By Leaps and Bounds

by Diamond, Jacqueline

  How had he done it? Dance rarely filmed well, even when done by professionals. As the duet ended, Kerry wished Chris could see this.

  Collecting her beaded evening bag, she decided to take the disc along with her tonight. It belonged by rights to Melanie, and surely Chris couldn't object if he knew it had come directly from Kerry.

  She hurried out to her car, muttering curses at the high heels that sent quivers of fire through her unaccustomed leg muscles. The darn things were nearly as crippling as another car accident.

  Despite the early hour, the parking lot at the theater was already filling up. Women in long dresses and men in tuxedos descended from their cars, along with a scattering of informally dressed students.

  This wasn't New York or even the Los Angeles Music Center, but she knew from Alfonso that some prominent critics would be here tonight, as well as dance enthusiasts from across Southern California. Stark terror engulfed Kerry as she shut off her engine. What if they hated her work? What if she failed?

  Until this moment, she had unconsciously considered choreography her backup career, something she could turn to if all else failed. Now, suddenly, she had to face the possibility that she might not be good at it.

  She loved this work, this piece of imagination and nonsense that she'd entitled Of Cats and Pharaohs. It had vitality, spark, originality.

  But her judgment was biased. What had she made before? Only some limited dances for musicals, brief moments that faded into the overall flow of an evening. Not showpieces. Not works that were judged seriously.

  Fighting the temptation to flee, Kerry forced herself out of the car. She had to face whatever was coming. She owed her dancers that much.

  Entering through the stage door, she found the dressing rooms brightly lit and filled with nervous movement. The air smelled of flowers and makeup.

  "We're sold out." Alfonso, wearing the blue-and-gold tunic and tights for the first, traditional piece, appeared at her side in the hallway. "I wish I could watch from out front."

  "I hope I haven't let you down," Kerry said.

  Her former teacher regarded her sympathetically. "Nerves getting to you?"

  "I might throw up," Kerry admitted.

  "Go watch from the lighting booth," he advised. "Then at least you won't have to make polite conversation."

  After thanking him, she made her way to the narrow staircase, little better than a ladder, that led to the booth high above the rear of the auditorium. The technician glanced at her knowingly and indicated a vacant folding chair.

  From here, the stage looked impossibly far below and the audience merged into one shifting blur. Chris and Melanie must be down there, Kerry knew. She wanted to see them, but that would have to wait. Right now, she couldn't deal with anything except her near-paralyzing fear.

  Thank goodness I don't have to dance tonight.

  While she'd suffered from stage fright a few times, it had been nothing like this. When she'd danced, her performance had represented the accumulated efforts of the choreographer, her teachers and her partner as well as herself. Tonight her work stood alone. Even if it was danced at its very best, it might still be rejected.

  Kerry shivered, remembering bad reviews she'd read of other people's work. Critics seemed to enjoy sharpening their wits to draw blood.

  The house lights dimmed. Kerry sat back, trying not to torture her already tightly strung nerves. There was nothing she could do now.

  The opening ballet proceeded smoothly. Larisa and Alfonso worked well together, and the supporting dancers had been honed to a unified, technically excellent team.

  Kerry drank some coffee from a paper cup, generously offered her from the technician's pot, during the brief intermission. Next came a modern story ballet by Antony Tudor, a sure crowd pleaser that showed off the talents of some of the other principal dancers and received a good measure of applause.

  Was it only Kerry's imagination, or did the audience move about restlessly during the second intermission? Were they b anticipating the centerpiece to follow, or simply bored?

  Among them, she knew, were Myron and many of her students. Naturally, they would offer support no matter what happened. But they were only a handful among the hundreds who packed the refurbished auditorium.

  Then it was time.

  The lights came up, blue spots picking out the cats as they crept onto the stage. A huddled figure darted out—Alfonso, as the phantom of the opera.

  Kerry leaned forward, her damp palms clasped, mentally cuing the dancers. Now the pharaoh, then Mary Magdalene from Jesus Christ Superstar and—at last—Larisa whirling across the stage as Evita.

  A strange thing happened. Kerry forgot about being the choreographer. She forgot about the audience and the critics.

  She became Larisa.

  It was Kerry soaring and leaping, enraptured in a realm of colored lights and exotic creatures. There was no pain, no physical awareness, only a magical sense of weightlessness.

  And she became something more, a consciousness that transcended mere bodies. She touched a thousand stages, a thousand premieres. Petipa, Nijinsky, Balanchine, Robbins, Ailey, Tharp; she felt their rhythm pulsing in the theater. The vision that had touched her mind months before had carried her into a new world that only they could understand.

  It was a world that transcended individual performances. A ballerina might grow old; the ballet never did. A dancer could claim only so many nights, so many audiences. The dance went on forever.

  Here was the freedom Kerry had longed for, the wonder of flight without the grueling long hours of working out, the pain of recurring injuries that all dancers suffered, the unremitting fear as age crawled into her bones. Why hadn't she seen it long ago?

  She came out of her daze to discover that the ballet had reached its blazing climax, and then, before she was ready for it, the music ended. The theater rocked with cheers and applause.

  Kerry closed her eyes, feeling the air vibrate with energy. With approval.

  Below, the dancers took their bows. Flowers flew onto the stage, materializing as if from nowhere. Cries of "bravo!" echoed up to the lighting booth.

  With a start, Kerry realized the audience was calling for her. "Guthrie! Guthrie!" Who had started the chant, she would never know, but others picked it up. The applause turned into a rhythmic clapping.

  "You'd better get down there," the technician said. "I'm not sure how much this building can take."

  With a stiff nod, Kerry fumbled down the narrow staircase. In the wings, the stage manager caught her arm and piloted her out onto the proscenium.

  Standing between Alfonso and Larisa, she dipped in a curtsy. It was impossible to make out individual faces in the dark mass before her, but people were on their feet, stomping and clapping. Where were the critics? They wouldn't take part in this ovation, would they? In vain, Kerry searched for seated figures scribbling scornfully in their notebooks.

  Alfonso caught her hand and led her forward—just as he'd done that night in New York, the night of her triumph. An ocean of approval washed over her.

  Finally, embarrassed when the applause refused to abate, Kerry indicated the conductor of the small orchestra and directed the clapping toward him. The stage manager must have caught her pleading look, because at last he closed the curtains. The ovation continued for a minute or two, muffled by thick velvet, before fading.

  "Wow." Alfonso gave her a hug. "They loved it!"

  Were those the same words he'd used that long-ago night before her accident? It seemed to Kerry that they'd come full circle.

  She leaned against him dizzily. "I have a lot of friends out there."

  "That wasn't a polite reception," he chided. "Besides, the critics were on their feet, too."

  "You really think...?" Kerry paused to accept the congratulations of the dancers, and to compliment their work. "Everyone was splendid tonight."

  "I was the first—" Larisa beamed at her "—the first one to dance your Evita."

 
The implication that Of Cats and Pharaohs would be performed again by other companies stunned Kerry into silence. She would not be one ballerina but many, each reborn through her ballet. It was far, far better than the goals she had set long ago as a child, when she could see no further than her own small self.

  Walking out through the wings, catching her breath in one welcome solitary moment behind a fold of curtain, Kerry felt a huge burden lift from her shoulders and flutter into the dimness. Yes, she would always love to dance for the sheer joy, but she didn't need to devote her life to it.

  She wanted to see Chris right now more than anything in the world.

  He would come backstage, of course. That was where Kerry headed now, through a hallway crammed with well-wishers.

  There! She waved and Melanie, her face shining, waved back.

  Chris turned. Through the crowd, she felt him reach out to her in a new way, as if tonight's experience had changed him, too.

  "Chris!" Nodding politely as compliments flew toward her left and right, Kerry made her way through the crowd. "Did you like it?"

  "It was more than that." His arm slipped around her waist, drawing her close. "I felt like I was inside your mind. I didn't understand everything, not intellectually, but I felt it. It all made sense to me on a level I didn’t know even existed."

  "It was wonderful!" Melanie leaned over to kiss Kerry's cheek. "I'm so proud!"

  "Someday you'll dance Evita," her father told her.

  Instantly, Melanie's expression closed up. She hadn't told him yet that she wasn't going to New York, Kerry realized.

  "Let's go celebrate," she said to distract the girl. "Ice-cream sundaes all around, my treat."

  They were making their way toward the stage door when Kerry saw someone else signaling her, someone as small and delicate as a bird. Suzie.

  "Hi! Hi!" The little girl bounced up and down.

  "Suzie!" Kerry waved back.

  "That was the coolest thing I ever saw!" Suzie cried. Behind her, Mrs. Ezell smiled warmly.

  And then, behind the woman's shoulder, Kerry spotted a dark, brooding face. Jamie had come, too.

  She felt Melanie tremble beside her. The way the two of them looked at each other across the hallway sent shivers down Kerry's spine.

  "Let's get the hell out of here." Chris caught his daughter with one hand and Kerry with the other, and a moment later they emerged into the June night.

  Things couldn't go on this way between two people she loved so much. Kerry knew that neither one of this hard-headed pair would open up to each other unless she intervened.

  But how?

  "I'll tell you what," she said. "I'll pick up some ice cream and toppings, and let's eat it at my place. I've got something to show you."

  "Sure " Chris, his mouth still pressed tight, steered Melanie to the car. "We'll meet you there."

  Oh, God, what am I doing? Kerry wondered as she drove home, stopping off at a convenience store on the way. It was risky, interjecting herself between father and daughter. She might succeed only in alienating them both.

  Emerging from the store with her purchases, Kerry took a gulp of night air and looked up at the stars. To have come so far, only to lose Chris now?

  Because tonight, for the first time, a life with him seemed possible. She hadn't given up her dreams; they'd simply changed along the way without her realizing it, and at last she'd awakened to the truth.

  But she had to take the chance. She couldn't make a fresh start with this heartbreaking estrangement standing in the way. Besides, she owed it to Melanie, whose dreams were still so tenuous and vulnerable.

  Kerry reached home to find Chris and Mel waiting on her porch, the silence thick between them. "I hope you both like chocolate ripple," she said as she opened the door. "With caramel topping and nuts."

  "Sounds great." Chris escorted them inside. "What was it you wanted to show us?"

  "You'll see." Kerry caught Melanie's quizzical glance as the younger girl joined her in the kitchen, but she turned her attention to preparing the sundaes.

  When her guests were seated in the living room, Kerry set her dish down and turned on the TV and the DVD player. "Okay," she said. "Here goes."

  Chris shot her a dubious look, as if he'd guessed what she was up to and didn't quite believe it. Kerry stared down at her ice cream, feeling like a traitor.

  The images of Melanie and Tom came on-screen. Oh, no, Chris wasn't even looking at it. Please, please let him at least give it a chance.

  And he did, at first reluctantly, then with growing fascination. Melanie's face, too, lost its initial grim expression and softened as she watched.

  "Is that really me?" she asked when the video was over. "I always look so stiff in pictures."

  "Chris?" Kerry asked gently.

  His mouth twisted with anguish, and it was a moment before he spoke. "My beautiful daughter," he whispered.

  "Dad!" Melanie said, but Kerry waved her to silence.

  Finally Chris said, "I'll give the boy one thing—he's got talent."

  "I'd say there was more than talent guiding that camera." Kerry swallowed hard, awaiting his reaction.

  Melanie couldn't wait any longer. "He loves me, Dad. I know you think he's just a punk but—"

  Chris stared straight ahead at the dark TV. "Possibly he does care about you. But there's another part of his life, Mel. Maybe it didn't touch you. Maybe it never would have. But we can't ignore it."

  "I'm not going to New York, Dad," his daughter said. "I'll still dance, but I want to be near Jamie."

  "You're young." His voice was achingly gentle. "You can't see it yet, but the decisions you make now will shape the course of your life. You'll never come back to this point again, Melanie."

  "I won't want to," she said. "I'm doing the right thing."

  "I can't let you see him." Chris clenched his hands as he met her gaze. "I'm sorry."

  "You don't want to understand, do you?" Animated by fury, Melanie jumped up. "You think I'm so stupid I can't judge him for myself. If that's the way you want things, fine. You're still the boss till I turn eighteen, but not one minute after!"

  She started for the door, dodging his attempt to reach for her. "I'll walk home. Good night, Kerry. Thanks for trying to help."

  The door slammed behind her.

  Chris sank down on the sofa. "And I thought things couldn't get any worse."

  Kerry poked listlessly at her melting ice cream. "I meant to help, but instead—I'm sorry, Chris."

  "How exactly did you think that would help?" His eyes were dark and hooded. "Did you expect me to fall apart with admiration, to say this kid who terrorized an innocent family can have my daughter with my blessing because he’s good with a camera?"

  Kerry's chest squeezed. "Can't you give him the benefit of the doubt? He says he made the video to try to persuade the boys they were wrong."

  "And meanwhile a woman and two kids nearly got killed," Chris snapped. "Sure, he'll probably get off. We haven't found the witness we need—maybe we never will. But I saw that family, how terrified they were. Their whole lives have been changed because of this. Do you think I'm going to believe a weak sob-sister story that he thought some video was going to change everything?"

  " Did you see how hurt Melanie was? She needs you. She doesn't want this quarrel anymore—"

  "I appreciate your concern but what happens between my daughter and me is really none of your business." His jaw clenched, as if holding back more angry words. "No, I don't want to fight with you. Just stay out of this. Do you understand?"

  Kerry nodded wordlessly.

  Chris stopped halfway across the room. "Congratulations again on your dance. It was something special."

  "I wish—" But she wasn't sure what she wished just now.

  "Good night, Kerry." He went out, closing the door quietly behind him.

  She leaned back in her chair, sorting through the argument, wondering where or how she could have diverted it. But perhaps that w
asn't possible.

  What happened next would be up to Chris. She'd done everything she could.

  He hardly slept that night. It didn't help that, in the next room, he could hear Melanie tossing and turning too.

  Had he lost them both, his daughter and the woman he loved? Because he did love Kerry; there was no denying that. He even admired what she'd done, confronting him with Jamie's DVD. Taking the bull by the horns. It wasn't her fault it had backfired.

  He wished it wasn't so damn hard to sort out his feelings.

  Tonight, the dance she'd created had swept Chris into another world, a magical existence far removed from the one he lived in. It had been as if he were inside Kerry's imaginings, inside her body, moving and dreaming with her.

  He couldn't bear to lose her. She was part of him now. And he knew that she loved both Melanie and him; that was something he'd never expected to find in a woman.

  Now what the hell was he going to do about it?

  By the time he finally fell asleep, it was nearly two o'clock. When he awakened it was after nine, and Melanie had already gone out.

  To the dance studio, probably. Today was the last day of classes before the break; no doubt she'd want to see her friends and work out some of her frustrations at the barre.

  He had to do something, Chris reflected as he went to shower. Was there even a slim chance Jamie might be innocent? If he could clear the boy’s name…

  Or, in digging deeper, Chris might find the missing piece of evidence needed to convict. He hated to imagine what Melanie would think then.

  It was a risk he had to take.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Saturday marked the last class of the spring term. Even Bella had a faraway look in her eyes as she dutifully played the rehearsal piano.

  Although there were no windows in the room, it seemed full of light to Kerry. Perhaps because the ghosts were gone. No longer was she haunted by the memory of classrooms past, of childhood dreams that would never come true.

  This morning's review in the Times had confirmed her wildest hopes. It qualified as a rave, and Alfonso had called to say the company was extending its performance schedule to meet the ticket demands.