By Leaps and Bounds

by Diamond, Jacqueline

  "Thank goodness. Let’s go relax."

  They passed through the dining room. Although he liked the casual style of his own newly arrived furnishings, Chris admired the antique sideboard and the ornate dark wood legs visible beneath the lace tablecloth Kerry had set out earlier. As for the living room, it had a similarly old-fashioned décor yet the floral sofa did manage to be comfortable.

  The Degas prints of ballerinas provided a gentle touch, blending seamlessly with shots of Kerry performing with the New American Ballet. She’d added several framed pictures of her students at the Leaps and Bounds studio, including one, he noted with mixed feelings, that Jamie had snapped of Melanie.

  The two of them had gone off this morning to photographing a motorcycle rally. Bikers! Chris hated the thought of Melanie getting near people like that, but he was trying hard not to smother her. He had encouraged her to experience dating. If only he'd known that meant this sort of thing, he might not have been so eager.

  "How are things going at work?" Kerry asked as she settled into an armchair. How delicate she looked, honey-blond hair tumbling around her heart-shaped face. “You’ve certainly been busy." In the two weeks since their shopping expedition, Chris had put in overtime almost every night.

  "We've had a new development with our robber." He leaned back, letting the tension seep from muscles. "Apparently he's got a new accomplice, a woman."

  "Did they pull another holdup?" Curled in a chair, Kerry didn't look much older than Melanie. “I didn’t see anything in the newspaper.”

  "That’s because their last job was a convenience store in Norwalk." The local paper didn’t usually cover robberies in the next county. "We‘re coordinating with the LA Sheriff.”

  “This woman—do you suppose he’s forcing her into it?”

  “Unlikely, the way she kept waving her gun at the customers."

  "Anybody hurt?"

  He shook his head. "Fortunately, no. But neither of them appears to feel any concern for their victims. It’s only a matter of time before someone gets injured or killed."

  Kerry curled in her seat. "Would you mind if another police department caught them?"

  "I just want them locked up." He considered her question further. "That's one way real cops are different from TV cops. Most of us aren’t interested in playing hero. We simply want the bad guys put away.”

  "No ego trips?" Kerry teased.

  "I won't say never. But this is a team sport."

  "Don't you ever want to shine? To stand alone in the spotlight, so to speak?"

  "I'd rather stay alive," Chris replied.

  Kerry frowned. “Brea’s such a quiet place that I forget how dangerous your job is.”

  “Dancers have a high rate of injuries, according to Melanie,” he pointed out.

  "I suppose so. But unlike you guys, we dancers are terrible egotists," Kerry murmured. "Ballet is a team effort, too, but I never thought of it that way. I needed for everyone to admire me."

  "Maybe that's because your parents paid so little attention to you," he guessed.

  Her forehead creased. "When they did pay attention to me, it was the wrong kind. I felt as if they were analyzing everything I did, searching for things to criticize."

  "So what you craved wasn’t attention but acceptance."

  "You’re right on target," she said. "You know, you’ve never talked about your childhood. I picture you leading the normal, all-American life. Baseball in the vacant lot, barbecues in the backyard."

  "Not far off," he conceded. "Mom was a homemaker, Dad an aerospace engineer."

  "They're both dead?"

  "I'm sorry to say, yes. They were older when I was born—it took them a long time to have a child." Chris didn’t often reflect about his younger years. Considering how much Kerry had shared, though, it seemed only right. "Maybe that's why Dad felt so invested in me. He didn't necessarily want me to be an engineer like him but he had his heart set on one of the professions."

  "Being a policeman didn't qualify?" she asked gently.

  "He couldn’t accept that we’re nothing alike,” Chris admitted. "Although I earned my degree in police science, I hated school. I've never liked sitting indoors for long periods. I might not have minded being a doctor. I wanted to make the world a better place, naive as that sounds. But all those years of medical school were more than I could face."

  "What made you choose police work specifically?" Kerry studied him intently. But then, she never asked idle questions.

  "Nothing dramatic." Chris had gravitated to the coursework, and finally simply accepted himself even if his father couldn’t. "It suited me. And when I looked into the future, I didn't like what I saw. Much as I applaud a lot of the progress in our society, there's been a lot of degradation, too. Drugs are widespread, people don't take responsibility for their own actions anymore—well, I figured I owed it to my child or children to help make this a safer world."

  "Ever regret it?"

  It was a question he'd never asked himself, and Chris had to think for a minute. "There are some things about it I don't like. The long hours, the paperwork. The frustration when a criminal gets off on a technicality. But no, I can't imagine doing anything else."

  A ray of sunlight fell across Kerry’s high-boned face, picking out violet highlights in her blue eyes. "So here we are. Two people who've found out that life isn't like the storybooks."

  "Did that come as a surprise?"

  "Fairy tales are a ballerina's stock-in-trade," she retorted.

  "Even when your feet hurt and your ankles have to be taped?" He’d helped Melanie with that chore more than once.

  "We rise above it, like Hans Christian Andersen's mermaid," Kerry said.

  "And spread magic around you." Even here in her cozy living room, Chris could feel the sparkle that radiated from Kerry. She must be mesmerizing onstage. "We hardheaded cops need to be reminded that there's a world out there worth protecting."

  Her gaze met his, and he felt his body respond. Without thinking, Chris moved forward and lifted Kerry from the chair. She rose lightly, as in a dream.

  His mouth came down over hers as his hands cradled her face. He felt her tense for a moment and then relax as the kiss deepened, as his fingers stroked gently down her neck to the proud, straight shoulders and the strong contours of her back.

  A moan welled from deep within Kerry and she trembled. Chris tightened his grip on her, pulling her closer, feeling her body mold itself instinctively to his and then grow rigid, resistant.

  "Am I scaring you?" He lifted his head. "I assumed—you were engaged—"

  "I haven't been close to anyone for a long time." Her voice emerged in a hoarse whisper. "I can't—I can't let go, Chris."

  Damn. What happened between a man and a woman who cared for each other ought to be simple and natural, but he knew by now that it hardly ever was. Even if things went smoothly at first, they got complicated later.

  "No hurry." Reluctantly, he let go and stepped back. "Anyway, I hear some sweet potatoes calling from the kitchen."

  She managed a smile. "Then let's go teach them what's what."

  Together, they returned to work.

  Why couldn't she simply enjoy her response to Chris? Kerry wondered as she stirred flour-and-water paste into the gravy. Yield to her spontaneous attraction without worrying about where it might lead?

  The emotion that had brought her up short could only be described as panic. She wasn't even sure what she was afraid of—that he would leave her like George?

  No, it was more basic than that. She couldn't separate sex from love, and love meant commitment, bondage, the loss of her freedom and her identity. It meant trying to please a man the way she'd tried for so long to please her parents. She wasn't ready for that; maybe she never would be.

  "Melanie should be here soon." Chris, setting out rolls on a baking sheet, scowled at the wall clock. "It's nearly three and she promised to be here before the other guests."

  About to make e
xcuses for the girl, Kerry stopped. After all, she didn't know what Melanie and Jamie got up to when they were alone. If she were a parent, she'd worry, too.

  "Did I tell you who else is coming?" she asked, to distract him.

  "You said seven people." He paused. "That leaves two unidentified."

  "Remember the two dancers you met at the Music Center? They're in town, so I invited them." She'd been disappointed to learn Myron had other plans for the holiday, until she thought of Alfonso and Larisa. Once the idea had popped into Kerry's head, it made perfect sense. Here were people her parents could relate to.

  Besides, she might be working with them next spring. The possibility appealed to her more and more, but there remained one large stumbling block: Kerry hadn't the faintest idea what kind of dance she wanted to create.

  She'd spent so long pushing away any possibility of working in classical ballet that now the ideas wouldn't come. Always before she'd had the music given to her, and the parameters: a wedding dance for Fiddler on the Roof, or her current challenge in Romeo and Juliet. Not total and complete freedom.

  Perhaps she'd reached the peak of her ability, working out clever dances within narrow confines. Maybe she didn't have the kind of originality it took to create a centerpiece for the Carrera Ballet.

  "From the thunderclouds gathering on your face, I wonder why you invited them." Chris began counting out silverware.

  "Oh. That wasn't because of them exactly." Kerry turned down the heat under the gravy. "Alfonso wants me to choreograph a ballet for his new company. I'm not sure I can do it. I'm not sure I'm good enough."

  "You're your own worst enemy," Chris said. "If you aren’t careful, you'll stress yourself into a catatonic state."

  If she hadn't been afraid of burning the gravy, Kerry would have thrown something at him. "I'm not that bad!"

  "Worse," he observed, and made a swift getaway to the dining room.

  When the doorbell rang a few minutes later, Kerry set the gravy aside and took off her apron. She'd changed earlier from jeans into a blue silk shirtwaist, the sort of understated elegance her mother would appreciate.

  "Shall I pretend I just arrived or am I playing host?" Chris asked as she passed through the dining room, where he was placing a row of silver candle holders along the center of the table.

  "You deserve credit for all your hard work." Kerry smoothed her skirt nervously. "Besides, Melanie's sure to spill the beans and it would look like we were hiding something."

  "Maybe that's her at the door," he said. "That would simplify everything."

  But it was Kerry's parents, standing on the porch holding a bottle of wine and a spray of roses as if they were visiting a stranger's house.

  "Mom.. .Dad. Boy, I'm glad to see you." Kerry kissed them each on the cheek and stepped back to make room.

  "We appreciate your going to all the trouble." Elaine Guthrie wore an Italian-tailored suit of dove-gray silk. With her upswept hair, it gave her an air of nobility that Kerry's dancers would have done well to study.

  "Smells wonderful." Everett Guthrie handed her the wine and the flowers. A tall, thin man, he looked intently around, although except for the photographs the room hadn't changed in the two years since he'd visited. "I see we're not the first."

  "Mom, Dad, this is Chris Layne," Kerry said. "I've told you about his daughter, Melanie. She'll be here soon. And you remember Alfonso—he'll be joining us, too, with his new dance partner."

  She wished she didn't feel obligated to reassure them that the company would be compatible. She wished they could all feel comfortable together and let the moments take care of themselves. Maybe it was all in her imagination, an overreaction.

  "Pleased to meet you." Chris shook hands. "So you're in town to make a recording?"

  The business of providing drinks, putting flowers in water and exchanging chitchat occupied the next quarter of an hour, to Kerry's relief, until the doorbell rang again. It was Alfonso and Larisa. Their toned dancers' bodies and striking faces looked oddly out of place in this humdrum small-town setting, but the smiles were broad and genuine.

  "Come in!" Kerry thanked them for the bottle of wine they proffered. Thank goodness there were enough guests to drink it all. "Alfonso, you've met my parents—"

  Introductions were made and drinks poured. Basting the turkey, she heard with relief the steady hum of conversation from the living room.

  When she joined the others, her father was saying, "You honestly think this area can support a ballet company?"

  "Not in Lincoln Center style," Alfonso replied. "I've been studying the operation at South Coast Repertory. They have a touring troupe for schools, with corporate funding, and I plan to do the same. Lots of special events, maybe some master classes in conjunction with Kerry's studio,"

  "Still, I'm surprised you'd leave the Northeast," her mother said. "Especially you, Larisa."

  "I've never lived anywhere but New York." The ballerina's longish face was offset by wide gray eyes and an endearing smile. "I'm tired of all the pressure. Last season I danced too often with injuries. I was afraid I wouldn't get cast in the best roles if I took much sick leave."

  Kerry returned to the kitchen for last-minute touches. Four o’clock came, the schedule time to eat, and Melanie still hadn't arrived.

  "I'll wring her little neck," Chris muttered as he carried the sweet potato casserole to the sideboard. Underneath, Kerry sensed real worry. This wasn't like Melanie. She'd always been so dependable before. And so dutiful.

  Alfonso, who professed to expertise in such matters, was carving the turkey when the doorbell rang. "Finally," Chris said, and went to answer it. Kerry saw her parents exchange glances. They probably thought there was more between her and Chris than really existed. Well, let them think it

  Melanie apologized several times for her lateness. "There was a horrible jam in the parking lot and we couldn't get out. We must have sat there for an hour."

  "Rock concert?" Alfonso asked.

  "Bike rally." Seeing the puzzled reactions around the table, she said, "My boyfriend's a photographer. He thought they'd make a cool series."

  "Shall we say grace?" Kerry's father asked.

  After the blessing, plates were loaded. Kerry found herself taking bigger helpings than usual, although she noticed that Larisa restricted herself to a mere taste of everything except salad.

  At the table, her father regaled the group with anecdotes of the last concert tour—the assistant conductor caught in bed with a chambermaid; the cellist with a horror of rodents who had to play through fifteen minutes of a concert with a field mouse sitting attentively five feet away; the trombonist whose missing luggage turned out to contain stolen hotel towels.

  The conversation shifted and eddied, but at its center were music and dance, art and theater, with an occasional dash of political commentary, especially about inadequate arts funding. Witty remarks flew between Alfonso and Everett Guthrie, while Larisa and Elaine compared the health and beauty hazards of touring. Melanie listened in fascination.

  Chris had mellowed, apparently forgiving his daughter. What a lovely change.

  At last everyone finished eating. Melanie and Larisa cleared the table, while Kerry and Chris served coffee and the pumpkin pie she'd bought the previous day.

  "Marvelous," Alfonso said as he dug in. "Of course I'll have to starve myself tomorrow, but it's worth it."

  With a start, Kerry realized that, unlike Larisa, Melanie had eaten a normal meal instead of her usual small portions. Well, it was Thanksgiving.

  She only hoped this didn't mean Melanie was losing some of her dedication to the dance. Or worse, that she'd begun purging herself like a bulimic. Eating disorders ran rife among dancers. But she’d warned her students and their parents about that, and surely Chris would have noticed.

  Finally the guests began departing. At the door, Alfonso gave Kerry a hug. "You're thinking about my offer, aren't you?"

  "I'm not sure I can come up with the right idea,"
she admitted. "Maybe you should look for someone else."

  "From what Alfonso's said, you'd be terrific," Larisa put in. "Please, Kerry, you'd be helping us out."

  Kerry regarded the beautiful young woman, only five years her junior. She liked Larisa and wished her well, but the thought of watching her whirl and leap and fly made Kerry feel like a caged bird.

  "I am considering it," she said. "But please don't hope for too much."

  After them, it was Everett and Elaine's turn to say goodbye. "Delicious food," her mother told her. “Thanks again, Kerry."

  "Maybe you can come to Boston to visit this summer." Her father shook hands with Chris. "Nice to meet you."

  Then they were off to Los Angeles in their rental car. Watching them out the window, Kerry was only vaguely aware of the clatter of dishes in the kitchen, where Melanie had begun washing up. Mostly she noticed how empty the road looked in front of her house, and how empty she felt inside.

  "Did I miss something?" Chris murmured.

  "What?" She tore her gaze away.

  "I thought you guys hadn't seen each other in two years," he said. “Everything seemed rather pleasant and on the surface.”

  "We talk on the phone."

  "Still—no questions about the dance studio? Or how you're doing otherwise? They hardly said anything personal to you all evening."

  That was what she'd been missing, Kerry realized. "They love me. They just don't know how to relate to me."

  "Most parents, if anything, are too nosy and too eager to mix into their kids' lives,” he reflected. “It's as if your parents live in some other dimension."

  "I'm just relieved that we got through the evening and everyone had a good time," she said.

  He reached over to rub her shoulders. Kerry leaned back, luxuriating in his touch.

  "No wonder," he muttered.

  "No wonder what?"

  "No wonder you're afraid of getting close to people," he said.

  "You thinking of any people in particular?"

  He nipped at her earlobe. "Who, me?"

  "I—" Kerry stopped as Melanie came in from the kitchen. Chris moved away smoothly. "Did you have a good time, Mel?"