A Season to Dance

by Rebecca Heflin

“Well,” she said, with a huff, “if you insist.” She narrowed her eyes at Olivia. “I’ll be right outside.”

  Olivia rolled her eyes. Seriously? What did she think? That Olivia was going to beat her daughter or something?

  Olivia had dropped the shades on the glass wall dividing the studio from the elevators, to prevent anyone from watching the auditions, so she had no issue with Lily staying just outside.

  Breathing a sigh of relief after the woman left, she asked Chloe a few questions, including how long she had danced, whether she’d danced as a soloist, whether she’d performed a lead role, what she knew about the part, and whether she knew the French words for the steps. Satisfied with her answers, she dictated a series of steps then sat as Chloe performed them.

  She displayed fine technical skills, but the passion and emotion weren’t there. It was as if she performed with rote. Lovely feet. Hands a bit stiff. Good posture.

  Twenty minutes later, Chloe moved to the bench to unlace her pointe shoes. No sooner had her bottom hit the seat than her mother came back, heels clicking across the hardwood floor.

  “Well?” She eyed Olivia, hands on her hips. “When do rehearsals start?”

  “Mrs. Larson, I haven’t cast the part yet. I have one more person to audition.”

  “Mere formality.” She waved her hand dismissing the final audition. “Chloe was born to dance. Of course she has the part. Put your shoes and cover up on dear,” she directed. “And, of course, with her dancing as Cinderella, her brother will be the Prince.”

  “I beg your pardon. Her brother?” Olivia asked in confusion.

  “Christopher. Her twin. He always plays the male roles in Carly’s recitals.” She paused to chuckle. “He even has the Prince’s name. He’s perfect.” She graced Olivia with a brittle smile then muttered, “If there isn’t much dancing.”

  Not much dancing? In a dance recital? “I appreciate that. The auditions for the Prince are tomorrow at four o’clock.”

  Olivia groaned inwardly. Finding her male leads would be the challenge. Boys rarely lasted long in the studio. By age twelve, most had abandoned dance for more masculine pursuits on the baseball diamond or football field.

  “Fine.” Clearly, Lily didn’t think Christopher required an audition.

  “The casting list will be posted on the website by one o’clock Thursday.”

  Lily gave an imperious nod and escorted Chloe out of the studio, peppering the girl with questions about the audition.

  Olivia collapsed onto the bench and took a gulp of her water. “Good Lord.”

  “Are you ready for me?” a voice asked.

  Olivia looked up to see the shy girl she’d met last week standing just inside the door.

  “Emily, right?”

  “Yes.” She blushed as she walked over and set her bag on the bench.

  “Are you warmed up?” At Emily’s nod, Olivia said, “Let’s get started then.” She asked Emily the same questions then dictated the series of steps she wanted Emily to execute.

  Emily took her place and, closing her eyes, inhaled slow and deep before releasing it. Then she began to move. Arabesque en pointe to attitude croisée devant, step, sauté arabesque, pas de chat, sous-sus.

  Lovely, Olivia thought. Technically beautiful, but with feeling. The girl’s face practically glowed. Completely absorbed in the steps, Emily seemed transported. She finished the series and looked to Olivia for further direction.

  “Very good.” Olivia stood and moved to the turntable, where she had an old album with the Cinderella soundtrack. “Let’s try something else to music.” She played about sixty seconds of the opening dance, envisioning the steps. Satisfied, she lifted the arm and returned it to the stand.

  Walking over to Emily, she directed her to follow her lead. “I can’t perform all the steps, but you’ll get the gist.”

  Emily nodded.

  She executed a series of steps, identifying them by name as she did so, with Emily behind and to her right. The girl picked them up quickly. “Do you have it?” Olivia asked.

  “I think so.”

  “All right.” Olivia walked back and placed the needle on the record. “Five, six, seven, eight.”

  Emily performed the steps as if she’d been performing them for days instead of just learning them. What’s more, her love of dance shown through her broad smile.

  “Brilliant.”

  Emily beamed with the compliment.

  After a few more rounds, Emily sat down on the bench to remove her pointe shoes, her breath coming in pants, a fine sheen of sweat on her arms, back, and neck. The girl had performed beautifully.

  So beautifully that Olivia had found her Cinderella.

  Chapter Seven

  “How dare you.”

  Olivia glanced up from her laptop where she sat in Beans ’n Books to see a thoroughly pissed off Lily Larson headed her way. She must have seen the casting list.

  A few people turned to see what the ruckus was about, and Kristen paused on her way to the back of the café.

  “How dare you deny Chloe the role of Cinderella.” Fire blazed in Lily’s otherwise ice-blue eyes, as she stood, hands on hips, spewing her righteous indignation. “My daughter deserved that role. More than that mouse, Emily Madison.”

  “I’m sorry you feel that way.” Olivia crossed her arms over her chest and sat back in her chair. “I think Chloe will make an excellent Fairy Godmother. It’s an important role. Besides, she’s Emily’s understudy, so she’ll have an opportunity to learn the dances. And Christopher is the Prince.” Olivia had reluctantly cast him when no one else showed up to audition.

  “We’ll just see about that! As if my Chloe would be an understudy,” she spat the word as if it tasted of bile. “I promise you, you’ll regret this decision.” Lily turned on her heel and stormed out, leaving a cloud of expensive perfume behind her.

  A few patrons shook their heads at her retreating back then returned their attention to their phones, laptops, or books.

  Olivia lifted her gaze to the ceiling. She had no idea what Lily thought she could do to change her mind.

  “Wow. Bitch, much?” she muttered to herself. Guess she’d just made her first enemy back in Northridge, Olivia thought, as she continued her costume search. She tapped a finger to her lips, glancing at the costume catalog her mother had then scanning the costume website. With Emily’s delicate beauty, Olivia was leaning toward the classic tutu.

  And speaking of enemies, Kristen sauntered over to the table, a coffee cup in her hand.

  “French press, black,” she said, as she pulled up the seat across from Olivia and slid the coffee in front of her.

  “I didn’t order that.”

  Kristen lifted a lazy shoulder. “On the house.”

  “Why?”

  “Anyone who pisses off the Ice Queen is okay in my book.”

  “Ice Queen, huh?” Lifting the coffee to her lips, Olivia said, “I didn’t do it on purpose.”

  “All the better.” Kristen snorted. “The woman thinks she runs this town. She even tried to block the town council from issuing my business license.”

  Aghast, Olivia sat back in her chair. “Why would she do that?”

  “She had it in her head that I was after her husband.”

  “Were you?” Olivia lifted a brow in challenge.

  Kristen barked out a laugh. “I guess I deserve that. But no, I wasn’t after Dan Larson. Although what he sees in her I’ll never know.”

  “Right?”

  Kristen adjusted the napkin dispenser. “I’m on the economic development committee. The mayor often attends the meetings. She thought we were spending too much time together. As if you could carry on a secret affair surrounded by ten of the town’s most prominent businesspeople. Woman’s got more issues than National Geographic.”

  Olivia snorted as she set the cup on the table. “She definitely considers herself a woman of privilege.”

  “Hashtag truth. So, you’re going to stick aroun
d, then?”

  “At least until after the recital.”

  “Well, you’ve certainly made a splash.” She rose and nodded in the direction of the now-departed Lily.

  “I guess I have.” Though not the splash she’d intended.

  Zach entered the dim interior of the Beans ’n Books in search of Olivia. Spotting her a few tables back, a laptop open in front of her, a notepad, catalog, and cup of coffee at her elbow, he adjusted his duty belt and approached.

  Since she’d decided to stay through the recital, they’d be running into each other regularly in the small town. He’d better get used to seeing her in all the places he frequented.

  Pulling out the chair across from her, he dropped into it. “Heard you and Lily got into a little tiff.”

  Olivia glanced up at him. “Word travels fast.”

  “Small town, remember? And, she is the mayor’s wife.”

  “So I’ve heard. Are you here to arrest me?”

  He chuckled. “No law against having a difference of opinion.” Although an image of Olivia cuffed to his headboard while he dragged his mouth down her naked body, her cries of pleasure filling his bedroom, blazoned across his brain.

  With her hair up in that messy bun women favored, a soft slouchy sweater falling off one shoulder, she’d look . . . beautiful. And damn sexy. “She is a woman used to getting her way.”

  “Life’s full of disappointments,” Olivia muttered, as she concentrated on the open laptop.

  “Just be careful, Olivia. She wields a lot of power and influence in this town.”

  She finally glanced up, her brow puckered. “Is that a warning?”

  “It’s friendly advice. You’ve been away a long time. The players have changed. And she’s definitely a player.”

  “Who doesn’t get a say in who I cast for a dance recital.”

  “Agreed. Just watch your back.” Zach rose, nodded at Kristen, and walked out.

  Apparently, Olivia’s return had disrupted more things than his peace of mind. She was stirring things up. In town, and in him.

  Tired, and a little brain-fried, Olivia looked forward to a big salad, a hot bath, and the new romance novel waiting on her iPad.

  First stop, the kitchen, where she found Jennie tending a boiling pot of pasta. Olivia inhaled the aroma of something rich and tomatoey, and her stomach voiced its displeasure at its current state of emptiness.

  “Evening,” Jennie murmured.

  They had yet to find their footing with one another, and this living arrangement had proved a bit of a challenge. Like living in a house with a polite stranger.

  Olivia returned the greeting then opened the refrigerator and began pulling out the makings for a salad: mixed greens, tomatoes, celery, carrots, a hard-boiled egg, grated cheese, cranberries, and maybe some chopped apple.

  “Heard you had a run-in with Maleficent.”

  Olivia smiled at the nickname then muttered, “Good grief. I forget how small this town really is. Yeah.” She took out a cutting board and began slicing the tomato. She tossed it into the bowl with the greens. “She’s not happy that Chloe didn’t make the cut for the part of Cinderella.”

  Jennie shrugged, giving the pasta a stir. “She’s a bitch.”

  Olivia barked out a surprised laugh, shocked by the statement from the usually reticent Jennie. “Amen to that.”

  They worked in silence a few beats, Olivia chopping the celery and carrots, Jennie stirring a spaghetti sauce that smelled like heaven.

  “That woman thinks too much of herself.” Opening the fridge, she pulled out a block of parmesan and began grating it over a small bowl. “And what Dan Larson sees in her, I’ll never know.”

  “Right? I’ve wondered the same thing myself.” Scraping the chopped veggies from the cutting board into the bowl, Olivia eyed the salad critically, wondering if it needed anything else and patiently ignoring the tantalizing scents of Italian spices, tangy parmesan, and comforting pasta.

  Jennie dumped the pasta into a colander over the sink, shaking out the excess water, then poured it into a pasta bowl. “I’ve made too much. Used to cooking for two, I guess.”

  Olivia heard the catch in her throat and turned to see Jennie staring at the bowl of pasta, as if she could conjure her mother from the steam that rose from it.

  She cast another glance at the salad and gnawed her lip. Why not? “I’d be happy to share my salad, if you want to divvy up the pasta.”

  In typical fashion, Jennie simply nodded.

  Just as Olivia released a sigh of frustration, Jennie spoke, her voice soft, “I’d like that.”

  “Damn.” Spring break couldn’t end soon enough, and it had only just begun.

  Zach scrolled through the photos on his office computer of the recent vandalism—a photo of the local Gas ’n Go with spray-painted letters that read “DICK,” another photo spray-painted with a giant penis on the pizzeria windows, and the last, a photo of the dry cleaners painted with the words “YOU SUCK.”

  The punks better have more sense than to vandalize Tyler’s or Kristen’s buildings. Neither would hesitate to take matters into their own hands, and it wouldn’t be pretty.

  Over the weekend, someone had used a couple of mailboxes for batting practice, and a rock had been thrown through the window of an abandoned church on the outskirts of town. Probably just some punks with nothing better to do with their free time. He wasn’t excusing the behavior by any means, but kids with too much time on their hands often got into trouble.

  With a population of only six thousand, Northridge tended to stay on the quiet side. Speeding tickets, unheeded stop signs, the occasional accident. Sometimes a Fourth of July or New Year’s Eve party got out of hand. And yes, even minor vandalism, but this streak was troubling.

  He’d have to set up more patrols this week in the hours after midnight, when most kids were out past curfew and up to no good.

  “Chief?” Officer Dillon walked into his office.

  “Yeah?”

  “Thought you’d want to know—just got a call from En Pointe—someone spray-painted the word ‘bitch’ across the front entrance.”

  “Son of a—” He picked up his weapon and returned it to its holster. “I’ll take it.” He didn’t have anything else to do at the moment.

  Or maybe he was just looking for an excuse to see Olivia.

  A few minutes later, he pulled his police SUV into the parking lot. Sure enough, neon-pink spray paint marred the red-brick building and the glass front doors. Now the punks have taken their artwork outside Downtown Northridge.

  The choice of bright pink may have been their first mistake. All the other graffiti had been in black. Pinning down the sales of neon-pink spray paint shouldn’t be too difficult in a town the size of Northridge. He frowned. That is, unless it was ordered online.

  Olivia paced back and forth outside, smartphone to her ear, waving her arms. He knew that body language. She was good and pissed. Justifiably so.

  Climbing out of the vehicle, he grabbed his phone to take photos of the damage.

  Olivia turned at his approach.

  “Zach is here. I’ll call you back.” Ending the call, she shoved her phone into the back pocket of her butt-hugging jeans and threw her arms up. “What the hell?”

  “Yeah. It started in town over spring break. Apparently, they’re looking to expand their canvas.” He stared down into her chocolate-brown eyes, now alight with her anger. “It’s frustrating, but nothing that can’t be cleaned up with a sandblaster for the brick and some elbow grease for the doors.”

  “As if I don’t have enough on my plate,” she muttered.

  “Anything else amiss?”

  “Not that I’ve seen.” A cold drizzle had started to fall, dampening her hair, and making her shiver.

  “Good. Let me get some photos. Why don’t you go on inside, and I’ll be up shortly.”

  Expecting her to argue, she surprised him when she wrapped her arms around herself and marched off into
the building.

  A few minutes later, he climbed the familiar stairs to the second floor. He’d spent far too much time in this studio for someone who didn’t dance. Even as a horny seventeen-year-old, he’d been captivated by Olivia’s body—not just sexually but artistically. Her movements had mesmerized him. He’d had no idea the human body could be so expressive, or so impressive. He remembered the time she taught him a couple of the less-risky lifts. Any excuse to get his hands on her, he thought with a chuckle.

  When he entered the studio, Olivia stood in the middle of the dance floor wearing the familiar black leotard and pink tights, her feet encased in soft pink leather ballet shoes, and she’d pulled her damp hair up into its customary bun. She slid her pointed toe in circles along the floor, her hands mimicking the move, as she concentrated.

  The low-backed leotard, visible in the mirror behind her, displayed miles of bare skin, along with toned arms and a muscular back. He felt the familiar tightening of lust. Damn, but she still had the power to make him want her.

  Music poured from the sound system, something slow and waltz-like. As the notes came to a joyous end, she spotted him.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” he said, as he approached.

  She stood, hands on narrow, but highly flexible, hips. “So, what’s next?”

  “I’ll write up a report. Call your insurance company. But, depending on your deductible, it may not be worth it to file a claim.”

  She walked over to the turntable and switched it off.

  “In fact, Tyler and I could take care of the cleanup for you.”

  “Tyler?” She turned to face him. “I thought he was in New York.”

  “Came back two years ago. He owns Firehouse Brews and The Firehouse Taproom in town.” At her nod, he continued, “Anyway, we can get the paint off for you, if it can wait until the weekend.”

  She shook her head. “You don’t have—”

  “I know I don’t have to. I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t want to.”

  Relenting, she said, “Fine. And thank you.”

  “Not a problem.” Spying some paint cans and brushes against the far wall, he pointed at them. “For the scenery?”