Dance to the Piper

by Nora Roberts

  Chapter Ten

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  "We'd be better off walking." Maddy slowed and steered through yet another pothole before she tossed a grin at Wanda. "Where's your sense of adventure?"

  "I lost it a mile back in that ditch we went through."

  "It wasn't a ditch," Maddy corrected as she maneuvered her way through downtown Philadelphia traffic. "Why don't you look out the window and tell me when we pass something of great historical significance?"

  "I can't look out the window." Wanda folded her long legs into a more comfortable position. It wasn't easy, as Maddy had chosen to rent a nifty little compact with bucket seats that all but sat on the dash. "It makes me seasick when the buildings bounce up and down."

  "It's not the buildings, it's the car."

  "That, too." Wanda grabbed the doorhandle for support. "Why did you rent this heap, anyway?"

  "Because I never get to drive in New York. Is that Independence Hall?" When Maddy craned her neck around, Wanda gave her a none-too-gentle shove on the shoulder.

  "Honey, you watch the road if you want to get back to New York."

  Maddy bumped to a stop at a light. "I like driving," she said breezily.

  "Some people like jumping out of planes," Wanda muttered.

  "I'd have a car in New York if I thought I would ever have a chance to use it. How much time do we have?"

  "Fifteen fun-filled minutes." Wanda braced herself as Maddy shot forward again. "I know I should have asked this before I got in the car, but when's the last time you drove?"

  "Oh, I don't know. A year. Maybe two. I think we should try some of those little shops on South Street after rehearsal."

  "If we live to see it," Wanda mumbled, then pressed the invisible brake on her side as Maddy whipped around a sedan. "You know, Maddy, the man on the street probably would think you're about the happiest human being alive. Somebody who knows you a bit better might tell you that your smile's going to crack around the edges if you don't ease up."

  Maddy downshifted as the car jittered over yet another pothole. "That obvious?"

  "Obvious enough. What's going on with you and Mr. Wonderful?"

  Maddy let out a long, sighing breath. "One day at a time."

  "And you're the type who needs to have a good grip on next week."

  It was true, too true, but she shook her head. "He has a good reason for feeling the way he does."

  "But that doesn't change the way you feel."

  "I guess not. You know, Wanda, I never really used to believe it when people said life was complicated.

  Stop me if I get too personal," she began, and Wanda merely shrugged. "When you were married before, did you think it was forever?"

  Wanda pursed her lips. "I guess you could say I did and he didn't."

  "Well, would you… I mean, if you met someone you really cared about, would you get married?"

  "Again?" Instinctively Wanda started to laugh, then thought better of it. "If there was someone who made everything click, I might do it. But I'd think about it for longer. No, hell, I wouldn't, either. I'd dive in with both feet."

  "Why?"

  "Because there aren't any guarantees. If I thought I had a chance, I'd take it. Like the lottery. Weren't you suppose to turn there?"

  "Turn? Oh, damn." Muttering to herself, Maddy bumped her way around the block. "Now we'll be late."

  "Better that you get what's on your mind out of your system first, anyway."

  "I was just hoping he'd be here." Maddy turned again and got back on track. "I know he couldn't very well spend the whole week down here while we're in rehearsal, but we'd kind of planned that he would come today."

  "No-show?"

  "Something came up. He was vague about it, something about some problem with playlists and promoters or something."

  "We've all got a job to do, kid."

  "Yeah." With maneuvering even Wanda had to admire, Maddy squeezed into a minuscule parking space right across from the theater. "I guess I better think about my own. Two more full rehearsals and we're on."

  "Don't remind me." Wanda set a hand on her stomach. "Every time I think about it a 747 lands in my gut."

  "You're going to be great." Maddy stepped out of the car and slammed the door. At the end of the block, someone was selling cut flowers. She made a mental note to treat herself after rehearsal. "We're going to be great."

  "I'm going to hold you to that. The last play I was in closed after two performances. I gave serious thought to sticking my head in the oven. But it was electric."

  "Tell you what." Maddy paused by the stage door and grinned. "If we flop, you can use mine. I've got gas."

  "Thanks a lot."

  "That's what friends are for." Maddy pushed open the door, took one step inside, then let out a whoop. With some curiosity, Wanda watched her launch down the corridor and fling herself at a group of people.

  "You're here. You're all here."

  "And where else would we be?" Frank O'Hurley picked up his baby girl and swung her in a circle.

  "But all of you!" The minute her feet touched the floor, Maddy grabbed her mother and squeezed her ribs until they threatened to crack. "You look great, absolutely great."

  "So do you." Molly returned the hug. "And late for rehearsal, as usual."

  "Missed my turn driving here. Oh, Abby." She reached for her sister, hugged and held on. "I'm so glad you could come. I was afraid you wouldn't be able to get away from the farm."

  "It'll be there when we get back. How often does my sister have an opening night?" But concern clouded Abby's eyes. She knew her sister as well as she knew herself, and she didn't think the tension she felt from Maddy had anything to do with professional nerves.

  Still hugging Abby, Maddy grabbed for her brother-in-law's hand. "Dylan, thanks for bringing her."

  "I think it was the other way around." With a laugh, he kissed Maddy's cheek. "But you're welcome."

  "It's too bad," she began with a wink to Abby, "that you couldn't bring the boys."

  "We're right here."

  Deliberately Maddy looked in the opposite direction. "Did I hear something?"

  "We came, too."

  "We're going to New York."

  "I could have sworn I…" Maddy let her words trail off as she focused on her nephews. Carefully she kept her face blank for a moment, then widened her eyes. "You can't be Ben and Chris—can you? They're just little boys. You're both much too tall to be Ben and Chris."

  "We are too," Chris piped up. "We grew." Taking her time, Maddy studied both of them. "No fooling?"

  "Come on, Maddy." Though he tried not to look too pleased, Ben grinned and shuffled his feet. "You know it's us."

  "You're going to have to prove it to me. Give me a hug."

  She bent down to hold them both tight. "We rode on a plane," Chris began. "I got to sit by the window."

  "Miss O'Hurley, they want you in Wardrobe."

  "Shoot." Maddy released her nephews and straightened. "Look, where are you all staying? There's a whole list of hotels on the call board. I can—"

  "We're booked in your hotel," Molly told her. "Now go on, we'll have plenty of time."

  "Okay. Are you going to stay for rehearsal?"

  "Think they could stop us?" Frank asked.

  When she heard her name again, she started down the hall, walking backward to keep them in view just a moment longer. "As soon as I'm done, we're going to celebrate. I'm buying."

  Frank chuckled and draped an arm over his wife's shoulders. "Does she think we'd argue with that? Let's go get a front-row seat."

  "Mr. Selby to see you, sir." Hannah kept a cool, professional smile on her face as she ushered Selby into Reed's office.

  "Thank you, Hannah. Hold my calls." There would be no tray of coffee and sweet rolls today. Reed caught Hannah's look of disapproval before she shut the door. "Sit down, Selby."

  "I guess your old man's proud of you.'' Selby cast a look around the office before he settled hi
mself comfortably. "You've kept the label right up top. Heard you signed that little group from D.C. A risky move."

  Reed merely lifted a brow and held his gaze steady. He knew Galloway had offered the group a contract. Valentine had simply offered them a better one. "We don't mind a few risks."

  "Always a headache to get the stations to put new talent on their playlist. A record from an unknown's going to die without solid promotion." Selby took out a small, thin cigar, then fiddled with his lighter. "That's why I'm here. I thought it would be wise if we talked before the RIAA meeting this afternoon."

  Reed continued to sit back, waiting for Selby to light his cigar. He'd known as soon as Selby had requested an appointment that the other man was running scared. The Recording Industry Association of America didn't have closed meetings every day. Those involved were aware that the label heads would vote on whether the organization should investigate independent promoters. Some major record companies, Galloway included, still used the independents, though the shadow of scandal, payola and kickbacks lurked around the edges of their profession.

  "Look, Valentine," Selby began when Reed remained silent. "Neither of us started in this business yesterday. We know what the bottom line is. Airplay. Without airplay on the important stations, a record dies."

  He was sweating, Reed observed calmly. Beneath the trendy pastel suit and the sunlamp tan, nerves ran hot. Just what would a full investigation mean to Galloway? Reed speculated.

  "When you pay for airplay, Selby, you're riding a sick horse. Sooner or later it's going to fall down under you."

  Letting out a quick stream of smoke, Selby leaned forward. "We both know how the system works. If it means slipping a few hundred to a program director, who does it hurt?"

  "And if it means threatening that same program director if he doesn't play ball?"

  "That's nonsense." But there was a tiny bead of sweat on his temple.

  "If it is, an investigation will clear it up. In the meantime, Valentine Records will get its new releases played without independents."

  "Throwing the baby out with the bathwater," Selby snapped, then rose. "Top 40 stations report their playlist to the trades. If a new release doesn't hit the trades, it might as well not exist. That's the system."

  "Maybe the system needs a little reworking."

  "Just as narrow-minded and straight as your old man."

  A ghost of a smile touched Reed's lips. "Thank you."

  "It's easy for you, isn't it?" Bitter, Selby turned on Reed. "You sit here in your cozy little office, never getting your hands dirty. Your daddy did that for you."

  Reed checked his temper. "If you look," he said quietly, "you'll see my father's hands are clean. Valentine doesn't, and never has, run its business on payola, kickbacks or heavy-handed threats."

  "You're not so lily-white, Valentine."

  "Let's just say that in an hour Valentine Records will vote for a full investigation."

  "It'll never fly." Selby smirked as he crushed out his cigar, but his hands weren't steady. He'd come to Reed because Valentine had the reputation and power to sway the vote. Now he was choking. Selby loosened the careful knot of his tie. "Too many labels know where the bread's buttered. Even if you probe, I won't lose. Oh, a few heads will roll down the line, but mine won't. Ten years ago, Galloway was a hole-in-the-wall. Today it's one of the top names in the business. I made it because I played the game, I watched the angles. When the dust settles, Valentine, I'm still going to be on top."

  "I'm sure you will," Reed murmured as Selby stormed out of his office. Men like that never paid for their actions. They had plenty of fall guys and scapegoats littering their path. If Reed had wanted a personal vendetta, he could have initiated an investigation of his own. Already he had information on a disc jockey who'd been beaten, allegedly for not playing certain releases. There was the program director in New Jersey whose wife had been threatened. There was another who made frequent trips to Vegas, traveling first-class and gambling heavily. More heavily than his annual salary would permit. Part of the game. Not a game Reed cared to play.

  But it was unlikely Selby would pay for his actions. Did anyone?

  Rising, he checked the contents of his briefcase. It was true that he had come into a business that had already been well established. He hadn't had to hustle his way to a label. If he had, would he have scrambled for a shortcut? Because he didn't know, couldn't be sure, Reed decided to leave the investigation up to the RIAA. He'd let the dust settle. It would be a long, probably ugly meeting, Reed thought as he stepped out of his office.

  "I won't be back today, Hannah."

  "Good luck, Mr. Valentine. You had a few calls while you were talking to that man."

  His mouth twitched a little at her tone. "Anything important?"

  "No, nothing that can't wait. You did get a call from Miss O'Hurley." Hannah sent him an entirely-too-innocent smile and hoped for a reaction. The fact that he hesitated told Hannah everything she needed to know.

  "If she calls back, tell her…"

  "Yes, Mr. Valentine?"

  "Tell her I'll get back to her."

  Disappointment ruled for a moment. "Ah, Mr. Valentine?"

  "Yes?"

  She could see the impatience, but pressed just a little further. "I wondered if you were going to Philadelphia for the opening, or if perhaps you'd like me to send flowers."

  He thought of the meeting he had to deal with, of the work that couldn't be ignored. He thought of Maddy's face and the confusion that had been dogging him for days. Her feelings, his, his needs, hers. Were they really the same, or were they so totally opposed that they could never come together?

  "My father's going. If I don't, we'll be represented."

  "I see," Hannah said primly, and stacked papers on her desk.

  "I'll take care of the flowers myself."

  "See that you do," she muttered as he went out the glass doors.

  It had gone well. Maddy dropped crosswise on her bed and let the rehearsal play back in her head. She wouldn't jinx it by saying it was perfect, but she could think it. As long as she thought it very quietly.

  Tomorrow night. Tomorrow night at this time, she thought with a little skip of the pulse, she'd be in her dressing room. Twenty-four hours. She rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling. How in the hell was she going to get through the next twenty-four hours?

  He hadn't called back, Maddy shifted her head so that she could look at the phone again. They had only spoken to each other a handful of times since she'd left for Philadelphia, and every time they had she'd sensed he was trying to distance himself from her. Maybe he'd succeeded.

  A dancer was no stranger to pain. You felt it, acknowledged it, then went on and worked around it. Heartache might be a little more difficult to deal with than a pulled muscle, but she would go on. Survive. She'd always prided herself on being a survivor.

  Her family was here. Rousing herself from the bed, Maddy went to the closet. She would change, put on her happiest face and take her family out on the town. Not everyone was as lucky as she, Maddy reminded herself as she stripped out of her sweats. She had a family who loved her, who stood behind her, who thought she was just fine the way she was.

  She had a career that was on the rise. Even if she lost her grip on the brass ring, no one could take her dancing away from her. If she had to go back and play the clubs again, do regional theater, summer stock, she'd still be happy.

  Maddy O'Hurley didn't need a man to complete her life, because her life was complete. She didn't want a knight on a white charger to scoop her up and take her away from all this. She liked where she was, who she was.

  If Reed backed out of her life, she could—She leaned back against the closet door with a sigh. She could very possibly be the most miserable person alive. No, she didn't need him to save or protect her. She needed him to love her, and though she didn't think he could understand, she needed him to let her love him.

  When she heard the knock on
her door, Maddy shook herself out of what was dangerously close to depression. "Who is it?"

  "It's Abby."

  Leaving her robe untied, Maddy dashed to the door. Abby stood there, looking fresh and quietly lovely in a slim white dress. "Oh, you're all ready. I haven't even started."

  "I dressed early so I could come down and talk."

  "Before you say anything, I have to tell you how wonderful you look. Maybe it's Dylan, maybe it's the country air, but you've never looked better."

  "Maybe it's pregnancy."

  "What?"

  "I found out right before we left home." She took Maddy by the shoulders, looking as though she could take on the world. "I'm going to have another baby."

  "Oh, God. Oh, Abby, that's great. I'm going to cry."

  "Okay. Let's sit down while you do."

  Maddy searched fruitlessly in her robe pocket for tissue. "How does Dylan feel about it?"

  "Stunned." Abby laughed as they sat together on the bed. Her eyes were soft. The hint of rose under her skin enhanced the curve of her cheeks. She pushed her wavy blond hair behind her back before she took Maddy's hands. "We're going to make the announcement at dinner tonight."

  "And you're going to start taking better care of yourself. No more mucking out the stalls. I mean it, Abby," she continued before her sister could speak. "If I have to lecture Dylan, I will."

  "You don't have to. He'd like to wrap me up in tissue for the next seven months or so. We weren't made for that, Maddy, you know we weren't."

  "Maybe not, but you can ease off." She threw her arms around her sister and squeezed. "I'm so happy for you."

  "I know. Now I want you to talk to me." Firm, Abby straightened her back. "Chantel called me and said you were making yourself crazy over some man."

  "She would," Maddy muttered. "I'm not making myself crazy over anything. It's not my style." Abby supped off her shoes. "Who is he?"

  "His name's Reed Valentine."

  "Valentine Records?"

  "That's right. How do you know?"

  "I still keep up with the industry a little. And Dylan worked with him on a book some time ago."

  "Yes, Reed mentioned it."

  "And?"

  "And nothing. I met him, I fell in love with him, I made a fool of myself." She tried to keep her voice careless and light, and nearly succeeded. "Now I'm sitting here staring at the phone waiting for him to call. Like a teenager."

  "You never had much of a chance to be a teenager when you were sixteen."

  "I don't care much for it. He's a good man, Abby. Kind and gentle, though he'd never see that in himself. Can I tell you about him?"

  "You know you can."

  She started at the beginning and left nothing out It never occurred to her