Love's Last Chance

by Jean C. Joachim

  Got the info you wanted. First, Archer Canfield is still with Moonlight Books. Moved to New York from Canada. He’s now senior vice president. Second one was easy. We see Rick Tarlock at parties. He’s here and still single. No surprise. Third, easiest of all. Yes, Johnny Flanagan is still here. Now he’s John, though. Still single, also no surprise. Yes, he’ll be at the Fire Island reunion weekend. Do you want me to tell him you’re coming, or is it a surprise? I’ll meet you at the baggage claim. Give me your flight info.

  Drake

  Thanks a mil, Drake. This is awesome. So appreciate it. Please don’t tell Johnny, let it be a surprise. Will send flight info next week. Love to Chrissy.

  Dorrie

  Good ole Drake. Never one to waste words. Can’t wait to see him, Chrissy, and the guys. A tingle of anticipation mixed with trepidation shot through her. What if they don’t remember…don’t want to see me? What if it all goes bad? Then I guess I made the right decision to leave them behind. She sighed. This isn’t about ending up with one of them, is it?

  Before she could answer her own question, Serena burst through the door.

  “I got an audition! I got an audition!” She hollered, waving a bottle of champagne.

  Dorrie lost herself in her roommate’s good news. The two women toasted to Serena’s new opportunity. They talked and laughed until way past midnight, leaving Dorrie to crash from exhaustion before she had sorted out the true mission for her journey back to New York.

  * * * *

  Two months later, Kennedy Airport, New York City

  Dorrie smiled to see Drake Cunningham standing by the baggage claim. Her old friend waved and grinned when he spotted her.

  “Thought you were only staying three weeks?”

  “I am.”

  “You’ve got enough stuff for a year.”

  “Bitch, bitch, bitch. If you can’t handle it…” she teased, reaching for the suitcase.

  Drake whipped it away. “Never said that. Just sayin’ it’s a lotta shit. Geez.”

  “Doesn’t Chrissy over pack?”

  “Not like this. Did you bring the whole ensemble in here, too?”

  Dorrie took a playful swipe at his shoulder. They joined the line waiting for a taxi, but didn’t have long to wait. Drake loaded her luggage in the trunk and they sped off toward Manhattan.

  “What’s your schedule?” Drake asked, as he sat back against the seat.

  “Let’s see…rehearse for two weeks, shoot for one, squeeze the Fire Island reunion weekend in there—I think between week one and two or two and three? Then back to L.A.”

  “Doesn’t give you much time for…going out.”

  “Just a couple of nights after rehearsals. When we shoot, we do it ’til there’s no light left. This time of year, that’s about nine.”

  “Won’t you be too tired?”

  “Not for these dates.”

  “Who are you going out with?”

  “First, Archer Canfield.”

  “Guy you modeled for?”

  She nodded. “We had sort of a thing going. Couldn’t do anything about it because it was business.”

  “Then?”

  “Then calling Rick Tarlock.”

  “I thought you dumped him.”

  She nodded. “Time for second chances.”

  Drake shook his head. “And last?”

  “You know the last one…Johnny.”

  “He’s ‘John’ now.”

  She cocked an eyebrow. “Not to me. Still Johnny. He’s all grown up…a successful businessman? Is he still sleeping with every woman who walks?”

  Drake laughed. “Not exactly. What if some of these men don’t want to see you?”

  “Unless they’re in relationships, I’m sure they’ll have a friendly dinner with me.”

  “Love your confidence.”

  “It’s just dinner.”

  “If I remember, you’ll have a hard time keeping Rick and John out of the bedroom.”

  Dorrie sensed heat in her cheeks. “Don’t exaggerate.”

  “From what you told me…”

  “Drake!” She raised a fist to his face. He put his hands up in a defensive position and chuckled. Dorrie relaxed back against the seat.

  “Last time I confide in you,” she mumbled, half angry, half amused.

  “Come on. Can you blame me? The set-up was too good.” He squeezed her shoulder, and she smiled back at him.

  Dorrie turned her gaze to the view of New York coming closer. “Ah, the City. Good to be back.”

  “Good to have you back,” Drake said, trying to keep his tone light.

  Riding in the taxi through Central Park to get to the West Side, Dorrie smiled at the lush, deep green of the trees and the occasional glimpses of light pink roses and bright red geraniums. The cab pulled up in front of a high rise building on West 88th Street. She paid the driver while Drake lugged her suitcases inside.

  Dorrie had stayed with Drake and his wife, Chrissy, on her last trip to New York, too. She had lived there for several months and paid them a little rent for a comfortable room in their two-bedroom apartment. This time, Drake refused to accept money. Chrissy greeted Dorrie with a big hug and a plate of homemade brownies.

  At midnight, Dorrie couldn’t sleep. She slipped on a robe and padded out to the living room. The window was open. She sat cross-legged on the floor and looked up at the moon. A cool, July evening breeze blew in, caressing her face. She smiled as her mind wandered to the three men she intended to look up. One more date, or maybe two, and I’ll know if leaving them was the right thing. I’ll know, won’t I?

  A noise startled her. She jumped and turned eyes filled with fear to the archway leading to the hall. A familiar curse and a limping Drake wearing only pajama bottoms made her chuckle.

  “What are you doing up?” she asked him, oblivious to his firm chest and narrow waist.

  “I could ask you the same question. Hey, I’m injured here.”

  “You’ll live.”

  “Is that your prognosis, doc?”

  Dorrie laughed then covered her mouth to stifle the noise.

  Drake sat down next to her.

  “Can’t sleep?”

  She shook her head. “I’m wondering about the three guys.”

  “John’s a changed man.”

  “Really?” She cocked an eyebrow at him.

  “He’s not a man-whore anymore.”

  “We’ll see. He’ll get his chance, like the others,” she sniffed. Shadows prevented her from seeing his eyes, but she sensed his gaze on her. “How are you and Chrissy doing?”

  “Okay. Still speaking to each other.”

  “You two are my role models.”

  Drake cleared his throat and shifted position. “What exactly are you expecting?”

  “I don’t know. I hope I’ll know if I made the right decision to leave them behind.”

  “And if you didn’t?”

  “Then I’ll try to pick it up where we left off. Each one has something…special about him.”

  “Good luck. I’m not sure you can recapture the past.”

  “Maybe not. But I can try, can’t I?”

  “Hell…you can try anything.”

  A cough made them turn around. Chrissy stood in the archway, her long ash blonde hair glowed in the moonlight. Drake pushed to his feet. “Hey, honey. Whatcha doin’ up?” He brushed his hand through his hair.

  “Wasn’t tired. But I know how to get sleepy…Drake. You coming?” She shot a flirtatious look at her husband. Dorrie hid a smirk behind her hand and turned away.

  “Hell, yeah!”

  “Night, Dorrie,” Chrissy called as she laced her fingers with Drake’s.

  Ah, married love. Maybe someday I’ll have a husband who’ll make love to me until I fall asleep. She smiled and yawned. After one more glance at the moon, she hoisted herself up and padded back to her room. Visions of four men danced in her head. Gunther, how’d you get in there? Sleep wiped the images from her mind.
/>
  Chapter Two

  She arose early the next morning and switched on her computer. After dressing in workout clothes, she made coffee and plopped down on the sofa with a mug in one hand and her computer on her lap. There was an email from Marsha Strong, the woman who owned the dance studio where Dorrie had pitched in for a few months.

  Hey Dorrie,

  Hear you’re in New York. Time for a quick coffee with me? My partner, Joanne, had a baby and has decided to retire to full-time motherhood. I’m looking for a new partner, and you came to mind immediately. You did a great job taking over for me a few months ago. Everyone loved you. How about coming back as a partner? Let’s talk.

  Hugs,

  Marsha

  An opportunity to work in New York! Dorrie was thrilled. Now, if she reconnected with one of the three men, she could come back after the movie and settle down…Perhaps get married? Happiness looked like it might be within reach. Archer Canfield is a definite maybe. I could do a lot worse than end up with him.

  She was excited about the two avenues her career could take. I’ll make a lot more money in Hollywood. Have freedom to do the choreography I want. If they make the series—a big ‘if,’ it can still get canceled. But the yoga/dance studio has been around for years. That’s steady employment, though for a lot less money.

  She chewed her lip, thinking about the decisions before her. A lot will depend on the men. Why come back, if there’s no one to come back to? But it’s my career, and I should do what’s right for me. Do I want to walk away from these guys again? If I do, there’ll be no going back. She jumped as the sound of Drake’s voice broke into her thoughts.

  “You look serious,” he said, scratching his stubbly chin.

  “Oh my God, I didn’t hear you.”

  “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you. What’s up?”

  Dorrie gave him a thumbnail sketch of the new option in her life and the decision looming before her.

  “Don’t make your decision based on a guy. Guys are flaky. They can change their minds. Do what you want with your career.”

  One glance at her watch let her know she was out of time. “Thanks for the advice, Drake.” She patted his shoulder, slipped into her shoes, and headed for the door.

  “Besides, you never know when a new man will appear,” he said.

  I’ve got enough men to deal with right now. Time for thinking had run out. She had to get the rehearsal going, or this shoot would be a disaster, and she’d be down to one career option in a jiffy. She raised her hand in a wave to Drake as she slipped into the hall.

  On her way to the studio, she called Grace Brewster to discuss her work dilemma.

  “It’s great to have a choice,” Grace said.

  “I suppose. But what about the guys?”

  “Tough choices.”

  “I’m thinking if I make a connection, it might be best to come back.”

  “And give up the TV series?”

  “Maybe.” Dorrie chewed her lip.

  “Why don’t you see how it goes with the guys first. Then decide.”

  “Good advice. Thanks.”

  She hung up and continued walking. I’m not going to tell the guys about the New York job. Let’s see how it goes when they think I’m going back to California. If we make a connection, I’ll tell them. See if they want to commit then.

  Satisfaction at having a solid plan made Dorrie smile and put a zing into her step. She increased her stride and proceeded with confidence to the rehearsal hall. At the appointed hour, she took the troupe through their exercises and began to map out the routines to be shot in the park. Strength emanated from her. Hope at rekindling love in New York buoyed her spirits and released new energy, which she needed to lead the dancers.

  I’m going to make this choreography shine. The dancers are focused, with only a few drama queens in the crew. I know the routines cold. Her weak ankle held through the morning workouts, boosting her good feeling about this job.

  You’ll see, Mr. Gunther Quill, who can create original, stunning dance routines to make your movie shine. You won’t be sorry you hired me. Feeling strong and smart, Dorrie didn’t worry about talking to Archer Canfield. This morning, I can do no wrong.

  Lunch break was the perfect time to connect with Arch. Dorrie brought a small sandwich and found a spot nearby in the park to eat. She bolted some yogurt for dessert and dialed the number for Moonlight Books.

  “Archer Canfield’s office,” came the cool greeting from Archer’s secretary.

  “May I speak to Mr. Canfield?”

  “Who’s calling?”

  “Dorrie Rodgers.”

  “Just one moment, please.”

  Dorrie’s heart pounded. What if I got it wrong? What if he was only being a polite Englishman? What if…what if…

  “Dorrie! Is it really you?” A deep voice with a thick, British accent interrupted her thoughts.

  “It’s me.”

  “How wonderful to hear your voice! Where are you? Can you come to lunch?”

  “I’m in New York. I have rehearsals today, but I’m free for dinner. Is that too—”

  “Not at all,” he piped up. “Dinner would be magnificent. Where would you like to go?”

  “How about that adorable little restaurant near your office?”

  “You mean Maison Rouge?”

  “That’s it!”

  “Shall I pick you up?”

  “Not necessary. Can we meet there at seven?”

  “Perfect. Looking forward to seeing you, my dear.”

  “Me, too.” Dorrie signed off. A tingle shot through her spine, but a glance at her watch told her she’d be late getting back to rehearsal if she didn’t get moving in five minutes. She walked down West End Avenue, humming. I can’t wait to see Arch again.

  The rehearsal hall had warmed up with all the bodies working out and the summer heat seeping in. She turned up the air conditioning. Chaz Duncan followed her in. She had met him after seeing Hustle and Dance on Broadway. She liked him. Even though he was a big star, he was down-to-Earth, and so was his wife, Meg.

  Dorrie started the group with stretches before she explained the scene and demonstrated the choreography. Her weak ankle continued to hold. She could still dance, just not hour after hour, day after day. Chaz joined in, as he would be dancing in the movie just like he had in the Broadway show.

  When rehearsal finished, she raced back to the Cunningham’s apartment and jumped in the shower. After towel drying her thick, reddish-brown hair, she fluffed it up with her fingers. The long locks fell in loose curls over her shoulders. She stood, poised at the closet door, pondering what to wear. A small knock preceded Chrissy’s entrance.

  “I hope you don’t mind…”

  “Come in, come in. I’m trying to decide what to wear.”

  The two women examined each garment with a critical eye.

  “What exactly do you want to accomplish? Seduction or polite conversation?” Chrissy asked.

  Dorrie laughed. “I don’t know. Guess I want to look as good as possible without being slutty or obvious.”

  Chrissy nodded then took out a dress. “With your peachy complexion, this purple one should be perfect.” The sundress had wide straps, a form-fitting bodice, and a heart-shaped neckline. The rayon fabric was soft. The purple was rich and warm, hosting tiny pink and light green flowers in a deep border around the neckline and the slightly ruffled hem.

  “Good choice.” Dorrie slipped it on, and Chrissy zipped up the back.

  “You look stunning!”

  Dorrie beamed at her friend and faced the mirror to fasten an amethyst teardrop pendant. She slipped matching earrings in her ears and twirled.

  “Fabulous! If this guy can resist you, he must be gay.”

  Dorrie giggled then picked up her makeup bag. “Now for the finishing touches.”

  She applied her makeup artfully—eyeliner, mascara, a touch of blush, and pink lipstick. A dab of her favorite lilac perfume finished the picture
. She strapped black, patent leather sandals on her feet and picked up a small, black satin clutch purse.

  Joining her friends in the living room, she requested their critique. “So? What do you think?”

  “I think you look gorgeous,” Chrissy said.

  Drake whistled, his cheeks coloring a bit as his gaze traveled her length. “Guess we shouldn’t wait up for you tonight, eh?”

  “Drake!” She smacked him on the shoulder. “This is just dinner.”

  “Yeah, right. Looking like that? Don’t think so.”

  Dorrie plucked her shawl from the chair as she headed toward the door. After shooting a smile at Angus, the doorman, she headed downtown toward La Maison Rouge. It was a warm evening, but a breeze cooled her enough to make the walk pleasant.

  Dorrie glanced at all the shop windows displaying a variety of merchandise. Always so much to see walking in New York. She passed displays of the latest fashions or mouth-watering chocolates nestled in elegant packaging or shoes in every style and color. Tempted to do some shopping by more than one store, she reminded herself that time was growing short and so was her bank account. Archer hates it when people are late.

  Stepping inside the chic restaurant, the tempting yet subtle aroma of good food made her stomach rumble. After giving her name to the maître d’, she was shown to Archer’s table. As she walked slowly through the dining room, her pulse kicked up. Nerves made her breath come quickly and a touch of sweat broke out on her upper lip. She swiped at it with a finger while her eyes searched for her date.

  He stood up as she approached his table. His caramel-colored hair hadn’t changed. He still wore it slightly longer on top, where it fell into a perfect, gentle wave, spilling onto his forehead. She sensed the gaze from his gray eyes caressing her curves, the way they had when she had modeled for his company.

  He wore an expensive, navy blue suit, the jacket, cut well, fitted to his slender body. However, the pants were slightly baggy in a careless way, showing little vanity in the man. That’s Archer, no conceit or concern with the latest fashion. She chuckled to herself.