Off Balance (Ballet Theatre Chronicles Book 1)

by Terez Mertes Rose

  “Could you, maybe, tell her how much I care? That I understand and appreciate the challenge of family problems, and for her to call me anytime, anytime I can help.”

  He looked so serious, so somber. It was like knowing two different Gils.

  “I’ll do that,” she said.

  “Thank you. I’d appreciate it.”

  Amazing to behold, this other Gil, she mused as she headed toward the elevators to go home five minutes later. Granted, professionally, she still thought he was an asshole. But through Lana, he was revealing himself to be vulnerable, wholly human, surprisingly compassionate.

  No, not necessarily a better boss. But a better person.

  Tuesday morning she headed down the Peninsula to her meeting with Andy. The Redgrave mansion looked different in the weekday morning light, more austere, almost like a posh private school. She ascended the front steps and knocked on the door. A moment later his housekeeper greeted her and led her back to the conservatory, a sunny room enclosed on three sides by glass and filled with flowering plants and vines. It was like being outside, with all the benefits of the indoors. It smelled like gardenias. A young man was serving Andy croissants from a proffered baking tray as Alice entered the room.

  Andy acknowledged her with a nod, a cool, “Good morning, Alice. Join me for a bite?”

  The croissants smelled heavenly. She accepted one, along with a cup of coffee.

  A Vivaldi guitar concerto played softly in the background, piped in through invisible speakers. Andy didn’t speak as he ate his fruit salad. She was getting used to this facet of his personality. He couldn’t have been more different from Gil, who liked to chatter, establish some warm, friendly bonhomie before allowing any silence to fall over the conversation. Alice felt comfortable with Andy and his silences. They brought calm into the room.

  Only after he finished his fruit salad did he speak.

  “Alice. Tell me a joke.”

  She sipped her coffee reflectively and gave a little nod.

  “Okay. There’s this lonely old woman sitting in her living room, pondering her lonely life, when all of a sudden a fairy godmother appears in front of her and tells the old woman she will grant her three wishes. ‘All right,’ says the old woman. ‘First, I’d like to be really rich.’ And poof, the furniture and accessories around her turn to gold. The old woman smiles and says, ‘Okay, I want to live in a big castle.’ Poof, it happens—they’re suddenly in a room that looks like something out of Versailles.

  “‘And your third wish?" asks the fairy godmother. Just then the old woman's cat wanders through the living room. ‘Ooh,’ the woman says, ‘can you change him into a handsome prince who loves me?’ Voila, it’s done. The cat is now a tall, incredibly gorgeous man. He offers the old woman this sexy smile that just melts her. He comes right up to her and whispers in her ear, ‘Bet you're sorry you had me neutered.’”

  She liked the way Andy reacted, the twitch at the corners of his mouth, the delight in his eyes, his otherwise composed demeanor.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  “Any time.”

  He chuckled a moment later as he tore another piece off his croissant. They continued eating in a relaxed silence, enjoying the music, the morning sun spilling into the room.

  “So,” Andy said finally. “I had the pleasure of meeting your partner once again.”

  For a moment she thought he meant Niles. “My partner?”

  “The pretty girl you brought to my party.”

  “Oh, Lana.”

  “Yes. That partner. The one who told me you two were living together.” His brows knitted. “Is that not the case?”

  She laughed; she couldn’t help it. “Okay, I have to be honest. Here’s the thing. Yes, Lana and I are living together. I invited her to move in shortly after your party. But, I’m not gay, Andy.”

  To her relief he didn’t look angry, merely expectant, waiting to hear more.

  “That night at the restaurant—that couple?” she continued. “It was him I was eyeing. Not her.”

  “Well. That made two of us.”

  She laughed again, pleased that he’d divulged such a candid opinion. Gil was wrong. Andy did like her. And he trusted her. “Anyway, that guy is my boyfriend. Although, that night, he was close to being a ‘was.’”

  “And so the ‘almost was’ is now safely an ‘is?’”

  “Yes. He’s very ‘is.’”

  “And this suits you?”

  Her face grew warm. “Very much so.”

  “Well. Good for you. Sex is good for the complexion.” He regarded her from over his coffee cup. “Nice color to your cheeks today.”

  The warmth of her cheeks grew into a fire.

  “Why, Alice. I do believe I’ve made you blush.”

  She was too flustered to come back with a witty retort, which seemed to entertain him further. “All right,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “Let’s talk some business. But first, tell me. Are you glad to have your position reinstated?”

  At moments like these, she was reminded how tricky Andy could be, how quick to disarm and subtly attack.

  “Um, yes,” she replied carefully, which made him shake his head in amusement.

  “This is off the record. This is not a test for which you need to provide the right answer.”

  “Oh, Andy.” She allowed a note of exasperation to creep into her voice. “How could it be otherwise? You’re the power holder here. Ask me to jump and I will. Ask me if I like my job and I’ll say yes sir, thank you.”

  “Here’s the reason I’m asking.” He sat up, eyes more alert. “There’s a development position at the San Francisco Symphony just opening. I’d like to know if you’d have any interest in it.”

  She couldn’t believe what he was saying.

  “When did this come about?” she asked, trying to sound casual.

  “I heard about it on Friday.”

  “But you had a conversation with Gil on Monday morning. Why strong-arm him into reinstating me when you could have just mentioned the job to me directly?”

  He grimaced. “Maybe I wanted to remind Gil who the real boss is in this equation.”

  She felt it again, a flash of insight mixed with unease, that neither she nor Gil truly knew Andy. Foolish Gil, to have thought there’d be no consequences for choices he’d made over the past few weeks.

  “All right. Tell me about the job,” she said.

  “There’s been some change of staff at the symphony. My key contact in development there has moved on. They want to put a junior staff member in his place. I can’t stand the guy. He’s an ass and I don’t want to work with him. Maxwell asked me to think about whom I’d consider a better fit.”

  Maxwell, Alice knew, was the director of development there. She’d met him and found him to be both likeable and impressive. His was a position of status; the symphony ran a much bigger development operation than the WCBT. She wouldn’t be able to touch associate director for years. She’d most likely be taking a pay cut.

  But it was the symphony. The symphony. She tried to keep her expression neutral, aware that now it was Andy watching her, the way she took a leisurely sip of coffee before replying.

  “Keep talking,” she said.

  “You’d be reporting to Maxwell and dealing a lot with me. A few other accounts as well. But I tend to be the squeaky wheel.”

  “With reason. You supply them with a lot of oil.”

  A shrug was his only reply.

  She couldn’t keep her excitement at bay any more. She began to laugh. “Gil would kill me. Tear me apart.”

  “You say that a lot, you know.”

  “I do, don’t I? And I don’t have to.”

  The thought of leaving Gil to go work at the symphony astonished her, shook her, but in a not altogether unpleasant way. “You’re fully serious here?” she asked.

  He studied her, his pale blue eyes now bright with animation, almost like Andy on cocaine. “I am. Of course, I’m not the d
ecision maker. You’d have to go through the usual routine there. Résumé, application, a few rounds of interviews.”

  “Sure. Of course.”

  “But they’ll have your name on the table, and Maxwell will know it meets with my approval.”

  “Thank you,” she stammered. “I’ll get on it.” Fearing a trap, she added, “Of course I won’t let that get in the way of servicing your account at one hundred percent effort right now. Here at the WCBT. We value your financial and professional support there above all.”

  He chuckled.

  No trap, then. And she’d probably just made herself sound idiotic.

  The young server returned with an urn of coffee, offering refills. Andy nodded, sat back to let him pour, and the two of them exchanged comments about the day’s weather forecast.

  Alice sat back as well, relaxing into her seat, her mind whirring with all the information she’d just been fed.

  A new job. A new start.

  That Andy Redgrave. A good one to have in her pocket.

  Gil had reeled in a good one.

  Chapter 24 – Preparing to Fly

  She not only survived opening night of Autumn Souvenir, she’d excelled. That was what people were saying. Relieved couldn’t begin to describe how the review of Friday night’s performance in the San Francisco Chronicle made Lana feel. The reviewer had described her dancing as “fresh, lyrical, nuanced” and had declared her “a powerhouse, a welcome addition to the West Coast Ballet Theatre’s roster of talented dancers.” Javier’s performance had garnered praise, too, as had two of the principals in the night’s earlier ballets. Two other soloists were mentioned, as well. And Dena Lindgren was noted as “someone to watch.”

  Lana had read and reread the review, alternately thrilled and terrified. Would this be yet one more thing to alienate her from the other dancers? But in the end, Javier’s support and endorsement, of both her and their performance together, carried a lot of clout. And, further, the grumbling dancers had found another target for their antipathy: Dena, who’d replaced Gabrielle on the rehearsal sheet for Arpeggio. The two Lindgren sisters were now rehearsing it together, along with Lana. She saw Lexie’s nod of satisfaction during the rehearsal, once the three of them had completed a trio passage. He liked the fit.

  Lucinda in public relations called her into the office on Thursday after company class. Dance Magazine wanted to schedule an interview, she told Lana, and an online periodical was asking for a photo shoot. Lana was now to be included in media-related events during the company’s tour stops in Santa Barbara, Los Angeles and San Diego.

  Lucinda handed her leaflets, public relations memorandums, then proceeded to educate her on how to interview, how to answer questions and present herself, even how much makeup and what kind of outfits she should wear in public. When Lana squirmed over answering more personal questions, Lucinda told her to get used to it, that everyone else would want to know everything about her. She was hot, on the radar screen, and the WCBT planned to capitalize on that. Did Lana have a website, a social media platform? How did she feel about public speaking?

  “Oh, and there will be an Arpeggio publicity photo shoot,” Lucinda said, reading off a memo. “You and the two Lindgren girls. When you three are back in town.”

  “Um, a publicity photo shoot?” she repeated. “For, like, brochures? Promotional stuff?”

  Lucinda peered at Lana over her reading glasses. “That’s what a photo shoot usually implies.” You dimwit, her expression seemed to add, but she remained silent.

  Lana struggled to take in this last bit of news. Her, Dena and Rebecca, representing Arpeggio to the public, forever affixing their identities to the ballet. “But,” she stammered, “um, casting hasn’t been decided.”

  “I don’t think you need to worry about Lexie and Anders making a mistake here. And this was a directive from them.” She glanced down at her notes. “Next. Let’s talk about your habit of saying ‘um’ a lot.”

  “Um, pardon me?”

  “Yes. Like that.”

  Ten minutes later she stumbled out of Lucinda’s office, only to encounter Gil. The sight of him produced twin bolts of fire and unease, which shot through her and left her weak-kneed and hesitating over her words. Even Gil seemed unsure of himself. Their conversation sounded stilted, contrived, as if they were being recorded for public viewing later, a WCBT training video, on how to avoid romantic entanglements at work and how to deal with them once things got messy.

  But her anger toward him had cooled since he’d un-fired Alice, since he’d delivered the tender message through her. In truth, she missed him terribly. Well. The non-dancer part of her did, the sensualist she’d become in his arms, his bed, ever craving his touch, the smell of his skin, the taste of it. The dancer understood that this was the price you paid to remain true to what mattered most.

  They chatted. He accompanied her to the elevator and when the door opened, disgorging a few administrators, he reached over and touched the small of her back, his fingers grazing her hip as she moved away from him, into the elevator. It sent an electric shiver through her. She saw, from the glance they shared, just before the door closed, that it had similarly affected him.

  He was honoring his end of the bargain, handing her the power to dictate the terms of their relationship. No gesture could have been more crucial, more appreciated. It assured her that from here on out, she had the ability to call the shots in her personal life.

  Mom’s terrible hold on her wouldn’t have to ever repeat itself.

  When she’d called the Kansas Department of Social and Rehabilitation Services on Monday to report Mom’s behavior, she’d spoken calmly until the worker asked her relationship to the perpetrator. Her throat had closed up and she’d begun to cry.

  The woman on the other end had been kind. “You’re proving how much you care for your mother by doing this, not the other way around,” she’d said through Lana’s sobbed out story. Lana answered the questions the woman posed about Mom, about Luke, about the family, despising herself for what she was doing to the Kessler family. Only the fact that she’d given them her phone number, name and address kept her from hanging up.

  The woman told her a case worker would follow up some time over the next two to fourteen days. Lana explained how she was leaving town the following Monday, and it would help if they could make the initial contact before she left town. She knew Mom would call her afterward, ranting. She needed to be in a stable place when that happened.

  Today was Thursday; she hadn’t heard from Mom yet.

  She knew she would.

  The call came midway through lunch break. The conversation lasted ten minutes. It was the worst thing Lana had ever had to endure. Mom was hyperventilating, spewing words of rage.

  “My own child, accusing me of this! I can’t believe it. I just can’t believe it.”

  “Mom. You crashed a car with Luke in it.”

  “I was distracted!” she shrieked, noisier and more plaintive than Lana had ever heard her. “And you told them, you told them that I’d left Luke alone that day.”

  “You did!” she cried, her stomach churning.

  “That was a family issue alone!”

  “No. It’s a Kansas law.”

  “You’re a self-centered, ungrateful child. A child, that’s all you are. You know nothing about parenting, about being a mother, taking care of a family. You waltz out of town, take up with fancy friends, and suddenly you’ve got the world figured out.”

  “Please don’t be this way, Mom. Please.”

  “Don’t you ‘please, Mom’ me. You little monster.”

  She couldn’t believe her mother would call her that. All those years of being dutiful daughter, mother’s helper, taking it all without complaint, meant nothing.

  “I told Annabel,” Mom was saying, “I told her California would taint you, turn you ugly, against your family, but I had no idea—”

  “I did what I did for our family,” Lana interrupted.


  Mom snorted in contempt. “Don’t make me laugh.”

  Lana lost all patience.

  “You were a threat to your child,” she said in a cold, hard voice. “I’m a grown one; I can fend for myself. But if you ever involve the little boys in one of your issues again, I’ll call SRS a second time. I’ll go against you, Mom. Don’t think I won’t.”

  “You, you…”

  Mom couldn’t even speak, she was so outraged. When the words finally came out, they were shrill, staccato.

  “You have shamed this family beyond words, Lana Kessler. Don’t ever bother coming back here. You hear me?”

  With that, she hung up on Lana.

  She stood there, phone in hand, reeling, bent forward, as if Mom’s voice had reached right across the miles and punched her in the stomach. She made her way on wooden legs through the hallway, seeking out the quiet corner where Gabrielle hadn’t been trying to flirt with Gil last week, and where Lana had tried, instead, to break up with him. She hunkered down on the bench, trying to stifle her sobs, as the hysteria rose in her, threatening to spill over.

  Don’t ever bother coming back here. You hear me?

  She was huddled there, weeping, trying to be quiet about it, when, to her horror, someone approached, and all she could think was that it was Courtney and it would be shame on top of pain on top of having been deceived by a fake friendship. But it was Dena, who rushed over when she recognized Lana.

  “Oh, God, something’s happened. Are you hurt? Is someone else hurt? Was there news from home?”

  She couldn’t possibly explain, and even if she could, Dena wouldn’t be able to relate in the least. Lana had seen the Lindgren girls’ mother; she was lively, engaging, pretty, the kind of mother all girls dreamed of having. Mom was a freak next to the woman. Lana could only shake her head after each question, wave Dena away.

  “Just go. You wouldn’t understand. Please, go.”

  Dena took a step back, turned halfway as if to leave, but hesitated.