Love Lyrics Page 5

  Matt held her at arm’s length, his face gleaming. “Ataway, babe! One down, two to go!”

  “I have a feeling it will be a piece of cake.”

  “I have a feeling I know why!”

  By week’s end, Ashley had finished one more lyric, revised another she wasn’t entirely happy with and was hard at work on the last song. She was producing like an automatic word machine. And the results, she knew, were good.

  The read-through had taken place on Thursday at the first get-together of the whole cast. Once the schedule was posted and the sketches for the scenery and costumes had been displayed to the cast and the press, the hall was cleared of everyone but the company, with the exception of Joe Sanders, who sat through the whole procedure with an ecstatic grin on his face. Everyone was seated on the stage while the script was read by the cast and the songs, at least all those that were complete, were played by Matt and sung by Ashley. The reaction all around had been extremely positive.

  Now, a week later, the rehearsals had settled into their working format, with the director, Craig Clarke, blocking the scenes with the leads in one building, the chorus and the music director down the street in a vacant studio and the choreographer and dancers in a third location. Ashley and Matt attended most of the late-afternoon rehearsals held with Craig and the principals and worked on the score in the mornings. It was a familiar routine, with each moment crammed full of stimulating activity; but to Ashley, the hours seemed endless. She found herself doing something she’d never done before in her life — crossing the days off the calendar as they passed.

  Zachary called her on Friday morning to confirm their date. “Are we still all set?”

  All set? If he didn’t come, her next reviews would be on the obituary page. “Yes.” She hugged the phone closer to her ear, wishing she could crawl through the curled cord and be zapped right into his arms.

  “Ashley, I have a couple of appointments this afternoon that I couldn’t cancel because both of them involve out-of-state clients. Could we meet at the restaurant?”

  “Of course. Zach, is this going to be too difficult? We could postpone it, if you need to.” If he said “yes,” she’d die.

  “I wouldn’t dream of standing you up. Besides, what’s inconvenient about flying to New York for dinner? All of us jet-setters do it.”

  Despite the bantering tone, the words made her shiver. “Too many years and too many tears and it isn’t funny at all.” The line sprang to mind from a song she’d written shortly after they quit seeing each other, the last time she’d been stuck in sad ballads. She forced a note of levity into her tone. “I’m glad to know the sacrifice isn’t too great.”

  “The sacrifice has already been offered to the gods. My peace of mind for the past eight days. I was right, it was the longest such period in recorded history.”

  “Zachary . . .”

  “I know. We must keep it light. See you at seven-thirty.”

  “Yes.”

  She replaced the receiver, alarmed at the way her hand shook. Had he been as nervous as she about how to handle that first moment when he came to pick her up? Or did he really have out-of-state clients? In either case, it eased some of her apprehension. Far better to start off in a public place.

  She stood quickly and went into her dressing room to get ready to leave, wondering where tonight’s meeting would lead. It was a blessing that the lyrics were practically finished; if this evening aroused too much of the pain of separation, her sense of humor could well be incapacitated indefinitely.

  By that evening, it took a long soaking in a bubble bath to wash away the tension of the day and prepare her for the tension of the night. After examining every garment in her closets, she selected an outfit, laid it out, looked at it and put it back. This routine was repeated approximately ten times before she settled on a softly pleated dress of white, lightweight wool that clung to her slim body in a very becoming manner. After a great deal of cogitation, she put on an amethyst necklace with matching earrings that had been a gift from Zachary. Never had so much indecision gone into the simple act of dressing for a date. Even the choice of a coat was a major event. A glamorous fur or a classic wool or the new high-fashion cape that Matt said made her look like Batman’s assistant? She settled on a white wool coat. The lack of other colors starred the amethysts, which she knew would be a statement in itself.

  The intercom buzzed, and when she picked it up, the doorman said, “Your taxi is here, Miss Grainger.”

  “Thank you. Be right down.”

  With a last, agonizing look in the mirror, she steeled herself against rushing in to change the whole outfit and rushed, instead, out the door.

  Zachary arrived at the restaurant shortly after seven, wishing he’d swung by after all to pick up Ashley. It was murder to sit alone, staring at the door, bombarded by the memories this place revived. They’d had such fun here, sitting at one of the small, jammed-together tables, half-yelling at each other over the hubbub, enclosed in the peculiarly secure privacy of a crowd.

  He’d never known anyone with whom he could share his thoughts so completely. Nothing, not the deepest hurts or insecurities or the most flagrant bragging over a personal victory, had ever seemed out-of-bounds. As a fourth generation Bostonian, his upbringing, though done in a close-knit, caring family amid scores of relatives and lifetime friends, included a solid tradition of keeping problems to oneself and never “blowing one’s own horn.” So the “all-levels” communication he’d shared with Ashley had been like letting a significant part of himself out of jail. Looking back, it was appalling, the speed with which the parole had been revoked when he quit seeing Ashley.

  He twisted his glass around, rattling the ice against the sides. For a light drinker, he’d certainly dispensed with the Scotch in a hurry. There was no ignoring his jittery nerves. Strange, he was rarely uneasy. There were few situations in which he felt insecure, but waiting here for the only woman who had ever completely dominated his world was shattering his aplomb.

  “Mr. Jordan!”

  He looked up, surprised at the greeting. “Why, Charlie, hello! How nice of you to remember me! So, you’re still working here.”

  “Oh, yes, probably will be until I’m ready to retire. It’s been a long time, Mr. Jordan. I hope it wasn’t a problem with our food or our service.”

  “No, of course not. Both were always superior. It was just that, at a certain point, I had no reason to come to New York.”

  “Oh. Well, it’s good to see you again. Can I get you another drink?”

  “No, thanks. I’ll wait until my dinner companion arrives.”

  Charlie glanced over his head. “Well, unless I’m mistaken, she just did.”

  Zachary’s eyes flicked to the door. Ashley had just stepped inside. Her cheeks were flushed from the cold outside air, and she was smiling at the maître d’. She looked absolutely beautiful. He stood up, and as their eyes met across the room, everything else disappeared from view.

  He heard Charlie say, “I’ll be right back to get your drink orders.”

  “Thanks, Charlie.”

  Ashley handed her coat to one of the waiters and followed the maître d’ through the maze of tables, her eyes never leaving the face of the man who stood waiting for her. His black hair looked slightly rumpled, as though he’d run his fingers through it. She’d seen him do that so often. It was the only nervous habit he had. Zachary wore self-confidence like a second skin; it must have been passed on with the thoroughbred genes that had also endowed him with the aristocratic structure of his handsome face and his beautifully built body. He had much for which to thank his ancestors.

  When she reached his side, he pulled out a chair and she sat down. Only then did they say, in unison, “Hello.”

  They both broke out in laughter.

  Zachary nodded toward Charlie, who was fast approaching their table. “Do
you remember our old friend from bygone days?”

  Ashley looked up and smiled. “Why, Charlie, how nice to see you again!”

  “It’s good to have you back with us. Miss Grainger. We’ve missed seeing you here. Now, you can’t say it’s because you’ve had no reason to be in New York. I know better, from reading the theater page in The New York Times.”

  She raised her shoulders, not knowing how to answer. “I seem to have been moving in different directions, Charlie. But it’s nice to be back.”

  “I’d say you’d been moving straight up, Miss Grainger. Congratulations on your successes.”

  “Thank you very much.”

  “Now, what can I get you to drink?”

  They placed their orders, both watching in some trepidation as he walked away, leaving them alone, mentally fishing about for words to fill the void.

  Zachary found them first. “You look beautiful. Ashley.”

  “Thank you, so do you.”

  He smiled, remembering all the times she’d insisted he was prettier than she was. “You wore the amethysts; that was thoughtful of you.”

  “Not thoughtful. Brave.”

  They stared at each other, muted for the moment by their awareness that the footing on this path of renewed contact was very tricky. Zachary took a deep breath and tried a different tack. “Are you pleased with the way the show is coming?”

  “Very pleased. Especially since I’ve almost finished the lyrics, and the music is very nearly complete.”

  “So, you worked your way out of ‘woeful ballads’?”

  She laughed. “Finally. You provided an inspiration.”

  His brows rose. “I did?”

  “Yes. Remember at dinner that night when you said that the money is in the bank when the money is in the bank?”

  He winced. “Not a very cogent remark, I’m afraid.”

  “Oh, I beg to differ. That remark has now been immortalized in song.”

  “You’re kidding!”

  “No. It will be a big number, a humorous patter song, sung to our hero by his uncle. Now, since the man playing Uncle Hermie is not only an able singer, but also a remarkable dancer, it will be quite a production number.”

  “Well, well. I must say that never, in my most fanciful imaginings, did I picture myself as a song writer.”

  “Life sometimes takes peculiar turns.”

  “Doesn’t it.”

  Ashley glanced around the restaurant, a wistful smile on her face. “We spent a lot of hours here.”

  “Yes. I was recalling some of them before you came in. This was where we came that first night, after we ducked out of the party.”

  Her eyes moved to his and were instantly trapped by their riveting gaze. She’d never known anyone with eyes like Zachary’s. The dark blue seemed a surface to layers of tantalizing shades: gleamings of aqua and moss green and sun-flickers of gold; deep-sea caverns, beguiling, bedazzling. They did not make false promises. The treasures were there, real and rich. Intellect, humor, sensitivity, an enormous capacity for love. She blinked, forcing a disconnection. She had almost drowned there once before and feared she was no better able to withstand the force of this particular current.

  “How well I remember! You know, I don’t think I ever asked you how you happened to be at a party in Greenwich Village.”

  She had been too entranced to think of such a detail. He had stood out in that crowd like a Rodin bronze in a display of amateur clay figures. It was about three weeks after the opening of her and Matt’s first major Broadway musical. The reviews had been so good they might have written them themselves, and for weeks Ashley veered between ecstasy and apprehension, sure it was all a dream from which she would be rudely awakened. When she first sighted Zachary, the dreamlike illusion increased. He looked more a product of fantasy than reality.

  “One of my classmates from Harvard law school lived there. He had decided that life as a hidebound lawyer wasn’t his ‘thing,’ and was trying to write poetry.”

  “Is he still there?”

  “Yes, and still writing.”

  “How’s he doing?”

  “Terribly. He’s a very bad poet.” They laughed together. “However, I’m glad he decided to try. He was the one who took me to see your musical and invited me to come to the party the following evening to meet you.”

  She knew it might be a chancy question, but she had to ask it. “Are you sorry?”

  “Not at all. In spite of everything, Ashley, I wouldn’t have missed our time together. Otherwise, I might never have known how it felt to be entirely happy.” His eyes clouded. “Or, for that matter, entirely sad.”

  “You’d have been better off without the latter.”

  “Not necessarily. It gives me insight into what some of my clients are going through when they’re faced with a death or a divorce. I suppose, in the long run, even the most hurtful of experiences builds something of value in us.” He paused while Charlie put their drinks in front of them. “But I would be glad to be spared that kind of pain again.”

  “So would I.” She took a sip of her wine, then looked at him squarely and asked, “So what are we doing to ourselves, Zachary? If you’re experiencing any of the feelings I am right now, we’re putting our own thumbs in the screw.”

  “Or our own feet on the cloud.”

  Ashley felt caught in a whirlpool — in imminent danger of going under. “How could we? We split up because you couldn’t accept the demands of my career, and I knew I’d be deceiving myself as well as you if I said I could be happy without it. The demands haven’t changed, Zachary, and my love of the theater hasn’t changed.”

  “We’re both older and probably wiser; maybe we could enjoy each other’s company without expecting so much from the relationship.”

  She closed her eyes, trying to shut out the intrusion of hope; a hope so blinding that it blocked the flashing signals of danger that blinked on and off in her head. “Oh, Zachary, if only . . .”

  “Ashley, I was terribly apprehensive about seeing you again, and I had no thought in mind about trying to revive anything. Three years is a long time. I thought I’d put our affair behind me and was sure you’d have done so. In fact, I assumed there would be someone else in your life.”

  She shook her head. “No.”

  “Nor in mine. I tried, a couple of times, but it didn’t work.”

  “Same here.”

  “I’m so glad.”

  She couldn’t move her gaze from his, and she was about to go under for the second time.

  “Would it be so wrong of us to take whatever happiness we can find together and worry about the future in the future?”

  Ashley swallowed, trying to dislodge the obstacle to her speech. “You mean like Scarlett O’Hara? Think about the bothersome things tomorrow?”

  “Maybe by tomorrow they won’t be so bothersome.”

  Why was it so hard for her to find the right words to say? She made her living with words. But at the moment, it was as though someone had stolen her mental dictionary. She shrugged, shaking her head at the same time, body language expressing the myriad doubts she felt. “You’re still a Boston lawyer, and I’m still a Broadway lyricist. That twain couldn’t meet before.”

  His hand reached across the table to cover hers, and the simple contact obliterated any remnants of Ashley’s common sense.

  “Maybe we tried too hard. You and I are both used to planning everything far in advance. Perhaps that’s a mistake, in this case. We had something unique. It was not only a love affair, it was a wonderful friendship, as well. Would it be so terrible to renew that, without demanding blueprints for the years ahead? I think it’s worthwhile to try it.”

  She knew, knew, she was about to slide her heart under a steamroller. Her lips made a frantic effort to form the word “no” and failed. She was so
miserable without him, that surely seeing him, even on a platonic basis, would be better. She closed her ears to all the cries of warning that were sounding in her head. “Yes. I’d like that very much.”

  His eyes deepened in color, eye-beacons beckoning, compelling. She took a deep breath just before going under for the third time.

  Chapter Four

  When they stepped outside to hail a taxi, the sidewalk was covered by a blanket of white, and snow was falling in steady, huge, wispy flakes.

  “Oh, Zach, look!” Ashley tucked her hand through his arm. “It’s snowing, just like it was the first night we met! It must be a lucky omen!” She ducked her head as they stepped from the shelter of the canopy and crossed to the cab that had pulled up at the curb.

  Once inside, Zachary gave the driver the address, then turned to her with a smile. “Lucky omen. That’s right, I’d forgotten how superstitious you are.”

  “All show business people are superstitious. It’s bad luck not to be.”

  Zachary laughed. “That makes perfect sense, I’m sure.” He brushed away the snowflakes that nestled on her hair. “I’d almost forgotten how your eyes dance when you’re happy.”

  “I don’t think they’ve done much dancing for quite a while.”

  “Oh? I should think you’d be on top of the world with all the success you’ve achieved.”

  “Do you really think that’s all I want?”

  “I think it’s what you want most.”

  What she wanted most, at this moment, was to be held tight in his arms, to feel his lips on hers. She wanted to lie in bed with him, to reacquaint herself with the exquisite feeling of her skin touching his. She dropped her eyes, hoping to cut off the powerful pull of his magnetism. “This is a dangerous subject, Zach.”

  “You’re right, I apologize. It’ll take a lot of discipline.”

  “What will?” She raised her eyes to look at him and was instantly ensnared by the dark intensity of his gaze.

  “Curbing this relationship.” His hand reached out to touch her cheek, then slid down to her neck, his finger stroking the tender spot behind her earlobe. Ashley shivered as tingling currents began to vibrate just beneath her skin.