Dance to the Piper

  "Give it a break, Maddy."

  "No." Setting her hands on her hips, she glared at him. "Jimmy Stewart's been married for a hundred and fifty years. Umm… Queen Elizabeth and Prince Philip are doing pretty good. My parents, for God's sake," she continued, warming up. "They've been together forever. My great-aunt Jo was married for fifty-five years."

  "Had to work at it, didn't you?" He came out of the shadows then, and what she saw in his eyes was cynicism. "You'd have an easier time coming up with marriages that crumbled."

  "All right, I would. It doesn't mean you give up on the system because the people involved in it make mistakes. Besides, I didn't ask you to marry me, I just asked you to feel."

  He caught her before she could storm inside again. "Are you going to tell me marriage isn't what you want?"

  She stood toe-to-toe with him. "No, I'm not going to tell you that."

  "I can't promise marriage. I admire you, as a woman and as a performer. I'm attracted to you… I need you."

  "All those things are important, Reed, but they're only enough for a little while. If I hadn't fallen in love with you, we could both be happy with that. I don't think I can handle too much more." She turned and gripped the railing as if it were a lifeline. "Please, just go."

  It wasn't easy to fight her when he seemed to be fighting himself, as well. The moves weren't clear, the next step wasn't as well defined as it should have been. Seeing no other way, Reed backed off. "It's not finished. No matter how much both of us would like it otherwise."

  "Maybe not." She drew in a breath. "But I've made a fool of myself in front of you for the last time. Leave me alone now."

  The moment he left, she shut her eyes tight. She would not cry. As soon as she could pull herself together, she was going back inside to make her excuses and go home. She wasn't running away, she was simply facing reality.

  "Maddy."

  She turned and faced Edwin. One look told her she didn't need to paste on a bright smile.

  "I'm sorry. I listened to a great deal of that, and you've a right to be angry with me. But Reed's my son and I love him."

  "I'm not angry." Indeed, she found she couldn't dredge up any emotions at all. "I just have to go."

  "I'll take you home."

  "No, you have guests." She gestured inside. "I'll catch a cab."

  "They'll never miss me." He stepped forward to take her arm. "I want to take you home, Maddy. There's a story you should hear."

  They spoke very little on the way home. Edwin seemed to be lost in thoughts of his own. Maddy had lost her knack for bright, witty conversation. His only comment as they started up the stairs to her apartment was on the lack of security.

  "You're becoming more well-known every time you step out onstage, Maddy. There's a price to be paid for that."

  She glanced around the dimly lighted hallway as she reached for her keys. She'd never been afraid here, yet somehow she'd known that her time in the free-moving, transient world of the gypsies was almost up.

  "I'll fix tea." She left Edwin to wander the cramped living room.

  "This suits you, Maddy," he said a few moments later. "It's friendly, bright, honest." The glow of neon made him smile as he settled into a chair. "I'm going to embarrass you and tell you how much I admire what you've done with your life."

  "You don't embarrass me. I appreciate it."

  "Talent isn't always enough. I know. I've watched many, many talented people slip away into oblivion because they didn't have the strength or the confidence to make it to the top. You're there, and you haven't even noticed yet."

  "I don't know about my reaching the top." She skirted the breakfront carrying a tray. "But I'm happy where I am."

  "That's the beauty of it, Maddy. You like where you are. You like yourself." He accepted the cup of tea but put a hand lightly on hers. "Reed needs you."

  "Maybe on some levels." She retreated a little, because it hurt too much. "I found out that I need more than that."

  "So does he, Maddy. So does he, but he's too stubborn, and maybe too afraid, to admit it."

  "I don't understand why. I don't understand how he can be so—" She cut herself off, swearing. "I'm sorry."

  "Don't be. I think I understand. Maddy, has Reed ever told you about his mother?"

  "No. That's one of the hands-off subjects between us."

  "I think you have a right to know." He sighed and sipped his tea, knowing he was about to stir unwanted and painful memories of his own. "If I weren't sure you really cared for him, and that you were really right for him, I could never tell you this."

  "Edwin, I don't want you to tell me something Reed would resent me knowing."

  "Your concern for him is why I'm going to tell you." He set down his cup and leaned forward. Something told Maddy there would be no going back. "Reed's mother was a stunning woman. Is a stunning woman still, I'm sure, though I haven't seen her in many years."

  "Has Reed?"

  "No, he refuses to."

  "Refuses to see his mother? How could he?"

  "Once I explain, maybe you'll understand." There was a weariness in his voice that made her heart go out to him without question.

  "I married Elaine when we were both very young. I had some family money, and she was a struggling singer, working the clubs… You understand."

  "Yes, of course."

  "She had talent, nothing show-stopping, but with the right management she could have made a solid living. I decided to give her that right management. Then I decided to marry her. It was almost as calculated as that, I'm sorry to say, because I was used to getting what I wanted. For a year or two, it worked. She was grateful for what I was doing for her career. I was grateful to have a beautiful wife. I loved her, and I worked very hard to make her a success because that's what she wanted most. Somewhere along the line, things began to change. Elaine was impatient."

  Edwin sat back again, sipping tea as he looked around Maddy's apartment. He'd given his wife all he could, yet she'd never been satisfied.

  "She was young," he said, knowing it was no real excuse. "She wanted better bookings and began to resent the fact that I was advising her on her clothes, her hair. She began to think that I was holding her back, using her to further my own career."

  "She couldn't have understood you very well." He smiled at that. Not everyone was willing to give such unconditional support. "Perhaps not. But then, I didn't understand her, either. Our marriage was in trouble. I'd almost accepted the fact that it was ending when she told me she was going to have a child. You're a modern woman, Maddy. And a compassionate one. You should be able to understand that while I very much wanted children, had always wanted them, Elaine didn't."

  Maddy looked down at her tea, sympathizing with Edwin. "I can only feel sorry for someone who didn't, or for whatever reason couldn't, want the child she carried."

  It was the right answer. He closed his eyes on it. "Elaine was desperate for success. She had Reed, I think, because she was afraid to do otherwise. I had gotten her a small recording contract. Her decision to stay with me and have Reed was more a career move than anything else."

  "You still loved her."

  "I still had feelings for her. And there was Reed. When he was born, I felt as though I'd been given the greatest gift. A son. Someone who would love me, accept the love I wanted to give back. He was beautiful, a wonderful baby who grew into a wonderful child. My life changed the moment he was born. I wanted to give him everything. I had a kind of focus that hadn't been there before. I could lose a client, I could lose a contract, but my son was always there."

  "Families keep our feet on the ground."

  "Yes, they do. Before I go on, I want you to know that Reed has never given me anything but pleasure. I never considered him a duty or a burden."

  "You don't have to tell me that. I can see it."

  He rubbed his hand over his temple, then continued. "When he was five, I was in an accident. They did a lot of tests on me in the hospital." His voice w
as changing. Maddy tensed without knowing why. "One of the by-products of the testing was a report that I was sterile."

  Her hand grew damp on the cup, and she set it down. "I don't understand."

  "I couldn't have children." His eyes were direct, intense. "I'd never been able to have them."

  The cold gripped her, squeezing her stomach into a frigid knot. "Reed." With the one word she asked all the questions and gave nothing but love.

  "I didn't father him. It was a blow I can't describe to you."

  "Oh, Edwin." She rose immediately to kneel in front of him.

  "I confronted Elaine. She didn't even try to lie. I think she'd grown tired of the lies by then. The marriage had been over, and she knew she'd never hit it big as an entertainer. There'd been another man, one who'd left her as soon as he'd learned she was pregnant." His breath came out in a slow, painful stream. "It must have been a terrible blow to her. She'd known I wouldn't question but simply accept the child as mine. Moreover, she'd known, inside she'd known, that she'd never have gotten out of those dreary little clubs without me. So she'd stuck."

  "She must have been a very unhappy woman."

  "Not everyone finds contentment easily. Elaine was too restless to do anything but look for it. If she wasn't satisfied, she'd move on. When I got out of the hospital, she was gone. Reed was staying with a neighbor." He drew a deep breath because, after all the years that had passed, it still hurt. "Maddy, she'd told him."

  "Oh, my God." She dropped her head on his knee and wept for all of them. "Poor little boy."

  "I didn't do much better by him." Edwin laid a hand on her hair. He hadn't realized how cleansing it would be to speak of it aloud after all those years. "I needed to get away, so I paid the neighbor and left him there. I was gone nearly a month, pulling money together to finance Valentine Records. Until I met your family, I'm not sure I had any intention of going back. It's hard to forgive myself for that."

  "You were hurt. You—"

  "Reed was devastated," he said. "I hadn't considered the effect it would have on him. I'd thrown myself into the hustling game and tried to block out what I'd left behind. Then I met your parents. For just one night, I saw what family meant."

  Rubbing a hand over her wet cheek, she looked up. "And you slept on a cot in their room."

  "I slept on a cot and watched the love your parents had for each other and for their children. It was as though someone had drawn a curtain aside to let me see what life really meant, what was really important. I broke down. Your father took me out to a bar and I told him everything. God knows why."

  "Pop's easy to talk to."

  "He listened to all of it, sympathized some, but not as much as I thought I deserved." After all the years that had passed, Edwin could remember and even laugh a little. "He had a shot of whiskey in his hand. He downed it, slapped me on the shoulder and told me I had a son to think of and that I should go home to him. He saw clean through it, and he was right. I've never forgotten what he did for me just by speaking the truth."

  She took his hands now, holding tight. "And Reed?"

  "He was my son, always had been, always would be my son. I was a fool to have forgotten that."

  "You hadn't forgotten," she murmured. "I don't think you'd forgotten."

  "No." He felt the smoothness and strength of her hands in his. "In my heart I hadn't. I drove back. He was playing in the yard alone. This boy, not quite six, turned and looked at me with adult eyes." A shudder moved through him, quick and violent. "I've never been able to wipe out that one moment when I saw what his mother and I had done to him."

  "You've no cause to blame yourself. No," she added before Edwin could speak again. "I've seen you and Reed together. You've no cause to blame yourself."

  "I did everything I could to make it up to him, to make things normal. In fact, it didn't take me very long to forget what his mother had done. Reed never forgot. He still carries that bitterness, Maddy, that I saw in his eyes when he was five years old."

  "What you've told me helps me to understand a great deal." Taking a deep breath, she sat back on her heels. "But, Edwin, I don't know what I can do."

  "You love him, don't you?"

  "Yes, I love him."

  "You've given him something. He's beginning to trust in someone. Don't take it away now."

  "He doesn't want what I have to give him."

  "He does, and he'll come around. Just don't give up on him."

  She rose and wrapped her arms around herself, then turned away. "Are you so sure I'm what he needs?"

  "He's my son." As she turned back slowly, Edwin rose. "Yes, I'm sure."

  He wasn't asleep. He couldn't sleep. Reed had nearly given in to the urge to lose himself in a bottle of Scotch, but he decided misery was better company.

  He'd lost her. Because they hadn't been able to accept each other for what they were, he'd lost her. Oh, she was better off without him. That he was certain of. Yet, she'd been the best thing that had ever happened to him.

  He'd hurt her, just as he'd known he would, but wasn't it strange how much he hurt, too?

  She'd be gone tomorrow, he told himself. The best thing to do was to forget, and to put the handling of the play and the cast album in his father's hands. He'd divorce himself from it, and therefore purge himself of memories of Maddy O'Hurley.

  He started to cross to the windows but remembered how Maddy had been drawn to them. Swearing, he paced away again.

  The knock on the door surprised him. He didn't often have visitors at one in the morning. He didn't want visitors, he thought, and ignored the knock. It continued to sound stubbornly. Annoyed, Reed yanked the door open with the intention of blasting anyone who had the misfortune to be there.

  "Hi." Maddy stood with a dance bag slung over her shoulders and her hands dipped into the pockets of a wide denim skirt.

  "Maddy—"

  "I was in the neighborhood," she began, and walked past him into the apartment. "I decided to drop in. I didn't wake you, did I?"

  "No, I—"

  "Good. I'm always cranky when someone wakes me up. So…" She tossed her bag down. "How about a drink?"

  "What are you doing here?"

  "I told you I was in the neighborhood."

  Crossing to her, he held her by the shoulders and kept her still. "What are you doing here?"

  She tilted her head. "I couldn't keep away from you."

  Before he could prevent it, his hand had reached for her cheek. He dropped it again. "Maddy, a few hours ago—"

  "I said a lot of things," she finished for him. "They were all true. I love you, Reed. I want to marry you. I want to spend my life with you. And I think we could do a pretty good job of it. But until you think so, we'll just have to coast."

  "You're making a mistake."

  She rolled her eyes. "Reed, you're putting those scratchy clothes on me again. If we were married, maybe—just maybe—you could suggest what was best for me. As things stand, I make my own decisions. I really would like a drink. Got any diet soda?"

  "No."

  "All right, whiskey then. Reed, it's very rude to refuse to serve a guest a drink."

  He continued to hold her a moment longer, then gave in and lowered his forehead to hers. "I do need you, Maddy."

  "I know." She lifted her hands to his face. "I know you do. I'm glad you know it."

  "If I could give you what you wanted—"

  "We've talked about it enough for now. I'm leaving for Philadelphia tomorrow."

  "Dancing to the piper," he murmured.

  "That's right, and I'm going to work my tail off, so I don't want to talk. I don't want to argue, not tonight."

  "All right. I'll get us a drink."

  He moved over to the bar and chose a decanter. "You know, Reed, it's still a very odd feeling for me to take my clothes off onstage."

  He had to laugh. Somehow she always made him laugh. "I imagine it is."

  "I mean, I wear a bodysuit and spangles and don't expose more
than I would on a public beach, but it's the act itself that's odd. I have to pull this off in front of several hundred people in a few days. That means practice, practice, practice."

  When he turned back, she was smiling at him and slowly unbuttoning her blouse. "I thought you might give me an unbiased opinion on my… stage presence. Stripping's an art, you know." She ran a hand down the center of her body as her blouse parted. "Titillating…" She turned her back and looked at him over her shoulder. "Fanciful." She let the blouse slip gently away. "What do you think?"

  "I think you're doing great. So far."

  "I just want to be sure I make Mary realistic." She loosened the tie on her skirt and let it fall as she turned back. The brief black merry widow she wore had him setting down his glass before he dropped it.

  "I've never seen you wear anything like that."

  "This?" She passed a hand down her body again. "Not really my style. Not comfortable enough. But for Mary…" She bent from the waist and unhooked a garter from the sheer black stocking. "It's sort of a trademark." She straightened again and ran both hands through her hair in an upward motion. "Do you think it'll sell?"

  "I'm thinking that if you wear that onstage I'll strangle you."

  With a laugh, she unhooked the second garter, then slowly rolled the stocking down her leg. "You have to remember I'm Mary once the curtain's up. And I'm going to help make your play a hit." She tossed the stocking at him, then began the same routine on the other. "It's too bad I don't have a more voluptuous figure."

  "Yours does very well."

  "Do you think?" Still smiling, she began to unhook the lace covering her breasts. "Reed, I hate to be a pest, but you haven't given me that drink."

  "Sorry." He picked up her glass and carried it to her.

  Maddy took it, and for a moment the humor in her eyes turned into something deeper. "This one's for my Pop," she said, and touched her glass to his.

  "What?"

  "You don't have to understand." She smiled again and tossed back the shot of whiskey. It poured through her like lava. "What do you think of the show so far? Worth the price of a ticket?"

  He'd meant to be gentle. He'd wanted to be tender to show her how much her coming back to him meant. But the hands that dived into her hair were tense and urgent. "I've never wanted you more."

  She tilted her head back and let her empty glass fall carelessly to the carpet. "Show me."

  He dragged her against him, desperate. The sting of whiskey clung to her lips, intoxicating. Her arms went around him, welcoming the rage of desire. It was the first time, the only time, she had felt him come to her without control. Her blood began to pound with anticipation of facing unleashed passion. When he pulled her to the floor, she went willingly.

  His hands were everywhere, touching, stroking, pressing. He lifted her up to a blinding peak where she could only gasp his name and ask for more.

  There was more, much more.

  Impatient, he tugged at the remaining hooks, freeing her body to his. Just as urgent, her fingers tore at the belt of his robe until she found warm, naked flesh and muscle.

  The carpet was smooth at her back. His body was hard against hers. She heard her name whispered through his lips, harshly. Then he was filling her.

  It had never been so fast before, so furious, so unrestrained. Heedlessly she threw herself into the whirl of pleasure. Her body shook, and so did his. Love and passion mixed so intimately that she couldn't tell one from the other and no longer tried.

  She was there for him. As long as he accepted her arms around him, he was there for her.