There was definitely an improvement this time. Even Tiffany lost her arrogant attitude and concentrated on her steps.
Suzie especially had learned from what she saw. The girl was a sponge; she seemed to absorb what was around her by instinct. She lifted her torso higher, held her arms farther from her body and appeared lighter on her feet.
Finally the class was over and the girls dismissed, with reminders to bring their tutus with them to the next class. Kerry wanted to be sure there weren't any unsightly sags or dusty old costumes that would detract from the performance.
She leaned against the piano after the classroom emptied. "Were we ever that young?" she asked Bella.
"You were," said the pianist. "I'm not sure about me."
They chuckled together. Then, reluctantly, Kerry paced into the hallway to confront the next set of problems.
It awaited in the lobby, where Myron, Tom and two of the other senior boys were trying to assemble latticework panels into a gazebo.
"Whoever designed this thing must think we have fifteen fingers on each hand," Myron grumbled.
Tom shook his head. "Some of the hardware has to be missing. That's the trouble with ordering stuff on the Internet."
"We've got a few days yet," Kerry said.
Myron peered at her balefully. "It isn't as if this is the only thing we've got to do. I'm not sure this photography stuff is such a good idea, anyway."
It had been Kerry's inspiration to arrange with a local photographer to come down next Saturday for the fair. Leaps and Bounds would provide ballet costumes from a collection amassed during previous years, and visitors could pose—or, more likely, pose their children—in front of an ivy-draped gazebo for keepsake pictures.
The photographer would pay a commission on each order. Even some of the school's own students were likely to take advantage of the opportunity. Right now, however, the gazebo looked more like a shack.
"Anybody got some glue?" Kerry asked. All three men glared at her. She shrugged. "Just a suggestion."
"Typical," muttered one of the boys. "And I gave up my Saturday for this?"
Debating whether to reprimand him for rudeness, Kerry was distracted by the jingle of the front door opening. And then by the sight of Chris Layne's muscular body walking into the lobby.
He wore jeans and a plaid shirt. They emphasized the masculinity of his well-muscled, long-limbed body in a way no business suit could.
It was the first time Kerry had seen him since the ballet performance the week before, and she felt suddenly shy. As always when she wasn't sure what to say, she chose something practical. "I'm afraid Melanie isn't done yet."
"Oh, I didn't come here just for her," Chris said softly.
Tom, indifferent to the way Chris was regarding Kerry, called over, "Hey! We could use a hand here."
"Having problems?" Pulling his attention away, Chris studied the mess of latticework littering the lobby. "I'd be glad to help."
"You'd have to be either a carpenter or a magician," Myron said, straightening to shake Chris's hand. "But thanks for the offer."
"Not so fast," Tom advised. “The guy may know something."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence." Chris reached down to pick up the assembly instructions, then turned them this way and that. "Who wrote this thing, Genghis Khan?"
"I think it was manufactured in an insane asylum," Myron conceded.
"There seem to be some screws missing," Tom added.
Chris squatted and began inspecting the parts. Reluctantly, Kerry retreated, taking Tom with her to rehearse his duet with Melanie.
She wished she could stay. Something about Chris's presence soothed her, as if everything became more manageable with him around. Not that she needed a man to put her life in order, but with the pressure of the Ballet Fair ahead, she'd take all the help she could get.
Melanie blinked against the bright lights framing the makeup mirror as she tried to smooth on eye shadow the way Leila had showed her. She'd put some on this morning, but it had caked into creases during the earlier class with Myron.
She was being silly, really. It wasn't as if anyone was going to watch her rehearsing, and she certainly didn't need to impress Tom. It had become clear years ago that the two of them were friendly colleagues and that neither wanted more.
On the other hand, you never knew who might drop by the studio on a Saturday.
The little girls from the beginners' class had all left except Suzie. The dark-haired child angled in the doorway, alternately peering through the curtain into the hall as if waiting for someone and then sneaking awed glances back at Melanie.
"You looking forward to the fair?" Melanie asked.
The girl started as if a statue had spoken to her. "Oh—yes, but—I mean, nobody's going to be much interested in us beginners. Not with you and Tom around. You're so wonderful."
The compliment felt unexpectedly good. There weren't many performances in Melanie's schedule, mostly just hard, hard work, with little external reward. "That's sweet, but I think you little guys are cute."
Suzie traced one toe along a crack in the linoleum. "Tiffany says she's got a tutu with spangles on it."
"It's not that hard to sew spangles on a costume." Melanie had constructed quite a few of her own garments over the years.
"Yes, but hers is from some store in Beverly Hills." The younger girl sighed. "My mom's not much good at sewing. I guess she's too tired in the evening."
"I could help you." Mentally, Melanie ran through her week's schedule of classes and baby-sitting. "You'll be here Friday for the run-through, right? I'll pick up some stuff at a sewing store and maybe we can spend an hour afterward stitching it on. Okay?"
"Wow, really?" Suzie's eyes got so big they seemed to glow. "Thanks!"
"Hello in there?" The masculine voice from the hallway had a young, uncertain edge. "Suzie?"
"Jamie!" The girl threw open the dressing room curtain. "Guess what! Melanie's going to help me fix up my costume Friday night. Isn't that cool?"
"Yeah." Dark eyes studied Melanie, and she was glad she'd fluffed her hair and tied it with a ribbon. If only her tights didn't sport a flamboyant run just above the ballet slippers.
"Oh, it's no big deal." She tried not to stare at him. Jamie must be a few years younger than Tom but he seemed more sophisticated. There was something tough about the way he carried himself and yet his eyes had a wary, vulnerable look.
"Maybe I could help, too." To Suzie's giggle, he quickly added, "I don't mean sewing, but I could bring you guys Cokes while you're working."
"You aren't going out with your buddies Friday night?" Suzie asked.
"They're kind of boring." Jamie met Melanie's gaze. "You know. Sometimes the kids you hang out with, they fool around too much. Not your friends, I guess."
"My friends are all dancers," Melanie agreed, although she didn't really have any close friendships. Not since last year, when her best pal, Elaine, had moved with her family to Seattle.
"Anybody home?" Tom's head appeared behind Jamie's. "Kerry's waiting, Mel. Get a move on."
"Okay, okay." Gliding forward with a composure that belied the thumping of her heart, Melanie stepped past Jamie into the hall. "See you guys Friday, then."
She wondered if this qualified as a date. While she didn't suppose so, it wasn't as if she had a vast amount of experience to judge by.
Every time she watched Tom and Melanie dance together, Kerry marveled at the quirks of nature. Here were two gorgeous, supremely talented young people, thrown together by circumstances again and again, raising sparks on stage that could ignite the building. And yet the moment they stopped dancing, they settled back into what might best be termed a brother-sister relationship.
No chemistry. She thought about Suzie's brother and the way he'd looked at Melanie that day in the studio. Not to mention how Melanie had responded. Definitely chemistry there, but why? As far as Kerry could see, the two had nothing in common.
Just like
her and Chris. On the outside, anyway. She couldn't imagine any two lives more different than theirs. Ballet, which formed almost her whole world, was an exotic mystery to him, whereas she had only the vaguest idea of what real-life cops did.
Yet seeing him today had set her blood racing, an experience she hadn't had in years. Even now, focusing on the little nuances of Tom and Melanie's performance, she found her thoughts wandering to the lobby. To Chris.
He'd said that he hadn't come here today just for Melanie. She hoped he meant that.
She snapped back to the present as Tom and Melanie flung themselves into the final moments of the dance, a series of dramatic lifts and turns that were even harder than they looked. Tom handled his part with assurance and power, giving Melanie the appearance of floating.
How delicate she was. Ethereal, even. Funny what an illusion talent could create, even in a ratty old leotard and tights with a run in them.
"Wonderful." Kerry clapped lightly as the music ended, then switched off the CD player. They'd decided to use a recorded version of the Gershwin piece rather than live piano accompaniment for the performance. "We'll give it a run-through Tuesday and Friday."
"Are you sure that's enough?" Melanie, ever the perfectionist, brushed a strand of damp hair off her forehead.
"I don't want to over rehearse," Kerry said. "Anything you might gain technically, you'd lose emotionally."
"That felt really good." Tom nodded. "Miss Guthrie, could I talk to you for a minute?"
"Sure." She watched Melanie run lightly from the room. "Nothing's wrong, is there?"
"No." He shifted from one foot to the other. "You know, I'll be graduating from high school next spring."
"I know." Kerry waited. They'd already discussed, the previous year, the possibility of his going to New York, but at that point Tom's parents had nixed the idea.
"Well—" It wasn't like him to be this hesitant. "I've got this friend in L.A. He's a dancer, too. Anyway, he finds out about auditions for all sorts of things. TV and musicals."
"There'll be plenty of time after you graduate," Kerry said. "I don't see how you could go to school, take classes and—"
"I didn't think so." Tom smiled ruefully. "It just seems like such a terrific opportunity. I thought maybe you could speak to my parents."
"They're not going to stop casting TV shows and musicals anytime soon. They'll still be there a year from now." Kerry kept her tone light. She didn't want Tom to exhaust himself and dissipate his talent running all over Los Angeles, and possibly risk failing in school, as well. "What's the big hurry?"
"My folks have been pressing me to apply to colleges," Tom said. "It seems like a waste of time."
From a dancer's perspective, Kerry had to agree. A career in ballet was very short; college could come later. Although she supposed that if she were a parent, she might see things differently.
"I'll tell you what," she said. "You keep your eyes open for a really terrific opportunity—a chance to join a major dance company or a big role that could open doors for you. Especially if it can wait until next summer. Then I'll be glad to back you up with your parents. But get those applications in anyway, just to be on the safe side."
"Thanks." He nodded thoughtfully. "I like the way you put things in perspective. Thanks, Miss Guthrie."
He bounded away, his spirits obviously undaunted. Kerry had a feeling he'd float to the top, no matter when he began his career.
The sound of hammering drew her out into the hallway. It sounded as if progress were being made on the gazebo.
Sure enough, she found when she entered the lobby that the structure was almost in place.
"This man's a wizard," Myron told her.
"Yeah," added one of the teenagers. "He thought to dig around in the box to make sure we hadn't overlooked any pieces. Turned out we had."
"Sheer genius." Chris paused in his hammering to grin wickedly at Kerry. "Hey, think you guys can take it from here?"
"We'll manage." Myron accepted the hammer with a nod of gratitude. "May the bird of paradise lay eggs in your nest."
"I think it already has." With a broad wink, Chris escorted Kerry into the corridor. "How about joining Mel and me for lunch?"
"As long as it's salad," she said.
They stopped outside her office, Chris standing so close she could feel the murmur of his breath. "You still watch what you eat as if you were going onstage next week, don't you?"
Did she? Kerry had never questioned her old habits. "Lots of women watch their weight."
"I'm sorry. It's none of my business." He ducked his head but didn't move away, his body forming a question mark around hers.
"Okay, you're right," she admitted. "I try to stay in condition. Even so, I'm rusty. I don't work out enough because it hurts."
"I wish I could help." He shook his head. "For once in my life, I wish I were a surgeon instead of a cop."
"Then you'd be even more frustrated, because you still couldn't help." Kerry kept her tone matter-of-fact. "Listen, it was nice of you to come down here today and give Myron a hand."
He touched a stray lock of her hair so lightly it felt as if a breeze had blown by. "I could say I've been neglecting my fatherly duties and wanted to spend more time around Melanie, which isn't entirely untrue."
"But?"
"Are we fishing for compliments?"
"Needing reassurance, maybe," Kerry admitted.
"You?" A frown creased his forehead. "The way you move, it's as if you own everything in sight."
"I do?"
"I suppose it's typical of ballerinas. Beautiful ones." His breath felt warm against her cheek. "Now, about lunch..."
A piercing beep sounded from his shirt pocket.
"Damn." Chris took out his cell phone. "Hang on.” He stepped out of earshot.
A few minutes later, he returned, his expression grim. "There's been an incident. It's a nasty harassment case, a Middle Eastern family that someone's trying to intimidate. I need to check this out myself."
"No one's hurt, I hope?" Kerry swallowed her disappointment.
"No, but somebody took a shot at their dog on the front lawn. Whoever's doing this is packing a gun and I don't like it." There was a cold fury in Chris's eyes that made Kerry glad she wasn't the target of his anger. "They've got two little girls."
"I hope you catch who did it," she said.
His expression softened and he touched her shoulder. "Give my regrets to my daughter, will you? Sorry I can’t stay."
She watched him stride down the hallway and knew his thoughts were already flying ahead to the case. She supposed police work was as all-consuming in its way as dancing or conducting an orchestra, and even more important.
She hoped it didn't mean relationships had to be held at arm's length. For some reason, the idea bothered her a lot more with Chris than it ever had with George.
"There were four of them, I'm sure of that," the silver- haired lady told Chris.
She was standing on the sidewalk in a knot of neighbors, not seeming to mind the heat of the October sunshine. The faces around her displayed concern and outrage.
"Can you describe them?" Chris knew the patrolman had already gone over this territory, but sometimes witnesses recalled things later that slipped their minds initially.
"I'm not sure I would recognize any of them. I wasn't paying much attention until I heard the shot, and then they sped away," the woman said.
"Anything at all," Chris said. "Race, clothing, distinguishing characteristics. Gang colors, something like that."
"Gang colors?" asked a younger woman.
"All of them wearing red or blue, for instance," he said.
"I don't think so." The silver-haired lady shook her head. "They could be anybody who lives around here."
Chris made a note to have one of the detectives check the area high schools. Kids liked to brag about their exploits. If these jerks were local, it would make things easier.
He handed the onlookers his
business cards. "If any of you remember anything, even some minor detail, please give me a call. And keep your eyes open. They might be back."
A man glowered. "Those punks. I'd like to get my hands on them."
"Don't forget, they have a gun," Chris warned, although he'd already learned the caliber of the weapon was too small to have done much damage. Still, you could never tell what other weapons they might possess. "Don't play hero. Call us. That's what we're here for."
The chorus of thanks from the neighbors buoyed him on his way to the Ahmeds' house. He was glad he worked in a city that supported its police department. In so many areas, people resented authority figures, but not here.
A lot of his friends and family had wondered why he wanted a job like this, anyway. In fact, Tony, Leila's fiancé, was the only school friend he'd retained, but that might be due more to the drifts of time than to his occupation.
Inside the Ahmeds' house, a patrolman was inspecting the lap-size white dog under the solemn gaze of two little girls. "No bullet holes here," the policeman said. "Not even a scratch.”
"Are you sure?" The older child spoke without any accent. "She was sure scared."
"Well, I'd keep her inside for a few days," the officer said. "Play with her a lot."
"We will," the younger girl said earnestly.
Behind them, Mrs. Ahmed sat sipping tea with her husband, a distinguished man with graying temples. His neatly pressed slacks and collegiate cardigan testified that he'd been called away from campus duties. He stood up to shake hands.
"I'm afraid no one got a good description of the car," Chris told them. "Or the boys in it. All we know is it was a midsize vehicle, gray or blue, California plates. That doesn't tell us much."
"We are grateful for your concern," the professor said. "It was only a dog, after all, and not harmed."
His courtesy touched Chris more than any amount of fuming could have. "Yes, but this whole business is highly disturbing. These guys are turning ugly. Please, Mrs. Ahmed, don't let your children play in front. When you go out, check the street first, then get in your car while it's still inside the garage. And check again when you back out, all right?"
By Leaps and Bounds Page 6
