Softly he chuckled and cuddled me close again, as a father would. "Dear Catherine, my hot-blooded, feisty dancer, what man wouldn't love you? How did you learn so much about loving locked away in a cold, dim, northern room?"
"From books," I said, but the lessons taught were not all from books.
His hands were in my hair and his lips were near mine "I'll never forget the best birthday gift I ever had." His breath was warm on my cheeks. "Now here's the way it's going to be from now on," he said firmly. "You and Julian will go back to New York, and you will make him the best wife you are capable of being. The two of you will do your damndest to set the world on fire with your dancing, and you've got to determine never to look back with regrets, and forg
et about me."
"And you--what about you?"
He lifted his hand and fingered his mustache. "You'd be surprised what this mustache has done for my sex appeal. I might never shave it off."
We both laughed, real laugher, not faked. I took then the two-carat diamond ring he'd given me and tried to return it to him "No! I want you to keep that ring. Save it to hock, when or if you ever need a bit of extra cash."
Julian and I flew back to New York and hunted for weeks before we found just the right cozy apartment. He wanted something much more elegant, but between us we didn't earn enough for the penthouse apartment he thought was our due. "Sooner or later though, I'll see we live in that kind of place, near Central Park, in rooms filled with real flowers."
"We don't have time to baby along real plants and flowers," I said, having experienced all the time and trouble it took to keep flowers and plants alive and healthy. "And when we go to visit Carrie, we can always enjoy Paul's gardens."
"I don't like that doctor of yours."
"He's not my doctor!" I felt fluttery inside, afraid for no reason at all. "Why don't you like Paul? Everybody else likes him well enough."
"Yeah, I know," he answered shortly, pausing with his fork held midway between his plate and his mouth. He gave me a heavy, solemn look. "That's the trouble, my darling wife, I think you like him too much, even now. And what's more, I'm not crazy about your brother, either. Your sister is okay. You can ask her up for visits once in a while--but don't you ever forget, not for one second, that I come first in your life now. Not Chris, not Carrie, and, most of all, not that doctor you were engaged to. I'm not blind or stupid, Cathy. I've seen him look at you, and though I don't know how far you went with him before you'd better let it be dead now!"
My head bowed with the panic I felt. My brother and sister were like extensions of myself! I needed them in my life, not just on the fringes. What had I done? I had the blinding precognition that he was going to be my loving keeper, my jailor, and I'd be as imprisoned with him as I'd been in the locked room in Foxworth Hall! Only this time I'd be as free to come and go as far as his invisible chain would allow. "I love you like crazy," he said, polishing off the last of his meal. "You are the best thing that's ever happened to me. I want you at my side all the time, never out of sight. I need you to keep me straight. I drink too much sometimes, and then I get mean, real mean, Cathy. I want you to make me over into what you think I am on stage; I don't want to hurt you."
He touched me then, for I knew he'd been terribly hurt, as I'd been hurt, and he'd been so disappointed in his father, as my mother had
disappointed me. And he needed me. Maybe Paul was right. Fate had used Amanda to deal out the right cards so Julian and I would be winners, not losers. Youth did call to its own age, and he was young, handsome, a talented dancer--and charming when he wanted to be. He had a cruel, dark side, I knew that. I'd experienced some of that . . . but I could tame him. I wouldn't let him be my ruler and my judge, my superior or my master. We'd make it fifty-fifty, share and be equals, and eventually, one bright and sunny morning, I'd wake up and see his darkly stubbled face and know I loved him. Know I loved him better than anyone I'd loved before--anyone.
PART THREE Dreams Come True
. While Julian and I worked slavishly to reach the top of the ballet world, Chris whizzed his way through college, and in his fourth year he entered an accelerated program for medical students, completing his fourth year of college while simultaneously beginning his first year of medical school.
He flew to New York and explained it to me while we strolled hand in hand in Central Park. It was spring and the birds were chirping and merrily collecting the trash they needed to build nests.
"Chris, Julian doesn't know you're here, and I'd rather he didn't find out. He's terribly jealous of you, and Paul too. Would you feel insulted if I didn't ask you over for dinner9"
"Yes," he said stubbornly. "I came up to visit my sister, and visit my sister I will. Not furtively either. You can tell him I came to visit Yolanda. Besides, I only intend to stay for the weekend."
Julian was obsessively possessive of me. He was like an only child who needed constant
pampering, and I didn't mind, except when he tried to keep me from my family. "Okay. He's rehearsing now, and he thinks I'm home doing housework before I join him this afternoon. But stay away from Yolanda, Chris. She's nothing but trouble. Whatever she does with any man is news for the class the next day."
He gave me a strange look. "Cathy, I don't give a damn about Yolanda. She was just my excuse to see you; I know your husband hates me."
"I wouldn't call it hate . . . not exactly." "All right, call it jealousy, but whatever it is, he's not keeping me from you." His tone and his look grew serious. "Cathy, always you and Julian seem just on the verge of making it big, and then something happens, and you never become the stars you should be. What is it?"
I shrugged. I didn't know what it was. I thought Julian and I were as dedicated to the dance as any others, and even more so, and still Chris was right. . . we'd put on a spectacular performance and draw rave reviews, and then we'd slide backwards. Perhaps Madame Zolta didn't want us to become superstars, lest we leave her company and join another.
"How is Paul?" I asked as we sat on a bench dappled with sunlight and shade.
Chris had my hand in his and tightly he held it. "Paul's Paul . . . he never changes. Carrie adores him; he adores her. He treats me like a younger brother he's very proud of. And really, Cathy, I don't think I would have made it as well without all the tutoring he gave me."
"He hasn't found anyone else to love?" I asked in a tight voice. I didn't fully believe Paul's letters that said there weren't any women he cared for.
"Cathy," said Chris, putting his fingers tenderly under my chin to tilt my face upward to his, "how can Paul find anyone to equal you?" I could have cried from the expression in his eyes. Would the past never set me free?
.