Night Moves (60th Anniversary)

by Heather Graham

  It felt awfully high for her to trust someone enough to be able to fall back blindly into his arms.

  Too high. Bryn looked up the staircase and swallowed, trying to allay her fear. Why did the idea of heights make her so shaky and breathless? She couldn’t fall in front of Lee; she just couldn’t.

  “Is it too high? I promise you that I can catch you, but if it makes you uneasy, say so.”

  “No…” she murmured. It was obviously a lie.

  “Bryn—” He was touching her, she realized. His hands were on her shoulders, and he was looking into her eyes, not unkindly at all. “A phobia about heights isn’t anything to worry about. We can go back down a step.”

  For a moment she was caught by the tawny gold of his eyes, feeling horribly ashamed of herself. After last night, after the things she had said and the way she had acted, he was showing her both sensitivity and kindness. I could care for him, she thought. I could really care for him….

  She gave herself a little shake. “No, the six steps will be fine.” She hesitated, slipping from his hold and looking up the stairway again. “I’ll be all right. But…thank you.”

  At least she had seen his arms in action. She knew they were strong.

  The gentling she had felt toward him faded as the morning slipped by and his energy continued to be boundless. He didn’t ask of others what he wasn’t willing to do himself, but in a matter of hours her feet, legs—and everything else—were hurting.

  Bryn rehearsed with Lee, then with the other dancers. It seemed to be never-ending.

  Somewhere in midst of all the action she had a chance to whisper to Barbara. “I think he’s trying for the perfect crime: mass asphyxiation of twenty dancers!”

  Barbara laughed, but then Barbara hadn’t been required to give up her break time to work on the stairway. “He is a perfectionist, isn’t he?”

  Perfectionist, hmmmf! Bryn thought.

  It was only noon.

  But her time was coming soon. Very soon.

  By one o’clock the dancers and cameramen had been released. Bryn stood on the lawn beside the golf course of the Timberlane Country Club and stared across the velvety green expanse to the whitecapped mountains beyond.

  Bryn had loaded her Canon with a roll of 1000 ASA film, and now she checked the view she had just approved through the lens. The setting was good. All the band’s equipment was being moved onto the green, and there would be nothing but sky and grass and the mountains and—

  And the flaring neon light for the Sweet Dreams hotel, a rather tawdry spot that embarrassed the country club by having the audacity simply to sit on the opposite side of the road.

  “Damn!” Bryn muttered. She moved the camera, then moved herself. No matter what she did, the building and the parking lot would show when she took long shots, but she could probably avoid the neon lights. And the hotel would be so far in the background that everything about it would be minuscule.

  Bryn sighed. She would have to warn Lee. Then it would be on his shoulders….

  “How’s it look, kid?”

  Bryn spun around to smile as Barbara approached her. Barbara never looked ruffled. With her short blond hair, near regal height and perpetual calm, she could come from a laborious dance workout and look as if she had been sitting around drinking mint juleps.

  “Pretty good, Barb, but look. Follow that slope down and you’ll see the—”

  “Ah, yes! The ol’ Sweet Dreams hotel. Den of water beds, mirrored ceilings and smutty cable!” Barbara laughed. “Is it really going to be a problem?”

  “I don’t think so. As long as I don’t catch the lights. It will be pretty far in the background, but I thought I ought to warn Lee, and see if he wants to choose a new spo—”

  “Oh, no! Bryn, don’t do that! The maitre d’ is already going crazy because he has that politician who’s running for the senate coming in for one of those big money luncheons.”

  “Barb, you’re the one who told me Lee Condor is a perfectionist.”

  “He is, he is. But you just said the hotel would be completely in the background. Look how far away it is!”

  “Barb…”

  “Oh, shush! Bryn, please!” Barbara lowered her voice. “Honey, everything has gone perfectly for Lee so far, everything that I’ve been in charge of. This is real important to me, honey: you know that. He’s friends with all the top stars in the music world, and if he recommends me to others we could both live off the results for years!” Barbara looked anxiously over Bryn’s shoulder. “It won’t matter, Bryn. I’m sure of it. He’s coming now….”

  Barbara shot a dazzling smile past Bryn, but Bryn didn’t need to see the smile to be forewarned that Lee was near. She had acquired something like radar since she had met him. The same fever that quickly became chills whipped along her spine whenever he approached.

  “I think we’re ready here, Lee!” Barbara called out cheerfully.

  Bryn spun around. Lee, hands on his hips, still exuding tension and energy, was staring at her with a golden glare that was totally enigmatic. No anger, no passion. They might have just met.

  “Bryn, are you pleased with the location?”

  “Yes, yes it’s fine,” she heard herself reply. Except now, she could see golfers in the distance. She hesitated, then added. “Close-ups will be perfect. When we do group shots, there might be a little interference in the background. See, there are a couple of men over there playing the fifteenth hole.”

  Lee waved a hand impatiently. “That’s no problem. These don’t need to look like we live alone in the world. Let’s go, shall we? I have things to do later.”

  Bryn felt the coolness of his words like a slap in the face. She smiled sweetly. Things to do? His life couldn’t compare with hers. And if he could be a semisadist with his dancers, she could damn well be the same with her “artistic subjects.”

  “Ready when you are, Mr. Condor. Let’s start on the lawn with the four of you grouped behind your instruments.”

  Perry, Andrew and Mick had come up behind Lee, and they cheerily nodded their assent. Sorry guys, Bryn thought with a tinge of guilt, but you’re going to have to suffer a little along with your almighty leader….

  But the group was positioned before she had even moved. Bryn bent to grab her camera bag and chased after them. Then she paused, turning to face Barbara.

  “Hey, Barb. Come along and keep close tabs on the light meter for me, huh?”

  “Sure,” Barbara agreed. “Just tell me what I’m keeping tabs on.”

  Bryn smiled sweetly. It was going to be one thing to attempt a little return torture, but in the process she wanted to make damn sure she took good shots.

  “Great, guys! Great!” She applauded as she checked out their positions through her lens. “Perry, chin down a bit. Lee, head up. Andrew, move just a shade to the right. Oh, no, now, wait a minute. Perry, your collar is up in the back.”

  Bryn kept the others waiting as she meticulously fixed Perry’s collar. They all looked nice—really nice—in red tailored shirts and black dress jeans. More than nice. Sexy. Especially Lee with his magnetic eyes and broad-shouldered, athletic build. And jet dark hair.

  And thoroughly irate expression.

  “Great,” Bryn said cheerfully again. She clicked five quick pictures. “All right, Lee, behind the drums. Let’s try Perry to the left, Mick in front stooped on one knee. And Andrew to the right. Mick, dangle your hand as if you’re relaxed. A little bit of a smile, not too much. A little more teeth, Perry. I need a smile, please, Lee. Not a scowl. Oh, no, wait a minute. This isn’t going to do. Andrew will be better in front, because Perry and Mick are the same height….”

  She moved them and moved them, and adjusted them and adjusted them. She kept them in place when she disappeared to change her film—and leisurely enjoyed a cup of coffee. She took close-up shots, and another entire roll of long shots. In the background she caught the golf course, the street beyond, and the beauty of the snow-laden mountains. Then she shot
the entire roll again, telling them that there had been just too many golfers in the background.

  And it wasn’t a lie. At first there had been only one man, fooling around in some distant sand pit. He had probably been obscured by the drums. But he had barely been there a minute or two before a group of people had followed him, appearing at the top of the slope behind him like a horde of Mongols.

  She was about to start on a fourth roll when Lee at last broke his impatient silence. “Might I suggest you hurry up here, Miss Keller? It’s going to rain.”

  Bryn looked up at the sky. It didn’t look like rain. She smiled at Lee. “I just have one more roll to do out here, Mr. Condor. I want to make sure I missed that neon sign for the Sweet Dreams motel over there. Unless, of course, you want it in the pictures….”

  “I don’t give a damn if it’s in the pictures or not, Miss Keller,” Lee replied softly. “I’m sure you value your camera and equipment—just as we value our instruments. And it’s going to rain.”

  “Oh, come now! Don’t be impatient, Mr. Condor. I’m trying to assure you a choice of really good proofs. It doesn’t look at all like rain!”

  “Well, I’ll tell you one thing,” Andrew groaned. “I’ve got to take a cigarette break.”

  “Bryn!” Barbara said, nudging her shoulder. “You know this little meter you told me to watch? Well, it just took a big dip.”

  The meter had dipped. The light had changed drastically. Damn it, Bryn thought, but it was going to rain!

  And just as she made the sad realization, the first drops started to fall.

  “Let’s move ‘em!” Lee called out, and each member of the group went into efficient motion, carrying the musical instruments quickly beneath the candy-striped awning of the terrace. Barbara helped Bryn grab her tripod and bag and raced after them.

  It took two trips to save the drum set, and if Bryn had now accepted that the sky forecast a storm, Lee’s features did so doubly. Inadvertently she felt herself backing against the wall.

  “Well, Miss Keller, do you think we’re quite done?”

  “Except for the inside shots,” she said quickly, hoping to brazen this out.

  He threw up his hands in disgust. “And those will take another four hours, I assume?”

  “You are a known perfectionist, Mr. Condor.”

  He didn’t reply, just turned around to the others. “Think we should take a meal break? This could go till next Sunday.”

  “Yeah, I’m starving. Let’s troop on in,” Mick suggested.

  Bryn felt her elbow being firmly gripped, and she glanced nervously up at Lee’s eyes. They seemed as dark as night, except for that wicked gold glitter.

  “Come on, Miss Keller. Let’s go.”

  But it was almost impossible to move inside the country club.

  “Oh, dear, dear!” the effusive maitre d’ sighed. “We’ve been crowded with members all day, Mr. Condor. Hoping to get a sight of you and your group. And now we have a political rally going on, too, and oh, what a mess! Besides yourselves and the politician, we also have a PGA tournament going on! One of the big money classics. I warned them that we had overbooked but no one listened. I can do nothing about the dining room. If I’d only known that you required a meal…”

  “Think you could set us up on the terrace?” Lee asked him.

  “Yes, yes, of course. And we’ll bring out a special vintage wine for you while you wait—on the house, of course, sir!”

  “Come on, Bryn, back to the terrace. I’ve got a few words to say to you before the others join us.”

  “I…uh…later, Lee. I have to find the ladies’ room.”

  “Bryn!”

  “I’m sorry!”

  She fled before he could stop her and decided that she had better really head for the ladies’ room—whether she needed to or not. But she had barely woven her way through the crowd when she found herself walking right into the politician who had just turned away from the reporters.

  Startled, Bryn just stood there staring at the man. It was Dirk Hammarfield, the man she had watched on the news last week. And as his features crinkled into a friendly smile, she decided that he definitely did have a lot of charisma. His eyes were cornflower blue; he was a nice trim six feet, and his hair was light and tousled. What an all-American candidate, she thought.

  “I’m so sorry!” he apologized.

  “My fault, I’m afraid, Mr. Hammarfield.”

  “Ah, so you know me!” He beamed.

  Bryn suddenly looked beyond his shoulder. Even through the crowd her eyes were riveted on another man.

  Lee. He had followed her. And he now was watching her. Quietly, leaning nonchalantly against the wall, his hands in his pockets, his eyes narrowed and hard.

  Bryn gave the young politician a magnificent smile. “Of course I know you, Mr. Hammarfield. I’ve been following your campaign closely! I’m sure you’ll be Nevada’s next senator!”

  She noticed dimly that Lee had disappeared. Suddenly none of it seemed to matter. Dirk Hammarfield kept beaming, and he started to chatter about something, but all she wanted to do was get away.

  “Who is the young lady with the camera, Dirk?”

  Bryn jumped as a new voice cut in on the conversation. She glanced quickly at the man who had joined Dirk Hammarfield.

  “Miss…?” Dirk queried hurriedly.

  “Keller. Bryn Keller.”

  “Miss Bryn Keller, meet my aide-de-camp, Pete Lars.”

  “How do you do?” Bryn stretched out her hand, feeling uneasy. Aide-de-camp? The man was short, and not fat, but squat, and as solid as a rock. He was in a dark, nondescript suit. And his features, she thought quizzically, were just the same: totally nondescript. He looked more like a hit man from an old gangster movie than an aide-de-camp.

  “What were you taking pictures of, Miss Keller?” Pete Lars asked politely.

  “Lee Condor and his group,” she returned. She was equally cordial, but she wished she could just get by them both.

  “How nice. He’s quite famous, isn’t he?”

  “Yes, I believe so. Well, it’s been a pleasure to meet you both. Good luck with the campaign.”

  She managed to brush past both the clean-cut politician and his gruesome gorilla friend, and then she sped into the ladies’ room.

  She was shaking, and she didn’t know why.

  Maybe she was afraid she had pushed too far, and that this time Lee Condor would fire her. Or maybe she was afraid that he was somehow beginning to overwhelm her every time he was near, and that she would be the one to break, and go running to him, begging that he hold her close for just a moment and allow her to believe that there could be a forever-after for her….

  She ran a brush through her hair and decided that she was going to have to face the music. When she emerged she saw that Lee had come inside again and been pinned down by a number of autograph seekers.

  She slipped past him and started for the terrace, only to find herself hemmed in at the front doors again. Another group of autograph seekers had surrounded a man she was certain she had never seen before. Trying to be polite, she wedged her way through the sea of people, only to find herself pressed against the man receiving all the attention, and she didn’t even know who he was!

  A quick glance at his sport shirt and trim figure told her that he was a golfer. He was about thirty-five, wore his brown hair short and radiated health. Friendly brown eyes fell to hers.

  “Uh…great game,” Bryn murmured. “Wonderful game…”

  “Thanks. For a minute there I didn’t think I’d take the championship!”

  “Oh, but you did! Congratulations, Mr….”

  He laughed pleasantly. “Mike Winfeld.”

  Winfeld. Winfeld. Yes, he was young, but despite her complete disinterest in sports, she had heard the name. They had said that he would make it to the top, and apparently he had.

  He chuckled softly. “Your blush is gorgeous, but don’t be embarrassed. You weren’t here for th
e game, were you? You’re with Lee Condor.”

  With Condor? No, not the way he meant it!

  “I’m a photographer. I’m doing publicity shots for him.”

  “You were taking pictures? Here? Today?”

  “Yes, on the other side of the terrace.”

  “How nice. Hey, if Condor hired you, you must be damned good. Have you got a card?”

  “I…uh…yes, I do.”

  Bryn rummaged around in her purse for her business card. She stuffed it into the golfer’s hand, then grimaced as she was jostled into him. “Thanks for asking. Give me a call anytime. I’m going to slip by before your fans decide to hang me!”

  “Bryn Keller,” he murmured, smiling and waving as she moved through the crowd. “You’ll be hearing from me!”

  She waved in return.

  Maybe some real good would come from this, she thought as she hurried out to join the others on the terrace.

  Barbara looked up from her fan-back wicker chair beside the wrought-iron table. “Bryn, that’s your glass of wine there. I went ahead and ordered you a crab cocktail and the spinach salad.” Barbara lifted her hands with a shrug. “You were gone so long…”

  “Sounds great, Barbara,” Bryn murmured nervously, taking the empty seat beside Barbara. The only other empty seat had been the next one. No matter which she had chosen, she would still have been forced to sit beside Lee. She picked up her wineglass and began to sip. It was good. Dry, but smooth.

  Perry was telling Barbara about the castle where they had filmed in Scotland. His story was bright and amusing, but Bryn found her mind wandering. Glancing through the French doors to the main room of the club, she saw that Lee had now been halted by the politician. The two men spoke for a few minutes; then they were joined by the championship golfer. A meeting of the fabulously famous and rich, Bryn thought somewhat bitterly. Then she pretended to busy herself with her wineglass, because Lee was at last coming through the doors and heading for the table. She sensed his growing irritation as his chair scraped against the concrete when he pulled it out to take his seat.

  She felt his eyes openly on her and was compelled to turn in his direction as he took a sip of wine, watching her over the rim of the glass.