Kerry chuckled. "That's how Myron feels when he goes to the supermarket."
It was Chris's turn to laugh. "That's not far off for me, either. I always throw things in the cart as fast as I can."
"Well, you made it through the lobby without getting caught," she reminded him.
"Yes, but now I have to sit here and act interested." Apparently realizing how his words might be taken, he added, "Not that I don't enjoy watching Mel dance. It's just—I mean, that's different. Will you forgive me if I fall asleep while some swan is fluttering out her dying gasp?"
Kerry tapped his arm with her program. "I didn't bring you to Swan Lake. Tonight's program is four short dances, each in a different style. I think you'll like it."
"Maybe." He didn't look convinced.
The lights dimmed halfway, and around them late arrivals scurried for their seats. Then the theater darkened, and Kerry joined the ripple of applause as the conductor made his way into the pit.
A knot of fear formed in her throat. It was ironic that Chris should be worried when she was the one who might—who might—what?
A swell of music cut off her thoughts, and the curtains opened.
Melanie leaned forward in the darkness, focusing on the swiftly moving figures below. She'd never seen such lyricism of movement, such extension and elevation. And more than that, the emotion emanating from the dancers. Each was concentrating totally; each had risen above his or her own body, her own frailty, his own individuality. In the dance, they spun a surpassing magic that caught the viewer in its web.
Would she ever be able to dance like that? Was such a thing possible?
Oddly, Melanie found herself distracted, aware of Suzie sitting in enthrallment to her right and Tom nodding to himself on her left.
It was funny, the way Tom had reacted when he saw her tonight. Not with some joking whoop, as she'd expected, but with a moment of startled admiration. The usually unflappable Tom had actually been impressed.
So had Jamie Ezell.
No one else, she was fairly sure, had noticed the intensity with which he stared as he dropped off his sister at the studio. He had looked at her as if Melanie were something precious, someone very special.
Why should someone like Jamie, who obviously knew his way around and probably had lots of girls texting him, be interested in a late bloomer like her?
To her dismay, she realized the music had shifted tempo and new dancers were whirling on the stage. She'd missed part of the ballet; what on earth was wrong with her?
Frowning, Melanie returned her full attention to the performance.
Halfway through the second dance, Kerry uncoiled her hands and found they hurt where the nails had dug little half-moons into them.
No wonder she was so uptight. Every plié, every arabesque and pas de chat reverberated through her muscles as if she were onstage with the dancers. Her legs and hips throbbed from tensing repeatedly.
She yearned to dance again. However badly her legs might ache, the pang in her heart was infinitely worse.
The dreams had never left, in spite of her efforts to thrust them aside: someday she would hear of a new medication or surgical technique that could strengthen the fragile joints, mend the frayed bones, put her body back together again. Or the pain would go away by itself, magically restoring her abilities.
But the years passed so quickly. Before long, even a miracle wouldn't be enough. Time never spun backward, not for anyone.
I'm only twenty-eight. Oh, please, let me have my chance before it's too late.
She could feel Chris glance at her, as if sensing her turmoil. Kerry forced herself not to look at him. This was something she couldn't share with anyone.
Thankfully, she realized he had returned his attention to the stage. At least he hadn't shown any signs of boredom tonight; if anything, he seemed intrigued.
Kerry stiffened as, below, two new dancers bounded from the wings, instantly eclipsing everyone else onstage.
The man she would have recognized anywhere: Alfonso. He was older now—he must be nearly forty—and not quite as agile as he had been, but his brilliant technique and stage presence masked any weaknesses.
It was the woman, though, who riveted her. Young, as slender as an arrow, spinning with incredible precision and boundless energy. The girl radiated beauty in the spotlight. She took Kerry's breath away.
She's the star I might have been.
A sharp pang of jealousy brought tears to Kerry's eyes. Not that this dancer wouldn't have existed, wouldn't have been just as much a star had Kerry still been with the company.
But I only had that one night to shine. Not the weeks and months and years that she'll have to perfect her art.
Her heart swollen inside her like a balloon about to burst, Kerry watched the ballerina skim the surface of the stage and float through the air in Alfonso's arms. In spite of herself, Kerry got caught up in the moment, transported by the loveliness of the dancing. This stranger who had stolen her spotlight was capable of bringing joy along with the sorrow.
The dancers vanished much too soon, and the lights came up for intermission.
"Are you all right?"
Chris's words brought Kerry to her senses. She fumbled in her purse for a tissue to wipe away the tears streaming down her cheeks.
"Y-yes." She managed to nod. "I just—"
"That was amazing." He seemed to accept that her emotional reaction was inspired solely by the performance. "I never thought I'd enjoy something like this."
Before she could respond, one of the girls called from the center of the row, "I need to go to the bathroom."
Kerry stood up. "Okay, guys," she said. "Bathroom brigade forming here."
It was Kerry the teacher who marched her charges up the crowded aisle, brushing away the last shreds of the brokenhearted girl who had occupied her body only moments before.
The dancers took round after round of bows. When the lights finally came up, Kerry sat stunned.
She'd almost forgotten how dazzling the ballet could be, how it lifted her out of herself. All these years she'd denied herself so much pleasure.
"Miss Guthrie?" asked one of the intermediate girls. "Aren't we going backstage?"
"Oh—yes." Only how did you get backstage? There was no obvious route, and Kerry couldn't see herself and her students climbing through the orchestra pit, even if they might manage it without breaking their necks. "Just a minute. I'll ask an usher."
As it turned out, they had to wade through the crowd all the way out of the pavilion and take the elevator back down to the restaurant level. Then they walked along the sidewalk a short distance to the discreetly marked stage entrance.
Inside, a small waiting area was bounded by locked glass doors and a security guard. After so many years in laid-back Brea, Kerry had forgotten how cautious people had to be in the city.
"Excuse me." She wasn't sure whether she hoped Alfonso had left her name there or whether she hoped he'd forgotten. Obviously they weren't going to get in solely on the honesty of their faces. "My name is Kerry Guthrie. Did—"
The guard checked his list quickly. "Oh, yes." He signed them all in, clicked open the glass doors and gave her directions to the elevator.
Upstairs, the dressing room corridors were jammed with dancers and admirers. Kerry was disappointed to recognize very few faces; in seven years, the corps de ballet had changed considerably. Older dancers had moved on—but where? Had they, too, found their dreams fading?
It made her feel ashamed of wallowing in self-pity. This was the reality of the dance world. Very few could succeed, and then only for a few years.
Kerry peered sideways at Chris, wondering if he was thinking the same thing. Instead, he was watching his daughter.
Melanie's face shone as she inhaled the scents of rosin and flowers and listened to the click of blocked toe shoes marking the dancers' footsteps. Around them, voices chattered excitedly and people brushed by.
Aware that her little grou
p was blocking the corridor, Kerry queried her way to Alfonso's dressing room. A tap at the door brought the familiar sound of his Brooklyn-accented voice. "Come in, whoever you are!"
She peered inside. The clutter of costumes and makeup framed Alfonso's familiar dark face. His hair was grayer now and his jawline less firm, but the smile as welcoming as ever.
"Kerry!" He leaped up to meet her, gathering her close. "I wasn't sure you'd come."
"I've been such a terrible coward," she admitted, clinging to him.
"You've survived. That's the main thing."
She stepped back, nearly colliding with Tom. "Oh—Alfonso. I'd like you to meet some of my students." As she made the introductions, Alfonso's professional gaze traveled from one youngster to the next. He shook hands with Chris and commented admiringly on the resemblance between father and daughter.
"So your life is quite full," he told Kerry when the last child had made her reverence. "I've always loved teaching, myself."
"It's more fulfilling than I would have expected." But she wasn't telling the full truth, and she had a feeling Alfonso knew it.
Diplomatically, he changed the subject. "Have you done any more with your choreography? You showed promise, as I recall." Kerry had created a couple of short dances for student programs.
"I've done some work in musical theater," she conceded. "And with my students."
"No ballet?" He watched her thoughtfully.
"No."
Behind them, the door opened and a woman in a richly embroidered kimono slipped into the room. The luxury of the garment paled, however, before the woman's large eyes and animated face.
"Am I interrupting?" she asked softly.
"Not at all. Larisa Keller, you've heard me speak of Kerry Guthrie."
As the two women shook hands, Kerry tried to mask her mixed emotions. Larisa was Alfonso's new partner, the brilliant dancer who had dominated the stage.
"You were wonderful tonight," Kerry said.
"Thank you. I wish I could have seen you dance. Alfonso tells me I'm not your match, not yet." Larisa's tactfulness helped calm Kerry's nerves. "And these are your students." The doelike eyes fell on Melanie. "A promising ballerina here?"
"I hope so." Melanie bit her lip. "I don't know if I could ever—the way you danced!"
"How old are you?" Larisa asked.
"Fifteen."
The woman smiled. "I'm twenty-three. Maybe someday we'll be rivals. And friends, too, I hope."
You couldn't help liking her; Kerry saw that her students were enchanted, especially Melanie. Even Chris nodded approval, although he didn't look entirely comfortable in his surroundings. Kerry hadn't paid much attention, but she realized now that Alfonso and Larisa were both wearing dressing gowns.
"We'll let you finish changing," she said. "Thanks for inviting us backstage, Alfonso."
"I may be out here again in a few months," he said. "I'll give you a call, Kerry."
"Please do." As they finished their farewells and edged out through the crowded hallway, she wondered why Alfonso would be coming back to Los Angeles. A TV performance, perhaps?
"I'm starved," Tom said as they crammed into the elevator. "Any chance of us getting a bite to eat?"
"Wasn't that a restaurant we passed coming in?" Chris asked. "I'll treat."
'Thanks, Dad." Melanie gave him a hug, but her thoughts were clearly still back with Larisa.
At this hour, they had no trouble getting a couple of tables at the restaurant. Most of the youngsters settled for soft drinks or ice cream, although Chris ordered stuffed mushrooms to share with Kerry at the table they wangled for themselves.
She knew that as a dancer she shouldn't eat too much, but the night's excitement had left her ravenous. As soon as the hors d'oeuvres arrived, she dug in.
"Well?" she asked when she came up for air.
"I never thought I'd enjoy an evening at the ballet," Chris admitted. "I'm not sure I understood it, but it's incredible that people can do those things—takes a lot of athleticism. And I actually felt their emotions."
"Then you understood it perfectly," Kerry said. "Ballet operates at many levels. Sometimes I think the connoisseurs and the critics miss half the fun because they hold themselves back."
"How about you?" he asked.
"How about me what?"
"You weren't holding back." He regarded her thoughtfully. "Only I'm not sure all those tears were because of what was going on onstage."
Darn, he had noticed. "I don't know how much Melanie told you."
"That a car crash ended your career." Chris set his glass down gently. "It still hurts, doesn't it?"
"Yes." The simple whispered word hung in the air between them.
"Do you dream of going back?"
"Always."
He made a quick check of the students, who were absorbed in their chatter. Kerry was grateful; she didn't have the emotional strength to be much of a chaperon tonight.
"How can you do it?" he asked. "Want a career for Melanie, when it's the thing you'd kill to have for yourself?"
"I love Melanie." Kerry had never put her feelings into words before, yet Chris made it easy. "I feel—invested in her. Part of her success would be mine, too."
His jaw worked as if he wanted to comment but apparently he thought the better of it. What had he been about to say? That maybe she was putting too many of her dreams onto Melanie's slim shoulders?
Instead, he said, "How do you live with the disappointment?"
"I try to ignore it." Kerry nibbled at another mushroom. "Do you know, it's been seven years since I've seen my old company perform. I kind of avoid the whole ballet world, outside my studio."
"Is there any chance?" he asked. "That you could dance again?"
Kerry closed her eyes for a minute, wanting to find the truth. The real truth. "Probably not," she said at last, meeting Chris's sympathetic gaze. "I have these fantasies but—I'm afraid that's all they are."
"You can't give them up yet," he said softly. "Because you haven't found anything to replace them."
His perceptiveness surprised her. "That's right," Kerry said. "I—yes."
"Hey," Tom called from the next table. "I hate to rush things, but some of these kids are falling asleep here."
"Oh." Kerry finished her soft drink quickly. "We'd better go."
Chris helped her to her feet, his hand cupping her elbow. The touch brought them close. Kerry wished she could lean against him and let his strength absorb some of her uncertainties.
But there were children to take care of, and then they had to drive back to Brea in their separate vehicles and deliver the students to their homes.
Still, through the night, Kerry's mind echoed with Chris's insights. And with something more—with the fact that he, alone of anyone she'd met these past seven years, had seen straight into her heart.
Chapter Four
Kerry rapped her stick sharply against the edge of the piano. Catching Bella's reproachful look, she knew she risked nudging the venerable instrument out of tune, but the girls were getting on her nerves today.
"Places!" she snapped.
Most of the students scurried to the barre, where Suzie already waited demurely in position. Tiffany was slow to follow, strutting a little to show she wasn't afraid of the teacher as she carefully selected a place as far from Suzie as possible.
Rhea, caught in the middle of a clownish pose that had been entertaining the other girls, lost her balance and stumbled, raising a cloud of giggles before she slunk to the barre. As bad as her unruliness, Kerry noted, was the telltale pudginess beginning to thicken the ten-year-old's waist.
"We will see the five positions," Kerry said. "To the music."
With varying degrees of enthusiasm, the girls complied, then turned and completed the positions on the opposite foot.
There was nothing approaching grace in Rhea's performance, although Kerry was well aware that the girl's love of the spotlight and knack for pantomime could be honed
into a genuine stage presence. She still hoped the child might bring herself into line by the end of the year.
More troubling was the way Tiffany kept tossing her head, alternately preening herself and casting annoyed looks at Suzie. Unlike the other girls, including several whose families were quite wealthy, Tiffany had been spoiled since infancy, and Kerry hated to see it already leading her astray.
Parents did their children no favors, she reflected, when they overindulged them. Instead of working harder, Tiffany wasted much of her energy resenting Suzie's dedication.
When the music stopped, Kerry tapped her stick against the palm of one hand.
"I want to see that again," she said. "More lyricism, more extension. Remember, there'll be a lot of people watching you at the Ballet Fair."
The school's annual October fund-raising event was scheduled for the following weekend, featuring performances, sales booths, photography sessions and information for prospective students. Even the beginners had their part to play in performing.
"Miss Guthrie—" Tiffany leaned against the barre insolently "—what's the point? I mean, I know we need to learn this stuff, but it doesn't look like anything. We're not really dancing."
Kerry didn't answer her directly. Instead, she signaled to the pianist. "Bella..."
With understanding born of years of experience, the woman began to play the same tinkling piece again.
Standing in the center of the studio, Kerry lifted her arms gracefully. In time with the music, she segued from first to second to third position, interposing some simple leaps to carry her from one foot to the other in style.
As simple as the movements appeared, they weren't easy the way Kerry did them, with arms properly extended and toes pointed, head carried high, even fingertips quivering with expression.
She stopped when the music did, feeling the pain begin to creep through her thighs and hips. Damn, even that little bit of exercise could wake her demons.
But it had been worth it. The girls stared at her open-mouthed.
"Wow," Rhea said.
"Now.” Kerry faced the class squarely "You try it."
By Leaps and Bounds Page 5
