She straightened, stretched her arms as if reaching for the sky, then slid into a graceful split.
Something about the action mesmerized him, and when he realized that he was watching her with his tongue practically hanging out, he laughed inwardly at himself.
She probably wouldn’t appreciate the fact that he would have loved to bark out an order, empty the room and jump her like a madman.
But to him, it was nice to have the feeling. There had been women since Victoria, but none that had made him feel this way at first sight. Victoria’s death had changed him, and not for the better.
And, he reminded himself, if he had ever thought of Victoria that way and she had found out, she would definitely have considered him a madman. No, a savage. That had been her favorite term….
He gave himself a little shake. Whatever mistakes he had made, whatever mistakes she had made, they were in the past. Over. Agonizing over all that had happened had never done him any good. It was too late to go back.
“Lee, you’re here! I didn’t see you come in.”
Lee turned as Tony Asp approached him, grinning broadly, his hand stretched out in greeting.
“Hi, Tony,” Lee said, shaking the offered hand and returning the grin. “I just walked in.” He waved an arm to indicate the entryway, the staircase and the grand ballroom. “The place looks great. What do you think?”
“Day and night,” Tony replied with a grimace. “I have to admit, I thought you were crazy to buy the place and renovate it, but you were right. From what I hear, it cost less than renting, and you’ve got yourself a dynamite house. You gonna move in here after the shoot?”
Lee shook his head. “I like my old house. Or new house, depending on how you look at it.”
“Well, for the video, it looks great. I don’t think you could find anything that looked more antebellum in the heart of Georgia.”
“I hope you’re right—” Lee began, but just then a hand clamped down hard on his shoulder and he turned to see Gary Wright, a too-thin bundle of nervous energy, but a brilliant conceptual director, standing behind him.
“Lee! How was the concert tour? Good to be back with you.”
“The tour was fine, Gary, but I think it was our last. And it’s good to be back with you, too.”
The three men shared a good business relationship, although it had been an awkward one when they had first come together a year ago in Scotland to work on the first video. Tony had made his name in classical ballet, and Gary had earned his reputation as a director for PBS. They had been skeptical about working with Lee, but Lee had learned early that there were two things about him that could draw prejudice: he was a Blackfoot, and he was a rock musician.
Growing up, he had learned to be tough. Growing older, he had learned to shrug his shoulders and quietly prove his points.
And he had proved himself to both Tony and Gary.
But never to Victoria…
That’s over, he reminded himself. Over…
There had been some compromises made throughout the entire month’s work on the first video, but the result had been so gratifying that before the final wrap they had found themselves fast friends. And the video had hit the tube with astounding success, both commercial and critical.
“I only have one disagreement with you, Lee,” Gary was saying now. “I like the concept; I have to admit I even like the arrangement of the song. But I think—with your career in mind—that we should have shots of you guys with your instruments. I know you’re going to tell me that it’s a Civil War ballad, which it is, but think of it this way—”
“Excuse me, Gary,” Tony cut in quickly. “I’m going to go and get started with the dancers.”
“Sure, Tony,” Gary said. “Go ahead. Now, Lee, I’m not talking about a shot of more than a second or two—”
“Sorry, Gary,” Lee interrupted this time, his eyes following Tony as he started across the ballroom toward the group of colorfully clad dancers. “I’ll be right back.”
“But, Lee…”
“Go with it, Gary. Go with whatever you want!” A smile spread across Gary’s features, but Lee didn’t notice, nor would he have minded. He was anxious to catch up with the dance director.
“Tony!”
The other man stopped quickly and turned around.
“Tony, see the willowy redhead over there?”
“Redhead? I don’t see a redhead.”
“Dark red, Tony. She’s in a black leotard, pink tights. About five-foot-six. Tony, are you blind?”
“Oh! Yeah, I see her now. Boy, do I see her now!”
“Quit gawking, Tony. You should be accustomed to nice bodies.”
“I am, but, hey…”
“Tony, we’re being aesthetic here for a minute, okay? What do you think about using her for our Lorena?”
Tony’s “aesthetic” mind went into action. “Perfect! Nice long hair, good height against yours. Thin waist—good for the costume. And nice full breasts—great for the costume. She’s perfect!”
“If she can dance.”
“I guarantee you, Lee, they can all dance. Barbara Vinton doesn’t cast people unless they know their business. I’ll chat with Barbara for a minute, make sure the girl’s one of the best and bring her over to meet you.”
“Good. I see Perry and Andrew. I’m going to talk with them for a minute, then take a look at the staircase.”
Tony nodded, then hurried over to the group of dancers. Lee walked toward the door to greet his fellow band members, Andrew McCabe, Perry Litton and Mick Skyhawk.
“Damn, Lee, the place looks great!” Andrew said admiringly.
“Super,” Mick agreed.
“Glad you like it,” Lee laughed. “I just hope you’re really seeing it. Even for a red man, you have red eyes, my friend!”
Mick, a full-blooded Blackfoot, flushed, making his naturally bronzed features darken to rust. The others laughed; Mick joined in with them good-naturedly.
“Hey, I’m here, aren’t I? And you’re the ones who keep telling me I need to settle down. How will I ever settle down if I don’t spend an evening now and then with a member of the opposite sex?”
“You spend plenty of evenings with members of the opposite sex,” Andrew told him, sighing with feigned exasperation. “It would help if you spent these nights with the same member of the opposite sex.”
Lee felt his smile fade a little uneasily. Be careful, Mick, he thought fleetingly. Sometimes you’re better off when you don’t know a woman well, when you both come and go in the dark. Because you may think that you know her, but you never will, and dark secrets can hide in the heart….
“I want to go and take a look at the staircase,” Lee murmured, “Mick, they’ve set your piano up at the rear of the ballroom, if you want to go take a look.”
“I’ll do that,” Mick replied.
The group parted, and Lee headed toward the gracefully curving stairway. He smiled for a minute, pleased and proud that the Fulton place had turned out so well. When he had first seen it, the old marble floors had been covered in inches of dust. The stairway had been charred and broken in places, and the elegant light fixtures—including a couple of priceless chandeliers—had been so tangled in spiderwebs as to be unrecognizable. They had all thought he was crazy when he decided to buy the place and renovate it for the video of “Lorena.” But now, cleaned up and fixed up, the place was perfect.
Just as music had always been a passion with him, an intregal part of living, film had become an almost-obsession.
“Lee, good morning! I’d like you to meet Bryn Keller. Bryn, Lee Condor.”
He had turned instantly at the sound of Barbara’s voice, greeting her with a warm smile. Keller…the name was familiar.
He smiled at the woman he had chosen and extended a hand in greeting. As he studied her, he murmured something polite in return to the introduction.
Even before she spoke, he felt it: a wave of cold antagonism that was startling. So stron
g he could almost see a sheet of ice in the air between them.
Ice…and fire.
She seemed even more perfect now that she was standing before him. Her hair was a shade that was not quite mahogany, not quite red—something deeper than either, making him think of the hottest, most inner flame of a raging blaze. It was caught at her nape, and just a few straying tendrils curled about her forehead. Her eyes were lime-green and tilted slightly, like those of a sleek and mysterious cat. And like her hair, despite the aura of coldness about her, they hinted of fire. Deepest, hidden fire.
When she did speak, her words were soft, well-modulated, but they sent another gust of cool wind into the air between them, and no matter how softly spoken her words were, they were blunt and blatantly rude.
Her attitude made him want to slap her.
He smiled. And replied quietly. He wasn’t sure what he had said, or even what she had said. It didn’t matter. She still made a perfect Lorena. She was welcome to dislike him as much as she chose as long as she didn’t let it interfere with her work.
But as he turned away, he was more bothered than he wanted to admit. Did she dislike him because he was a rock performer? Or because she had a hang-up about heritage? Maybe she was Custer’s great-great-granddaughter or something, he thought with impatience. Well, he wasn’t going to let it get to him. He would just leave her alone.
Lee smiled suddenly as he climbed the staircase. He could hear Tony explaining the entire concept of the video to her. It was obvious that she was going to stick—he was paying nicely.
A streak of mischief deepened his smile.
She was in it strictly for money. Well, she would get a chance to earn her money.
* * *
The traffic was bad getting back into town, and with each bumper-to-bumper snarl she came upon, Bryn cursed Lee Condor and his endless filming anew.
Tony Asp had explained it all to her; the song “Lorena” was a ballad written and made popular during the Civil War. Scenes had already been filmed in which the blue met the gray. In her scenes, the Fulton place would be the site of a ball to which the soldier returned to find that his Lorena had met and married another.
A dream sequence followed in a field of mist, the soldier imagining what he would like to do: take Lorena and force her to remember her vows of love.
In reality, he would walk away, understanding that circumstances had changed everything for them both.
The main scene with Lorena would take place on the stairway. She would try to flee his wrath, but he would whirl her back and into his arms and carry her into the mist.
“It won’t be more than a minute and a half of film time,” Tony had told her, “but there can’t be a misstep in it. And if it isn’t entirely graceful, the full effect will be lost. You’ll be in authentic period costume, so you need to get the moves down pat. And the main responsibility will be on you. Lee is something of a gymnast, but he’s not a dancer. You’ll be part of the group doing the Virginia reel first, so go ahead and get back with the others now, and we’ll start rehearsal with the group. During their break, we’ll work on your stuff.”
And so there had been the rehearsal with the group, four hours of getting down the moves. And going over and over them until they began to synchronize…
“You look tired, Miss Keller,” Tony had called her when they had broken. “Take five minutes.”
Five minutes had meant five minutes—to the second. And then she had begun with Tony on the staircase. Four steps, whirl, fall. No, try it a little higher. Oh, don’t worry about Lee. He’ll definitely catch you….
Then it had been back to the group and another three hours of back-breaking rehearsal….
She had perspired so much that now she felt like a salt lick for a whole herd of cattle.
And to make it worse, he had been there the entire time. Watching. Quietly making suggestions to Tony. He had stood out of the way, arms crossed over his chest, or hands stuffed into his pockets. He had worn blue jeans and a blue, button down work shirt. But if he had just tied a bandana around his forehead, she could easily have imagined him on a flashy pinto, shrieking out a war cry and bearing down on the town to burn it out….
Brian and Keith’s school bused them to Adam’s day-care center when she was late, so at least she only had one stop to make. But all three boys were bickering.
“Keith stepped on my toe!” Adam wailed loudly.
“He hit me!” Keith protested.
“Did not! It was an ax-see-dent!”
“That was no accident.”
“I saw you!” Brian butted in. “And it was no accident!”
“Stop it!” Bryn snapped. “Stop it, all three of you. Get in the van!”
It might have ended there, but something about the heat and her state of irritated exhaustion had gotten to her through and through, and she snapped at Keith again as he got into the van.
“Keith! Damn it, get in and get your seat belt on. You’ve been dawdling for five minutes now.”
Keith hurried into his place in the back seat, snapped on his seat belt and stared at her with hurt eyes. Although the boys had been fighting like cats and dogs, now they joined together against a common enemy: her. Three pairs of green eyes stared at her with silent reproach; all three sets of little lips were compressed in hostile silence.
Bryn didn’t say anything then, but as she walked around to climb into the driver’s seat, guilt overwhelmed her. As soon as she turned the key in the ignition, she twisted around to face Keith with a grimace.
“Sorry, Keith. I’ve had a bad day.” That was no excuse, she reminded herself. Especially for the “damn.” If she said it, the kids said it.
He gave her a half smile, and she sighed. “How did swimming go today, Adam?”
“Don’t like it!” Adam, at her side, replied, scrunching up his little nose. “Mr. Beacon tried to drown me!”
“He isn’t trying to drown you, he’s trying to make you learn. Keith, what did you get on your spelling test?”
Keith started to answer her, and she listened to him ramble on for a while, not hearing him. Suddenly she did hear something: the dead silence in the van.
At the next red light she stared around at their faces. They were all looking at her reproachfully again.
“What’s the matter with you, Aunt Bryn?” Brian, the spokesman for the group, asked.
“Nothing, nothing,” she replied quickly. Someone was beeping at her; she was ignoring the turn light. “Damn!” she muttered, but this time the oath was beneath her breath.
“Aunt Bryn…” Brian persisted.
“Really, guys, nothing is wrong. Nothing at all. Just that stupid red-skinned tom-tom player.”
“Red-skinned tom-tom player?”
“Oh, God!” Bryn groaned. What had she said? And in front of the kids… “No one, honey. Please, pretend I never said that.” They were all looking at her; she sensed it. “Really—please, I was being horrible, and I didn’t mean what I said. I was just angry and frustrated, so I was searching for anything to say to be mean. Do you understand?”
“Of course,” Brian said. “Daddy always said not to say anything at all if you couldn’t say something nice. Is that it?”
“Sort of,” Bryn murmured uneasily. “But it’s a little deeper than that. You don’t need to…to…” She paused, wishing she had thought before she had spoken. “You don’t ever need to attack someone for what he is just because he’s made you angry.”
“I see,” Brian agreed sagely, nodding. “You shouldn’t have said that a man was a stupid red-skinned tom-tom player because you were mad.”
“Right,” Bryn said.
“What’s a red-skinned tom-tom player?” Keith asked.
“The American Indians were called ‘redskins’ by the early settlers,” Brian educated him. “Don’t you ever watch ‘Rin Tin Tin’ on TV?” he asked with impatience.
Bryn wanted to crawl under her seat. What would Jeff—with his absolute impatienc
e for intolerence of any kind—think of her, or the way she was raising his children now?
“Brian!” she said sharply, ashamed of herself, yet hoping to make a point. “You’re watching too much television. Keith—”
“Is it wrong to be an Indian tom-tom player?” Keith interrupted innocently.
“No!” Bryn gasped out. “Oh, please! Let’s forget this. Stick with the ‘if you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all.’ I was wrong, very wrong, and I didn’t mean what I said.” Quickly she continued. “I…uh…I’m working on a videotape—”
“Oh, wow!” Keith said. “You mean like on MTV?”
“Yeah, like on MT—”
“Wow!” Brian leaned up as far as he could.
“For who, Aunt Bryn?”
“Lee Condor.”
“Wow!” Even Adam echoed their excitement.
Brian turned to Keith. “Mrs. Lowe told us to watch his last video if we wanted to see the Middle Ages recreated perfectly!”
“Perfectly,” Adam imitated his older brother.
“Perfect,” Bryn muttered. “Everything’s just perfect!”
It was almost seven o’clock before she made it home, and almost nine before she had the kids fed, bathed and in bed.
Then she had to spend another hour in the darkroom. She had done a wildlife layout for a Tahoe tour folder, and only after having chosen five shots from the proofs had they decided on a different set of animals. But the folder could lead to more work in the future, so she didn’t want to take a chance on quibbling with the nervous exec from the ad company.
At least, when she finally got to bed, she wasn’t haunted by dreams, or by visions of strange dark and golden eyes. She fell into an exhausted slumber the minute her head touched her pillow.
Wednesday was, if possible, worse than Tuesday.
She arrived at 9:00 A.M., as Tony Asp had asked her to before she left the night before.
She thought that the place was empty when she first walked in, and it felt strange to be there. It was almost as if she had stepped back in time. The huge chandelier glowed in the ballroom, illuminating the striking marble floor and the beautifully carved strips of wall trim that contrasted with the lightly patterned wallpaper. The staircase rose into misty darkness, and for a minute she felt as if she had actually stepped back to intrude upon another lifetime.
Night Moves (60th Anniversary) Page 4