Somewhere in California Read online

  I get that report every day and have to initial it as part of our insurance contract. I skim down and pause at Jade’s name. Minor head trauma and bruising to tailbone, hip and forehead, reads the nurse’s note.

  My pulse speeds up. Will she be able to dance tonight?

  Of course she will. Nothing short of a broken bone would stop her—and maybe not even that. Nor any of these competitors, come to think of it.

  “Anyone have to call in the doctor today?” We keep a registered nurse who specializes in sports medicine on hand during the day, but we have a doc on call for more serious issues. Injuries are an inevitable part of a dancer’s life, but I try to set up the show to do everything we can to minimize them.

  “No doc calls. No hospital trips.”

  I initial the page. “From here on out, I want to be called anytime we have an injury bad enough to have the doctor called. Liability.”

  “You got it, Boss.” Tad makes a note. Anytime I say “liability,” people jump. I need to keep throwing that word around.

  “Hey. Get me a beer, will you?” I hand Tad a five. “I know the caf doesn’t have them, but the bar should.”

  “Sure, Boss.”

  “And thanks. Good job today.” Tad looks downright perky after I compliment him. I wish it were that easy for me to feel better. At least I recognize that I need to take the edge off—hence, the beer.

  Brad and I get started, talking on headsets with the director in the pit, Kate the emcee and the cameramen in their positions.

  Jade and a new partner, that blond kid from New York, are working on a decent-looking but not particularly memorable waltz number in the practice dailies. I check for signs of her injuries, and can’t see any evidence of them.

  The girl might look and taste like a peach, but she’s as tough as a tractor tire—something I need to remember.

  Jade won’t be in danger of getting booted off the show for a couple of days. Last night’s piece with Ernesto was so strong that she should be okay for a while, and from what she told me, waltz and foxtrot are her two weakest steps and those will soon be out of the way. She still has ballet, contemporary and tango or cha-cha to go, and those she should do well at.

  I shake my head and refocus on the screens in front of me. I’m over the whole thing. She’s just another contestant.

  The dancers file out after Kate does her witty/humble/touching intro and we have a solo performance from last year’s winner...and no surprise, Jade and Ernesto are the highest-scoring performers from the night before. I’m becoming familiar with the sight of the Michaels family rejoicing in the audience.

  I don’t mind seeing them from a distance.

  I stay in the booth until ten p.m., helping Brad and Alan sift through the footage from the day and begin the process of putting together the show. There’s a lot more editing to do, but we get it roughed out at least.

  I get up too fast and feel a wave of queasy dizziness. Stu, standing in the doorway, spots this of course. “Hey, man. When did you eat last?”

  “Can’t remember.” I chuck the empty coffee cup and beer bottle into the trash. “I’ll grab some room service.”

  “Nah. Come have a drink and a bite with me in the lounge. The appetizers there aren’t too bad.”

  “All right.” Stu’s company is definitely preferable to the empty room and long night ahead.

  We sit in one of the leather-padded booths and order a mess of appetizers and a pitcher of beer. Life begins to look better halfway through the mountain of food.

  “Thanks, Stu. I needed this.”

  “You looked like it.” For a guy as skinny as a licorice whip, Stu can sure pack away the chow. He’s on the second of three burgers. “What’s eating you?”

  “What do you mean?” I gesture to the spread. “I just got too distracted today. You know how I get. Tunnel vision.”

  “Nah.” Stu takes a swig of beer, wipes his mouth, and sits back, “You’re obsessing on that damn model and her family.” Stu’s known me since before that whole thing with Pearl got started four years ago.

  “I’m not. I’m over it.” I bite a chunk of chicken with my teeth and slide it off a kebab stick. “It’s fine. Just pretty sure, even though the show’s really taking off, that I need to find another main producer. Not doing this again next year.”

  “We’ve got the momentum now. You’ll be able to afford someone good.”

  “Yeah. Because I’ll be busy managing Forbes Talent—which will also own Dance, Dance, Dance. So things are on an upswing.”

  “I’ll drink to your new empire.” We bang beer steins.

  “So why are you looking like road kill? I still think you need to get laid.” Stu starts in on the platter of sushi.

  “Not disagreeing with that. Just don’t have time for all the games.”

  “I hear you. Which is why I’m glad to have an old lady to go home to.” Stu’s wife, Becky, whom he adores, is his physical opposite: a chubby, apple-cheeked woman with a ready laugh, Becky reminds me of a happy garden gnome. “You should think about settling down. It’s not like women aren’t throwing themselves at you.”

  “Don’t have the time or energy for that shit.” I finish my beer. “Too much effort and drama. All that getting to know and pretending to care.” I give a theatrical shudder. “No thanks.”

  “You just haven’t met the right woman, and you’re still just burned by Pearl dropping you. Don’t forget, I knew you before, back when you were a romantic little rescuer.” Stu wags his finger at me, referencing how I met Pearl in the first place—and discovered her for Melissa as a model. I was young, naïve, and hopeful back then—had a whole life for myself mapped out that didn’t end up happening.

  Stu and I met at MIT where I was majoring in engineering, that early attempt to break away from Mom. He was in a different program, but we hit it off over pool in the residence hall, and kept that bond through the changes in both of our lives since.

  Stu goes on. “I get it. Pearl’s one in a million. But so are you. Please. Do me and Becky a favor and go out with someone so we don’t worry about you dying alone.”

  “Like Mom, you mean?” I don’t know where that comment came from; it just popped out of my mouth.

  “I didn’t say that.” Stu points his chopsticks at me. “You did.”

  Mom never recovered from Dad’s death. Never even has dated anyone seriously since he passed. She’s married to her work. Maybe that’s changing, though, with this cancer scare. “I date. I go out.”

  “Yeah. You pick up women in bars and sleep with them once.”

  I gesture for the check but can’t get the waitress’s attention. “You know what? It’s been a long day.” I peel three twenties off and toss them onto the table. “Thanks for the nag session.”

  “Aw, hey, man,” Stu says, but I just walk off, with a backwards wave to show him I’m not mad.

  But he can’t push me on this topic. It’s off-limits—and so is my heart.

  Chapter 15

  Jade

  The family meets me in the cafeteria for dinner, as we’ve been doing, but this time I invite Selina to join us. I introduce her, and the slight widening of her eyes is the only indication she gives that she knows who Pearl is. I’m relieved. Selina’s so confident and self-contained that she doesn’t need to gush over celebrities.

  I’m also glad to see Pearl’s back with us.

  “Wow, Selina, you’ve really got moves,” Ruby exclaims. “You’re the only female dancer really giving Jade a run for her money.”

  Selina tosses her silky black hair. “Jade is a standout, that’s for sure.”

  “I’m not feeling special in this next round.” I sit between Ruby and Mom. “We did okay in practice today. Nothing to write home about. I hope it’s enough to keep us on the show.”

  “You’ll be fine.” Selina, across from us and beside Pearl, flaps a hand. “You’ll make it through the next few rounds because of the Ernesto glow.”

  “Yeah, tha
t Ernesto is a crowd-pleaser. How was Disneyland today?” I don’t want to hog the conversation. “Maybe, if you didn’t hit all the rides, we could go again when the contest is over?”

  “I’ll go again!” Peter pipes up, and everyone laughs.

  Selina and I hear about their adventures, and it’s nice to get out of the closed-in world of dance and the contest for a few minutes.

  Selina stands up with her tray. “Wonderful to meet all of you. Please pardon me, but I need to get to bed early tonight.”

  I start to get up too, but Ruby touches my arm. “Hey. I was hoping you, me, and Pearl could hang out for a bit. Sister time.”

  “Sure.” I wave at Selina and sit back down, feeling a twinge of apprehension. Sister time isn’t always good. Mom, the guys and Peter say their goodnights. Ruby takes care of the check. The cafeteria is bustling and noisy with post-show steam being blown off, and she clearly has an agenda.

  “Let’s go to the lounge, where it’s quieter.”

  Pearl is withdrawn. She hasn’t spoken more than a word or two through the whole evening. The two of us follow Ruby across the large, open lobby with its luxury furnishings to the lounge, dimly lit with a combination of low, backless benches set around tables for larger groups, and high, padded booths.

  We take one of the booths. I slide in on one side, and Ruby and Pearl take the other side. I immediately feel ganged-up on, and hide it by picking up the menu. “I can’t eat any of these desserts, but I’d love a drink if one of you could order for me.”

  “I need a drink too but I’m off booze—for the rest of my life. So what’s this about, Ruby?” Pearl asks. Quiet and subdued is totally not her style. She’s a fighter, and a mean one too, when she gets going. Her demeanor the last few days would have worried me if I weren’t so busy being jealous of how she’s still got Brandon wrapped around her little finger.

  “I thought we should clear the air,” Ruby says. “Talk about what’s going on between you two.”

  The waitress arrives, and Ruby orders a Baileys Irish cream whiskey and a hot tea. Pearl orders a ginger ale, and I make do with water.

  “I’m not sure how clearing the air is going to solve anything,” Pearl says. “What we need is some hard core family therapy.”

  My mouth falls open in astonishment. “You’re into therapy?”

  “Yes.” Pearl raises her eyebrows, widening her eyes sarcastically. “I’ve been clean and sober for close to five years—and I’ve gone to a lot of therapy since Dad died. But you probably tuned that out, like everything else I say or do.” Yeah, Pearl can be a mean fighter, and she has a light in her eye like she’s just getting started. Glasses of water arrive, and that gives me a tiny moment for rebuttal.

  “Pardon me for not being in the worldwide Pearl fan club. I was too busy being the only kid at home with Mom and our grandparents while Mom tried to rebuild her life.”

  Pearl turns to Ruby. “See? We need family therapy.” She turns back to me. “You didn’t know what was going on with me back on St. Thomas, because you didn’t want to know. I was date raped by the Carvers and intentionally hooked on heroin. Rafe and Ruby rescued me because Mom couldn’t do anything with me. Maybe you remember that much—but all you did was wash your hands.”

  My hands, concealed in my lap, stop in mid-motion—I’m halfway through thirteen cleaning gestures with my hand sanitizer. I’m stunned by these revelations. I knew Pearl had boyfriends and was into drugs, but I had no idea it wasn’t her own choice.

  “No one here has the corner on pain and suffering,” Ruby says quietly. “We’ve all been through a lot since Dad died.”

  “Says Miss-Super-Accomplished-Married-to-a-Millionaire.” I stop, then clap my hand over my mouth. “Ruby, I’m sorry. I don’t know where that came from.”

  I adore my oldest sister and I know how hard she’s worked at everything— including bringing and keeping our family together.

  Ruby sighs. “Maybe that’s how it looks on the outside. But I loved Dad so much. We were close in a way he wasn’t with either of you, I hope I don’t hurt you by saying that.”

  “We both know you were Daddy’s girl,” Pearl says. “It’s okay.” She takes a large swig of water and coughs.

  “I don’t see how this is accomplishing anything, and I need to get to bed,” I say. “It’s just upsetting me, and I need to stay focused.”

  “You’ve never had trouble with that,” Pearl says. “What you’ve had trouble with is everything else. Everyone has to protect you, make things easier, because Jade is ‘sensitive.’” Pearl made air quotes with her fingers. “Well, I can’t help being who I am. I’ve tried to be a loving sister to you—but you won’t listen to a thing I say or accept a thing I do to help. Even this.” She gestures to the restaurant, encompassing the show and the situation with the tickets. “I called Brandon, my old boyfriend, and had a hella uncomfortable conversation because I was worried about you and wanted to make sure you were okay down here. And you do nothing but throw it back in my face.”

  The drinks mercifully arrive. Ruby fusses with her tea. Pearl and I gulp at our drinks. Even as upset as I am, the warm, sweet creaminess of the Baileys slipping down my throat tastes like ambrosia.

  “I’m super grateful you got Brandon to give the family tickets, and you all came to LA to support me.” I address Ruby. “What I’m not grateful for is that Brandon is still hung up on Pearl.”

  Both of my sisters widen their eyes.

  “I thought I saw something might be going on between you when he came into the caf that evening and you left together,” Ruby says.

  “Good going, Jade. He’s a great guy,” Pearl says. “There is nothing between us. Hasn’t been for years.” Her blue eyes, the exact same shade as Dad’s, are sincere. “I love Magnus. He’s the man for me. I’m seriously taken. Like, forever. Does Brandon need me to give him that message?”

  “No.” I look down at the snifter I’m holding with the delicious, calorie-laden swirl of creamy Bailey’s in it. “Brandon knows that. But he’s not over it. And I’m not willing to be your leftovers.” I look up at Pearl as I sip deliberately. “I’m not ever being your leftovers again. In any way.”

  Pearl shakes her head. “That’s all you, girl.”

  Ruby frowns. “I’m pretty shocked by that, Jade. None of us, Mom and Dad included, have ever thought of you as any kind of leftovers. We love you. We’re proud of you. Maybe you’re the one who has a chip on her shoulder and needs to prove something.”

  “Why do you think I’m in this freakin’ contest?” I throw back the rest of my drink. It’s a shame not to enjoy something that’s costing me so many calories, but I can’t stay here a minute longer. “I’ll understand if you guys leave the show.” I slide out of the booth.

  “Running away is your style. Not ours,” Pearl says. “We’re not that selfish.”

  “Hey,” Ruby moderates, but I’m done. I turn and leave.

  On the elevator, I think of Brandon. Of last night’s kiss. Of his face going cold. Of how I haven’t seen him today, and how he walked away last night. Added to the talk with my sisters, it’s all too much.

  Crying feels like lancing the boil of pain tightening my chest—agonizing, and a relief—but the ache’s still there, living in my bones.

  Days go by in an ever-tightening spiral of stress as the contest moves forward relentlessly, demanding every ounce of effort and discipline I can give it. We continue to meet as a family in the cafeteria for dinners, and Ruby and Pearl keep things light and easy. By some miracle, I keep advancing in the show until I’m in the final four.

  I don’t see Brandon except at a distance: always wearing his headset, carrying his clipboard, in a hurry, never so much as glancing at me. I die a little bit inside every time I see him.

  The final morning of the competition, wrung out from the emotional rollercoaster, I’m paired with Alex for a contemporary piece choreographed by Rhiannon for the final showdown. We’re up against Ernesto and Selina, da
ncing tango.

  The climax of the show being the four of us feels inevitable and fated—and scary as hell.

  Chapter 16

  Jade

  I’ve never danced this hard in my life.

  I seem to think that every day, but today it’s really true. From the minute I found out that I’m dancing contemporary with Alex against Selina and Ernesto, I know I’ll have to dig deeper, to a place I’ve never gone, to an emotional and physical level I’m not sure I’m capable of.

  Working with Rhiannon is a whole new kind of heartfelt.

  In the morning, when we meet her, she tells us about the “story” she wants us to show: one of intense first love, followed by betrayal, followed by reconciliation. She plays Bonnie Raitt’s new song, I Can’t Make You Love Me. The lyrics tell the story, the songstress’s throbbing voice embodying the longing of haunting, possible love.

  It chokes me up, just to listen to. I shut my eyes to keep the tears in.

  Brandon has avoided me all week—the most I’ve seen of him was his back, at a distance. Whatever we had—those intense, stolen, magical moments, is over. Walking away from me and leaving me on the elevator was his answer to that hard question I asked about what I was to him.

  I’m nothing to him.

  It’s easy to let the music bring my bruised emotions boiling to the surface—and glancing over at Alex, I see similar feelings brimming in his eyes.

  Falling for a guy like Ernesto cannot be easy on the heart.

  Rhiannon shows us some of her ideas for moves and turns off the lights.

  She has us dance the emotions we’re feeling in the dark, interacting closely with each other. At the end of our improv, I’m wrung out. Tears are drying on my cheeks. Did I really just dance that? Alex looks the same way—more than perspiring, it’s like the sweat coming out of him is blood.

  Rhiannon turns the lights on, hugs us, and kisses our foreheads. “Good. You’re getting there. Let’s map it out and nail it down.”