Dance to the Piper

  I guess it's a long trip from sheet music to vinyl."

  "When you've got three or four days free," Edwin said with a laugh, "I'll fill you in."

  "I'd like that." She drank her honeyed tea, knowing it would seep into her bloodstream and get her through the next four hours. "When we recorded the cast album for Suzanna's Park, I got a taste of it. I think the studio's so different from the stage. So, well… restricted." She swallowed lettuce. "Sorry."

  "No need."

  "A studio has certain restrictions," Reed put in. He took a sip of his coffee and discovered it was strong enough to melt leather. "On the other hand, there can be untold advantages. We can take that man behind the counter, put him in a studio and turn him into Caruso by pushing the right buttons."

  Maddy digested that, then shook her head. "That's cheating."

  "That's marketing," Reed corrected. "And plenty of labels do it."

  "Does Valentine?"

  He looked at her, and the gray eyes she'd admired from the beginning were direct. "No. Valentine was started with an eye toward quality, not quantity."

  She slanted Edwin a wicked look. "But you were going to offer a recording contract to the O'Hurley

  Triplets."

  Edwin added an extra dash of pepper to his sandwich. "You weren't quality?"

  "We were… a slice above mediocre.''

  "A great deal above, if what I saw onstage this afternoon is any indication."

  "I appreciate that."

  "Do you get time for much socializing, Maddy?"

  She plopped her chin on her hands. "Asking me for a date?" He seemed taken aback, though only for an instant.

  Then he roared with laughter that caught the attention of everyone in the deli. "Damned if I wouldn't if I

  could drop twenty years. Quite a prize right here." He patted her hand, but looked at his son. "Yes, she is," Reed said blandly. "I'm thinking of giving a party," Edwin said on impulse. "Sending the play off to Philadelphia in style.

  What do you think, Maddy?"

  "I think it's a great idea. Am I invited?"

  "On the condition that you save a dance for me." It was as easy for her to love the father as it was for her to love the son. "You can have as many as you like."

  "'I don't think I can keep up with you for more than one."

  She laughed with him. When she picked up her tea, she saw that Reed was watching her again, coolly. The sense of disapproval she felt from him cut her to the bone.

  "I, ah, I have to get back. There are some things I have to do before afternoon rehearsal."

  "Walk the lady across the street, Reed. Your legs are younger than mine."

  "Oh, that's all right." Maddy was already up. "I don't need—"

  "I'll walk you over." Reed had her by the elbow.

  She wouldn't make a scene. For the life of her she couldn't pinpoint why she wanted to so badly. Instead, she bent down and kissed Edwin's cheek. "Thanks for lunch."

  She waited until they were outside before she spoke again. "Reed, I'm perfectly capable of crossing the street alone. Go back to your father."

  "Do you have a problem?"

  "Do / have a problem?" She pulled her arm away and glared at him. "Oh, I can't stand to hear you say that to me in that proper, politely curious voice." She started across the street at a jog.

  "You have twenty minutes to get back." He caught her arm again.

  "I said I had things to do."

  "You lied."

  In the center of the street, with the light turning yellow, she turned toward him again. "Then let's say I have better things to do. Better things than to sit there and be put under your intellectual microscope. What's wrong, don't you like the fact that I enjoy your father's company? Are you afraid I have designs on him?"

  "Stop it." He gave her a jerk to get her moving as cars began to honk.

  "You just don't like women in general, do you? You put us all in this big box that's labeled 'Not To Be Trusted.' I wish I knew why."

  "Maddy, you're becoming very close to hysterical."

  "Oh, I can get a lot closer," she promised with deadly sincerity. "You froze up. I saw you when I was onstage and you were watching me with that cold, measuring look in your eyes. It was as if you thought you were looking at me instead of the part I was playing—and you didn't want either of us to win."

  Because he recognized the glimmer of truth, he shifted away from it. "You're being ridiculous."

  "I'm not." She shoved away from him again as they stood by the stage door. "I know when I'm being ridiculous, and in this instance I'm not. I don't know what ate away at you, Reed, but whatever it was, I'm sorry for it. I've tried not to let it bother me, I've tried not to let a lot of things bother me. But this is too much."

  He took her by the shoulders and held her against the wall. "What is too much?"

  "I saw your face when your father was talking about having a party, about me being there. Well, you don't have to worry, I won't come. I'll make an excuse."

  "What are you talking about?" he demanded, spacing each word carefully.

  "I didn't realize you'd be embarrassed being seen with me."

  "Maddy—"

  "No, it's understandable, isn't it?" she rushed on. "I'm just plain Maddy O'Hurley, no degrees behind the name, no pedigree in front of it. I got my high school diploma in the mail, and both my parents can trace their roots back to peasant stock in the south of Ireland."

  He caught her chin in his hand. "The next time you take a side trip, leave me a map so I can keep up. I don't know what you're talking about."

  "I'm talking about us!" she shouted. "I don't know why I'm talking about us, because there is no us. You don't want an us. You don't even want a you and me, really, so I don't—"

  He cut her off, out of total frustration, by pressing his mouth over hers. "Shut up," he warned when she struggled to protest. "Just shut up a minute."

  He filled himself on her. God, if she knew how frustrated he'd been watching her seduce an empty theater, how empty he'd felt sitting beside her, unable to touch her. The anger poured through. He'd hurt her. And would probably hurt her again. He no longer knew how to avoid it.

  "Calm?" he asked when he let her speak again.

  "No."

  "All right, then, just be quiet. I don't know exactly what I was thinking while I was watching you onstage. It's becoming a problem to think at all when I look at you."

  She started to snap, then thought better of it. "Why?"

  "I don't know. As for the other business, you are being ridiculous. I don't care if you got your education in a correspondence school or at Vassar. I don't care if your father was knighted or tried for grand larceny."

  "Disturbing the peace," Maddy mumbled. "But that was only once—twice, I guess. I'm sorry." As the tears rolled out, she apologized again. "I'm really sorry. I hate this. I always get so churned up when I'm angry, and I can't stop."

  "Don't." He brushed at her tears himself. "I haven't been completely fair with you. We really need to clear up what the situation between us is."

  "Okay. When?"

  "When don't you have a class at the crack of dawn?"

  She sniffed and searched in her dance bag for a tissue. "Sunday."

  "Saturday, then. Will you come to my place?" He brushed a thumb along her cheekbone. She was being reasonable, too reasonable, when he knew he couldn't promise to be. "Please?"

  "Yes, I'll come. Reed, I didn't mean to make a scene."

  "Neither did I. Maddy—" He hesitated a moment, then decided to start clearing the air now. "The business with my father. It had nothing to do with the party he's planning. It had nothing to do with you coming or being with me."

  She wanted to believe him, but an insecurity she hadn't been aware of held her back. "What was it, then?"

  "I haven't seen him so… charmed by anyone in a very long time. He wanted a house full of children, and he never had them. If he'd had a daughter, I imagine he'd have enjoyed one like you." br />
  "Reed, I'm sorry. I don't know what you want me to do."

  "Just don't hurt him. I won't see him hurt again." He touched her cheek briefly, then left her at the stage door.

  Chapter Seven

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  When Maddy let herself into her apartment she was thinking about Reed. That didn't surprise her. Thoughts of Reed had dominated her day to the point where she had had to make a conscious effort to concentrate on her role as Mary Howard. The Philadelphia opening was only three weeks away. She couldn't afford to be distracted by speculation on what-if and how-to when they concerned Reed Valentine.

  But what was going to happen on Saturday? What would she say? How should she behave?

  Maddy jammed the key into her lock and called herself a fool. But she kept thinking.

  The lights were on. As the door closed behind her, Maddy stood in the center of the room frowning. True, she was often absentminded or in too much of a rush to remember little details, but she wouldn't have left the lights on. She'd retained the habit of conserving energy—and electrical bills—from her leaner days. Besides, she didn't think she'd even turned them on that morning before she'd left for class.

  Odder still, she could have sworn she smelled coffee. Fresh coffee.

  Maddy was setting down her dance bag and turning toward the kitchen when she heard a noise from the bedroom. Heart thudding, she pulled a tap shoe from the bag and held it up like a weapon. She didn't consider herself the aggressive type, but it didn't even occur to her to run and call for help. It was her home, and she had always defended what was hers.

  Slowly, careful to make no sound, she moved across the room.

  She heard a jangle of hangers from the closet and gripped the shoe tighter. If the thief thought he'd find anything of value in there, he was too stupid for words. She should be able to send a dim-witted thief on his way with the threat of a rap over the head with a reinforced heel. Still, the closer she came, the more often she had to swallow past the little flutter of panic in her throat.

  Holding her breath, Maddy closed her free hand around the knob, then pulled. There were simultaneous shrieks of alarm.

  "Well." Chantel put a hand to her heart. "It's nice to see you, too."

  "Chantel!" With a whoop of delight, Maddy tossed her shoe aside and grabbed her sister. "I almost put a dent in your head."

  "Then I'd have one to match yours."

  "What are you doing here?"

  "Hanging up a few things." Chantel kissed Maddy's cheek, then tossed back her silvery-blond mane. "I hope you don't mind. Silk wrinkles so dreadfully."

  "Of course I don't mind. I meant, what are you doing in New York? You should have let me know you were coming."

  "Darling, I wrote you last week."

  "No, you—" Then Maddy remembered the stack of mail she'd yet to open. "I haven't gotten to some of my mail yet."

  "Typical."

  "Yeah, I know." She drew her sister back just to look. It was a face she knew as well as her own, but one she never ceased to admire. The subtle French fragrance that wafted through the room suited Chantel as perfectly as the deep blue eyes and the cupid's-bow mouth. "Oh, Chantel, you look wonderful. I'm so glad to see you."

  "You look pretty wonderful yourself." Chantel studied her sister's glowing complexion. "Either those vitamins you guzzle are working or you're in love."

  "I think it's both."

  One thin, shapely brow rose. "Is that so? Why don't we get out of the closet and talk about it?"

  "Let's sit down and have a drink." Maddy linked her arm through Chantel's. "Oh, I wish Abby were here, too. Then it would be perfect. How long are you in town?"

  "Just a couple of days," Chantel explained as they walked back to the living room. "I'm presenting one of those America's Choice Awards Friday night. My publicists thought it would be 'just nifty'."

  Maddy began to search the cupboards for a bottle of wine. "And you don't."

  Chantel tossed a glance at the darkening window. "You know New York's not my town, darling. It's too…"

  "Real?" Maddy suggested.

  "Let's just say noisy." Outside, two sirens were competing in volume. "I hope you have some wine, Maddy. You were out of coffee, you know."

  "I gave it up," Maddy told her with her head stuck in a cupboard.

  "Gave it up? You?"

  "I was drinking too much of it. Just pouring that caffeine into my system. I'm drinking mostly herb tea these days." Maddy sniffed again and caught the rich, dark scent of coffee. "Where did you get it?"

  "Oh, I borrowed a few scoops from your next-door neighbor."

  Wine bottle in hand, Maddy drew out of the cupboard. "Not Guido."

  "Yes, Guido. The one with the biceps and large teeth."

  Maddy unearthed two glasses. "Chantel, I've lived next door to him for years and I wouldn't exchange a good-morning with him without an armed guard."

  "He was charming." Leaning against the counter, Chantel pushed her hair away from her face. Although I did have to discourage him from coming over to fix the coffee for me."

  Maddy glanced at her sister, at the classic face, the stunning body, the Wedgwood-blue eyes that easily hypnotized men. "I bet." Maddy poured two glasses, then tapped hers against her sister's. "Here's to the O'Hurleys."

  "God bless them every one," Chantel murmured, and sipped. After a grimace, she swallowed. "Maddy, you're still buying your wine at the flea market."

  "It's not that bad. Let's sit down. Have you heard from Abby?"

  "I called her before I left so she'd know I'd be on the same coast. She was refereeing a fight between the boys and sounded blissfully happy."

  "Dylan?"

  Chantel sank into the sofa, grateful for its stationary comfort after a long, tedious flight. "She said he was nearly finished with the book."

  "How does she feel about it?"

  "Content. She trusts him completely." Chantel sipped again. There was a trace of cynicism in her voice that she couldn't completely disguise. She had trusted once, too. "Abby seems to have put her life with Rockwell behind her. She tells me Dylan's going to adopt the boys."

  "That's great." Maddy felt her eyes fill, and swallowed more wine. "That's really great."

  "It's what she's needed. He's what she's needed. Oh, and Abby said she'd gotten a lace tablecloth from Trace as a wedding gift."

  "I guess we were all hoping he'd manage to get back for the wedding. Where is he?"

  "Brittany, I think. He sent his apologies, as usual."

  "Do you ever wonder what he does?"

  "I decided to stop wondering in case it was illegal. Are Mom and Pop going to make it to your opening?"

  "I hope so. They've got three weeks to work their way to Philly. I guess you won't be able to make it back east."

  "I'm sorry." Chantel closed her hand over her sister's. "Filming on Strangers was postponed—couple of problems with the location site. I should be starting week after next. You know I'd be here if I could."

  "I know. You must be so excited. It's such a wonderful part."

  "Yes." A frown moved into her eyes and out again.

  "What's wrong?"

  Chantel hesitated, on the verge of telling Maddy about the anonymous letters she'd been getting. And the phone calls. She shrugged it off. "I don't know. Nerves, I guess. I've never done a miniseries. It's not really television, it's not a feature film."

  "Come on, Chantel. This is Maddy."

  "It's nothing." She made up her mind not to discuss what was probably nothing more than a minor annoyance. When she returned to California, the whole thing would probably have blown over. "Just a few loose ends I have to tie up. What I want to talk about is the man you're thinking about." She smiled when Maddy blinked back to full attention. "Come on, Maddy. Tell your big sister everything."

  "I'm not sure how much there is to tell." Maddy brought her legs up into a comfortable lotus position. "Do you ever remember Pop talking about knowing Edwin Valentine?"
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  "Edwin Valentine?" Narrowing her eyes, Chantel searched her memory. One of the reasons for her quick rise as an actress in Hollywood was the fact that she never forgot anything—not lines, not names, not faces. "No, I don't remember the name at all."

  "He's Valentine Records." Chantel merely lifted a brow again and waited for Maddy to go on. "It's one of the top labels in the business, maybe the top. Anyway, he met Mom and Pop when we were babies. He was just getting started, and they let him sleep on a cot in their hotel room."

  "Sounds like them," Chantel said easily. She slipped out of her shoes and slouched, something she would never have done with anyone but family. "What's next?"

  "Valentine Records is the backer for the play."

  "Interesting." She started to sip, then latched on to her sister's hand. "Maddy, you're not involved with him? He must be Pop's age. Look, I'm not saying that age should be a big factor in a relationship, but when it's my little sister—"

  "Hang on." Maddy giggled into her wine. "Didn't I read that you were seeing Count DeVargo of DeVargo Jewelers? He must be hitting sixty."

  "That was different." Chantel muttered. "European men are ageless."

  "Very good," Maddy decided after a moment. "That was really very good."

  "Thanks. In any case, we were nothing more than friends. If you're getting dreamy eyed over a man old enough to be your father—"

  "I'm not dreamy eyed," Maddy said. "And it's his son."

  "Whose son? Oh." Calmer, Chantel settled back again. "So this Edwin Valentine has a son. Not a dancer?"

  "No." She had to smile. "He's taken over the record company. I guess he's a magnate."

  "Well." Chantel rolled out the word. "Coming up in the world, aren't we?"

  "I don't know what I'm doing." Maddy unlaced her legs and rose. "Most of the time I think I must be crazy. He's gorgeous and successful and conservative. He likes French restaurants."

  "The beast."

  Maddy dissolved into laughter. "Oh, Chantel, help."

  "Have you slept with him?"

  It was like Chantel to get right down to brass tacks. Maddy let out a deep breath and sat again. "No."

  "But you've thought about it."

  "I can't seem to think of much of anything but him."

  Chantel reached for the bottle to fill her glass again. Once you got past the first swallow, the wine was almost palatable. "And how does he feel about you?"