Dancing on a Moonbeam (Bedford Falls Book 1) (35 page)

Letting go of his disappointment, he started working on the trim along the windows and doors inside the studio.

He was almost done when he heard footsteps outside the door. They sounded sullen, so he figured it had to be Lily.

"Are you serious about this?" she asked, standing in the entrance as though crossing the threshold meant going past a point of no return.

"I wouldn't have talked about it if I wasn't serious." He glanced at her. "You here to help?"

The teenager frowned. "Like Mom's been so nice to me."

He gave her a flat look. "If you want your mom to be nice to you, maybe treat her with a little respect."

"Like you'd know anything about this." She huffed, crossing her arms like a pouting little girl.

"I know that if I'd treated my mom the way you treat yours, I wouldn't be able to sit on my ass for weeks." He arched his brow at her and then lined up another piece of trim to nail into place.

He knew she was watching him. He went along his business, but he silently urged her to play along.

When she turned and walked out, he shook his head, saddened. She wasn't his responsibility, but he wanted better for the kid.
 

He was kneeling on the floor, measuring a window, when he heard Lily's footsteps again. She strode in wearing yoga pants and a sweatshirt.

She glared at him. "Well, you didn't expect me to get my nice clothes dirty."

He grinned as he extended the end of the tape measure to her. "No, I didn't."

They worked mostly in silence except for verifying the measurements. She was a surprisingly good companion, efficient and organized.

When his phone rang, he picked it up, thinking it was probably Eleanor. Instead it was an LA number.

"I've got to get this," he said as he answered it. "Max Massimo here."

"Amadeus, baby," a slick voice enthused over the line.

He rolled his eyes, not needing to ask to know who it was. "How are you, Eli?"

"I'm great, now that I have the score."

Max scowled at the passive-aggressive jibe in Cohen's voice.
 

"I listened to it, Amadeus, and let me tell you…" The man trailed off.

Come on, already
. Cohen had been using this and the future contract like a sword dangling over his head. At this point, Max was done. He wanted to tell the man where he could shove the music and the movie, even if it meant not working with the one director Max had been dying to align with.

He heard his mom tell him anger wouldn't solve anything, but he knew punching Cohen would go a long way to making him feel better.

"This score is everything I wanted," Cohen said.

"You can just"—Max blinked, stopping the tirade that had been about to explode off his tongue. "What was that?"

"It's a fricking great score," Cohen enthused. "I love how you completely transformed the music. Duggan Richter loved it too. You're on board, man. I'm drawing up a contract to sign you up for Duggan's next three movies. It's a dream come true, huh?"

"Yes." Except it meant going back to Los Angeles, because he had to be there for coordinating the music, recording, and the other meetings that took place during a production.
 

He wasn't ready to leave yet. He wasn't ready to leave Eleanor.

"Duggan's going to contact you, and I'll get legal on the contract," Cohen continued, oblivious. "Welcome to the team, Amadeus."

He mumbled something and ended the call. Turning, he saw Lily watching him, her brow furrowed. "Hollywood," he said to explain.

She straightened, looking him head on, her expression startled. "Are you leaving?"

"Not yet." He picked up the tape measure.
 

"But you're leaving sometime soon."

He faced the teenager, who was hugging herself, watching him with wide eyes that were full of hurt.

"Look at the bright side," he said, trying to joke. "You'll get the bench back to yourself, if your mom ever gives you parole."

Her lip pooched out. Slowly, she picked up the roller and turned around, pretending to be engrossed in the wall in front of her.

He sighed as he returned to work too. He wasn't looking forward to leaving either, actually, even if this was what he'd always wanted.
 

Chapter 11

Eleanor poked at the gingerbread pancakes she'd made—Lily's favorite. It seemed like a nice peace offering; it'd been a long time since she'd made them. Charles didn't eat pancakes. Or potatoes. Or pasta.

Pretty much, Charles didn't eat anything that brought a person joy. He liked wheatgrass and poached chicken.

She'd have to make things like pancakes and mashed potatoes more often. It'd make Lily happy.

Maybe. She studied her daughter. Instead of devouring her pancakes and asking for more, her daughter was pushing her food around, a glum expression on her face.

The feeling of defeat swept over her again, and Eleanor sighed. "Lily, I'm not trying to be unreasonable."

Her daughter's cold look told her what the teenager thought of that. She tried not to let it pierce her heart, but Lily's aim was spot-on.
 

"You know Max is leaving, right?" her daughter said suddenly, her tone sharp with anger.

Eleanor frowned. "What?"

"He got a call from Hollywood," the teenager said, her face chill with accusation. "They want him to go back."

Meaning they liked his movie score and had offered him a contract. That was great, she thought, frowning.
 

But why hadn't he told her?

Of course, he didn't have to tell her—it wasn't as though he was beholden to her in any way. In fact, she'd known he was going to leave. There was no reason to feel hurt.

She returned her attention to her daughter. "Are you upset that Max is leaving?"

"Why would I be? Because he's the only person who cares?" Lily asked bitterly. She got up from the table, setting her plate with the food still on it in the sink.

Eleanor watched the girl trudge out of the kitchen, wondering if she should chase after her and love on her until they were okay again.

But as she got up, her phone rang with a call from Anya. She looked for her daughter, but she was already gone. Sighing, she picked up the phone.

Instead of starting with her usual demand for Eleanor to choreograph a program for her, she said, "How is your Maxi today?"

"He's neither Maxi nor mine." And soon he'd be leaving. She pouted at the thought.

"He might disagree on the latter," her former colleague said in a sly tone. "I know two things, dance and men, and I know what I see."

"What do you see?" she couldn't help asking.

"I see a man who wants to dance with only you for the rest of time."

He was dancing right out of her life. Getting up, she took her uneaten pancakes to the sink. "I think you're exaggerating, Anya."

"I know what I know, which is why I'm calling. Are you ready to choreograph for me yet?"

"No." She was never going to be ready. The idea was ludicrous.

Anya let out a gusted sigh, as though she were very put upon. "You really are terrible, Eleanor, making me wait like this. But that's okay. Like Maxi, I know you're worth it."

Before she could reply, her friend hung up. The dial tone sounded jarring in her head. Between Anya and Max, she needed a time out. Or wheatgrass, if only to keep her hands busy.

The front door opened, and she heard Robbie's big feet before she heard his voice. "Elle?"

"In the kitchen," she called out, plugging in the juicer.

He walked in as she was cutting the herb from the planter. "Ugh," he said, tugging her ponytail.

"So I take it you don't want any?"
 

"Liquid grass?" He made a face. "Why would I drink something I work with all day? Especially when it's disgusting."

She looked at the green blades of grass sticking out the juicer. It really was disgusting. "Charles always said it'd keep me young."

"Charles was full of shit," Robbie said, swiping a small pancake from the untouched stack.
 

Robbie was right—Charles
was
full of shit. Because of him and his mom, she was actually tempted to flirt with failure and take up Anya on her offer.

Only it'd be disastrous. If she failed at this offer, she really had no recourse. She'd have absolutely nothing left.

Fuck Charles and Barbara. And also fuck Max, for not telling her he was leaving. She unplugged the juicer and shoved it away. "You're right. I hate that stuff."

"Finally." He held his hand up and high-fived her.
 

"I can't believe I didn't see it before. You've been saying it for so long." A bigger rush of anger bubbled to the surface until she felt like she was drowning in it. "It's as though I'm a glutton for punishment. What's wrong with me?"
 

"Nothing a little yard work won't help," Robbie said, putting his arm around her shoulders.

"Today?" Then she remembered their date and she groaned. "I forgot."
 

"Doesn't matter. I have everything." He pushed her toward the door. "You only need your hands. You can dig so you don't scare the plants with your ire."

"I can't help it," she said as they went outside. She took the spade he handed her. "Everyone's plotting against me."

"Who's everyone?"

"Barbara and Charles." She wanted to add Max to the mix, but the hurt was too fresh.

"Uh-oh." Robbie stared at her. "Brunhilde's back in the picture?"

"She 'convinced' the man I was going to lease a space from not to rent it to me." She quickly outlined the details of the deal as well as what had happened.

"Steep rent," was all Robbie said as he set out the plants where he wanted them placed.

She shrugged, attacking the earth with everything she had. "It would have been worth it."

"I didn't realize you had that much saved up."

She didn't. "It would have worked out."

Realizing Robbie had stopped, she glanced up to find him staring at her. "What?" she asked.

"You were going to pony up that much money, and then hope for the rest to work out, weren't you? You were going to wing it," he said, sounding accusatory.

"I would have had students." She focused on her digging.

"You would have been hard pressed to have enough students right off to cover rent." He knelt close to her and began transferring one of the plants into the ground. "How many months could you have swung it before you'd have run out of money?"

She shrugged again. "It doesn't matter, because it's not going to happen."

"It's probably a blessing."

"You're supposed to be on my side," she mumbled, poking at the earth.

"Which is why I hate Brunhilde for her methods, but I'm grateful to her for stopping you from financial ruin."

She stopped digging and sat back on her heels. "I can't believe you said that."

A purple plant in his hand, he stopped working and leveled a look at her. "Elle, I want you to be happy. I want you to dance. But I don't want you to give up everything you have for something you may not want. You already did that with Charles, and look how that turned out."

She winced. "Ouch."

"It has to be said, even if it really hurts." He leaned forward. "What do you really want, Elle?"

She stared at her best friend, at a loss for words. Finally she shook her head. "I have no idea."
 

"You love dancing." He held up a dirty hand. "Before you tell me again that you're over the hill in terms of ballerina years, let me say that Max told me that Anya offered you a chance to choreograph for her."

Eleanor gaped. "When did you and Max talk?"

"Earlier this week." When he saw her staring at him, he pointed at her. "Don't try to turn this on me. This is about you and your dreams. It just seems like if you can't dance on stage any longer, then maybe you work behind the scenes."