She blushed and then went cold. She wasn’t sure yet if she wanted to sleep with him. “How, exactly?”
He surprised her. “By saying you’ll come to the theater with me next week. There’s something I know you’d enjoy. Let’s see if I can get tickets first.”
Maybe he had read her reaction in time and changed his suggestion. Anyway, she was so relieved that she agreed at once.
On Monday Don took time off to visit a theatrical costumer’s on Broadway with Meg Kellaway. She needed to rent a Spanish dress for the Amnesty International concert. He had told her she would need to get it soon, even though the concert wasn’t for five weeks. She could learn the steps of the seguidilla in jeans if she wanted, but it would never be right until she knew how to manage the dress, so she might as well get used to it from the start. She had not needed persuading.
Strictly speaking, it wasn’t essential to pick up the dress at this stage. It could have waited two weeks more. But this morning Don couldn’t face being in the lab with Sarah Jordan.
“What do you think?” Meg asked him. “It’s a little snug across the bodice, but I guess that’s the style.” She swiveled her hips to show him how the skirt moved. The dress was classic in style, cut close to the body as far as the hips, then cascading in frills to the ground, dipping at the back in the conventional fan shape.
Don shook his head. “White is not the color for you.” He turned to the assistant. “Do you have the same dress in red?”
“It’s the only one in this style, sir.”
“I like it, Don.”
“Then I guess it will pass. You’ll need to diet.”
“Skunk!”
“Go jogging, then — or something.”
With a glance, she made a sexual innuendo of his remark.
The assistant grinned, but Don let it pass. Not that he found Meg unattractive — the vibes were as strong as ever — but today his mood was too complex. He valued his independence. He knew she wanted guarantees. A steady relationship was a threat to the other things in his life. So before he made it with a girl, he liked to have an understanding that it was just a screw, with no obligation on either side. He believed in being honest. He had never been short of takers.
While Meg changed, Don paid the deposit for the rental of the dress. Afterward he let her buy him a beer in a bar on Times Square.
“So when do we practice?”
“How about Sunday morning?” Don suggested. “We could fit in an hour or two before lunch. There’s a room in the gym where people used to play Ping-Pong, but the tables are gone now. A wood-block floor. Perfect for dancing.”
“You wouldn’t care to come to my place this evening and help me through the beginning stage in private? I could roll back my carpet. It’s boarded underneath. I’ll make goulash. You haven’t tried my goulash.” Her voice trailed away. “No? I guess I’m crowding you again.”
“It’s a nice idea, but I still have some stuff to write up. You know how it is when you take an afternoon off.”
“Sure. Maybe there won’t be too many people around on Sunday.”
“You’re feeling self-conscious, Meg?”
“Why shouldn’t I? Didn’t you when they asked you to do the stunt for TV? Hey, what happened about that? Shall I see you soon on the small screen?”
He told her why she would not. He admitted he had flopped and Sarah Jordan had totally eclipsed him.
“That’s too bad,” said Meg. “I didn’t know you two were in competition for this.”
He said he hadn’t known it either. He told her how surprised he had been when Sarah’s interview was screened.
“You mean it was arranged without your knowledge? Christ, that’s mean! What kind of a bitch does a thing like that?”
“Let’s be fair. I didn’t say a word to Sarah about my meeting with the TV people, so why should she say anything to me?”
“Don, you’re too forgiving. I think she really hates you. Watch her — she’s dangerous.”
Later, walking back to his apartment, he weighed Meg’s remarks. Up to now he had never considered the possibility of Sarah’s hating him. She was cool toward him, certainly, but that, surely, was her thing about status. Her two years’ seniority mattered to Sarah. Hatred was another thing. He would probably have dismissed it as one of those bitchy things women say about each other — if he had not watched her filmed interview. That had shown him a Sarah he didn’t know existed, animated, warm, and, he admitted it, a dish. Not once in their association had she let him glimpse that side of her character. Did she despise him so much? The question nagged at him all evening and into the next day.
Ed Cunningham phoned Sarah on Monday after classes and calmly told her he had picked up tickets for the Wednesday-evening performance of the American Ballet Theater’s production of Don Quixote. She was so excited that for a few seconds she was speechless, and Ed began to get anxious that he had done the wrong thing. She blurted out that this was the nicest thing that had happened to her in years, and she meant it. She knew very well that he hadn’t simply “picked up” the tickets, because she had read in the paper that the spring season at the Met was a sellout. He must have gone to a lot of trouble. For her.
She was not sure how many times during the performance she reached for Ed’s hand and squeezed it hard. The ballet was breathtaking, a triumph of staging, choreography, and bravura dancing. By each intermission she was emotionally drained. Ed stood with her near the grand-tier staircase and she gazed into the crystal chandeliers. It was no time for words.
When it was over, he took her for a late supper. Thoughtfully he cushioned her slow descent from cloud nine by finding a quiet table at Le Poulailler, on West Sixty-Fifth, and ordering a bottle of wine before they looked at the menu.
Finally she said, “I didn’t know I could still get so involved.”
He smiled. “Most of the time Gelsey Kirkland was onstage, you were mentally right there with her.”
“That’s right. Never mind that I haven’t put on a ballet shoe since I was eleven years old. I tell myself I could have been like her. It’s monumentally conceited, but no one can prove me wrong.”
Ed laughed gently. “Sure. And if only I had learned more physics in high school, the world would never have heard of Neil Armstrong.”
She took the remark as it was meant — with a smile.
“Shall we order now?” he suggested. He recommended the bay scallops in white wine sauce, and Sarah said that sounded just right. Now that he had coaxed her out of her ballet fantasies, she appreciated that these, too, were moments to savor. She felt totally secure. She accepted his maturity, his silver hair and expensive dark suit, as assets, not impediments. His manner was more reserved than that of someone nearer her own age, but she valued it, because it relaxed her. She felt warmed by his confident glances and strengthened by the sculptured quality of his features. He was a very attractive guy. And his hair was quite dark at the back.
When they had talked for a while about the ballet, and their meal was served, he said, “What happened when your parents stopped your dance classes? You said you were ill for some weeks, but when you recovered — physically — what happened? Was there a change in your behavior when you went back to school?”
He knew the answer: Sarah was sure of it. She had never discussed it with anyone else, but now she talked freely, because he understood, and he wouldn’t be shocked. “Yes, a pretty dramatic change. I’m not very proud of it. There’s always a group of disaffected kids in a school. I took up with them. I started smoking and playing hooky. I let the air out of the tires on the teachers’ cars...”