"You planning to go out with my dad?"
Unexpectedly, he smiled. "Not hardly."
"Well, you're tough enough to stand up to him for two minutes at the door, aren't you?"
"Yeah." He stretched behind the wheel. "You want to go to Knott's Berry Farm? They've got a rock band tonight and I love roller coasters. How about you?"
Melanie had been to the amusement park with her father a number of times but never at night when it turned into a teen haven. "Sure."
"Let's go."
Chris must have fallen asleep in front of the TV, because the scrape of the door woke him up. Grumpily, he shifted, his back aching from the unfamiliar position.
On screen, a bunch of Hollywood cops were chasing fake robbers with a squeal of tires and a recklessness for bystanders that in real life would get them hauled up for disciplinary action.
Through the doorway, he heard whispers and the unmistakable sound of a kiss. It was a good thing he hadn't come fully awake yet or he might have sprung to his feet and sent Jamie packing.
Fifteen. Wasn't that a little young to be kissing on the first date?
Finally the door closed and Melanie came in.
"Have a good time?" he asked.
"Wonderful." Why did she have to bounce around? How could she have so much energy at—at—it was nearly one o'clock in the morning!
"Mind my asking where you went?"
She told him. "That parachute ride at night is really exciting. You can see for miles! And look." She handed him a DVD. “It’s the pictures.”
He’d left his laptop on, so he slipped the disc into its slot. As the slide show played out, Chris was grudgingly forced to concede the kid had talent. "You look terrific," he said. "I always wondered why nobody could capture you on film."
"We're going out again next week." Melanie sailed toward her bedroom, then paused. "And, Dad, he promises not to wear that stupid headband again. Maybe I'll get him one of the Leaps and Bounds sweatshirts, too. What do you think?"
"Great idea." He’d have offered to pay for it if he’d thought she would accept.
She was gone. Wearily, Chris wrenched himself out of the chair and turned off the TV.
He didn't know how many more of his daughter's dates he could survive.
Chapter Seven
On a Saturday afternoon in November, Kerry arrived at the Brea Theater Center at 2:30, half an hour before auditions were scheduled to begin for Romeo and Juliet. Already more than two dozen dancers sprawled across the lobby, filling out application forms. Some of them were warming up, as well.
All had come attired for dancing, most in leotards with a few in stretch tops and pants. Kerry herself wore a leotard and tights with a matching skirt, the same outfit she'd worn to conduct her classes earlier.
"We've had quite a few phone calls," the artistic director, Fawn Frye, told Kerry as she entered the auditorium. The stage lights reflected off the set for Private Lives, the theater's current production, but at least the furniture had been pushed out of the way to make room for the dancers.
"I was hoping we'd get a good turnout, and it sure looks like it." Kerry selected a seat halfway down the aisle. "How much acting do these people have to do?"
"Not much." Fawn, a thickset woman in her fifties with upswept silvering hair, sat beside Kerry. "As you know, we'll need four men and four women."
"You must be planning to pay them," Kerry said. "There's a lot of people here already."
"We do have a small budget for salaries, but it's not much more than pocket money." Even though the theater strove for professional standards, it operated on a shoestring.
"Frankly, several of the people who called said they want to work with you."
"With me?" Kerry's choreography for musical theater had drawn some critical praise, but she didn't suppose many people read reviews that closely.
"Your reputation as a teacher and a choreographer has apparently spread by word of mouth, and I’m sure a few Tweets as well," Fawn said. "You ought to take on more ambitious projects, Kerry. Not that I want to lose you, but you should aim higher."
Although the compliment felt good, it troubled her, too. "I like my life the way it is. Who needs the pressure?"
"I don't think that's it," Fawn said. "Forgive me, but sometimes I think—no, it's none of my business."
"What?"
"That you're scared of something. Of making such a big commitment. Maybe of failing."
A group of dancers trekked in, handing Kerry their applications along with résumés and composite photographs. She thanked each of them, grateful for an excuse to avoid replying to Fawn's remark.
She didn't think she was afraid of failing, not as a choreographer. But commitment—yes, that rang true. Committing herself to anything other than being a teacher meant giving up her dream of dancing once and for all. And she wasn't ready to do that.
Would she be ready when she turned thirty or thirty-five? Kerry wasn’t sure.
Still, the fact that people had come here specifically to work with her was tremendously flattering. In turn, she sympathized with these young people and regretted that she wouldn't be able to use all of them.
Dancers had a hard life, particularly gypsies like these, who weren't part of a regular company. They devoted long hours to their craft and more long hours to auditioning for jobs that brought minimal pay and little chance of wealth or fame. All the time they struggled with injuries and the need to juggle part-time jobs.
Although their dedication might not make a lot of sense to an outsider, Kerry understood. Needing to dance was like needing to fall in love. If people operated from a purely rational point of view, no one would ever do either.
She leaned back in her chair, scrutinizing the applications. Some of these people had impressive experience, such as major touring shows and TV work. Had they really been drawn by her reputation?
Excitement prickled across her skin. She liked being here, sitting with the director, wielding the power. Most of all she couldn't wait to begin working with her dancers. She'd spent much of her spare time these past few months listening to the music Fawn had sent and letting her imagination sparkle. Now she needed the dancers to inspire her further.
Not that she’d had much spare time during the past month. She and Chris had gone out several times, casual dates to the movies and events around town. He hadn't invited her to any more bowling matches, which bothered her a little, although she wasn't eager for another confrontation with Ken, either.
She wished Chris didn't seem so distracted, although she knew he had good reason. While matters had quieted with the Middle Eastern family, he'd been tied up with a string of liquor and convenience store robberies.
On top of that, Chris was clearly uneasy about Melanie's new social life. She and Jamie were together almost constantly, at the studio and outside it, as well.
Kerry smiled. Not that she didn't respect Chris's concern, but he seemed oddly cast in the role of anxious father. It was hard to picture him as a character from a sitcom, pacing the floor, fearing his daughter might elope in the middle of the night.
At least Melanie's dancing hadn't suffered. Jamie spent quite a bit of time at the studio, taking pictures and helping out with odd jobs. Although he rarely spoke to adults and hadn't lost his defiant air, Kerry was coming to like him.
With a start, she realized more dancers were handing her their applications and she hadn't even read halfway through her stack yet. Time to get down to business.
After poring through them, Kerry mounted the stage. Instantly, the theater quieted.
She gazed out at the dancers, perhaps forty in all. For eight roles. "Thanks for coming all the way to Brea." Most had driven for forty-five minutes to an hour; some longer. "I've been looking at your résumés and they're impressive. I wish I could use all of you, but we only need four men and four women."
A young man raised his hand.
"Yes?"
"Would it be possible to understudy?"
he asked. "Without pay?"
Surprised, she glanced at Fawn, who shrugged. "I don't see why not," Kerry said, "but there are only a dozen performances. The chances of your going on aren't very good."
"That's okay," he said.
Others began to mutter. “What about the rest of us?” “Why should he get first crack at it?”
“It was my idea!” he shot back.
"After I make the final cut, those of you who come close can let me know whether you'd be willing to understudy," she said. "Now, Fawn has updated the play to the 1920s. The Capulets and the Montagues are rival Mafia families, so we'll be doing dance steps of the period.
"We can't all fit onstage at one time, so I'm going to divide you into four groups. Count off from one to four, starting with the front row."
Within minutes, the first group had climbed onto the stage behind Kerry. When everyone was in position, she started the music and ran through a sequence of steps that incorporated movements of the Charleston. Once she'd finished, Kerry stepped back and signaled the dancers to begin. They ran through the steps with varying degrees of proficiency.
"You and you and you, stick around," she said. "Everybody else, thanks for coming."
She tried to ignore the disappointment on their faces, but she couldn't, not completely. This was something Kerry had never had to deal with; while her own career had been short, at least it had been successful.
Soon the second group was running through its paces, then the third and the fourth. At the end, she had chosen fifteen dancers, seven more than needed.
"Let's try something different," she said, and demonstrated another sequence. This time she looked not only for dancing ability but for the physical proportions and styles of the individuals and how they fit together.
One man was a terrific dancer, but at six foot three he towered over the others.
"I'm sorry I can't use you," she told him. "You're very good but you're too tall for the ensemble. However, if you don't mind, I'll keep your name in my files in case I need you for another show."
"Thanks." He met her gaze levelly. "I really would like to work with you."
"Great," Kerry said. "Thanks for joining us.”
Soon she had her eight dancers, plus a male and a female understudy. The whole audition had taken a little over an hour.
Fawn helped her double-check everyone's names, email addresses and phone numbers and hand out a rehearsal schedule. Although some directors and choreographers set their schedules at the last minute, Kerry felt that was unfair to the dancers, who were already balancing commitments to work and classes.
"Pleased?" Fawn asked as the dancers trooped out.
"Impressed," Kerry said. "What a talented bunch. But they do need refining. Did you notice all those superfluous arm gestures? And some of them seemed to be working from the outside in, instead of the other way around."
"That's why they want you to direct them," Fawn said. "So they can learn."
"I guess I wasn’t aware of how much I know." As she spoke, Kerry realized something startling. Not once during the auditions had she envied the dancers up there. Not once had she wished to change places with them.
Was that because none of them was a top-flight ballet dancer? Or was it because she enjoyed being the choreographer more than she'd suspected?
She stepped down from the stage before spotting a masculine figure at the back of the theater, leaning against the doorway. A surge of happiness ran through her.
"Chris!" Kerry hurried toward him. "What are you doing here?"
"I hope you don’t mind." He straightened. "I got tired of working six days a week and decided to take Saturday afternoon off. Melanie said you'd be here."
"Did you see much of the auditions?" In contrast to the dancers, he looked solid and self-assured.
"Quite a bit." Chris escorted her out, waiting while Kerry collected the résumés and notes into her portfolio. "That must be hard on the kids' egos."
"It's awful," she agreed as they exited the theater onto a busy shopping street. "Actors and dancers are very vulnerable, and then we put them through this torture. But I can't think of any way to avoid it."
"Will Melanie have to go through this?" he asked.
"Yes and no," she said. "She won't be auditioning for individual shows but for a school. Once she's admitted, the director of the company can observe her in class. She won't be put through cattle calls like this."
"How would you feel," he said, "about helping me shop for furniture?"
The sudden switch of subject confused Kerry. "Furniture?"
"I need some." They’d reached a parking garage, where he unlocked his car. "And my taste is rotten. Normally I'd ask Melanie to help but she didn't come back after class. I presume she's out with what's-his-name."
Kerry made herself comfortable in the front seat. Although Chris's sedan had accumulated its share of years and scratches, the seats weren't splitting like the ones in her station wagon.
"You don't call him what's-his-name in front of Melanie, I hope," she said as Chris took the wheel.
He flushed guiltily. "Once or twice. Not too diplomatic, I guess. Jamie. What kind of name is that?"
"Short for James," Kerry said.
He shot her a look. "I knew that. I mean—why not Jim?"
"Is it my imagination or are you searching for things to dislike about the boy?"
Steering out of the structure, he didn't answer immediately. When he did, he said, "Okay, I admit it. I'm biased. I don't think he deserves my daughter."
"Who does?"
"If I meet him, I'll let you know."
"I won't hold my breath."
In an easy silence, they headed north to Puente Hills, where stores sprawled for miles around the hub of a mall. Although Brea had its own mall, it lacked the sprawling display rooms available here.
Chris pulled to a halt in front of a row of furniture shops. "Surely we can find something here," he said. "Look at all these places."
"What exactly are you looking for?" Kerry swung out into the brisk autumn breeze, glad for the warmth of her tights beneath her skirt as well as the long sleeves of her leotard. The air crackled with a faintly smoky tang, and alongside the parking lot a liquidambar tree punctuated the landscape with brilliant golds and oranges.
"A new sofa and a couple of lamps," Chris said.
"What's your color scheme?" They strolled through a chiming door into a vast showroom.
"What's a color scheme?"
Kerry studied him to see if he was joking, but there was no hint of a smile. "What colors are in your living room?"
"Browns, I guess," he said. "Beiges. Stuff like that."
A saleswoman approached, but Chris waved her away. "Let's just look. Maybe I'll get inspired."
Acres and acres of furniture unrolled before them. Kerry, who had inherited her furnishings when her parents redecorated their house, found herself dazzled by the selection. There were Art Deco pinks, Chinese reds, Danish-modern tans, whole suites of sofas and end tables and coffee tables and sideboards.
"See anything you like?" she asked Chris.
"What do you think of that?" He indicated a display replete with stuffed leather, heavy woods and mock animal trophies on the wall.
"Primitive," Kerry said.
"Oh." He looked disappointed, like a boy told he couldn't sleep in a Batmobile bed. "I guess you're right. Melanie wouldn't like it."
"Neutrals are safest," she advised. "How about that?"
He studied the fawn-colored couch and matching recliner with brass floor lamps. "Not bad. Let's keep searching, though."
They prowled through the store, and then through two others in the shopping center, but ended up back at the same display. "Okay." Chris fingered the price tags and winced. "What are these things stuffed with, dollar bills?"
"We offer financing." The saleslady seized her moment to approach.
"No, thanks. I hate owing money." Chris tapped one of the lamps. "I'll take two o
f these and the sofa and chair. And, what the hell, the coffee table, too. Do you deliver?"
"Certainly." Fifteen minutes later, he'd finished the paperwork and they were done.
"Satisfied?" Kerry asked as they emerged into deepening twilight.
"Just glad I could get all this done in one trip," he admitted. "I hate shopping."
"I would never have guessed."
Chris paused. "I’d like to invite you back to my house. Don’t take it the wrong way."
"What's the wrong way?" Kerry teased.
He regarded her with amusement. "Never mind. Just come."
They stopped by the theater, where she picked up her car. A short time later they met in front of a modest stucco home in one of Brea's older neighborhoods. Kerry had seen it before a few times when she’d given Melanie a ride, but she'd never gone inside.
"It's not much—" Chris opened the front door for her "—although it'll look better with the new furniture."
As he'd warned, the couch and other appointments had a weary look to them, but the place felt homey all the same. Framed photographs hung over the fireplace—Chris and Melanie, Melanie alone, an older couple who must be grandparents. From the way the paint had faded, she gathered they'd recently replaced some other pictures, no doubt part of the new redecorating plan.
Oddly, there were no pictures of the late Mrs. Layne. Did reminders of her hurt too much?
"That's a beautiful shot of Melanie and Tom." Kerry pointed to a picture in a shiny new frame.
"Jamie took it," Chris said. "I have to hand it to the kid, he did a good job."
Although she'd noticed Jamie carrying a camera on several occasions, Kerry had never seen any of the results. "I'm impressed."
"Like a beer?" Chris headed for the kitchen. "Soft drink? Melanie probably has some diet junk in here."
Kerry relaxed onto the sofa, her muscles reminding her that it had been a long day. Classes in the morning, auditions in the afternoon. "Beer," she said.
"Great." Chris peered through the doorway. "One beer, coming up."
When he joined her, they sipped the brew for a few minutes. It struck Kerry that in the months she'd known George, even when they were unofficially engaged, they'd never simply sat around and enjoyed each other's company.
By Leaps and Bounds Page 10
