The place was, as he promised, low-key. In fact, it was downright dingy, dimly lit, redolent of old beer and wine. But the seats were comfortable, Gil found them a table in a quiet corner, and she was able to order food.
The singer, Lana had to admit, was worth watching. She had a low, husky voice, deep-set eyes and prominent cheekbones, her face framed by a haze of tangled blonde curls. Her sequined dress revealed a modest cleavage and a thin frame not unlike that of a dancer. Her movements were sinuous, mesmerizing. There was a mysterious allure to her that Lana couldn’t put her finger to. She noted the others, almost exclusively men, maintained equal rapt attention on the singer.
When the set was over and the woman had taken her last bow, she spied Gil and smiled. She stopped first to speak with a table of men near the stage, but afterward came to Gil and Lana’s table.
Lana’s heart sank. Gil looked thrilled. His face was bright with something akin to mischief as he introduced the two women. They shook hands, exchanged polite greetings, and promptly ignored each other. Gil and Jewel chatted for five minutes, Gil’s arm slung over Lana’s shoulders, fingers caressing her arm.
Gil asked Jewel if she’d consider showing Lana her room upstairs.
Both Jewel and Lana rose in their seats at the same time. “No thanks, Gil,” Lana said, followed by an emphatic bob of agreement from Jewel.
“No, no,” Gil protested. “Lana, this is something you’ve really got to see. As a performer, you’ll be so impressed. You can’t imagine some of the pictures Jewel’s got on her walls.”
“No, Gil.” Jewel wagged her finger at Gil, a gesture that came off as half-scolding, half-flirting. “Not a chance I’m taking you up there. Not after what you did last time.”
They both laughed.
Lana tensed. How, she wondered, did this new development fit into Gil’s idea of doing “something special” for her tonight?
“Aww, come on,” Gil was saying to Jewel in a coy tone. “Lana needs to see this.”
Lana touched Gil’s thigh. “You know, I’m tired, Gil. And I’m sure Jewel is too.”
Jewel gestured to Lana and nodded.
“I won’t take no for an answer.” Gil pulled out his wallet and extracted a twenty, setting it on the table next to Jewel.
Jewel didn’t pick up the bill. “This isn’t about the money, Gil.”
“What about that time I saved you from Butch? Have you already forgotten that?”
Jewel’s nostrils flared. She regarded Gil solemnly and shook her head. “You know, if I didn’t love you so much, I’d hate you.”
“I know that. And that’s why you’re going to do me this favor. I really want Lana to see a different angle of the performance world. And Jewel, you are the jewel.”
“Oh, dammit, sweet talk will get you everywhere.” Jewel grabbed at the twenty and tucked it into the cleavage of her dress.
“Five minutes,” she said to Gil. She turned to Lana, motioning for her to follow.
Lana knew the easiest way out of the whole irritating scenario was simply to do what Gil was acting so insistent about. Gil looked at her unhappy face and squeezed her hand.
“I’m sorry. You’re ready to go home, aren’t you?”
She nodded.
“I’ll pay up and we’ll leave once you get back.”
Jewel was looking impatient, so Lana rose and followed her through the club, past the back curtains, down a hall and up a flight of narrow stairs, miserably aware of the sexy side-to-side sway of Jewel’s hips.
On the second level, Jewel opened a door at the end of the hall and beckoned Lana inside. The room was small, decorated like a living room, a smell of stale cigarette smoke in the air. Jewel flipped on a set of track lights that highlighted one of the walls. Lana turned and stared.
The entire surface was crowded with performance pictures, publicity shots, black-and-white portraits, half of which featured the beautiful Jewel. They were sensational. There were other framed photos as well, featuring men, one man in particular. Theatrical poses, spontaneous ones, the man in formal attire, the man standing with flashy celebrity types, arms around each other. Jewel and the man must be a team, Lana decided. And yet they were never together. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Jewel standing there by the door, smoking a cigarette, watching Lana.
“You look beautiful in these,” Lana said, which Jewel acknowledged with a bob of her head. “And he’s gorgeous. Who is he?”
Jewel leaned over to retrieve an ashtray from a nearby table. She tapped her cigarette ash into it before replying. “’He’ is Joel.”
“You two look alike. In fact, your names sound alike.”
“You’re a quick one.”
Lana finally caught on. She understood why Gil was so entertained by Jewel, why he’d wanted Lana to see the pictures. Jewel was Joel. She turned to look back at the beautiful woman and there was no mistaking it. Jewel had an Adam’s apple.
Jewel was a man.
Which threw the situation downstairs into confusion as well. Gil hadn’t been flirting with a woman down there at all. He’d been flirting with a man. She didn’t know whether to be relieved or appalled. She could only stand there and stare at Jewel, jaw agape, trying to process it all.
Jewel chuckled. “I’m good, huh?”
“You are,” Lana managed. “You’re incredible.”
Jewel reached up with her free hand, removed a few hairpins and yanked the golden curls off her head. And like that, Jewel became Joel, a beautiful man in makeup, wig in hand. She—or rather, he—took another drag of his cigarette and scrutinized Lana again. The smoke drizzled out of his nose, like a dragon. “You don’t look like Gil’s type,” he said.
First Mom and now this Jewel. What did either of them know of the Chicago boy, the Gil who held her close at night, who’d told her he loved her, that she’d changed him, that this was Something Special for him?
“Oh yeah?” she finally said, crossing her arms and affecting a similar pose. “Neither do you.”
Jewel—or Joel, Lana reminded herself—looked taken aback. Then he began to laugh.
“Touché,” he said.
“I’m ready to get back to Gil,” Lana said.
“Honey, I’ll bet you are.”
She was quiet on the drive home, pondering the way Gil had been beaming, having offered this “gift” that, in truth, had made her queasy. Seeing the affection Joel had displayed for Gil, leaning closer to accept Gil’s kiss on his cheek, the girlish goodbye hug, a long one, and at the end, Joel squeezed Gil’s ass. Gil had laughed, but hadn’t look horrified or uneasy. All Lana, watching, could think of was that carefully tucked-away Andy Redgrave memory, the moment just before Alice had pulled her away, and how comfortable Gil had looked next to this man who’d been clearly coming on to him. A warning arose within her, Mom’s lecturing voice all the way.
You do not know this guy. You think you do, but you don’t.
And this, even bigger, in a voice neither Mom nor herself, or at least not the suggestible, compliant Lana. This was the Lana who’d sent Anders the tape, the one who’d told him “yes.”
This is not why you sacrificed your security and came out here.
Watch yourself.
Chapter 17 – Reversal of Flirtation
When Alice entered the house late the following Wednesday afternoon, a sweet, buttery aroma greeted her. She inhaled deeply, smiled and made her way into the kitchen, where Lana stood at the stove, stirring something in a pot. She looked up in surprise at the sight of Alice. “Uh, oh,” she said, “Am I late or are you early?”
“I’m early. Yum, what do I smell?”
Lana looked sheepish. “It’s melting butter and marshmallows. I’m making some Rice Krispies treats to bring in for Dena Lindgren tonight.”
“Who’s that?”
“One of the corps dancers who’s helped me acclimate in Serenade. She’s stepping in for Katrina tonight.”
“Oh, no, did Katrina get hurt?”
“Her tendonitis was flaring up and Anders didn’t want her to risk aggravating it, not on a closing night. He’d rather she rest up for Program II.”
“That’s wise. So, what’s the understudy’s name again?”
“Dena Lindgren.”
“Hmm. I’ve met a Rebecca Lindgren at a social function. Any relation?”
“Sisters. Dena’s three years younger.”
“Wow. Well. A big night for her.”
“I know.” Lana gestured to the pan. “That’s why I wanted to bring in something for afterward. And these only take, like, ten minutes to make.”
“What fun. I don’t think I’ve had Rice Krispies treats since I was a kid.”
“Want me to cut you out a piece before I go?”
“Tempting, but best to save my calories for tonight.” Alice opened the refrigerator and pulled out a Diet Coke.
“Business dinner, right?”
“Yup.”
“Gil told me you two had a big one.”
“Yes indeed. Time to reel in Andy Redgrave.”
Lana put down her spoon and turned to look at Alice. “The two of you are having dinner with Andy Redgrave?”
“We are.” She watched Lana eyes widen with surprise, uneasiness. “What? You mean Gil didn’t tell you we were meeting Andy?”
“No. I guess he didn’t mention that detail.” Lana sighed. “Here we go again.”
“Don’t worry, it’ll be purely business tonight. Gil’s boss, Charlie Stanton, will be there.”
Lana picked the spoon back up and focused her attention on the contents of the pot. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but closed it. A moment later, the words came out in a rush. “What do you think happened? That night, with Andy?”
“Lana. Don’t torture yourself.” Alice focused on popping open her can. “Whatever happened that night is not going to repeat itself here.”
“But what if this kind of thing is, well, in his nature?”
Alice looked up in surprise. “Why on earth would you think that?”
“Okay. Here’s the thing.” Lana switched off the stove burner. “Last Friday night after the performance, Gil took me to this show he loves, this beautiful woman singing, and she came over, totally flirtatious, and you know Gil, he was eating it up, offering it back. Only ten minutes later, I come to find out that ‘she’ is a ‘he.’ A drag queen, a gorgeous one. But a gay male, as well. So was Gil flirting back with a woman or a man?” She looked miserable.
“Oh, boy.” Alice began to chuckle. “Trust Gil to come up with a unique scenario for you.”
Lana didn’t laugh with her. “Gil was so comfortable with all the flirtation and Jewel’s caressing. They seemed to know each other well. Do you suppose Gil sort of…leans that way? Or gives in easily to the obvious invitations? Which—why be in denial?—we both saw happening that night.”
Lana’s voice was shaking by the end; Alice knew what it had cost her to get the words out. “Look,” she told Lana, “I can offer speculation, I can offer reassurances. But the truth is, you need to hear the answers from him. Come right out and ask him. Just throw it at him, out of nowhere, and see how he reacts.”
“I can’t do that!”
“Sure, it would be awkward. But you’d get answers.”
“Maybe I’m not ready to hear the answers.” Lana seized the box of Rice Krispies and began to shake the contents into the melted mixture in the saucepan. Little Rice Krispies flew everywhere. “You know, my mom keeps telling me I’m making some big mistake, getting involved with him. And sometimes I wonder if she’s right.”
Alice watched Lana stir the mixture and spoon it into a greased pan. She herself had spoken with Lana’s mother a few times, and each time, the woman had sounded suspicious, somehow disapproving, even as she thanked Alice for hosting her daughter, and was Lana there, right now, and if not, why not?
“Can I offer a personal observation?” Alice asked Lana.
“Go ahead.”
“Your mom’s sure a big influence in your life, I can tell.”
“She is.”
“Which means she’s got an awful lot of power over you.” Alice tried to keep her voice relaxed, unthreatening, but she could feel tension seeping into the air. “And I’ve watched you sometimes as you’re talking to her. You sort of hunch over, as if you’re anxious, or cowed by her. But she doesn’t strike me as the harsh, authoritarian type either. It’s clear the two of you are close and love each other deeply. So, I think I’m missing something. Something big.”
Lana focused her attention on patting the Rice Krispies treats into the pan. Only after she’d finished did she speak.
“Okay. You shared your private mom story with me, so I guess I should share mine. Here’s the thing.” She drew a deep breath and when she spoke, she directed her words to the pan. “When I was seven, my mom tried to end her life by crashing a car she was driving. She’d lost a baby six months earlier and just couldn’t bear to live with the pain of it all. The police found her, sixty miles from home, near a steep bluff she’d planned to drive off, into the river below. She’d swerved at the last minute and crashed into the trees instead. They rescued her, and when she came home from the hospital six weeks later, we all banded around her. Our aunts had told us that if we kids did our part, if we were loving and helpful, we could save her. And they were right. We did it. When she started smiling again, it felt like a miracle.”
She looked up at Alice. “I’ll do anything for her to keep that darker stuff at bay. Some of my other siblings can be slack-offs. So I made it my role in the family to be my mom’s helper in any way I can. Well, you can imagine what a bad call it was for me to leave Kansas City. It was the worst thing I could have done to my mom.”
“So, why’d you do it?”
Lana’s chest began to heave, as if she’d been running a race. “Because I was dying inside. I saw it all, where I was going with my career. It was stagnating there in Kansas City. I could feel it and it was like suffocating. So I sent that audition tape.”
For a while neither of them spoke. Lana began furiously wiping down the stove, the counter, scrubbing at the pan she’d just used. The hiss of the water filled the air, making it impossible to talk. The silence, once she’d turned off the water, seemed abrupt, expectant.
“Your poor mother,” Alice said softly.
“I know.”
“But poor you, as well.”
Lana shook her head. “No. I don’t see it that way at all. Lucky me. I had a mother who came back from that terrible, dark place. The rest has been a small price to pay.”
“But didn’t you hear what you said? You just said, ‘I was dying inside.’”
“Oh. That’s just what came out of my mouth. Of course I wasn’t dying.” Lana’s eyes darted about, looking for something else to clean.
Alice leaned closer. “You’ve spent your life in pursuit of an artistic career. You’re an extraordinarily talented dancer. Normally it’s the family and home life that revolves around a kid of such prodigious talent, not the other way around.” A thought took hold in her mind. “So. Your mother has been fine since that year? No big relapses?”
“Nothing too big, thank God. She gets difficult around the anniversary of his death, during the holiday months. And it was a little iffy when she was expecting the twins. When they were born, both healthy, everyone heaved a sigh of relief. Of course that doubled the workload for my mom.”
“Which is to say, for you as well.”
“It was a labor of love.”
“So. You said she was ‘difficult’ around the holidays. But not ‘depressed.’”
“Yes. And?”
“That sounds more manageable than depression.”
Lana snorted. “You bet it is, and I’m proud our efforts have paid off in that way.”
“But here’s the thing. Maybe, just maybe, after all these years and no sign of a serious recurrence, she’s relying on your help and support because it’s ther
e, as much as she needs. Or wants. And all she has to do is act like it’s all too much once again—and I can just visualize the tone she uses, because I’ve heard it. Like a martyred but peeved voice. And boom. You respond to it, lightning quick.”
“I left her with a huge load to bear.” Lana’s tone grew defensive. “It was very hard for her to see me go.”
“I wholly believe that. You made her life so much easier, you probably accommodated her in every way possible. That had to have been nice. And now you’re establishing a life of your own, like a person your age is supposed to do. You’re thriving, away from her. I’ll bet that threatens her. And I worry that she might try to use that against you. Manipulate you.”
“Stop it! Just stop it right there.” Lana held up both hands. “My mother has suffered so much. Chronic back pain aside, she’s delivered seven children. She watched her baby die. The pain was so terrible it nearly killed her. She’s devoted her life to raising her children. And here you are, acting suspicious about her motives.” She started to say more but her voice trembled. She looked up at the clock on the wall.
“I’m late. I have to go.”
“Lana, wait.” Alice reached over and tried to touch her arm, but Lana eluded her. “I’m sorry, I spoke out of line. I was just hypothesizing and I missed the mark.”
“You sure did.” Lana’s angry eyes met hers. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to go.”
She grabbed the pan of Rice Krispies treats, her dance bag and ran out of the kitchen, up the stairs, as Alice stood there dumbly. She took a sip of Diet Coke and shook her head.
The mom thing again. It was destined to be an eternal minefield between her and Lana, bombs exploding right and left. How had something so well-meaning turned out so poorly?
She heard the guest room door upstairs closing and a moment later Lana scurried down the stairs with a tossed out “good bye.” The front door slammed before Alice could reply.
Just as well. She would have only said the wrong thing again.
Dinner with Andy, his associate, Gil and Charlie Stanton, was a surreal shift in mood, a formal affair in a formal restaurant, fine food and a stilted ambiance. Andy’s associate, one of the foundation executives, directed question after question to Gil and Charlie, which they answered carefully, correctly. Andy remained largely silent, eyes ever observant. After twenty minutes of listening, Alice felt bored and grumpy. She blamed Gil for it. Gil, in a snippy mood of his own, who’d told her on the drive over that she was to clam up tonight and let him and Charlie do all the talking. She’d asked him why her presence had been required in the first place. He replied, somewhat testily, that Andy himself had requested it, telling Gil a business dinner with all men was taxing and besides, he’d taken a liking to Alice and her caustic wit. Gil’s sideways glance after sharing this last bit of information told Alice that these days, Gil was not sharing Andy’s appreciation of her wit.
Off Balance (Ballet Theatre Chronicles Book 1) Page 22