Shall We Dance? Read online

  Gabby didn’t understand at all. She frowned. “What on earth are you talking about?”

  “How would you like to go to L.A. to perform?”

  “Perform in what?” Despite the crazy circumstances, Gabby’s heart gave an excited lurch at the very thought of dancing professionally again.

  “You’ve been offered a job appearing at the grand opening of a plush new Hollywood nostalgia club that will showcase recreations of famous numbers from musicals of the ’30s, ’40s and ’50s.”

  “By whom? And why would someone have contacted you instead of me?”

  “Because Lucille Talbot was the person making the offer. She called me today and told me all about her idea.”

  “Lucille?” Gabby hardly knew the woman, though Anita and the former comic actress had corresponded from time to time.

  “She owns a percentage of the place. It’s going to be called Cheek to Cheek.” Obviously excited, her mother beamed. “Cheek to Cheek.” A thirties classic and an apt name for a nostalgia club.

  “Is this offer for real?” Pulse thrumming, Gabby clutched the dress tighter, wondering if she were dreaming. “Why didn’t you tell me right away?”

  “I wanted to surprise you.” Anita made an expansive gesture. “They’re paying for our plane fares as well as for the performance itself. Not that the opportunity isn’t far more important than the money.”

  “You’re going, too?”

  Her mother nodded. “As a consultant. I told Lucille we’d need a week or two to make arrangements for the dance school.”

  “Oh!” Unable to contain her excitement, Gabby dropped the dress on the bed and hugged her mother. “This is wonderful news.”

  “Isn’t it? And you’re going to be great. I can just see you whirling across the floor in front of the crowd. They’ll have an orchestra, you know, and be playing tunes like ‘Dance of Love.’ I told you I had a practical reason for watching that movie.” Anita glanced at the satin gown. “I was hoping we could use this costume—for nostalgia’s sake—but I guess it’s too discolored and fragile. Oh, well, a good seamstress can whip up a copy.”

  “So I’ll be doing ballroom dancing?”

  “That and a little tap. You know, the sort of numbers you’d find in a classic musical.” Appearing a little uneasy, Anita suddenly sobered. “Umm…you won’t mind appearing as Gabrielle Brooks, will you? Please don’t feel threatened,” she continued quickly. “For once, my name can be of help to you.”

  “I’m not threatened.”

  Gabby smiled at her mother warmly. Sure of herself as a performer even though she had never made it big, she also had a solid sense of personal identity. Though she’d never used it professionally before, Gabby had always liked having Brooks as part of her legal name, something Anita hadn’t given to her three older children. The name had been part of the special bond she and her mother shared.

  “And once the media sees the extent of your talent, you’ll stand on your own,” Anita was saying. “All the papers will have reporters there, you know, not to mention several television news crews. The club’s supposed to be a beautifully renovated place, all Art Deco.”

  “Sounds great.”

  And full of possibility. Gabby’s spirit hadn’t risen so high in years. Her mind, however, dealt with the practicalities. She felt the length of her ponytail, thinking she should get her long hair cut. She also wondered how many dances she…they’d be performing. But first things first. “I’m going to need a dance partner,” she told her mother.

  “That’s been taken care of,” Anita said, quickly stooping to rummage in the trunk again…as if she were hiding.

  “How so?”

  “I have a couple of more dresses in here,” Anita said without looking up. “They’re not in much better condition, but we should show them to the seamstress. They flow beautifully when you dance.”

  Gabby frowned as her mother chattered on. “Wait a minute. Who’s taken care of finding me this dance partner?” A mismatched partner could mean a disaster.

  Anita straightened. “Lucille said everything’s been arranged.”

  Something about the older woman’s expression made Gabby suspicious. Anita might be an actress, but she couldn’t fool the child closest to her. Gabby had always been able to sense her mother’s moods at a gut level. “What are you hiding? Come on, Mom, out with it.”

  Anita took a deep breath and sat down on the chair in front of her dressing table. “I knew it would be impossible to string you along.” She looked even more guilty than when Gabby had caught her watching the videotape earlier. “All right, your partner is going to be Kit Garfield.”

  “Garfield?” The infamous name seemed to bounce off the walls.

  “Kit is Price’s son, his only child.”

  So the attraction of the performance was to be a reuniting of Brooks and Garfield. Gabby’s high hopes plummeted. “I don’t want to dance with a Garfield.”

  Anita nodded. “I understand how you feel.”

  “I won’t dance with a Garfield.” Price had ruined her mother’s life, and Gabby had resented him since she was ten.

  “Uh-huh.”

  Her dreams turned to ashes, Gabby asked, “How could you even suggest it? Call Lucille Talbot right now and tell her she’s going to have to get someone else. Tell her…”

  Anita held up a silencing hand. “That was my first reaction when she broached the subject today. But my second reaction was a bit less emotional. I made myself listen to what she had to say. She mentioned the opportunities—all the media coverage, West Coast theater, films. And the opening night proceeds will go to charity, funding a group home for indigent show business seniors. Not all of my old friends were lucky enough to find security in their golden years, you know.”

  Gabby knew how strongly her mother felt about the way Hollywood treated aging film stars. And considering her own experiences with that problem on Broadway, she could understand. Still, a retirement home wasn’t the issue here.

  “I thought you despised Price Garfield.” But even as she spoke, Gabby realized her mother’s feelings for the man were far more complex than that.

  “I have no use for the man. But listen.” Anita rose to face her daughter. “You have to be clever to survive sometimes. Why not take advantage of this situation? Price is a legend. His name will draw all the most important people to this opening.”

  “He used you.”

  “So let’s use him back.”

  Gabby was amazed her mother was being so cool. In the past Anita wouldn’t have been able to remain unemotional where Price was concerned. “You don’t think this will make you look like you’re eating crow?”

  “I can stand a little crow after all these years. Think about dancing in front of that audience.”

  Gabby had to admit her mother was making sense—in a perverse sort of way. “I guess I’ve danced with partners I didn’t like from time to time.”

  “And you can do it again.”

  “Maybe we should both sleep on this tonight,” Gabby said, still unsure. Trying to find a personal reason to back out and thereby save her mother grief, she asked, “Is Kit Garfield a professional dancer? I don’t want to get on the dance floor with some amateur who happens to have a famous name.”

  “Lucille claims he used to be professional, though he never became an actor in the movies like his father. He used to dance with a partner in clubs.” When Gabby didn’t immediately agree to work with the man, Anita said, “We can call Lucille back with our final answer tomorrow.”

  Protective of her mother as always, Gabby was concerned about how Anita would handle the situation. “But what if Price shows up? That’s likely, you know, especially if his son is going to be a featured performer. What if you meet him face-to-face? Even though he retired decades ago, he probably still lives in the L.A. area.”

  “I can walk the other way.” Anita set her jaw. “And I can hold my tongue and collect his debt. Please do this, Gabby. A Garfield owes a B
rooks a career.”

  Tempted beyond good sense, Gabby paused. “If you put it that way…”

  “Then you’ll go?”

  “You really want me to?” How sweet it would feel to be in the spotlight, to work an audience again, even if a Garfield were involved.

  “I haven’t wanted anything so much in years,” Anita stated adamantly.

  “All right. I’ll do it.”

  The two women hugged, Gabby pushing away her lingering doubts. Already concentrating on the idea of a Brooks/Garfield type of performance, she gathered up the dress to take it upstairs and try it on. Perhaps the general design would look good as it was. She could tell if any changes were necessary. She also thought of the perfect mental practice for the upcoming event.

  Her mother would have a good laugh when Gabby asked to borrow her Brooks/Garfield DVDs!

  ANITA HAD MORE DIFFICULTY than usual falling asleep that night and finally got up to make herself a cup of warm milk. Not that she was worrying about what she’d told her daughter. She’d meant every word about getting revenge on Price.

  Even so, Gabby’s remark about encountering her former partner had gotten her on edge. Sitting in her bedroom and sipping the milk, she closed her eyes and imagined the situation. Would Price even recognize her now, with white hair and wrinkles? Would she recognize him? Of course she would. Who could ever forget eyes that had once glowed with such love? Arms that had cradled her for kisses as well as for some of the most romantic dances that had ever been choreographed?

  Anita sighed, got up and wandered over to a window. She pulled back the drapes. Outside, the city was alive with lights. New York had its own undeniable charm, even if it wasn’t a place she’d ever imagined living.

  A Californian born and bred, she’d had her hopes pinned on Hollywood, had dreamed of being a movie star since childhood. Always a ham, she had adored all the hoopla and the fans and the public appearances. She’d thrived on making people happy…and feeling their love in return. She’d been thrilled to place her concrete footprints in front of what had then been Grauman’s Chinese Theater.

  Price Garfield was different. He’d come to Hollywood after World War II merely to find work as a choreographer and had been reluctant to take the acting role he was offered. He’d loved to dance but had always told Anita that his highest goals were more personal than fame could ever allow. Creative work was important, true, but Price had told her that a large family and a love that would last a lifetime were more so.

  How ironic, Anita thought, that neither her own wishes nor Price’s had ever come true. Her career had gone steadily downhill after she’d fled to New York in 1955. And Price’s five broken marriages hadn’t reflected his hopes for a lifelong romance…or a large family, since he’d only produced one son.

  Had he been as disillusioned as she?

  Anita was less bitter than Gabby seemed to be on her behalf. Not having wanted to obtain a glittery career at the expense of love, she’d always been thankful for her blessings. She’d had a kind and generous husband—whom she probably didn’t deserve—and four beautiful children. She’d also had the school and the thrill of teaching dancers who were as full of dreams as she had been in her youth.

  Dreams.

  Once again she closed her eyes and tried to picture Price Garfield as he was now. Would the sight of him create the same electricity within her? Surely not. She was being a sentimental old fool.

  Anita sighed, left the window and headed back for her bed. Maybe she would run into Price in California. Maybe she’d tell him off. Maybe she’d walk away. Maybe she’d punch him. Or maybe they’d actually be able to exchange a few civil words.

  Whatever happened would be stimulating. Anita had been in a state of suspended animation since her husband’s fatal heart attack. Lucille’s insistence that she accompany Gabby had resurrected old dreams and old emotions, making her feel truly alive for the first time in years.

  Anita wouldn’t have spent half the time trying to convince her daughter to take the job if she herself weren’t going to be smack-dab in the middle of the action.

  CHAPTER TWO

  LUCILLE TALBOT LIVED in a twenties-style Beverly Hills mansion. Catching sight of the amazing structure through the trees—part German castle, part rambling Spanish hacienda—Kit Garfield smiled and slowed his BMW before turning it onto the hilly side street that would take him to the entrance.

  The flamboyant style of architecture had long been out of mode, but Kit thought Lucille’s “Dream Palace” far more interesting than the conservative L.A.-area mansions built in later decades—like the graystone Italianate Price Garfield owned. Not that he’d ever spent much time in his father’s home. Price and Lana Worth, Kit’s actress mother, had been involved in divorce proceedings by the time he’d started grade school, and since then he and his father had maintained a distant and somewhat uneasy relationship.

  Kit turned the car sharply when he reached Lucille’s driveway. Considerably shorter than it had been when the estate had encompassed dozens of surrounding acres, the curving drive wove through a stand of trees and past a small overgrown flower garden before looping in front of the house.

  Four women in colorful leotards were doing aerobics on the lawn. The curvaceous blonde in command halted the exercise and approached as Kit got out of the car. Up close the woman looked older than she’d seemed from a distance—at least a well-preserved sixty.

  “Hi, I’m here to see Lucille.”

  “You must be Christopher Garfield.” The blonde grinned and held out her hand.

  “Call me Kit.”

  “All right, Kit it is. You know, you resemble your mother,” she went on. “I once made a movie with her.” When she realized that didn’t ring a bell with him, she introduced herself. “Jayne Hunter. I’m living here now. Say hello to Lana, will you? I watch her on Hawk’s Roost every week.”

  “Sure, I’ll tell her I ran into you.” Now he remembered Jayne. So the glamour queen of yesteryear had become one of Lucille’s impoverished boarders. Jayne hadn’t been as lucky as his mother, who’d maintained a sufficiently high profile to be cast in a new television show. “It’s nice to meet you…you look great,” he told her honestly.

  “Guess I’m in pretty good shape for an old broad. Comes from teaching exercise classes.” She nodded toward the other women, then gestured toward the house. “Go on in—it’s not locked. Lucille’s expecting you.”

  Jayne returned to her aerobics class, and Kit strode up the crumbling concrete steps to the mansion’s massive entrance. He stared at the red paint peeling off the door before letting himself in. The place was falling apart. Perhaps the reason his godmother wanted to see him was to take that long-term, low-cost “loan” he’d been offering to give her for years. He didn’t really expect the money to be paid back, which was undoubtedly the reason Lucille had refused his help time and again. She must be in some financial bind if she was ready to sacrifice her stubborn pride.

  Ambling across the marble floor of the two-story hallway, he called, “Hey, anybody home?” He stopped at the foot of the open staircase.

  “Hey, who wants to know?” rasped a familiar grating voice.

  Kit headed for the living room that opened off to one side of the grand foyer. “Don’t get up,” he told the slight, silver-haired figure who was already rising from one of the serape-covered couches.

  “Of course I’m gonna get up.” Lucille stepped closer to embrace him. “I might be moving slower than I used to, but I’m not crippled.” When she released Kit, she was smiling. “And I’m not gonna miss out on a big hug from my favorite…my only godson. I don’t get to see you very often. Must’ve been four or five months since you were here last.”

  And that was his fault, Kit knew. “I spend too many hours in the office.”

  “The Garfield Corporation can get along without you once in a while. It’s gotten along without Price all these years.”

  “My father never had any real interest in his
investment company.” Which was why Kit did—although he had no intention of discussing his relationship with his father. “I’m glad you called. This will give us a chance to just sit around and chat.”

  He really cared about Lucille and knew that the woman wasn’t going to be around forever. Despite the camouflage of her flowing printed caftan, he noticed the slight curvature of her once-erect spine. Like other elderly people, she’d become a little shorter and frailer with the passing years.

  When she sat on the couch, he slid into the nearest high-backed, leather-covered chair. Overhead, staring down from the wall, was an ancient mangy bison head, one of the many relics Lucille kept in remembrance of her late husband. Jim Dix had been a star of Westerns and the original owner of the mansion. Nearly twenty-five years older than his wife, Jim had died when Kit was young. Kit’s memories were of a big, jovial man who always gave him butterscotch candies and taught him to ride a pony.

  “Want some tea or coffee?” Lucille asked.

  “Coffee sounds good.”

  She rang a small brass bell that was sitting on the side table. Like many of the mansion’s older conveniences, the servants’ buzzer was obviously broken.

  “Elsie, bring us some coffee, will you?” she shouted loudly. The eighty-three-year-old maid had been her bosom companion for half her life. She turned back to Kit. “It’ll take her a while to get here, so sit back and relax. You look like you could use some perking up. You must get bored with all that business stuff.” She gave him a penetrating look, dark eyes opaque above her long, thin nose. “You’ve always been the more artistic type.”

  He had the distinct notion she was fishing for something. “I find ways to keep myself challenged.”

  Lucille snorted. “Challenged, sure, but happy? What happened to the little boy who loved to sing and dance?”

  Kit laughed. “He grew up.”

  And though he was sometimes nostalgic for the old days, he’d learned that his parents’ occupations often weren’t as glamorous as they appeared—as Lucille well knew.

  “But you were some dancer,” she went on, “especially in your twenties.”