Dance to the Piper: The O'Hurleys Page 7

  “Jean-Paul.” Reed nodded to the maître d’. “I didn’t make a reservation. I hope you have room for us.”

  “For you, of course.” He cast a quick, professional look at Maddy. Not the monsieur’s usual type, Jean-Paul decided, but appealing all the same. “Please, follow me.”

  Maddy followed, wondering what kind of juggling act the maître d’ would have to perform. She didn’t doubt that Reed would make it worth his while.

  It was precisely the sort of restaurant Maddy had thought he would patronize. A bit staid but very elegant, quietly chic without being trendy. Floral pastels on the walls and subdued lighting lent an air of relaxation. The scent of spice was subtle. Maddy took her seat at the corner table and glanced with frank curiosity at the other patrons. So much polish in one small place, she mused. But that was part of the charm of New York. Trash or glitz, you only had to turn a corner.

  “Champagne, Mr. Valentine?”

  “Maddy?” Reed inclined his head, holding the wine list but leaving the decision to her.

  She gave the maître d’ a smile that made his opinion of her rise several notches. “It’s always difficult to say no to champagne.”

  “Thank you, Jean-Paul,” Reed said, handing back the list after making his selection.

  “This is nice.” Maddy turned from her study of the other diners to smile at Reed. “I really hadn’t expected anything like this.”

  “What did you expect?”

  “That’s why I like seeing you. I never know what to expect. I wondered if you’d come by rehearsals again.”

  He didn’t want to admit that he’d wanted to, had had to discipline himself to stay away from something that wasn’t his field. “It’s not necessary. I have nothing creative to contribute to the play itself. Our concern is the score.”

  She gave him a solemn look. “I see.” Slowly she traced a pattern on the linen cloth. “Valentine Records needs the play to be a hit in order to get a return on its investment. And a hit play sells more albums.”

  “Naturally, but we feel the play’s in good hands.”

  “Well, that should be a comfort to me.” But she had to drum up enthusiasm when the champagne arrived. Because rituals amused her, Maddy watched the procedure—the display of the label, the quick, precise opening resulting in a muffled pop, the tasting and approval. The wine was poured in fluted glasses, and she watched the bubbles rise frantically from bottom to top.

  “I suppose we should drink to Philadelphia.” She was smiling again when she lifted her glass to his.

  “Philadelphia?”

  “Opening there often tells the tale.” She touched her glass to his, then sipped slowly. She would limit her intake of wine just as religiously as she limited her intake of everything else. But she’d enjoy every bit of it. “Wonderful. The last time I had champagne was at a party they threw for me when I left Suzanna’s Park, but it wasn’t nearly this good.”

  “Why did you?”

  “Did I what?”

  “Leave the play.”

  Before she answered, she sipped again. Wine was so pretty in candlelight, she mused. It was a pity people stopped noticing things like that when they could have wine whenever they liked. “I’d given the part everything I could and gotten everything I could out of it.” She shrugged. “It was time to move on. I have restless feet, Reed. They dance to the piper.”

  “You don’t look for security?”

  “With my background, security doesn’t come high on the list. You find it first in yourself, anyway.”

  He knew about restlessness, about women who moved from one place to the next, never quite finding satisfaction. “Some might say you bored easily.”

  Something in his tone put her on guard, but she had no way of answering except with honesty. “I’m never bored. How could I be? There’s too much to enjoy.”

  “So you don’t consider it a matter of losing interest?”

  Without knowing why, she felt he was testing her somehow. Or was he testing himself? “I can’t think of anything I’ve ever lost interest in. No, that’s not true. There was this calico-cat pillow, an enormous, expensive one. I thought I was crazy about it, then I bought it and got it home and decided it was awful. But that’s not what you mean, is it?”

  “No.” Reed studied her as he drank. “It’s not.”

  “It’s more a matter of different outlooks.” She ran a finger around the rim of her glass. “A man like you structures his own routine, then has to live up to it every day because dozens of people are depending on you. A great deal of my life is structured for me, simply to keep me on level ground. The rest has to change, fluctuate constantly, or I lose the edge. You should understand that—you work with entertainers.”

  His lips curved as he lifted his glass. “I certainly do.”

  “They amuse you?”

  “In some ways,” he admitted easily enough. “In others they frustrate me, but that doesn’t mean I don’t admire them.”

  “While knowing they’re all a little mad.”

  It took only an instant for the humor to spread from his mouth to his eyes. “Absolutely.”

  “I like you, Reed.” She put her hand over his, friend to friend. “It’s a pity you don’t have more illusions.”

  He didn’t ask her what she meant. He wasn’t certain he wanted to know. Conversation stopped when the waiter arrived with menus and a list of specials delivered in a rolling French accent Maddy decided was genuine.

  “This is a problem,” Maddy muttered when they were alone again.

  Reed glanced up from his menu. “You don’t like French food?”

  “Are you kidding?” She grinned at him. “I love it. I love Italian food, Armenian food, East Indian food. That’s the problem.”

  “You suggested pizza,” he reminded her. “It’s hard to believe you’re worried about calories.”

  “I was only going to have one piece and inhale the rest.” She caught her bottom lip between her teeth and knew she could eat anything on the menu. “I have two choices. I can order just a salad and deny myself. Or I can say this is a celebration and shoot the works.”

  “I can recommend the côtelettes de saumon.”

  She lifted her gaze from the menu again to study him very seriously. “You can?”

  “Highly”

  “Reed, I’m a grown woman and independent by nature. When it comes to food, however, I often have the appetite of a twelve-year-old in a bakery. I’m going to put myself in your hands.” She closed the menu and set it aside. “With the stipulation that you understand I can only eat this way once or twice a year unless I want to bounce around stage like a meatball.”

  “Understood.” He decided, for reasons he didn’t delve into, to give her the meal of her life.

  He wasn’t disappointed. Her unabashed appreciation for everything put in front of her was novel and somehow compelling. She ate slowly, with a dark, sensual enjoyment Reed had forgotten could be found in food. She tasted everything and finished nothing, and it was clear that the underlying discipline was always there, despite her sumptuous appreciation.

  She teased herself with flavors as other women might tease themselves with men. She closed her eyes over a bite of fish and gave herself over to the pleasure of it as others gave themselves to the pleasures of lovemaking.

  Champagne bubbles exploded in their glasses, and the scents rising up were rich.

  “Oh, this is wonderful. Taste.”

  Wanting to share her pleasure, she held her fork out to him. His body tightened, surprising him. He had been aroused just by watching her, but he discovered in that instant that what he really wanted was to sample her, slowly, as she sampled the tastes and textures on her plate.

  He opened his mouth and allowed himself to be fed. As he savored the bite, he watched her eyes and saw they were aware. Mixed with that awareness was a curiosity that became intensely erotic.

  “It’s very good.”

  She knew she was getting in over her h
ead, and she wondered why the feeling was so alluring. “Dancers think about food too much. I suppose it’s because we watch so much of it pass us by.”

  “You said once that dancers are always hungry.”

  He wasn’t speaking of food now. To give herself a moment, Maddy picked up her glass and sipped. “We make a choice, usually in childhood. We give up football games, TV, parties, and go to class instead. It carries over into adulthood.”

  “How much do you sacrifice?”

  “Whatever it takes.”

  “And it’s worth it?”

  “Yes.” She smiled, more comfortable now that she could feel her body pull away from that trembling edge of tension. “Even at its worst, it’s worth it.”

  He leaned back just enough to distance himself from her. She sensed it and wondered whether he had felt the same intensity between them. “What does success mean to you?”

  “When I was sixteen, it meant Broadway.” She looked around the quiet restaurant and nearly sighed. “In some ways, it still does.”

  “Then you have it.”

  He didn’t understand, nor did she expect him to. “I feel successful because I tell myself the show’s going to be a smash. I don’t let myself think it might flop.”

  “You wear blinders, then.”

  “Oh, no. Rose-colored glasses, but never blinders. You’re a realist. I suppose I like that in you because it’s so different from what I am. I like to pretend.”

  “You can’t run a business on illusions.”

  “And your personal life?”

  “That either.”

  Interested, she leaned forward. “Why not?”

  “Because you can only make things work your way if you know what’s real and what’s not.”

  “I like to think you can make things real.”

  “Valentine!”

  Reed’s considering frown lingered as he glanced up at a tall, lanky man in a peach jacket and a melon tie. “Selby. How are you?”

  “Fine. Just fine.” The man sent Maddy a long look. “It looks like I’m interrupting, and I hate to use a tired line, but have we met before?”

  “No.” Maddy extended her hand with the easy friendship she showed everyone.

  “Maddy O’Hurley. Allen Selby.”

  “Maddy O’Hurley?” Selby cut into Reed’s introduction and squeezed Maddy’s hand. “This is a pleasure. I saw Suzanna’s Park twice.”

  She didn’t like the feel of his hand, but she always hated herself when she made snap judgments. “Then it’s my pleasure.”

  “I’d heard Valentine was dipping into Broadway, Reed.”

  “Word gets around.” Reed poured the last of the wine into Maddy’s glass. “Allen is the head of Galloway Records.”

  “Friendly competitors,” Selby assured her, and Maddy got the distinct impression that he’d cut Reed’s professional throat at the first opportunity. “Have you ever considered a solo album, Maddy?”

  She toyed with the stem of her glass. “It’s a difficult thing to admit to a record producer, but singing’s not my strong point.”

  “If Reed doesn’t convince you differently, come see me.” He laid a hand on Reed’s shoulder as he spoke. No, she didn’t like those hands, she thought again. It couldn’t be helped. Maddy noticed that Reed’s eyes frosted over, but he merely picked up his glass. “Wish I could join you for some coffee,” Selby went on, ignoring the fact he hadn’t been asked, “but I’m meeting a client for dinner. Give my best to your old man, Reed. Think about that album now.” He winked at Maddy, then sauntered off to his own table.

  Maddy waited a beat, then finished off the rest of her wine. “Do most record producers dress like they’re part of a fruit salad?”

  Reed stared at her a moment, seeing the bland, curious smile. The tension dissolved into laughter. “Selby’s one of a kind.”

  She took his hand again, delighted to have made him laugh. “So are you.”

  “Do I need time to decide if that was a compliment or an insult?”

  “A definite compliment.” She glanced over to where Selby was signaling a waiter. “You don’t like him.”

  He didn’t pretend not to understand who she was referring to. “We’re business rivals.”

  “No,” Maddy said with a shake of her head. “You don’t like him. Personally.”

  That interested him, because he had a well-earned reputation for concealing his emotions. “Why do you say that?”

  “Because your eyes iced over.” Involuntarily she shivered. “I’d hate to be looked at that way. Anyway, you won’t gossip, and you’re annoyed that he’s here, so why don’t we go?”

  When they walked outside again, the heat of the day had eased. Traffic had thinned. Hooking her arm through his, Maddy breathed in the rough night air that was New York. “Can we walk awhile? It’s too nice to jump right into a cab.”

  They strolled down the sidewalk, past dark store windows and closed shops. “Selby had a point, you know. With the right material, you could make a very solid album.”

  She shrugged. That had never been part of her dream, though she wouldn’t completely dismiss it. “Maybe someday, but I think Streisand can sleep easy. You never see enough stars,” she murmured, looking up as they walked. “On nights like this I envy Abby and her farm in the country.”

  “Difficult to sit on the porch swing and make the eight-o’clock curtain.”

  “Exactly. Still, I keep planning to take this wonderful vacation some day. A cruise on the South Seas where the steward brings you iced tea while you watch the moon hovering over the water. Or a cabin in the woods—Oregon, maybe—where you can lie in bed in the morning and listen to the birds wake up. Trouble is, how would I make it to dance class?” She laughed at herself and moved closer. “What do you do when you have time off, Reed?”

  It had been two years since he’d taken anything more than a long weekend off, and even those were few and far between. It had been two years since he’d taken over Valentine Records. “We have a house in St. Thomas. You can sit on the balcony and forget there is a Manhattan.”

  “It must be wonderful. One of those big, rambling places, pink-and-white stucco with a garden full of flowers most people only see in pictures. But you’d have phones. A man like you would never really cut himself off.”

  “Everyone pays a price.”

  She knew that very well every time she placed her hand on the barre. “Oh, look.” She stopped by a window and looked in at an icy blue negligee that swept the mannequin’s feet and left the shoulders bare but for ivory lace. “That’s Chantel.”

  Reed studied the faceless mannequin. “Is it?”

  “The negligee. It’s Chantel. Cool and sexy. She was born to wear things like that—and she’s the first one to say so.” Maddy laughed and stepped back to make a note of the name of the shop. “I’ll have to send it to her. Our birthday’s in a couple of months.”

  “Chantel O’Hurley.” Reed shook his head. “Strange, I never put it together. She’s your sister.”

  “Not so strange. We’re not a great deal alike on the surface.”

  Cool and sexy, Reed thought again. That was precisely Chantel’s image as a symbol of Hollywood glamour. The woman beside him would never be termed cool, and her sexuality wasn’t glamorous but tangible. Dangerously so. “Being a triplet must be a very unique sensation.”

  “It’s hard for me to say, since I’ve always been one.” They began to walk again. “But it’s special. You’re never really alone, you know. I think that was part of the reason I had enough courage to come to New York and risk it all. I always had Chantel and Abby, even when they were hundreds of miles away “

  “You miss them.”

  “Oh, yes. I miss them dreadfully sometimes, and Mom and Pop and Trace. We were so close growing up, living in each other’s pockets, working together. Yelling at each other.”

  She chuckled when he glanced down at her. “It’s not so odd, you know. Everyone needs someone they can yell at
now and then. When Trace left, it was like losing an arm at first. Pop never really got over it. Then Abby left, then Chantel and I. I never thought how hard it was on my parents, because they had each other. You must be close to your parents.”

  He closed up then, instantly; she thought she could feel the frost settle over the heat. “There’s only my father.”

  “I’m sorry.” She never deliberately opened old wounds, but innate curiosity often led her to them. “I’ve never lost anyone close to me, but I can imagine how hard it would be.”

  “My mother’s not dead.” He didn’t accept sympathy. He detested it.

  Questions sprang into her head, but she didn’t ask them. “Your father’s a wonderful man. I could tell right away. He has such kind eyes. I always loved that about my own father—the way his eyes would say, ‘Trust me,’ and you knew you could. My mother ran away with him, you know. It always seemed so romantic. She was seventeen and had already been working clubs for years. My father came through town and promised her the moon on a silver platter. I don’t think she ever believed him, but she went with him. When we were little, my sisters and I used to talk about the day a man would come and offer us the moon.”

  “Is that what you want?”

  “The moon?” She laughed again, and the sound of it trailed down the sidewalk. “Of course. And the stars. I might even take the man.”

  He stopped then, just outside the beam of a streetlight, to look down at her. “Any man who’d give it to you?”

  “No.” Her heart began to thud, slowly at first, then faster, until she felt it in her throat. “A man who’d offer it.”

  “A dreamer.” He combed his hand through her hair the way he’d wanted to, though he’d told himself he wouldn’t. It spread like silk through his fingers. “Like you.”

  “If you stop dreaming, you stop living.”

  He shook his head, moving it closer to hers. “I stopped a long time ago.” His lips touched hers, briefly, as they had once before. “I’m still alive.”

  She put a hand on his chest, not to keep him away but to keep him close. “Why did you stop?”

  “I prefer reality.”

  This time, when his mouth came to hers, it wasn’t hesitant. He gathered and took what he’d wanted for days. Her lips were warm against his, exotic in flavor, tempting in their very willingness to merge with his. Her hand pressed against the back of his neck, drawing him nearer, eagerly accepting the next stage of pleasure as their tongues met and tangled.