Off Balance (Ballet Theatre Chronicles Book 1) (7 page)

“I tried to ask for extra barbeque sauce once,” Gil said. “I thought he was going to pull out a shotgun.”

Lana chuckled and accepted the rib Gil had pulled off for her. It tasted incredible, every bit as good as Kansas City barbeque. The meat was smoked tender, the pork salty and tangy on the outside.

“Thank you,” Lana said after they’d wolfed down all the ribs, mopping up the last of the sauce with the white bread. “This was the greatest. A real taste of home.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

“You’re amazing. You can make anything happen, can’t you?”

“I can. And don’t you forget it.” He gave her a playful nudge.

They licked their fingers to get the last bits of flavor and Lana noticed aloud that Gil had barbeque sauce on his face. He tried to take it off with the tip of his tongue.

“Did I get it?”

She chuckled and shook her head.

“How about now?”

“Missed again.”

“Fine.” He positioned his face toward her. “You wipe it off.”

She reached out and wiped it off his smooth face with her finger.

“Give me that sauce,” Gil said, catching her hand and popping her finger into his mouth. Her fingertip was enveloped by the hot, moist environment, the soft tugging action as he sucked. For a moment she was paralyzed—in shock, in pleasure, at the frank eroticism of the gesture. She snatched her hand away. Gil seemed unfazed as he smacked his lips, smiled, looked down at his watch.

“Okay, time to hit the road.”

But the road did not cooperate; Gil couldn’t find the highway. They were in a dodgy neighborhood, Lana could tell. What alarmed her was not what she saw, so much as what she didn’t see. No cats or dogs, no people on their porch or strolling down the sidewalks, and then she realized there were no sidewalks at all. No lawns. Just houses, plain clapboard structures with iron grates over the small front windows. Patches of dirt where grass should have been. A beat-up Pontiac parked on the street, glass missing from the windows. A car further down missing its wheels.

The tension inside the car increased, particularly when Gil rounded a corner and a moment later a trio of young men appeared, just as Gil shifted gears wrong and his Roadster choked and died. The trio approached as Gil tried too hastily to start the car back up. One man was white, comically underdeveloped, like a kid playing dress-up. Another looked like a little bit of everything: Asian, Hispanic, African-American. The third was a muscular African-American in a red stocking cap. They were all wearing oversized jackets and baggy pants. The underdeveloped one was carrying a thick metal pipe.

Lana heard a
click
as Gil locked the doors. He managed to start the Audi back up. By now, however, it was impossible to ignore, or even drive around the approaching group. Two of them stood in front of the car while the third one rapped on Gil’s window. Reluctantly, Gil lowered the window a crack.

“Some trouble there?” the guy in the stocking cap drawled.

As Gil stuttered a reply, the guy took in the car’s interior. His eyes settled on Lana. “That your girlfriend?” he asked Gil.

She could feel Gil’s fear. Her own heart was hammering. But Gil offered him a relaxed smile.

“No, she’s a friend. She’s new to the area, from Kansas City. I’m showing her around.”

“Kansas City?” Stocking Cap peered closer at Lana, who nodded. His dark, broad face broke into a smile, exposing a gold tooth. “My cousin. He’s living there.”

“Really? What a coincidence.” Lana’s voice cracked. “Do you know where?”

“Somewhere’s near downtown.”

“I know that area. That’s close to where I worked.”

“She’s a ballet dancer,” Gil added. “A really good one.”

“You’re a ballerina?” Stocking Cap studied her with new respect. “You serious?”

Lana nodded. “I was with the Kansas City Ballet. And here, I’m with the West Coast Ballet Theatre.”

“It’s a dance company in San Francisco,” Gil added, and the guy frowned at him.

“I know that. What, you think I’m stupid or something?”

“No, of course not. Sorry.”

Stocking Cap ignored Gil, but smiled more warmly at Lana. “A ballerina. Isn’t that something?” His friends, now behind him, began to mumble and he turned toward them and said that this here was a ballerina and she knew where his cousin lived
.

He swung back toward Lana. “You wear those little skirts? Those pointy shoes?”

“All that stuff,” Lana assured him.

He beamed. It was surreal.

“And you know what?” she said. “I’m really late for returning to the studios now, and we’re not sure about how to get back on the highway. Could you maybe help us?”

“Sure. Your man here just needs to take a right turn at the next intersection. Go three blocks. Take a left. It’s not marked for the highway but just take it and a block later, there’s the entrance, on your right.”

He ignored Gil’s babbled thanks, but smiled at Lana. “You take care, miss,” he told her.

“Thanks. And thanks so much for your help.”

His gold tooth gleamed as he grinned and nodded. He stepped away from the car, motioning for his friends to move as well. Gil put the car into gear and quickly drove off, leaving the trio behind. He said nothing as they followed the directions to the highway. Only when they were on the entrance ramp and heading toward the Bay Bridge did Gil exhale, a deep, shuddering noise.

“Jesus,” he said, and fell silent. He clutched the steering wheel, his knuckles white. “That was so irresponsible of me. I’m so sorry.”

“I’m fine. It’s all okay.”

“No, it isn’t.”

She could tell by the set of his jaw just how upset he was.

“Gil,” she tried again. “I’m fine.”

It wasn’t until she laid a hand on his thigh, however, that he looked at her. “I’m okay,” she said more softly.

He tried to smile. “Thank you. You’re the greatest. Julia, boy, she’d be all over me right now, just freaking out.”

“I’m no Julia.”

“No. You’re not.” He reached down and covered her hand with his. One tight squeeze, held an extra few seconds, then he released it, focusing on the road. She brought her hand back to her lap, feeling it throb with the residual heat of his skin.

They said no more until they’d crossed the bay. Gil glanced at the clock on the console and took the exit for Fisherman’s Wharf. “Damn. I’m playing it close. Is it okay if we stop at my place first, before I drop you off? I can change in a matter of minutes.”

“You can drop me off anywhere and I’ll take a bus.”

He shook his head. “Not an option. This is door-to-door service. Besides, you’ll love the view from my apartment. You’ve got to see it.”

“All right. If it’s not a hassle.”

His apartment building was a pristine white structure that looked all the more expensive in its efforts to not look fancy. They entered the marble foyer, took an elevator to the third level and entered another richly appointed foyer. When he ushered her into his apartment, she saw the scene, a floor-to-ceiling window view of the San Francisco Bay and the Golden Gate Bridge. A cry of delight escaped her. Gil smiled at her reaction.

“What did I tell you? Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go change and we’ll be out of here in five minutes.”

She stood there, mesmerized, until she heard him call out for her. She followed the sound of his voice into the bathroom. It was a beautiful, elegant bathroom, all marble and chrome and soft lighting. He was leaning over, peering into the mirror, shirtless. He turned to her, pointing to his chest.

“How on earth did I get barbeque sauce
here
?”

She came over and saw it on his collarbone, right in the vee where his shirt had opened to expose skin. “Can’t go wasting that sauce,” she said, in a mock-gruff voice. Hardly believing her own daring, she leaned in, resting her hands on his bare chest for balance, and licked the tiny sweet-spicy spot. Retaliation for the finger-sucking business. Or perhaps reward.

It was his turn to be paralyzed. She felt his hands drop to her hips as a low groan escaped him. She pulled back to meet his eyes; his hands on her hips tightened, and that was it. His mouth clamped down onto hers as her arms snaked around his neck. He hoisted her up onto the bathroom counter. There was a percussive clatter of a decorative tissue box tumbling and a water glass toppling, which they both ignored. Instead she tucked her legs around his, drawing him closer as they kissed. She found herself making little noises in the back of her throat, both shocked by her aggression and hungry, so hungry, for this contact. Starved.

Seconds passed. Minutes. Finally Gil gave another groan, a reluctant one this time, and pulled away from her.

She found her voice. “You need to leave.”

“I do.”

“I’m taking a bus from here.”

“No, you’re not.” He stepped away and whisked a clean shirt out of his closet. “I’m driving you. In fact,” he said, looking back over at her, where she was still seated on the counter, “I don’t think I’m going to let you leave me at all.”

She hesitated. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Come with me. To the party.”

The lurch of joy his words brought almost knocked her over. “Oh, I can’t. This is business for you, you said.”

“So what? It’s being there that is such a big deal.” He buttoned his shirt in silence and gave a decisive nod. “I got it. Alice will be with us. I’ll take the four-seater and we’ll arrive as a threesome. Anyone asks, you’re Alice’s friend. Okay?”

“Alice?”

“My associate. The woman I was with, that day we bumped into you at the elevator.”

An image of an attractive, impatient woman with Julia-like elegance flashed through her mind. “But…won’t she mind?”

“She’s my employee. She’ll do what I say.”

She hesitated, uneasy. But now Gil was approaching, drawing her off the counter and into his arms.

“Please say yes,” he murmured. “This was too short. And this way we’ll be together afterward. Just in case I can persuade you to come back here with me.”

It was a proposition she couldn’t resist.

“You’re sure it won’t be a problem?”

“I’m sure,” he said.

“Okay, it’s a deal.”

It wasn’t until Alice looked up from the front steps she was descending that she noticed Gil was not alone in his car. She hesitated, squinted. The passenger front door of his BMW flew open and out stepped the girl. The little dancer. Alice couldn’t fucking believe it. She’d thought she’d known Gil’s parameters on what he considered appropriate.

Apparently not.

The girl looked nervous, hand still clutching the door. Alice made her way down the last few steps, trying to decide what to scream at Gil first.

“Alice, this is Lana,” Gil called out through the open door. “We’re all going together.”

Alice drew a steadying breath. Manners won over and she offered the girl a polite nod and a handshake. “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Lana said, giving a self-conscious tug to the hem of her dress as she edged away from Alice. “I’m just going to go sit in back.”

Alice sized up the girl’s dress. It was ill-fitting, all pink and flowery. It made Lana look fifteen years old and very Midwestern. Alice turned to Gil, who was smiling at her from the driver’s seat with an
I know what I’m doing and let’s not forget who the boss is
set to his jaw.

“Gil,” she said, “she can’t wear that dress over to Andy’s.”

Lana froze. Gil’s confident expression faded. He eyed Lana and a moment later nodded in reluctance.

“Can she wear something of yours?” he asked Alice, who began to laugh.

“I weigh just maybe a little more than she does. Like thirty-five pounds. The baggy look isn’t going to cut it.”

Lana, still standing on the driveway, looked afraid to get into the car. Alice could see that the issue embarrassed her. Too bad. She peered down at Lana’s shoes. Hopeless as well.

“What size shoe do you wear?” she asked.

“Um, seven?”

They were in luck in that department, at least. She sighed. “I’ll be right back,” she told them.

Back inside her house, in her bedroom closet, she grabbed the box holding the size seven black and gold stiletto Ferragamos she’d bought last year. She’d known even at the time that they probably wouldn’t ever fit her oversized feet but the price had been so good she’d bought them anyway, thinking that perhaps for some lucky event, her feet would shrink a half-size.

She riffled through her jewelry box; she knew without having looked at Lana’s jewelry that she’d be wearing the wrong thing. She retrieved a thin gold chain with a small gold and diamond pendant affixed. Matching earrings. The ensemble was discreet and tasteful. It would make no statement.

Back in the car, Lana now huddled silently in back, Alice told Gil their first stop was the Macy’s on the way out of the city. No one spoke on the drive across town. When they pulled into the mall parking lot, Alice told Gil that he’d join them inside at Macy’s as well. It was not a request.

Gil nodded, meeker now. After they parked he followed Alice, who strode toward the front double doors. Inside, she moved with purpose, not even bothering to see if Gil and Lana were following. She stopped by an evening attire department, swiveled around and sized up Lana.

“Just a simple black dress, I’m thinking,” she said and without waiting for a reply, plunged into a nearby section of dresses on racks. She peered over at Gil for the first time since they’d left the car.

“You. Wait right here in this department. Don’t go wandering off to look at ties. I’ll be furious with you if we get to the party late and I miss hearing Montserrat and Matthew perform.”

Gil made an elaborate “at your service” bow and headed over to a nearby armchair. Lana looked at the dresses and fingered a silky peach-colored dress.

“Maybe this?” she asked Alice, holding it up to show her.

Alice shook her head. “Looks tacky.” She ignored Lana’s hurt look, just as she ignored the scrunched-up face a moment later when Alice held up three black sheath dresses.

“They look like something you’d wear to a funeral,” Lana said.

“This is what we want. Trust me. Go try these on.”