The Shadow and the Rose

  Chapter 5

  On Saturdays no classes were held, but Joy had a piano tutorial with Dr. Maurice Marzavan. Mo, as he insisted on being called, was as short as Joy and at least twice as wide, with a round bald head and protruding blue eyes. He always reminded Joy a little bit of a gnome, perhaps in part because his office, in the basement of the academic building, had such a subterranean atmosphere. The wall-to-wall shelves were crammed with sheet music and bound music scores. Dark linoleum and low-wattage lighting gave it a gloomy air, and what little daylight struggled in through the small ivy-hung windows had a greenish tinge.

  Mo was known for his bluntness; he regularly reduced freshmen to tears, and on one notorious occasion he’d jumped on top of his desk to rail at a classroom full of inattentive students. Joy appreciated his candor, but she was still unprepared for the conversation that started when she finished playing for him today.

  “Joy,” he said, “I’m wondering if we made the right decision in letting you switch to the music track.”

  “What? But I wasn’t going anywhere in the drama track. You remember.”

  “I remember you said you weren’t good-looking enough to be an actress, but Mr. Dudley didn’t agree that looks are that important.” That was the head of the theater program.

  “It’s different for guys. They don’t have to be attractive to make it. But an actress with my looks isn’t going to get far.” She hoped she didn’t sound resentful. It had been bitterly disappointing to realize that she wasn’t going to get anywhere with drama. “When someone’s listening to your music they don’t care how you look. And for the music video, you just hire an actress. A pretty actress.”

  “I see.” Mo drummed his fingers on his desk. Joy noticed that he was missing two of the sleeve buttons of his blazer. Mo was a bachelor, and while Gail was inclined to mourn that he had no one to take care of him, Joy suspected that he relished his freedom—in this case, the freedom to wear threadbare, mismatched clothes without caring what his wife (or anyone else) thought. She knew he was getting around to something unpleasant, but she was still unprepared when he asked, “Have you thought about careers other than music?”

  “What do you mean?” She tried to force down the anxiety that tightened her voice. “Am I not good enough?”

  He looked her in the eyes and shook his head. “I don’t think you are. No, listen to me,” as she stood up to leave. “You’re becoming competent, which is a long way from where you started, and you deserve credit for that. But I don’t see you progressing beyond competence. You’re becoming technically proficient, but nothing more.”

  She stared at the scuffed linoleum floor. She could feel her face getting hot. “So I’ll never be another Anna Merridew Sumner, is that what you’re saying?”

  “Is that what you want to be?” When she didn’t answer, he said, “I’m not comparing you to her. That wouldn’t be fair—she set a high bar, even for Ash Grove. I’m just suggesting that you think about switching back to the drama track. I don’t think you’re cut out for this, Joy.”

  Stung, she retorted, “I don’t know how you can tell after just one year. I’m working hard. I’m getting better.”

  “You’re getting less bad, yes.” But his voice wasn’t as unkind as his words. He sat back and sighed, lacing his fingers over his broad stomach. “Prove me wrong, then. I’d love it if you turned out to be another prodigy like your mother. The world could use another Anna Merridew.”

  She gathered up her music and stuffed it into her book bag. “I’m doing my best,” she said, and left his office quickly, before she did anything she’d regret, like cry or snap at him. Not until she was crossing the playing field did her steps slow, as she thought about her mother, about her music.

  It was true that Joy had never felt any strong inclination to study music until she was a sophomore at Ash Grove. Up through middle school her strongest subject was English, and she had loved the theater program at Ash Grove—until she began to realize that nobody around her thought she had any business being there. She was passed over for the big roles, relegated to being Villager #3 or Second Roman Citizen. When she got the idea of carrying on her mother’s legacy, it seemed like the perfect plan. She stopped signing up for drama classes and auditioning for plays and started taking piano lessons and music classes. And this was the result of more than a year’s hard work: she was almost competent.

  At least Mo was willing to let her keep trying. She wasn’t being kicked out of the program… yet. She remembered Dr. Aysgarth’s comment about thinking Joy had made a mistake in coming to Ash Grove. What if she couldn’t make a go of it? Would she have to transfer to Murphy High? What would she have to work toward then?

  She knew her father would be perfectly content for her to become a teacher, like him, and there had been a time when she’d planned to go in that direction. But how much happier he would be if she could follow in her mother’s footsteps. He’d never even hinted that he wanted that for her, but she knew it without his saying so.

  She had to find a way to convince Mo that she was up to the challenge. Otherwise… she fought back a rising feeling of panic. She had to make a go of this, for her father’s sake. But knowing that Mo didn’t believe she could was a blow that would take her a while to recover from.

  As Joy approached the far side of the playing field she noticed a small group of students gathered near one of the mountain ash trees. When she drew nearer, a shift in the crowd gave her a glimpse of a dangerously sexy black motorcycle, and her steps quickened even though there was no way she could know from this distance that it was a Kawasaki Ninja.

  But she was right. Tanner was standing next to the bike, signing autographs for the girls who crowded around. There were guy students as well, their attention divided between the bike and the celebrity. Then Tanner looked up and saw her.

  “Guys, would you mind giving us some space?” he asked, and Joy winced inwardly as all the faces turned toward her, surprised and curious. But they fell back obediently, and when Joy finally approached close enough to Tanner that they wouldn’t have to raise their voices, they were to all intents and purposes alone.

  He leaned against the tree with his hands shoved into his pockets, looking at her, not smiling. She wondered which of his faces she’d see today: the Byronic brooder or the lounge lizard? Today he was wearing jeans, a leather jacket, and a white oxford shirt unbuttoned beneath it. He looked more rumpled and more human than he had at the party, and his beauty struck her like a physical blow. It was the first time she’d seen him in daylight, and if she had assumed that low lighting flattered him, she’d been mistaken: he was heartbreakingly handsome, with so much refinement in the angles of his cheekbones, the definition of his chest and abs—she dragged her eyes back to his face, only to meet the gaze of those intense gray eyes.

  “I’ve been waiting for you,” he said.

  The words brought a quick rush of pleasure, but she told herself not to get her hopes up. “What for?”

  He pushed off from the tree. “I wanted to get away from things for a while. And I thought you might like to join me.”

  “Yeah, I’d like that.” She hoped that her enthusiasm wasn’t too obvious. “But why me?”

  He did smile then, and the sight made her heart thud in her chest. “Because you are the total opposite of all the superficial glamour girls that I’m used to.”

  “Um, thanks—I think.”

  The expression on her face made him laugh. He looked younger and more relaxed when he laughed, and she remembered that there had been very little laughter at Melisande’s. “No, seriously, I enjoy talking to you,” he said, handing her a helmet. “How long can you stay out?”

  “Until 5:30.” That was when the dinner shift began at the dining hall. “But where’s your helmet?”

  A shrug. “Don’t use one.”

  “You should,” she said, severely. “It’s awfully dangerous not to wear one. Also illegal.”

  He slung a leg over the bi
ke and began the process of starting it up. “It’s all the same to me.” As the engine roared into life, he asked over the noise, “Are you coming? Or does your conscience prevent you from abetting a bareheaded rider?” The bright gray eyes looked a challenge at her, and she knew she was going with him.

  It had been a couple of years since she’d been a passenger on a motorcycle, and he had to help her find the pegs where she would rest her feet. When she put her arms around his waist, she found her hands brushing bare skin, and she reflexively drew back.

  “No, go ahead,” he directed her. “Hold onto me.” He caught hold of one hand and drew her arm around him, so that her hand rested against his bare midriff. She thought she heard amusement in his voice when he said, “You’ll need to hold me tighter.”

  Slightly breathless, she did so. She figured she was blushing, and was glad she was behind him, where he couldn’t see her face. But all her self-consciousness vanished as he revved the bike and took them through campus and out into the winding country roads.

  The spring countryside became a green blur around them as Tanner accelerated. She didn’t know where they were going, and maybe he didn’t either, so she just gave herself up to enjoyment of the ride.

  The two-lane asphalt road led past the cluster of shops and gas station that constituted Brasstown and past meadows where horses and cattle grazed. They passed weeping willows in bright new green and redbud trees in mauve. Dandelions and phlox scattered the grass, and forsythia bushes bloomed by the roadside. Some fields showed dead cut-down cornstalks or dry, dun-colored kudzu vines. But those were the exceptions; almost everywhere she looked she saw the vivid colors of spring. A waterfall flashed by as they passed Mission Dam.

  Holding tightly to him as they leaned into the curves, Joy let her eyes close and just felt the wind rushing by, heard the eager growl of the engine.

  “How you doing?” yelled Tanner above the sound of the bike. “Okay?”

  She nodded, even though he couldn’t see it. “Very okay!” she shouted. She realized she was grinning with happiness. All the depression and anxiety of her meeting with Mo were blowing away with the spring breeze.

  For answer he sped up even faster. Soon they pulled off Highway 64 onto the winding narrow road that led to the dam at Lake Chatuge. Ranch houses and mobile homes flashed by, and then they crossed the bridge over the river and were in the woods. The road led between high wooded banks where the trees wore bright new shades of green, and the blossoms on a single white dogwood showed like a fall of snow suspended in midair.

  Tanner slowed the bike as they reached the end of the road. The small parking area there looked down over the broad shining expanse of the lake, with its fringe of mountains at the far side. At right the paved path stretched between the lake and the steep incline down to the dam machinery and then to fields and trees, but Tanner took them in the other direction, down the slight hill where tire tracks marked a path to a small patch of sandy red beach at the lake’s edge. Joy unfastened her helmet as Tanner cut the ignition, and the sudden quiet rushed into her ears.

  Ducks were padding there at the edge of the water, and their quacking was almost the only sound there was aside from the soft plashing of the water against the shore. Occasionally she could hear the gentle sound of a mourning dove. With the hill at their back and the lake before them, they had a world all to themselves. “It’s lovely here,” she said, standing perfectly still. “I’ve walked the path before, but I’ve never come down here to the lake. It must be a good place to get away from everyone,” and she glanced over to see what he would say to this.

  Tanner lay sprawled on his back, hands clasped behind his head and eyes closed against the sunlight, as if he might be about to take a nap. His jacket and shirt had fallen open, laying bare the lean muscled torso that Blake said was so high maintenance. There was elegance even in the line of his throat, from his strong jaw to the hollow at the base of his neck. She looked away, embarrassed not only by the sight but by her own wish to stare.

  “Are all of you—all of her protégés—so comfortable about showing skin?” she couldn’t help asking.

  Surprised, he opened his eyes. “I never thought about it. Yeah, I guess so. You get used to it in modeling. Why, does it bother you?”

  “I’m just not used to it, is all,” she said, and sat down a short distance away, carefully so that the gritty mixture of red clay and sand wouldn’t get ground into her jeans. “I don’t have any brothers, so I’ve just never really been around, you know, shirtless guys.”

  “What about boyfriends?”

  “I haven’t dated much.” It sounded so pathetic, said out loud.

  He rolled up on one elbow to look at her. “Why not?” he asked.

  If she’d known she was going to get grilled like this, she would have turned down the ride. “Well, for one thing, my dad’s a teacher, and nobody wants to date a girl when her father teaches in his school.”

  “And the other thing?”

  He was not going to let this go. “Let’s just say I’m not supermodel material,” she said.

  To her relief, he took this quietly, and lay back down on the beach. Presently he said, “No brothers. Any sisters?”

  “Nope. And my mom died a long time ago, so it’s just been Dad and me.”

  “It must be lonely for you, with him at the clinic.”

  She wondered how he knew about that. It wasn’t a subject she wanted to discuss. “What about you?” she asked. “What’s your family like?”

  He gave a short, humorless laugh and laid one arm over his eyes to shield them from the sunshine. “My family. Well, if you mean my father, he’s living the Margaritaville dream, shacked up with a girl half his age and drinking tequila all day. I haven’t heard from him in, let’s see, eighteen months now? Yeah, about that. And my mother, last I heard, is in Florence—Alabama, not Italy—with her third husband, doing really important things in the field of interior decorating.” Scorn gave his voice an edge. “They both made it very clear when they divorced that I was a burden neither of them wanted to take on. So they shipped me off to the nearest boarding school, which was Ash Grove. Lucky for them I passed the entrance exam and audition. Then they went off to live their new lives.”

  She stared at him, dismayed. Although she couldn’t read his face, half hidden as it was, the rapid rise and fall of his chest showed that he was upset. “I’m so sorry, Tan.” She reached toward him, but lost her nerve and drew her hand back without touching him. For a few minutes there was no sound but the gentle lapping of the water and the quacking of the ducks, who were unconcerned with human problems. Then she ventured, “Was it after the divorce that you met Melisande?”

  “Ah, Melisande.” His voice was still bitter. “That was near the start of my third year at Ash Grove.”

  “Would you rather not talk about it?”

  Again he gave that humorless laugh. “You might rather not hear about it. But maybe I should tell you.” He sat up then, and stared out over the lake. “Yeah, maybe you should know what kind of person you’re dealing with.”

  “Melisande?” she asked.

  He shook his head, and looked grimly into her eyes. “Me.”