Maeve's Symphony (13 page)

She sputtered and blushed all the more, trying to keep from laughing…or crying. This episode of repartee was so familiar and comfortable, so them.

“PS? That was all for the benefit of the cameras.” Josh's conclusion fell soft and gentle between them, a form of moon dust and star dreams. “We dated for a while, but it didn't go anywhere. For me, there was no depth of feeling beyond friendship.”

“Would you have liked to?” Maeve posed the question in a tentative tone.

“What? Build a relationship?”

Maeve nodded.

“Yes, I'd like to.” Josh answered.

Her heart fell to a shattering crash somewhere near the bottom of her feet, but Josh's gaze slid to hers in a seductive pin and the true meaning of his words settled in.

“With you, Maeve. With you.”

Steadfast, she refused to fall into that wistful offering. Being broken once had been difficult enough to survive. Twice would spell her ruin. “A fact you made abundantly clear in the way you kept in touch after we parted.”

“Excuse me, love, but I explained all that back in Westerville, and the separation had nothing to do with women, or a lack of feeling toward you—which you know.”

Touchdown. A play executed to perfection. Paused at a stoplight, Josh stared her down, relentless and compelling. All at once, Maeve's seeking heart began to beat again, hard and strong.

The bleat of a car horn sounded from the rear, causing Josh to jump and clear his throat gruffly. Seemed the light had gone green…probably several seconds ago. Maeve lowered her lashes, trying to work through the entire quandary. How was she supposed to handle him? Them?

“For the record, I haven't forgotten I need to pay you for your time and talents today. I have something for you.”

Josh shifted the conversation and Maeve relaxed. Traffic into Midtown continued to crawl. A quarter mile stretch featured no less than four traffic lights which allowed him to unlatch the storage console between their seats. He reached inside, fumbling for a few seconds until…

“Ha! Got it!”

Eyes sparkling, he handed her a present—strawberry flavored red rope licorice. Maeve released a girlish exclamation of delight, grabbing the package and holding it to her chest for a moment. She tore into the treat and peeled off a strip, munching happily, smiling at Josh's handsome profile—the strong lines, the angles and planes formed so perfectly.

The loving memories.

“All of a sudden, I'm back in high school, swiping these from you during lunch period.”

“Or, I'm walking you home and we stop at Penny Candy to buy a batch before going to my parents' house to study. Once I reconciled myself to how annoying you were as a candy thief”—he cast a teasing look—”do you remember what else we did with these?”

Yes, she did. He'd start at one end and she the other, until they met in the middle.

Maeve's hand froze; a half-eaten licorice strand dangled between her fingertips. The memory took hold and enticed. She could see the sweet treat slowly disappearing as they ate; she could readily feel the soft, quick touch of his mouth against hers once they reached middle ground, kissed, then burst into playful laughter. That'd be the end of it—after a few episodes of candy eating they'd return to watching movies, or studying, or something as simple and beautiful as holding hands and snuggling—but the feelings were intense, so beautiful .

So innocent.

Another stoplight loomed. Josh pulled a candy rope free from the package and looked her deep in the eyes. Maeve could feel him walk through the history of her heart as he held the length of licorice between them.

“Come on, Maevie. Give me a go again. I dare you.”

Josh's lips quirked, impossibly tempting. Her bones melted to mush. He leaned close, candy between his lips. With shaky fingertips, Maeve claimed the opposite end and began to eat. Her eyes closed, but still she sensed him in the air all around her. The closer he came, the more she trembled. Tears tracked down her cheeks when they reached the end, and his mouth closed warm and firm over hers. Lost in the moment, Maeve clung to him and glided heart-first into a kiss slow and…eloquent.

Did that soft, plaintive sigh of surrender come from her? When had his arm encircled her shoulders and gone tight, tucking her close?

He broke free of the kiss, resting his forehead against hers. Searching her eyes, he glazed the pads of his thumbs beneath her moist lashes. “I don't mean to hurt you.”

“You don't hurt me. You move me. You've always moved me.” Tears returned. Once again, he caressed them away. “You're the only one who's ever known how to slip beneath my skin and move straight into my soul.”

He ingested that comment in a silence ridden by the loss of all that could have been.

“You haunt me.” Her voice turned rough. “And I don't know how in the world to move past that fact.”

“Then stop trying.” He waited. He watched. He absorbed. A horn blared and a sigh escaped. “The light's gone green.”

His husky whisper, the smoke in his eyes stirred an all-over tingle. He kissed her quick one last time before traffic patterns ended the moment, forcing them to move on. Maeve glanced at her lap, at the open package of candy, and trembled.

Shades of yellow flashed and curled and waved when she briefly closed her eyes—caution flags warning against recklessness and the danger of surrendering to a physical and emotional pull that could easily trip her up all over again. While their vehicle plowed forward, Maeve resolved to keep her passion for Josh from spinning out of control. Otherwise, she'd risk damaging her heart. All over again.

 

 

 

 

7

 

Striding the length of the main lobby at Avery Fisher Hall was a never-ending thrill for Maeve. Each time she entered the venue, she was filled by the knowledge that in just over a day, she would perform upon its iconic stage and instant thrill-chills would erupt against her skin.

Glass and metal beams stretched stories high, framing in the graceful courtyard of Lincoln Center Plaza with its dancing water fountain, its surrounding cityscape and contrasting dashes of trees and greenery.

Today continued a round of full-assembly dress rehearsals for the gala, so excitement spiked even higher than normal.

Entering the theater proper, she caught sight of the completely dressed stage and came to a sharp stop behind Siobhan and Aileen who also stuttered to a halt. The stage was massive. That they knew. Now, however, cameras were installed; Vari-Lites twisted, turned, and beamed multi-colors across the facility. Centered upon the wooden floorboards, a grand staircase swept into extensions along both sides. In two nights…mere hours…the Sisters would perch upon the structure, launching their portion of the event.

Technicians ran lighting tests, concentrating on the shimmering red backdrop, dotting it with sparkling illumination in the shape of stars.

Drew stood in front of the orchestra pit, surveying the crew. Stationed at his side, Kassidy looked chipper following a breakfast date with her fiancée.

The girls joined them just in time to catch end notes of their conversation as Drew spoke. “This is a masterpiece. The translation to television has been difficult to manage because we have to tightrope between the smaller medium of broadcasting and making sure every element of the show fills this theater and engages a live audience.”

Kassidy linked arms with Drew and nuzzled his cheek. “We're in good hands. I worry not.”

Still unaware of guests, Drew smiled into her eyes and tweaked her chin, delivering a soft kiss to her lips.

“Precious.” Siobhan cooed, adjusting the strap of her duffle. Kassidy and Drew jumped apart.

“I'm green with envy.” Maeve swept near and gave Kassidy a wink while Drew raked back the dark waves of his hair.

A bit pale, Aileen pressed a hand to her tummy. “I'm just green. Walking in here puts my nervous system on edge.”

Drew shook his head. “Ladies, you'll own this place. It's your perfect venue.” He leaned in, pressed another kiss to Kassidy's lips. “Gotta go, KC. I'll catch up with you after rehearsal.” He gathered a leather computer carrier and shot the group a parting glance. “I expect a full report, OK? Rock the stage, girls.”

Contentment filled Maeve's chest while she catalogued his brisk step along the main aisle. God had designed an incredible man for Kassidy—a man of her tomorrows who understood her past and loved her unconditionally. Sure, a twinge hit; she longed for just the same, but had no idea how to latch onto that dream and live it for herself.

“…so he's headed to RCIA sessions at Church of Our Saviour. Drew loves it. The way his faith has come to life, the way he's embracing God, literally gives me Spirit chills. Look! Look at my arms!” Maeve returned to the present conversation in time to see Kassidy push up the sleeve of her sweatshirt and reveal gooseflesh.

“Because you love him. He's your other half.”

Aileen's observation caused Maeve to turn within once more despite wanting to join the happy buzz about Drew's imminent joining of the Church. Despite pre-wedding hubbub of her own to contend with, Siobhan would stand in support of Drew as his sponsor during upcoming initiation services at the Easter Vigil Mass.

Things were perfect and as they should be, yet Maeve mourned. For that, shame on her yet again.

She trod a scuff-dimmed linoleum hallway lit by overdone fluorescence. Aileen opened the door to Dressing Room G, where makeup, hair and costuming associates waited. Before long, the quartet traded casual clothes for sparkling gowns, carefully applied makeup, up-dos, curls, flat-iron styling, subtle hair trims.

And in the midst of a woman's fantasy land, Maeve re-found joy.

Soon, she emerged from behind a tri-fold screen wearing a strapless gown that hugged her torso in blue silk and sparkling sequins. An elaborate jeweled clip cinched the waist, creating a flare from which layers of pastel green and blue chiffon swirled in a lush ripple.

“Oh, Maeve—that dress is stunning!”

In passing, Kassidy shared her approval as she stepped behind the tall panels of their quasi-dressing room. She carried a gown of emerald satin and tulle that would shimmer against her creamy skin and transform those luminous green eyes of hers to radiance. Maeve's excitement simmered and popped.

“Maeve,” Aileen called, “could you do me a favor and zip the back of my dress? I can never reach the stupid thing.”

“Sure.”

Aileen was seated on a plush leather chair at one of the makeup stations. The request made Maeve smile, because Aileen's deep pink gown, with its lacy cap sleeves and full satin skirt, lay open at the back. So, she stepped into place, lifting waist-length waves of chestnut hair from obstruction. Aileen returned to painting a glimmer of clear gloss across her freshly brightened lips.

Reaching for the zipper, Maeve tugged, frowning when it wouldn't pull closed around Aileen's upper back and chest. “Ailee…” Maeve hated—absolutely hated—the idea of broaching the sensitive topic of body contours and weight with Aileen, but the dress didn't fit. “Ah…your gown isn't zipping properly.”

“Drat. Is it jammed on the fabric?” Standing near the far wall, utilizing a portable barre, Siobhan dropped into a smooth, fluid squat then gracefully lifted until she was en pointe. Already dressed, her hair was tucked into a tight bun woven with a pair of slim pink and green ribbons that trailed down her back. Her ankle-length dress of snow white satin and tulle flowed and crinkled as she warmed up.

“No, it just won't close.”

Via mirrored reflections, Aileen and Maeve's gazes tagged. Aileen pulled herself tall in the chair. “What? Try again! That's impossible.”

Maeve complied; the zipper barely moved. Worse, she could feel her friend crumble.

“This is the pits! You guys are my witnesses; I've pounded myself with Zumba sessions. I've been eating salads constantly…that is, when I can eat at all.”

“And you've never looked better.” Kassidy emerged, gown swishing in time to her movements. She glided to the makeup area and rested a hand on Aileen's arm. “But what do you mean about not being able to eat?”

Still raging, Aileen whirled from the mirror and stood to face her friends. Siobhan stopped stretching to join them and give a listen. “Food holds no appeal. When it does…well…I just can't seem to keep my stomach steady.” All at once, Aileen's shoulders wilted, and she started to cry. “It just figures!” She slapped a hand against the makeup counter, causing jars and applicators to clatter. “I've been so keyed up about the next album, the next tour, this mega-watt charity event—I haven't been able to keep tabs on my health. I'm not overeating, I swear, and the amount of exercise we do at rehearsal alone is beyond imagining. There's something seriously wrong with me! I gain weight no matter what I do. Why?”

Maeve grinned and shared a look with Kassidy and Siobhan. “Ailee, think about it,” Maeve said. “You haven't been eating. You're ranting, and you're nauseated.”

“Yes! I'm worried sick about everything we'll be doing in the months to come. I'm a mess emotionally, and I'm drained. I'm sick and tired of being sick and tired!”

“Hormones,” Kassidy whispered in a sing-song voice, which made Maeve laugh, because Aileen was in the throes of an uncharacteristic tirade. Sizzles of excitement pulsed through the air.

“Are your breasts sore? What about your periods? How are they?”

Never one to mince words, Siobhan's blunt inquisition scandalized the trio. In unison they rolled their eyes and groaned. Unperturbed, the diminutive fairy girl arched a brow and perched hands on her hips, waiting impatiently for a reply.

“I guess they're a bit tender, and my cycle's been…umm, yeah…off kilter a bit. But I never gave it a thought. I'm wound so tight right now.” Aileen's eyes widened as the implications set in. “This is all understandable, given what we're experiencing right now, right? This isn't any big deal, right? It's nothing to worry about, right? And”—she gasped for air—”Oh, holy night.”