“And you know what?” she said. “I’m really late for returning to the studios now, and we’re not sure about how to get back on the highway. Could you maybe help us?”
“Sure. Your man here just needs to take a right turn at the next intersection. Go three blocks. Take a left. It’s not marked for the highway but just take it and a block later, there’s the entrance, on your right.”
He ignored Gil’s babbled thanks, but smiled at Lana. “You take care, miss,” he told her.
“Thanks. And thanks so much for your help.”
His gold tooth gleamed as he grinned and nodded. He stepped away from the car, motioning for his friends to move as well. Gil put the car into gear and quickly drove off, leaving the trio behind. He said nothing as they followed the directions to the highway. Only when they were on the entrance ramp and heading toward the Bay Bridge did Gil exhale, a deep, shuddering noise.
“Jesus,” he said, and fell silent. He clutched the steering wheel, his knuckles white. “That was so irresponsible of me. I’m so sorry.”
“I’m fine. It’s all okay.”
“No, it isn’t.”
She could tell by the set of his jaw just how upset he was.
“Gil,” she tried again. “I’m fine.”
It wasn’t until she laid a hand on his thigh, however, that he looked at her. “I’m okay,” she said more softly.
He tried to smile. “Thank you. You’re the greatest. Julia, boy, she’d be all over me right now, just freaking out.”
“I’m no Julia.”
“No. You’re not.” He reached down and covered her hand with his. One tight squeeze, held an extra few seconds, then he released it, focusing on the road. She brought her hand back to her lap, feeling it throb with the residual heat of his skin.
They said no more until they’d crossed the bay. Gil glanced at the clock on the console and took the exit for Fisherman’s Wharf. “Damn. I’m playing it close. Is it okay if we stop at my place first, before I drop you off? I can change in a matter of minutes.”
“You can drop me off anywhere and I’ll take a bus.”
He shook his head. “Not an option. This is door-to-door service. Besides, you’ll love the view from my apartment. You’ve got to see it.”
“All right. If it’s not a hassle.”
His apartment building was a pristine white structure that looked all the more expensive in its efforts to not look fancy. They entered the marble foyer, took an elevator to the third level and entered another richly appointed foyer. When he ushered her into his apartment, she saw the scene, a floor-to-ceiling window view of the San Francisco Bay and the Golden Gate Bridge. A cry of delight escaped her. Gil smiled at her reaction.
“What did I tell you? Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go change and we’ll be out of here in five minutes.”
She stood there, mesmerized, until she heard him call out for her. She followed the sound of his voice into the bathroom. It was a beautiful, elegant bathroom, all marble and chrome and soft lighting. He was leaning over, peering into the mirror, shirtless. He turned to her, pointing to his chest.
“How on earth did I get barbeque sauce here?”
She came over and saw it on his collarbone, right in the vee where his shirt had opened to expose skin. “Can’t go wasting that sauce,” she said, in a mock-gruff voice. Hardly believing her own daring, she leaned in, resting her hands on his bare chest for balance, and licked the tiny sweet-spicy spot. Retaliation for the finger-sucking business. Or perhaps reward.
It was his turn to be paralyzed. She felt his hands drop to her hips as a low groan escaped him. She pulled back to meet his eyes; his hands on her hips tightened, and that was it. His mouth clamped down onto hers as her arms snaked around his neck. He hoisted her up onto the bathroom counter. There was a percussive clatter of a decorative tissue box tumbling and a water glass toppling, which they both ignored. Instead she tucked her legs around his, drawing him closer as they kissed. She found herself making little noises in the back of her throat, both shocked by her aggression and hungry, so hungry, for this contact. Starved.
Seconds passed. Minutes. Finally Gil gave another groan, a reluctant one this time, and pulled away from her.
She found her voice. “You need to leave.”
“I do.”
“I’m taking a bus from here.”
“No, you’re not.” He stepped away and whisked a clean shirt out of his closet. “I’m driving you. In fact,” he said, looking back over at her, where she was still seated on the counter, “I don’t think I’m going to let you leave me at all.”
She hesitated. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Come with me. To the party.”
The lurch of joy his words brought almost knocked her over. “Oh, I can’t. This is business for you, you said.”
“So what? It’s being there that is such a big deal.” He buttoned his shirt in silence and gave a decisive nod. “I got it. Alice will be with us. I’ll take the four-seater and we’ll arrive as a threesome. Anyone asks, you’re Alice’s friend. Okay?”
“Alice?”
“My associate. The woman I was with, that day we bumped into you at the elevator.”
An image of an attractive, impatient woman with Julia-like elegance flashed through her mind. “But…won’t she mind?”
“She’s my employee. She’ll do what I say.”
She hesitated, uneasy. But now Gil was approaching, drawing her off the counter and into his arms.
“Please say yes,” he murmured. “This was too short. And this way we’ll be together afterward. Just in case I can persuade you to come back here with me.”
It was a proposition she couldn’t resist.
“You’re sure it won’t be a problem?”
“I’m sure,” he said.
“Okay, it’s a deal.”
Chapter 5 – The Party
It wasn’t until Alice looked up from the front steps she was descending that she noticed Gil was not alone in his car. She hesitated, squinted. The passenger front door of his BMW flew open and out stepped the girl. The little dancer. Alice couldn’t fucking believe it. She’d thought she’d known Gil’s parameters on what he considered appropriate.
Apparently not.
The girl looked nervous, hand still clutching the door. Alice made her way down the last few steps, trying to decide what to scream at Gil first.
“Alice, this is Lana,” Gil called out through the open door. “We’re all going together.”
Alice drew a steadying breath. Manners won over and she offered the girl a polite nod and a handshake. “Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise,” Lana said, giving a self-conscious tug to the hem of her dress as she edged away from Alice. “I’m just going to go sit in back.”
Alice sized up the girl’s dress. It was ill-fitting, all pink and flowery. It made Lana look fifteen years old and very Midwestern. Alice turned to Gil, who was smiling at her from the driver’s seat with an I know what I’m doing and let’s not forget who the boss is set to his jaw.
“Gil,” she said, “she can’t wear that dress over to Andy’s.”
Lana froze. Gil’s confident expression faded. He eyed Lana and a moment later nodded in reluctance.
“Can she wear something of yours?” he asked Alice, who began to laugh.
“I weigh just maybe a little more than she does. Like thirty-five pounds. The baggy look isn’t going to cut it.”
Lana, still standing on the driveway, looked afraid to get into the car. Alice could see that the issue embarrassed her. Too bad. She peered down at Lana’s shoes. Hopeless as well.
“What size shoe do you wear?” she asked.
“Um, seven?”
They were in luck in that department, at least. She sighed. “I’ll be right back,” she told them.
Back inside her house, in her bedroom closet, she grabbed the box holding the size seven black and gold stiletto Ferragamos she’d bought last year.
She’d known even at the time that they probably wouldn’t ever fit her oversized feet but the price had been so good she’d bought them anyway, thinking that perhaps for some lucky event, her feet would shrink a half-size.
She riffled through her jewelry box; she knew without having looked at Lana’s jewelry that she’d be wearing the wrong thing. She retrieved a thin gold chain with a small gold and diamond pendant affixed. Matching earrings. The ensemble was discreet and tasteful. It would make no statement.
Back in the car, Lana now huddled silently in back, Alice told Gil their first stop was the Macy’s on the way out of the city. No one spoke on the drive across town. When they pulled into the mall parking lot, Alice told Gil that he’d join them inside at Macy’s as well. It was not a request.
Gil nodded, meeker now. After they parked he followed Alice, who strode toward the front double doors. Inside, she moved with purpose, not even bothering to see if Gil and Lana were following. She stopped by an evening attire department, swiveled around and sized up Lana.
“Just a simple black dress, I’m thinking,” she said and without waiting for a reply, plunged into a nearby section of dresses on racks. She peered over at Gil for the first time since they’d left the car.
“You. Wait right here in this department. Don’t go wandering off to look at ties. I’ll be furious with you if we get to the party late and I miss hearing Montserrat and Matthew perform.”
Gil made an elaborate “at your service” bow and headed over to a nearby armchair. Lana looked at the dresses and fingered a silky peach-colored dress.
“Maybe this?” she asked Alice, holding it up to show her.
Alice shook her head. “Looks tacky.” She ignored Lana’s hurt look, just as she ignored the scrunched-up face a moment later when Alice held up three black sheath dresses.
“They look like something you’d wear to a funeral,” Lana said.
“This is what we want. Trust me. Go try these on.”
She stood outside the dressing room door, waiting while Lana changed. The first dress did not suit Lana’s body; it gaped at the hips and her flat chest and Lana looked uncomfortable. But the second dress was a marvel. The silken fabric seemed to melt into her body, highlighting her angles, her long legs. It made her look both sophisticated and seductively innocent.
“Try it with the shoes,” Alice said. “You brought them in, right?”
Lana nodded and a moment later, walked out of the dressing room. “Hey,” she exclaimed. “These shoes are more comfortable than they look.”
And they looked good. So did Lana. She glided over to the three-way mirror at the far end of the dressing room, studied herself and fell silent. She turned to face Alice, a stunned expression on her face.
Alice couldn’t hide her smile. “I do believe that works.”
Lana looked down at the price tag and paled. “I can’t buy this,” she cried. “It’s five hundred dollars.”
“Marked down from nine hundred. A steal. And you’re not buying it.” Alice’s smile broadened. “Gil is going to.”
“No! That’s impossible.”
Alice grew impatient. “Look, Lana. This is big, tonight. It’s worth potentially a quarter of a million dollars. If Gil wants to stage our show this way, fine. But he’s going to pay for the right costume.” She looked down at her watch. “Come on. We’re out of time.”
Lana scowled at her but Alice scowled right back. A moment later Lana’s shoulders dropped and she gave a little nod.
Dancers, Alice thought irritably. They were good at taking direction, at least.
The party took place in Hillsborough, tucked into the foothills of the coastal mountain range paralleling Highway 280. Andy Redgrave’s home was impressive, more of a mansion than a house, the white sandstone exterior making it look like an Italian villa. A team of valet parking attendants hurried to open Gil’s car doors and take his keys. At the massive carved-oak front door a sharply attractive woman with a professional demeanor greeted them, checking Gil and Alice’s names off the invitation list before directing them into the two-story entryway. The last of the evening’s light glowed through the windows while strategically placed track lighting illuminated the high ceilings and the rest of the room.
“Showtime,” Gil murmured to Alice, who nodded. Lana nervously chewed her lower lip.
“Maybe this dress was the right call,” she said to Alice.
“It was.”
She’d harbored anxiety that Lana, even with the dress, would stand out as a liability, but that wasn’t proving to be the case. Lana comported herself well, moving through the entryway like the graceful dancer she was, taking in the statues, the marble floors, the staircase’s elaborate carved molding in a sweetly nervous, deferential manner. Gil excused himself to go hunt down Andy, and Lana stayed close to Alice as they entered the living room. When an announcement circulated that the musicians were going to perform shortly, they made their way to a salon where several dozen padded folding chairs had been set up to face a platform in the front of the room.
Alice claimed three seats but as she was searching around for Gil, she turned to see, instead, Andy Redgrave.
“Hello, Alice,” he said in that cool way of his. “Glad you could make it. Gil here, as well?”
“Actually, he’s looking for you.”
“Well. Here I am.”
Tonight Andy was dressed more casually, in a pin-striped button-down oxford shirt and navy trousers, simple elegance that probably had cost a thousand dollars. He was more tanned than when Alice had last seen him; probably a day out on the yacht. The tan highlighted his blond hair and pale blue eyes. He looked handsome and all-powerful, like an Old Testament angel tossed down to earth, thrown into contemporary clothes and told to “act mortal but not too much.”
She introduced Andy to Lana. “Lana’s a soloist with the company,” Alice added as they shook hands.
Andy turned back to regard Alice in amusement. “Do you always bring your product with you on a sales pitch?”
Alice assumed a breezy confidence she didn’t feel. “Only when they’ll agree to climb into my briefcase. But this is pleasure tonight, not business. Lana’s, um, my friend.”
“Well, I hope you ladies enjoy the performance. Alice, I know you will. This is going to be the highlight of your evening, I think you mentioned.”
This time she was prepared. “Oh, no, Andy. The highlight will be when you grace us with more of your presence.”
He smiled. “Gil’s been coaching you.”
He left to greet another guest. Lana and Alice settled into seats, Alice glancing around anxiously until Gil reappeared.
“Where did you go for so long?” Alice hissed as he took the seat next to Lana.
“I told you. I was looking for Andy.”
“He was here. Right here.”
“So. You chatted?”
“Of course.”
“And you said Lana was your friend?”
“Yes.”
She was somewhat heartened by the fact that he looked worried. He would be taking tonight seriously, after all, in spite of Lana’s presence. Not until the track lights dimmed and the three musicians strode out to the platform, however, did she begin to relax.
Applause broke out, particularly at the sight of Matthew.
“Hey,” Lana whispered as the musicians arranged their music on their stands. “That looks like the guy from the American Express commercial. The musician they did a documentary on last year.”
“That’s because it’s him,” Alice whispered back.
Lana’s eyes widened. “Oh. Oh!”
Alice kept her own eyes focused on the violinist, her friend Montserrat. She was attired in a long black evening dress that added drama and height to her petite frame. Her dark hair was held back with a gold clip, her honey-brown eyes serious as she studied the open page of music before twisting around to murmur something to the pianist. Matthew rose to greet the audience.
Matthew was a
warm, boyishly handsome Japanese-American, a concert hall favorite for years. He shared a few details about the Stradivarius, Andy’s new acquisition, that he was playing tonight, which would thereafter be loaned out to a deserving San Francisco-based cellist. He gave a quick rundown on the pieces the trio would be performing. Once he’d finished and returned to his spot, the lights in the back of the room dimmed further. The pianist and Montserrat watched Matthew, who, once his cello was tuned, met their eyes, gave a quick little lift of his chin, and they began.
The first piece was a favorite of Alice’s—one of Saint Saens’ piano trios, a lively, engaging crowd-pleaser from the Romantic era, the melody continually passed around from instrument to instrument. Most of the listeners, Alice sensed, were focused on Matthew and the Stradivarius. The cello’s allure was undeniable. It roared, it purred, it vibrated with intensity and warmth. Alice’s focus, however, remained on her friend and her instrument, the golden antique perfection of her Vuillaume, which could sound sweet and angelic one moment, husky and imploring the next.
This form of artistry was a mystery to Alice, just as Montserrat herself was, even after knowing her for six years. She didn’t like to talk about her past; Alice knew only that she’d had an unconventional youth, shuttled around Europe by actor parents, and that she’d always had to work very hard for her craft, six to eight hours of daily practice, even now. The violin, she’d told Alice, wasn’t something you learned once, and coasted along after that. It was a lifelong, consuming endeavor.
Alice, habituated to creating art through her body, pondered the implications of being a professional musician. You had to take good care of an instrument, true, but you could store it away and relax. You could break your leg and still the instrument would play sweetly. If the instrument were destroyed, you could get a replacement, although Montserrat had told Alice her violin, an 1862 J.B. Vuillaume worth $120,000, was irreplaceable to her.
Following the Saint Saens, the trio performed a lively, syncopated tango, the violin singing in staccato double-stop bursts, almost like an accordion, the cello sounding jazzy and sexy. For the final piece, Matthew played unaccompanied Bach, the famous “Prelude” from his Cello Suite No. 1 in G Major. The sound was rich, deep and pure, the aural equivalent of a fine old Cognac. Even Alice had to admit it was a showstopper. The other listeners, classical music fans or not, were all riveted. Lana gave a little gasp when he’d finished and they were all clapping.
Off Balance (Ballet Theatre Chronicles Book 1) Page 6