"Sure, it can be done."
"Paul, what about you? Are you well? Are you working too much, too many long hours?"
"I'm healthy and yes, I do work long hours, as every doctor does. And since you can't come to visit us, I think it would be nice for Carrie if we came to visit you."
Oh, that was the best idea I'd heard in months and months. "And bring Chris," I said. "He'll love to meet all the pretty ballerinas I can introduce him to. But you, Paul, you'd better not look at anyone but me."
He made a strange sound in his throat before he chuckled. "Don't worry, Catherine, there's not a day that passes that I don't see your face before me."
In early August the television production of The Nutcracker was taped for Christmastime release. Julian and I sat close together and watched the rushes, and when it was over he turned to take me in his arms, and for the first time he told me with the kind of sincerity I could believe, "I love you, Cathy. Please stop taking me so lightly!"
Hardly had we rested up from The Nutcracker when Yolly fell and sprained her ankle, and April was visiting her parents, so I had the chance to be Sleeping Beauty! Since Julian had played two roles in the TV production, both Alexis and Michael thought it should be their turn to partner me. Madame Zolta frowned and looked at Julian, then at me. "Alexis, Michael, I promise you the very next lead roles, but let Julian dance with Catherine. They have a rare magic between them that is spellbinding. I want to see how they do in a really lavish production like The Sleeping Beauty."
Oh, the thoughts I had on stage as I lay so still on the purple velvet couch, waiting for my lover to come and put on my lips an arousing, come-alive kiss. The glorious music made me feel more real on that couch than when I was just me with no royal blood at all. I felt enchanted, surrounded by an aura of beauty as I quietly, gracefully lay with my arms folded on my breasts and my heart pulsated in rhythm with the glorious music. Out in the dark audience, Paul, Chris and Carrie and Henny were watching for the first time a New York performance. Truly, I felt in my bones I was that mystical medieval princess.
I saw him dreamily from beneath almost closed eyes, my prince. He danced about me, then down on one knee he knelt to tenderly gaze upon my face before he dared to put a hesitant kiss upon my closed lips. I awakened, shy, disoriented, fluttering my eyelids. I feigned love on sight, but was so frightened, so maidenly virtuous, he had to woo me with more dancing and coax me to dance too, and in the most passionate pas de deux I soon succumbed to his charms and in conquest he lifted me high and up on the flat of his palm that knew well the exact spot to balance my weight just right, and I was carried offstage.
The last act ended; the applause thundered and resounded as time and again the curtain rose and came down. Julian and I took eight curtain calls of our very own! Red roses were thrust again and again into my arms, and flowers were tossed onto the stage. I looked down to see one single yellow buttercup weighted down by a folded slip of paper. I bent to pick it up and knew it was from Chris even before I had the chance to read his note. Daddy's four yellow buttercups--and here was one put in a freezer to keep it fresh until it could be thrown to me as a tribute to what we used to be.
Blindly I stared out into an audience of blurred faces, searching to see those I loved. All I could see was the attic, the gloomy, awesomely huge attic with its paper flowers, and over there, near the stairwell, was Chris standing in the shadows, near the shrouded sofa and the big trunk and his yearning desire was on his face as he watched me dance on and on.
I was crying, and the audience loved it. They gave me a standing ovation. I turned to hand a red rose to Julian, and again they thundered their applause. And he kissed me! Right in front of thousands--he dared to kiss me--and it wasn't respectful, it was possessive. "Damn you for doing that!" I hissed, feeling humiliated.
"Damn you for not wanting me!" he hissed back. "I'm not yours!"
"You will be!"
My family came backstage to lavish me with praise. Chris had grown taller but Carrie was very much the same--maybe a bit taller, not much. I kissed Henny's firm, round cheek. Only then could I look at Paul. Our eyes locked and held. Did he still love me, want me, need me? He hadn't answered my last letter. Easily hurt, I'd written only to Carrie to tell her of the upcoming performances, and only then did Paul call to say he was bringing my family to New York.
After the performance came the buffet party given for us by the rich patrons Madame Z. cultivated. "Wear the costumes you have on," she instructed. "The aficionados get a big thrill seeing dancers up close in costumes--but take off the stage makeup, use what you wear every day to look stunning. Never for one second give the public the idea you are less than glamorous!"
Music was playing and Chris took me into his arms for a waltz, the dance I had taught him so many years ago. "This is still the way you dance?" I chided.
He grinned in a self-effacing way. "Can't help it if you got all the dancing talent and I got all the brains."
"Remarks like that could easily make me think you have no brains."
He laughed again and I was drawn closer. "Besides, I don't have to dance and posture to win over the girls. Just take a look at your friend Yolanda. She's quite a beauty, and she's been giving me the eye all evening."
"She gives every good-looking guy the eye, so don't feel so flattered. She'll sleep with you tonight if you want that, and tomorrow night with someone else."
"Are you like her too?" he shot back, narrowing his eyes.
I smiled at him wickedly, thinking, no, I was like Momma, sweet and cool and able to handle men--at least, I was learning. To prove this I winked at Paul, seeing if he'd come over and cut in. Swiftly Paul was on his feet, moving gracefully across the dance floor to take me from Chris. My brother's lips tightened, then he strolled straight from me to Yolanda. In a minute or two they disappeared.
"I guess you think I'm all hands and clumsy feet, after dancing with Julian," said Paul, who could dance better than Chris. Even when the music changed into a faster rhythm with a jungle beat he followed along, surprising me that he could let go of his dignity and jiggle around almost as abandoned as a college kid. "Paul, you're wonderful!" He laughed and said I made him feel young again. It was so much fun to see him like this, relaxed, that I went a hit wild with my dancing.
Carrie and Henny looked tired and ill-at-ease. "I'm sleepy," complained Carrie, rubbing her eyes. "Can't we go to bed now?" It was twelve o'clock when we dropped Henny and Carrie off at their hotel, then Paul and I sat in a quiet Italian cafe and looked at one another. He still wore the mustache--not a neat, dandy one, but a thick brush above his sensual lips. He'd gained a few pounds, but it didn't detract from his looks or his appeal. He reached across the table to gather both my hands in his, then lifted them to his face so he could rub his cheek against them. And all the while he did this, his eyes asked a burning question, forcing a question from me. "Paul, have you found someone else?"
"Have you?"
"I asked first."
"I'm not looking for anyone else."
It was an answer to make my heartbeats quicken, for it had been so long and I loved him too much. I watched him pay the check, pick up my coat and hold it, and then his own for me to hold. Our eyes met--and then we almost ran from the restaurant to the nearest hotel where he registered us as Mr. and Mrs. Paul Sheffield. In a room painted dark red, he took off my clothes with such seductive slowness I was ready even before he went down on his knees to kiss me everywhere. Then he held me close, caressed and cherished me, kissed and pleasured until we were again made one.
After we were spent, he traced his finger along my lips, looking at me so tenderly. "Catherine, what I wrote on that hotel register I meant," he said, kissing me softly.