“Then Dad was wrong.”
“For the most part.” This time Anita spoke more slowly, “There’s a special bond between dance partners like Price and me. I couldn’t help missing that interchange, and your father…well, he couldn’t provide it.” The older woman’s eyes filled with tears. “I guess Robert was correct in a way, though I would have died rather than admit it to him when he was alive.”
Somehow, deep inside, Gabby wasn’t surprised. She slid out of bed and went to her mother’s side. “Oh, Mom,” she murmured, placing an arm around Anita’s shoulders.
“You know how it is when you love something so much. I missed acting and movie-making and Los Angeles. Broadway was never the same.” Anita wiped her eyes. “I don’t know how much all that played a part in the rift between me and your father. It probably wasn’t just
Price.”
“I understand.”
Gabby thought of her own heartbreak when she gave up all hopes of dancing professionally. What if she had had a husband who wanted her to throw out all her old programs and costumes? But then, of course, a rival like Price Garfield wouldn’t be a factor. She guessed she could understand her father’s resentment, too.
“I never thought Robert would let our problem come between him and one of our children,” Anita continued.
Gabby gazed at her intently. “Are you saying he did, though? You wouldn’t admit it the other night.”
“I didn’t want to admit it to myself. But now I wonder.” The older woman’s voice was sad. “When you were nine, you suddenly shot up, and you were doing especially well in your dancing lessons. You were always a star at class recitals as well as the little shows you put on at home. Robert mentioned more than once how much you resembled me physically, too.”
Gabby swallowed and Anita patted her hand. Her father had remained distant from his own child because her looks and talent reminded him of his wife? The explanation made her sad. Her father had in a way rejected the devotion each of them could have given him.
“Robert did love you, darling,” Anita said softly. “I’m certain of that. But he simply couldn’t stand the idea of being second with me, even though I reassured him he was number one over and over.” Anita sighed. “He wouldn’t believe me. And he expanded his practice, kept himself busy. Too busy to attend dance recitals.”
Both women were silent for a moment, then Gabby spoke up. “I guess I understand now, though I can’t help resenting Dad for his behavior.”
“Then blame me, as well—it’s probably as much my fault as his.”
“Because you loved California and movies?”
“Because I foolishly ran away from it. And, more important, because I—” Anita stopped in midsentence. “Never mind. The past is the past.” Again she grew teary. “I’m so sorry my problems caused you pain, sweetheart.”
“Please don’t blame yourself.” Gabby embraced her mother. “And I’m not in pain, especially now that we’ve talked this out.”
Indeed, Gabby felt as if part of the burden of her father’s rejection had been lifted from her heart. But she was more certain than ever that her mother had always loved Price Garfield, whether or not she would admit it. At least that impossible love must have mellowed by now.
A woman her mother’s age shouldn’t be torn by the throes of passion.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“I TOLD YOU we needed a cleanup rehearsal,” Kit groused as he and Gabby stood in the wings, waiting to go out for their third and last dance Saturday night.
“It wouldn’t have helped.” Gabby gave an exaggerated sigh. “And I didn’t make a mistake. Anyone can slip, and I caught myself. No one noticed.”
On edge, he couldn’t help but be annoyed that she didn’t seem to be unsettled, as well. He had hoped she would have softened toward him by now. Unless, of course, she didn’t have any feelings for him.
“Everyone had to notice your little slip,” he insisted. “There was a definite pause, and you wobbled when you danced up the steps.”
She scowled. “Maybe for a microsecond.”
“Trivialize precision if you want!” Kit said, not caring that his mood was becoming blacker by the moment. “It makes the difference between a good and a great performance.”
Gabby set her jaw. “The audience applauded long and loud, Kit. We were great! Now why don’t you relax already and shut up.”
“Shut up?” Now he was downright angry. “Is that the way to talk to your partner?”
“It is if my partner is trying to give me a hard time. That’s what this drill is about.” She crossed her arms over her chest and stared at him defiantly. “You’re being obnoxious.”
“If you think I have nothing better to do than give you a hard time, you’re egotistical.”
“And you’re cold and arrogant.”
“Oh? And am I supposed to feel warm toward you after you walked out on me this morning?”
Every time Kit took Gabby in his arms, he was reminded that she’d left him without a backward glance. He’d thought they had something special together, but he must have overestimated their mutual attraction. That thought made him feel foolish.
“At the moment I don’t care how you feel,” she insisted.
As if he hadn’t guessed. “Did you ever care?”
“I won’t even bother answering that.”
Things were quickly getting out of hand, but Kit wasn’t in the mood to back off. When the stage manager cued them, he couldn’t stop himself from making one last sarcastic remark.
“Ready? Here’s hoping you make it through this one without stumbling.”
“Stuff it up your nose, Garfield,” Gabby snapped.
The fiery music of “Tango Olé” intruded on their argument, and they glided out into the heat of the spotlights and slithered down the steps to the dance floor below. Kit approached Gabby and she turned her back on cue, flipping her glittery black shawl over her shoulder with such force that the fringe struck him in the face.
He grimaced but didn’t miss a step. As choreographed, he clasped Gabby’s arm before lowering his lips to her throat. She winced as she pulled away, making him realize he’d grasped her too tightly. Not that he’d meant to. Their real-life emotions were spilling over into the dance, threatening to ruin the routine. Still, he couldn’t curb his hostility at the click of her heels.
They glared at each other as the number progressed, Gabby whirling her shawl around her in a frenzy. For a moment Kit wondered if she were going to toss the garment directly in his face, but when she threw it to the side, the shawl missed him by several inches. Grasping her arm again, he spun her fiercely from left to right, then back into his embrace. Lips slightly parted, she lifted her chin and stared down her small nose with a frigid blue gaze that was in direct contrast with her sensual expression.
The air around them seemed to crackle.
At least the character of the Latin dance seemed to fit their moods, Kit thought.
Circling each other like adversaries, their hostility was definitely a reflection of grand passion. But was it all manufactured? he wondered. Or did Gabby feel as he did? Even in the midst of their quarrel, he’d wanted to take her in his arms. And that feeling was growing.
In the final movement Kit held Gabby’s waist as she wrapped her leg around him and flung back her head. The lights dimmed and Kit breathed a sigh of relief when she freed him and moved away. They’d executed “Tango Olé” flawlessly.
They left the stage to thunderous applause.
Once backstage, Gabby turned to him accusingly. “You hurt my arm.”
“You flipped your shawl in my face,” he returned.
“That was an accident.”
“So was my grip. I didn’t mean to hurt you. If so, I could have dropped you on one of the lifts.”
“And ruin the dance entirely? I don’t think you’d go that far, Mr. Perfect.”
As if he would purposely hurt her!
She tossed her head and started off for her dressing room, Kit on her heels.
One of the stagehands gazed at them admiringly as they passed. “Wow, you two were something else. That was the best tango I’ve ever seen.”
They both slowed down.
“You really think so?” Kit asked.
The stagehand nodded. “You two were smoking!”
“Smoking is a fairly accurate description,” Gabby said.
“Steaming is also a good word,” Kit added, unable to hold back a grin.
“Steamy?” the stagehand said.
“No, steaming,” Gabby put in, actually chuckling before she turned away.
And Kit swore he heard her laugh aloud before she closed the door of her dressing room. Irritating as she might be, at least she had a sense of humor. Maybe she would come around, admit she was wrong, beg his forgiveness.
A
nd maybe pigs could fly, a little voice added.
Shaking his head, wondering what in the world he’d gotten himself into by allowing himself to become personally involved with Gabby, Kit stalked to his own dressing room.
Maybe they were both too stubborn ever to work out a relationship.
GABBY’S HIGH SPIRITS were only temporary. They plunged to a new low as Maria helped her remove the tango costume. The dresser hung the garment and, after being assured she wouldn’t be needed further, left the room.
Gabby removed her stage makeup and changed into her own bright lavender crepe evening dress. The last dance had been spectacular, and the stagehand’s remarks had been funny, but the petty fight she’d had with Kit had been deplorable. How could they have sunk to such a level? She hated feeling hurt and angry whenever she so much as looked at him.
At least he cared enough to feel hurt, as well.
He’d been offended this morning when he thought she seemed more interested in career matters than their relationship. He was crazy to think she had no feelings for him; even though she fought it, she realized she loved him more than ever. But no matter which way she looked at it, their situation was complicated and problematic.
Gabby sat in front of the dressing room mirror to apply fresh mascara and eyeliner. She assumed Lucille wanted her to join the hostess’s personal party out front again. Would she be expected to sit beside her partner? Probably. She and Kit would have to put on a good face for the others. At the thought of the discomfort they would both experience, she sighed in frustration.
Ready a few minutes later, Gabby strolled slowly past Kit’s dressing room, noting the sliver of light beneath the closed door. Dance music drifted from the stage area, and she wished for nothing more than to be in Kit’s arms, where she belonged. She decided to face him right that moment and talk things out. So much for the patience her mother had suggested. She knocked loudly.
“Come in.”
Kit’s neutral tone rather surprised her. She opened the door to find him leaning back in his chair, his feet propped on the dressing table. His head was thrown back as though he, too, were reliving the night, wishing they were still dancing together. When he saw her, his expression changed subtly, but he was quick to recover.