by Nora Roberts
"If anything up here has to be painted, this is where they do it." She glanced down and shook her head. "Not my kind of job."
A stream of four-letter words rose up from below. A drop descended silently. Then a spotlight began to play on it, widening, then narrowing, then holding steady. Maddy ran her hands back and forth over the rail.
"That's my spot in act one, scene three."
"If I didn't know better, I'd say you were nervous.''
"No, I'm not nervous. I'm terrified."
"Why?" He put a hand over hers. "You know what you can do."
"I know what I have done," she corrected. "I haven't done this yet. Tonight, when the curtain goes up, it's the first time. There's your father." Looking down, Maddy let out a long breath. "It looks like he's talking to the general manager of the theater. You should be down there with them."
"No, I should be here with you." He was just beginning to realize how true that was. He hadn't driven to Philadelphia in the middle of the night because he mistrusted her. He hadn't come with her that morning because he didn't have anything better to do. He'd done both because wherever she was, he belonged. She danced to the piper. And, perhaps, so did he. It scared the hell out of him.
Thirty feet above the stage, on a narrow iron platform, he experienced the fear of falling—but not fear of falling physically onto the floor below. "Let's go down." He wanted people around, strangers, noise, anything to distract him from what was blooming inside.
"All right. Oh. It's my family. Look." Nerves were gone, and the pleasure was so deep that she slipped an arm around Reed's waist without being aware that he stiffened. "There's Pop. See the skinny little man who's kibitzing with one of the carpenters? He could run any part of this show—lights, drops, props. He could direct it or choreograph it, but that's never been for him." She beamed down, all admiration and love. "Spotlight, that's for Pop."
"And for you?"
"I'm told I take after him the most. My mother's there. See the pretty woman with the little boy? That's my youngest nephew, Chris. He decided yesterday he wanted to be a lighting man because they get to ride up in the lift. And my sister Abby. Isn't she lovely?"
Reed looked down, focusing on a slender woman with wavy blond hair. There was an air of contentment around her, though she stood in the midst of chaos. She put her hand on the shoulder of another boy and pointed to the house.
"She's showing Ben where they'll be sitting tonight, I imagine. He's really more excited about going to New York tomorrow. Dylan has meetings with his publisher."
Reed watched Dylan reach down, then heft Chris on his shoulders. The little boy's squeals of delight bounced up to them.
"They're great kids." Because she heard the wistfulness in her own voice, she shook it away. She had enough, Maddy reminded herself. "Let's go say hello."
Back down onstage, she skirted around a row of colored lights bolted to the floor. Later that night they would shine for her. Hearing the signal, she took Reed's hand and drew him aside as the beaded curtain made its glittery descent.
"Pretty terrific, isn't it?"
Reed studied the thousands of beads. "It certainly makes a statement."
"We use this during my dream sequence, when I imagine I'm a ballet dancer instead of a stripper, and of course I pirouette right into Jonathan's arms. The nice thing about theater—and about dreams—is you can make anything you want happen."
As they walked around another drop, she heard her father's voice ring out.
"Valentine, I'll be damned." Frank O'Hurley, why and small, grabbed the huge, husky man in a rough embrace. "My girl told me you'd sprouted wings to back this play." Delighted, Frank drew back and grinned at him. "How many years has it been?"
"Too many." Edwin pumped Frank's hand enthusiastically. "Too damn many. You don't look any older."
"That's because your eyes are."
"And Molly." Edwin bent down to kiss her cheek. "Pretty as ever."
"There's not a thing wrong with your eyes, Edwin," she assured him, and kissed him again. "It's always good to see an old friend."
"I never forgot you. And I never stopped envying you your wife, Frank."
"In that case, I can't let you kiss her again. You might have a harder time remembering my Abby."
"One of the triplets." He took Abby's hand between his meaty ones. "Incredible. Which one—"
"The middle one," she answered easily.
"Maybe it was your diaper I changed."
With a laugh, Abby turned to Dylan. "My husband, Dylan Crosby. Mr. Valentine is obviously an old, intimate friend of the family."
"Crosby. I've read some of your work. Didn't you work with my son on one of your books?"
"Yes, I did." Dylan felt Ben's hand slip into his and linked fingers with him. "You were out of town at the time, so we never met."
"And grandchildren." Edwin sent another look at Frank and Molly before he hunkered down to the boys' level. "A fine pair. How do you do?" He offered his hand formally to each boy. "Here's something else I covet, Frank."
"I've got a soft spot for the little devils," Frank admitted, winking at them. "Abby's going to give us another one next winter."
"Congratulations." It was envy; he couldn't prevent it. But he felt pleasure, as well. "If you don't have plans, I'd like for you all to join me for dinner before the show."
"We're the O'Hurleys," Frank reminded him. "We never have plans that can't be changed. How's your boy, Edwin?"
"He's fine. As a matter of fact, he… Well, here he is now. With your daughter."
When Frank turned, a light went on in his head. He saw Maddy with her hand caught in that of a tall, lean man with sculpted features. And he saw the look in her eyes, warm, glowing and a little uncertain. His baby was in love. The quick twist in his heart was part pleasure, part pain. Both feelings softened when Molly's fingers linked with his.
Introductions were made again, and Frank kept his eyes sharply on Reed. If this was the man his baby had chosen, it was up to him to make sure she'd chosen well.
"So you're in charge of Valentine Records," Frank began. He didn't believe in subtle probing. "Doing a good job of it, are you?"
"I like to think so." The man before Reed was like a bantam rooster—small but scrappy. Frank's hairline was receding and his eyes were a stunning blue, and
Reed wondered why, when he looked at Frank O'Hurley, he saw Maddy. There was little or no resemblance on the surface. If it was there—and somehow it was—it came from inside. Perhaps that was why he felt himself so drawn to the man and why he worked so hard to keep his distance.
"A lot of responsibility, a record company," Frank went on. "Takes a clever hand at a wheel. A dependable one. Not married, are you, boy?"
Despite himself, Reed felt a smile tugging. "No, I'm not."
"Never have been?"
"Pop, did I show you how we changed the timing for the finale?" Taking his hand, Maddy dragged him into the wings at stage left. "What do you think you're doing?"
"About what?" He grinned and kissed both her cheeks. "God, what a face you've got. Still look like my little turnip."
"Flattery will get you a punch in the nose." She drew him back behind the stage manager's desk as a group of stagehands wheeled out a crate. "You stop pumping Reed that way, Pop. It's so… so obvious."
"What's obvious is that you're my baby girl and I have a right to look after you—when I'm around to do it."
With her arms folded, she tilted her head. "Pop, did you do a good job of raising me?"
"I did the best job."
"Would you say I'm a sensible, responsible woman?"
"Damn right you are." Frank puffed out his chest. "I'd punch the first man who said different."
"Good." She kissed him hard. "Then butt out, O'Hurley." She gave his cheek two sharp pats, then walked out onstage again. "I know everyone has things to do this afternoon." She answered her mother's wink. "I'm going up to the rehearsal room to iron out a few kinks."
> She warmed up slowly, carefully, stretching her muscles one by one to insure against injury. There was only her. Only her and the wall of mirrors. She could bear the washing machine humming in the wardrobe room across the hall. In the little kitchen down the hall, someone opened and slammed the refrigerator door. Two people from Maintenance were taking a break just outside the door. Their conversation ebbed and flowed as Maddy bent to touch her chin to her knee. There was only her and the wall of mirrors.
It had been Macke's idea to put in the dream sequence, with its balletic overtones. When she'd mentioned that she hadn't been en pointe in six months, he'd simply suggested that she dig out her toe shoes and practice. She had. The extra pointe classes every week had added hours to her schedule. She could only hope they paid off.
She'd worked, she'd rehearsed, and the moves and music were lodged in her head. Still, if there was one number that gave her the jitters, it was this one.
She'd be alone onstage for the first four minutes. Alone, the lights a filmy blue, the curtain behind her glittering and shimmering. The music would come up… Maddy pushed the button on her tape recorder and set herself in front of the mirrors. Her arms would cross her body, her hands would rest lightly on her own shoulders. Slowly, very slowly, she would rise en pointe. And begin.
The bustle outside the door was blanked out. A series of dreamy pirouettes. She wasn't Mary now, but Mary's most private dream. Jete, arms extended. It had to look effortless, as if she floated. The bunching muscles, the strain, weren't allowed to show here. She was an illusion, a music-box dancer in tutu and tiara. Fluidity. She imagined her limbs were water, even as the strength rippled through them for a series of fouet turns. Her arms came over her head as she went to an arabesque. She would hold this for only a few seconds, until Jonathan came onstage to make the dream a pas de deux.
Maddy let her arms come down, then shook them to keep the muscles limber. That was as far as she could go without her partner. Moving to the recorder, she pressed the rewind button. She would do it again. "I've never seen you dance like that." Her concentration snapped as she glanced over and saw Reed in the doorway. "Not my usual style." She stopped the squawking tape. "I didn't know you were still around."
"You're a constant amazement," he murmured as be came into the room. "If I didn't know you, I would have looked in here and thought I'd walked in on a prima ballerina."
Though it pleased her, she laughed it away. "A few classic moves isn't Swan Lake."
"But you could do it if you wanted, couldn't you?" He took the towel she held and dabbed at her temples himself.
"I don't know. I'd probably be in the middle of Sleeping Beauty and feel an irresistible urge to do a tap routine."
"Ballet's loss is Broadway's gain."
"Keep talking," she said with a laugh. "I need it."
"Maddy, you've been in here nearly two hours. You're going to wear yourself out before curtain."
"Today I have enough energy to do the show three times."
"What about food?"
"Rumor has it the stagehands are fixing goulash. If I pick at some about four or five, I should be able to keep it down during the first act."
"I wanted to take you out."
"Oh, Reed, I couldn't, not before opening night. After." She reached out her hands for his. "We could have a late supper after."
"All right." He felt how cool her hands were even after her dancing. Too cool, too tense. He didn't know how to begin to soothe her. "Maddy, are you always like this before an opening?"
"Always."
"Even though you're confident that it's going to be a hit?"
"Just because I'm confident doesn't mean I don't have to work to make it a hit. And that makes me nervous. Nothing worthwhile happens easily."
"No." His eyes grew more intense on hers. "No, it doesn't."
But they weren't talking about opening nights or about the theater now. His fingers were tense when be spoke again. "You really believe that if you work at something hard enough, believe strongly enough, you can't miss?"
"Yes, I do."
"Us?"
She swallowed. "Yes, us."
"Even though the odds are against it?"
"It isn't a matter of odds, Reed. It's a matter of people."
He dropped her hands and moved away. Just as he had on the paint bridge, he'd felt that quick fear of falling. "I wish I could feel as optimistic as you. I wish I could believe in miracles."
She felt the hope that had ballooned inside her deflate. "So do I."
"Marriage is important to you." He could see her in the glass, small and standing very straight.
"Yes. The commitment. I was raised to respect that commitment, to understand that marriage wasn't an end but a beginning. Yes, it's important."
"It's a contract," he corrected, speaking almost to himself. "A legal one, and not particularly binding. We both know about contracts, Maddy. We can sign one."
She opened her mouth, then very slowly shut it again before she attempted to speak. "I beg your pardon?"
"I said we'll sign one. It's important to you, more important than I had realized. And it doesn't really matter to me. We can get blood tests, a license, and it's done."
"Blood tests." She let out a staggered breath and braced herself on the little table behind her. "A license. Well, that's certainly cutting out the romantic nonsense, isn't it?"
"It's only a formality." Something was moving uneasily in his stomach as he turned back to her. What he was doing was clear. He was closing his own cage door. Why he was doing it was another matter. "I'm not sure of the law, but if we have to we can drive into New York on Monday and take care of it. You can be back for the evening show Tuesday."
''We wouldn't want it to interfere with our schedules," she said quietly. She'd known he would hurt her, but she hadn't known he would quite simply break her heart. "I appreciate the offer, Reed, but I'll pass." She slammed down the button again and let the music come.
"What do you mean?" He took her arm before she could set into position.
"Just what I said. Excuse me, I have to rehearse."
Her voice had never been cold before. Never cold, never flat, as it was now. "You wanted marriage, and I agreed to it. What more do you want, Maddy?"
She jerked away to face him. "More, much more than you're willing to give. God, I'm afraid more than you're capable of giving. I don't want a piece of paper, damn you. I don't want you to do me any favors. Okay, Maddy wants to get married, and since I don't really care one way or the other, we'll sign on the dotted line and keep her happy. Well, you can go to hell."
"That's not what I meant." He would have taken her by the shoulders, but she backed away.
"I know what you meant. I know it too well. Marriage is just a contract, and contracts can be broken. Maybe you'd like to put an escape clause in this one so it can be neat and tidy when you're tired of it. No, thank you."
Had it sounded that cold, that… despicable? He was out of his mind. "Maddy, I didn't come up here knowing we'd get into all of this. It just happened."
"Too spontaneous for you?" This time there was sarcasm, another first. "Why don't you go punch up your lines, Reed?"
"What do you want, candlelight and me down on one knee? Aren't we beyond that?"
"I'm tired of telling you what I want" The fire went out of her eyes. They were cool again and, for the first time, aloof. "I have to be onstage in a few hours, and you've done enough for now to make that difficult for me.'' She pushed the recorder to take the tape back to the beginning again. "Leave me alone, Reed."
She picked up the count and began. She continued to dance when she was alone and the tears started to fall.
Chapter Twelve
Contents - Prev
As Reed came down into the corridor, he met his father.
"Maddy still upstairs?" Edwin clapped his arms around his son's shoulders. "Just finished talking with the general manager. Seems we're sold out for tonight's performance. In f
act, we're sold out through the week. I wanted to tell her."
"Give her a little while." Reed dug his fists into his pockets and struggled against a feeling of utter frustration. "She's working on a routine."
"I see." He thought he did. "Come in here for a minute." He gestured toward the stage manager's office. When they were inside, he shut the door behind them. "You used to tell me when you had problems."
"You get to a point where you'd better know how to solve them yourself."
"You've always been good at that, Reed. It doesn't mean you can't run them by me." He took out a cigar, lighted it and waited.
"I asked Maddy to marry me. No," he went on quickly before the pleasure could dawn in Edwin's eyes. "That's not quite true. I laid out the arrangements for a marriage to Maddy. She tossed them right back at me."
"Arrangements?"
"Yes, arrangements." Reed was defensive, and his voice was sharp and impatient. "We need blood tests, a license; we have to fit it into our schedules."
"It?" Edwin repeated with a slight inclination of his head. "You make it sound very cut-and dried, Reed. No orange blossoms?"
"She can have a truckload of orange blossoms if she wants them." The room was too small to allow him to storm around it. Instead, he stood where he was and strained against the enforced stillness.
"If she wants them." Understanding too well, Edwin nodded and lowered himself into the one chair. "Reed, if you put marriage on that sort of level with a woman like Maddy, you deserved to have it tossed back at you."
"Maybe I did. Maybe it's for the best. I don't know why I started the whole business."
"It might be because you love her."
"Love's a word that sells greeting cards."
"If I thought you believed that, I'd consider myself a complete failure."
"No." Outraged, Reed turned to him. "You've never failed at anything."
"That's not true. I failed at my marriage."
"Not you." The bitterness rose up, too huge to swallow.
"Yes, I did. You listen to me now. We never talked about this properly. You never wanted to, and I let it go because I felt you'd been hurt enough. I shouldn't have." Edwin looked at his cigar, then slowly crushed it out. "I married your mother knowing she didn't love me. I thought I could keep her bound to me because I could pull the strings to give her what she wanted. The more strings I pulled, the more she felt hemmed in.
When she finally broke free, it was as much my fault as hers."
"No."
"Yes," Edwin corrected. "Marriage is two people, Reed. It's not a business, it's not an arrangement. It's not one person wanting to keep the other indebted."
"I don't know what you're talking about," Reed said. "I don't see any reason to get into this now."
"You know there's a reason. She's upstairs right now."
Reed stopped even as he gripped the handle of the door. Slowly he let it go again and turned back. "You're right."
Edwin settled back. "Your mother didn't love me, and she didn't love you. I'm sorry for that, but you should know that love isn't something that comes just from giving birth or just from duty. It comes from the heart."
"She betrayed you."
"Yes. But she also gave you to me. I can't hate her, Reed, and it's time you stopped letting what she did run your life."
"I could be like her."
"Is that what this is about?" Edwin heaved himself up and took Reed by the
