The Collision on Hardwood Drive (15 page)

After Rob left, I called my dad. The phone rang six times before he picked up with a gruff “Hello?” I cringed at the annoyance I could detect in his voice and the way his breathing came a bit hard. I knew he was having trouble getting from room to room, especially in a hurry, and I could tell it bothered him.

“Hey, it’s me,” I said, treading carefully. Just about anything could set him off these days. “What’re you up to?”

“Hey, baby girl,” he answered, his voice softening. Although he wasn’t exactly the warm and fuzzy type, he had always and would always think of my sister and me as his baby girls—his to love and protect like porcelain dolls. He was a man’s man at work but tender and compassionate at home. “I’m just taking care of some things around the house. How’s my girl?”

“I’m great, Dad. The fall show premieres tomorrow,” I said. My parents tried never to miss opening night. Until last year when my mom got sick, they had missed only one, when
my Aunt Mallory had broken her leg. Even though they had to fly up to Seattle to be with her, they had sent a dozen roses in their absence.

“Tomorrow? I didn’t realize it was so soon.” He sounded embarrassed to have forgotten. “Why don’t I drive in, take you out to dinner after?”

“No, no, you don’t have to. You’ve seen the show dozens of times, but I have a better idea,” I said, deciding to approach the topic carefully.

“A better idea than having your dad at the premiere of your show? This had bette
r be good, sweetheart,” he said.

“I thought I’d drive up to see
you
after dinner tomorrow night. We can have dessert together, coffee, whatever you have around the house. I can fill you in on the highlights of the performance.” I found that I was having trouble saying what I wanted to. I knew I needed to get to the point, but—a little caution couldn’t hurt, right?

“I’d love that,” he answered sincerely before pausing very suddenly. “But why drive all the way out here for dessert? What’s going on?”

I sighed—busted. My dad wasn’t dense. I should have known better than to try for the subtle approach.

“There’s someone I’d like you to meet,” I said, finally blurting it. “I just started to see him, but I want to introduce you.” Once the words were out there, I found myself holding my breath and biting at my bottom lip in expectation.

I was nervous about how my dad would respond to Rob. He
hated
Michael. I think that’s one reason I wanted him to meet Rob early; I thought that if my dad liked him, I would know I wasn’t making a mistake. Granted, it wasn’t logical, but I wanted his stamp of approval.

“New is good,” he said, a bit hesitantly. He had never tried to disguise his dissatisfaction with my decision to date Michael. My dad was a traditionalist. A man should act like a man and Michael… well, sometimes didn’t. I don’t want to make him sound judgmental or intolerant, but he never approved Michael’s
weak
habits.

Because Michael and Rob were both so good-looking, I felt as if I had been comparing them, but the truth was they couldn’t have looked more different. Michael’s face was
pretty
, where Rob’s was handsome. Michael took great pride in his appearance; he’d shape his eyebrows and get facials and expensive haircuts to make sure his hair fell perfectly into his eye. Rob’s face was rugged and manly. He clearly had never spent a penny on a cleansing mask and probably had never heard of exfoliating, which was just fine by me.

It wasn’t just the way Michael looked, or rather the way he
cared
about how good he looked, that made him a disappointment in my dad’s book. My dad could clearly see I wasn’t a priority to him. I tried for years to ignore that fact, pretending that he was focused on his career. In the end, I had to admit the truth—my dad was right. I didn’t mean much to him. Clearly.

“It’s still
really
new,” I told my dad once I pulled my thoughts together to refocus on the conversation. “But I think it could turn into something serious. If you don’t like him…I’d rather know sooner than later.” I tried to keep my tone lighthearted as if I was telling a joke, but I’m sure we both knew how much his approval meant to me.

“Well, I’ll try to keep an open mind,” he ribbed back. “Although you know what I think. No one’s good enough for my babies.”

I rolled my eyes, even though he couldn’t see. “I know, I know. How’s seven tomorrow?”

*

I was more nervous for tonight’s performance than for any before it. I loved being on stage, but the thought of Rob in the audience made my stomach churn; I wanted so much for him to like the show and to be impressed. Twenty minutes before we were supposed to take our places, my nerves finally got the best of me—I was throwing up in the bathroom.

Sasha, my cast mate, heard me through the stalls. She had seen me rush in, hand over my mouth.

“Steph…?” she asked tentatively. “Are you sick?”

“No,” I said weakly. I spit into the toilet, trying to get my shit together. “I’m fine. Just a few preshow jitters.”

“OK,” she answered, still a bit hesitant. We had been dancing together for the last four years, and I’d never lost it like this before a show. “Let me know whether you need me,” she called out as she left the bathroom. “Fifteen minutes ‘til go time.”

I sat down hard on the bathroom floor, my back against the stall door. I scrubbed my hands over my face, trying to clear my mind and shoo away the nerves in my belly.
Breathe, Steph
, I instructed myself.
You’ve done this a million times
.
I know
, I answered,
but never with Rob in the audience.

I had no choice but to pull myself off the floor and make my way to the stage. As I took my place, I closed my eyes. I imagined Rob in the front row looking up at me, blowing me a kiss. The music swelled, signaling the audience to quiet. A hush fell across the auditorium, and the curtain parted. I relaxed. I was ready to perform.

Dancing had always been my drug. It was as if I blacked out, losing myself in the movements, the resonances of the music. Time passed in a slow blur, and I felt calm, all my worries washing away. I never feel more alive than when I’m performing. Everything was heightened—sights, sounds, feelings overwhelmed me and inspired my every motion.

My earliest memory of my family was in our living room, Bruce Springsteen blaring from my parents’ stereo. My dad held my sister in his arms, bouncing her to the beat of the music. My mom let me stand on the coffee table, so I would be tall enough to hold her hands as she twirled me around and around, shimmied with me, and dipped me low. I fell in love in that living room and begged my parents to sign me up for any dance class they could find. When I laced up my first pair of ballet slippers, I never looked back.

Despite my frazzled nerves, the performance went flawlessly. The countless hours of rehearsal always paid off, and tonight’s show was no different from any other. The curtain rose once more at the end so we could take our final bow. After all these years as a dancer and I still felt a surge of adrenaline after being on stage, especially on opening night. I looked in the audience, squinting to find Rob. I scanned the first row, unable to find him. My immediate thought was that he didn’t show, but I refused to let that be true. Of
course,
he was here.

Sasha, standing to my right, nudged me with her elbow. “Look at
that
!” she hissed under her breath.

“Look at
what
?” I whispered back, unable to see anything unusual in the audience.

“Over there!” She tilted her head to the side of the stage where a huge bouquet was making its way up the stairs.

I could feel the heat prickling on my face as I realized it was Rob carrying the bouquet. Dozens of red roses were tied, creating a vivid crimson bloom. My heart sped as he crossed the stage and approached me. He stopped in front of me, and the audience grew quiet. I felt as if I was trapped in the climax of a movie, my heart beating faster and faster with each second.

“Amazing,” Rob said softly. His gray eyes looked in mine.
Was this for real?
He presented me with the enormous bundle of sweet smelling blossoms. He took my face in his hands and kissed me.

My cast members slowly started to applaud, encouraging the audience to join in. Whistles bounced off the walls as people catcalled toward the stage. My knees
trembled as the kiss deepened, his full lips searching mine. I kissed him back, the loud claps fading as I became lost in his heat.

*

After I changed out of my costume, I met Rob in the lobby, greeting him with a huge hug and smile. He drew me in for another long kiss. When we parted, he was staring intently into my eyes. “You were amazing.”

“I’m glad you came,” I said, blushing.

“You couldn’t have kept me away.” I knew he was serious.

“So, where are you taking me for dinner?” I asked. I was always ravenous after a performance.

He smiled enigmatically. “You’ll see when we get there,” he said as he led me to the sidewalk where his driver waited for us. On the ride over, I begged him to tell me where we were going, but he only shook his head and smiled the same mysterious smile as before. “Just wait and see, babe. Unless you need me to take your mind off the guessing game,” he suggested flirtatiously.

I still felt high from the performance. His words swirled around me, and I suddenly wanted to feel the weight of his body on top of mine. “What did you have in mind, Mr. Huntley?”

Rob fingered a curl that had fallen from my bun. “You looked so hot up there in that tight costume… I kept imagining you naked in those positions.” He dropped his hand to my collarbone, tracing small circles against my skin with his index finger. I had felt those circles before, between my legs. The thought turned me on fast. I turned to face him and met his lips with mine. I felt his smooth tongue against mine, and excitement crept up my thighs.

“I could just have you for dinner,” he murmured between kisses. He slipped his hand into my blouse, his fingers grazing over the tops of my nipples. “What do you think?”

“I think—” I had trouble breathing suddenly with him so close to me and his hands touching me so intimately. “I think that sounds very tempting.”

The car pulled to a stop. “If we weren’t already here,” Rob said, squeezing my breast firmly with a forlorn sigh, “I’d have my way with you right in this car.”

I would have let him, too, if I hadn’t realized where he had taken me for dinner. We were let out in front of a tiny storefront, the name of the restaurant illuminated by soft lighting—
Il Cantario
. I had tried to get a reservation at this restaurant since I moved to New York—
thirteen
years ago. It was supposed to be the best Italian place in the city. “How did you get us a table here?” I asked incredulously.

Rob beamed with pride. “A buddy owns the place. I’ve been a loyal patron since they opened their doors.”

I shook my head, eyes wide and jaw slack. “Dozens of roses, a private driver, and now the most exclusive restaurant in the city? A girl could get used to this.”

The maître d’ led us to the most private corner of the twelve-table restaurant. The entire ceiling was made of glass, creating the illusion that we were dining under the cobalt sky. The tables were set simply and elegantly—white linen, white china, and big stemless wineglasses filled the moment we sat. The only thing missing were the menus.

“How do we order?” I asked, confusion lacing my every word.

Rob leaned toward me as though he were about to tell me a secret. “We don’t,” he said, that mysterious smile coming back to play on his lips.

“So… they just bring out whatever they feel like?”

He laughed. “Well, that’s not exactly how
they
describe it, but yeah, I guess they do. The chef spends the morning at the farmers’ market, picking the freshest ingredients, and then decides what he’s making based on what’s available. Every dish is a surprise.”

I loved the idea of the chef creating dishes just for the patrons on
that
evening. “That sounds incredible. I can’t wait to try the first dish,” I said.

“Tell me about your dad,” Rob said, as we dipped freshly baked bread into a swirl of garlicky olive oil and balsamic vinegar.

“What do you want to know?” I asked.
“How to trick him into liking you?” I teased.

“Hell, yes,” Rob replied. “I’m not just going to be myself; what, are you crazy? So, what’s he like?”

I thought about it. “Well, when I was growing up, he was kind of strict. He’s fair, though, just not over friendly. But he’s always had a great sense of humor. He loved teasing my boyfriends in high school,” I said, grinning at the memory.

“One time, a boy came to pick me up, and I was taking forever, of course, so he had to wait at the kitchen table with my dad. He started to talk about Vietnam, which by the way, he fought in. Anyway, there was a fly buzzing around the room, and he caught it.”

“What? How?” Rob asked.

“I don’t know; he just did. Anyway, so he catches the fly, right? And he looks at the poor kid and goes, ‘Open your hands.’ Kid does what he’s told. When the kid is holding the fly, my dad goes, ‘Now eat it. Eat it like we did in ‘Nam.’”