Love Lyrics Page 7

  “Why?”

  “Well, they seem to belong to another world from the one I grew up in. I mean, they’re so . . . refined, so . . .”

  “Stuffy?”

  She laughed. “No. That’s really not it at all. In fact, they weren’t the least bit stuffy, they were always kind and welcoming. But you saw the difference, Zach, between your home and mine. I grew up thinking maids just existed in fancy movies, and only royalty dressed for dinner.”

  Zach chuckled as he moved over to lie beside her. “It might surprise you to know they were a bit intimidated by you, too.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Not at all. They’d never known anyone who had a hit show running on Broadway. And after they came to New York to see it and realized how much of it was your creation, they were thoroughly impressed.”

  “That’s nice to know.”

  He kissed her cheek. “How could anyone, given half an opportunity, fail to love you?”

  She turned her head on the pillow, meeting his gaze. “I wish . . .”

  “What?”

  “That it was as simple as that. That love really did cure all problems.”

  “Maybe it does, if given half a chance.” He rolled onto his back and put his arm under her head as she snuggled close with her head on his chest. “Umm, I’m getting drowsy. It is rather late.”

  “It sure is. I’m sleepy, too. And I can’t imagine anything lovelier than falling asleep in your arms.”

  His arms tightened around her, and his hand stroked her hair. “You know, I have a great surprise for you in the morning. I’ve learned to cook a smashing breakfast. If you have the right ingredients, I’ll prepare a sumptuous repast, and we can tarry over our coffee for hours.”

  Ashley drew in her breath and held it for seconds, while her drowsy mind snapped to attention. She exhaled slowly, ruing the need to say what she had to say. “I can’t honey. I have an eight-thirty meeting with our director. We have to go over some of the scenes that aren’t blocking exactly right.”

  His silence was only momentary. “Okay. So you must be dazzled by my culinary arts at a later date. I’ll meet you for lunch. Perhaps at the — “

  “Zach.” Ashley was developing a knot in her stomach. “You know how much I’d love that, but . . .”

  “Another meeting?”

  “A working lunch, with Gregory, our scenery designer.”

  The silence was slightly longer. “All right, moving right along. Dinner. Somewhere with soft music and candlelight . . .”

  “Damn.” She turned her head away, feeling the threat of tears behind her lids.

  “No dinnertime? Don’t you people eat?”

  “Not formally. Not during rehearsal weeks. It’s too much of a madhouse, honey. You have no idea the number of problems that arise before opening night. And especially when there’s an out-of-town run. Every day brings something else that has to be changed or polished or finished.”

  “I thought that became the job of the producer and director.”

  “Zach, it’s my show. Mine and Matt’s. There’s no part of it that we’re not involved in — not one. If it succeeds, it’s ultimately our success. If it bombs, it’s our turkey. We have to oversee everything.”

  Zach slid his arm from beneath her head. “I’m getting a cramp.” There was no missing the change of tone, though it was nothing more than a fiber of withdrawal. “Well, that takes care of Saturday. I don’t suppose Sunday is set aside for resting?”

  “Matt and I have to finish some songs . . .”

  “I thought they were finished.”

  “All the lyrics and melodies are done, but final arrangements are still going on. It takes a lot of time.” She was developing a cramp, too. In her heart.

  “Funny. Your schedule seemed wild before, but I don’t recall its being this bad.”

  She turned on her side to look at his fine profile. His features had, without question, stiffened. “The play I was involved with when we met was in its third week on Broadway. Most of the kinks had been ironed out. If you think back, we had a lot of time together for quite a while, until Matt and I started on our next project. And then, of course, the play opened in England . . .”

  “And a few other countries.”

  “Yes. Zach, I have to be honest. The weeks before an opening night are just plain insane. We attend most of the rehearsals, at least the principal rehearsals, and spend the rest of the time rewriting and smoothing and dealing with glitches.”

  “How did you get away tonight?”

  “I just took a night off.”

  “But it’s pretty clear that can’t happen very often.”

  “No.” Her cramp was spreading; it now included her stomach.

  “Well — ” he swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up “ — in that case I’d better go back to my hotel so I can catch the early plane. I have a lot of things that should be tended to, and there’s obviously no reason to postpone them to hang around here.”

  She reached out to touch his back. “Why can’t you sleep here?”

  He turned his head and looked at her, his eyes guarded. “Because, I wouldn’t sleep.” He got up and headed into the bathroom.

  Ashley lay there, fighting tears, and listened to the sound of water running in the shower, then the bang of the stall door after the water was turned off. All the joy inside had evaporated and was replaced by a creeping dread. When Zach came out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist, he gave her a weak smile and walked toward the living room. The silence was awful. He seemed to be gone forever. Her mind seemed to be in some form of catatonia, no doubt a protective device to thwart the intrusion of speculation. The possibilities that faced her, at this moment, seemed nothing but catastrophic.

  Zach came back into the bedroom, fully dressed, and sat on the edge of the bed. He looked perfectly groomed, incredibly handsome and remote. Something in his eyes, when they met hers, had retreated, leaving her unbearably alone. “Ashley, I must apologize. This was a mistake.” Her breath caught in her esophagus, threatening strangulation. “And it’s entirely my fault. You tried to keep us on a safe course, but I wanted you so badly that I refused to listen to my own good counsel.” He bent over to place a gentle kiss on her forehead. “You’re a remarkable woman, in every way.” He glanced away, staring at some inner thought for a few seconds before returning to her. “I love you.”

  She couldn’t hold back the tears. They began to slide silently down her cheeks. “That sounds like there’s a ‘but’ at the end.”

  “It does, doesn’t it. I wish . . .” He stopped and shook his head. “Hell, what’s the use? Wishing won’t make it so.” He patted her arm, like a man consoling a sick friend, and stood up. He looked every inch the suave, sophisticated man of purpose. He looked like he’d stepped out of her world into another. One that had No Trespassing signs posted.

  “Zachary,” her voice came out squeaky and tiny, like a little girl’s. “Don’t go.”

  For an instant his stance changed and he appeared undecided. For only an instant. “Get some sleep, Ashley. You’ve got a lot of work ahead of you.” He came back to the edge of the bed, leaned over, his hands on both sides of her head, and bent to kiss her gently on the lips. “Thank you for the view of heaven. Tonight was incredible.” He stood and backed away. “I’ll be in touch.” With that, he was gone.

  She listened to the front door open and close and strained her ears for the sound of the elevator before she released the full flow of her tears.

  Chapter Five

  Ashley reached her 8:30 a.m. meeting on time but looked and felt as though she’d left the better part of herself at home. Heartbreak, it was clear, was no easier the second time around. She felt battered, bruised and filled with despair. She couldn’t blame it all on Zachary, much as she’d like to. Her guard had eroded
just as quickly as his under the onslaught of desire. Unfortunately, as a result of the hours they’d spent together, the precious time in his arms, all of the inner doubts and ambiguities concerning life in the theater versus a life with Zachary had been reawakened. There was nothing to compare with the sheer joy she’d rediscovered last night. Though she thought she’d put a definite “period” after her decision of three years past, it had squirmed loose from its shape as an adamant circle of finality to curl itself into a wavering question mark.

  The minute she entered the drafty rehearsal hall, it was obvious that at least one crisis was under way. Matt, who rarely made an appearance anywhere before 10:00 a.m., was hunched over the flat top of the piano, running his hand through his hair while Sonja, the choreographer, stood next to him and gesticulated wildly, her mouth going at a rapid rate. Ashley squinted, trying to adjust her eyes to the semi-darkness after the glare of the morning sun, as she scanned the room to locate Craig, the director. She spotted Craig on the far side of the hall and headed his way. As soon as he saw her, he signaled her to stay put and came to meet her.

  “Hi, Ashley.” Craig gave her the regulation hug and kiss, then gestured toward a door that led to a small sitting room. “Let’s disappear before Sonja sees you, or you’re sure to end up arbitrating between her and Matt.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “Beats me. Matt mumbled something about screwy tempos when he came in. I try to avoid contact with Sonja whenever possible. She never even says hello. She opens every conversation with ‘Craig, you’re allowing your body to settle. It needs stretching and pulling!’ If she got me under her control for a week, I’d be dead.”

  Ashley made a good stab at a laugh. She had precious little humor in her this morning. “She’s the only one I know who can get Matt out of bed this early.”

  “Isn’t that the truth. Let’s sit in here.” He led the way into the other room and closed the door behind him. “We might stay undiscovered long enough to get some work done.” He pulled a rumpled sheaf of folded papers out of his hip pocket. “I have a few notes here about the staging of the songs.”

  Ashley sighed. Craig was an exceptional director, esteemed and liked by everyone who knew him. She loved working with him because his attitude toward the play’s author was one of complete respect. He consulted with her about every scene of the play, and unlike many directors, he believed authors should, to the greatest degree possible, be completely satisfied with the on-stage translation of their work. The problem, this morning, was that Ashley was finding it difficult to give a significant damn about any of it.

  Nevertheless, giving herself a stern inner shake, she sat beside Craig on the small, hard sofa and focused her attention on his notations.

  It was minutes away from midnight by the time she returned to her apartment, so exhausted she was surprised she was still vertical. When she reached her bedroom she stopped in the doorway, overwhelmed by waves of memory. Her eyes moved to the bed, neatly made up by Lulu, the housekeeper who came by daily to clean and run errands. She walked slowly across the room, pulled back the spread and ran her hand over the pillow that had supported Zachary’s head so few hours before. She was filled with such a wave of loneliness that it seemed certain to drown her. What would it feel like to be Zachary’s wife, to anticipate his return to her night after night, to be freed from the emptiness of sleeping alone, always missing him, always wishing he were beside her?

  “Damn!” She threw her purse onto a chair and stomped into the dressing room to prepare for bed. “You knew this would happen, you dippy idiot! Why did you agree to see him?” No logical excuses came to mind, but one illogical fact slithered through the self-condemnation. If given the chance, she’d probably do it again.

  Just as she reached over to turn out the bedside lamp, the phone rang. Her hand leapt to the receiver. “Hello?”

  “Ashley.”

  Her heart wiggled free of its restraints and rose to lodge in the bottom of her throat.

  “Zachary?”

  “Yes. I was hoping you’d be home by now. How did the day go?”

  “All right, I guess.” Terrible, awful, horrible.

  “I’m afraid we flunked our first stab at ‘platonic.’”

  “We got an F minus.”

  “Ashley, I’m sorry. I don’t want you to be hurt anymore. In fact, I don’t want me to be hurt anymore. I overestimated my willpower and underestimated your . . . attraction.”

  “It wasn’t just your fault, Zach. Not by a long shot.”

  “Well — ” He gave a sort of half-chuckle. “I did feel there was a significant element of mutual accord.”

  She actually smiled. “If we’re speaking in legalese, I’m afraid I must plead ‘no contest.’” Hope, a bright-eyed little creature, peeked over her black cloud of sadness. “I was afraid I wouldn’t hear from you.”

  “Despite my too-frequent shows of petulance, I am beset, now and again, by periods of rational thought. I acted like a jerk. I’d like to throw myself on the mercy of the court and request a second chance.”

  Ashley wound the cord around her finger, surprised to feel her mouth arch into a smile. “May the court inquire: a second chance at what?”

  This time it was a full-fledged laugh. “Umm. There is room for confusion, at that. I’d like to make another attempt at being a trustworthy friend. Of the hands-off variety.”

  She lay back against the headboard of the bed. “Oh, Zachary, do you honestly think we could keep our relationship confined to friendship?”

  “We could be very good friends.”

  Little bubbles of mirth had formed in her stomach. What a pushover she was! Just hearing his voice, no matter what it was saying, fed happiness into her system like a free-running I V. “I’m beginning to fear we’re both gluttons for punishment.”

  “Don’t feel too sheepish about it. Masochism is rampant. We’re not alone.”

  A couple of the joy bubbles popped up, forming into silly hiccups of laughter. “Do you have any sort of program for this endeavor?”

  “That depends on you. Joe and I are coming to New York on Tuesday morning. There are bargains to strike and papers to sign, among which will be a significant check. Might we be allowed to dog your trail? Joe wants to see how a play comes together, and I want to go Ashley-watching.”

  She had a moment of panic. How could she possibly function, knowing his eyes were following her every move? How would she force her feet to head in any direction besides straight to him? “Sure. That can be arranged. Bring plenty of Excedrin.”

  “Will do. I will also wear my armor plating. I might suggest you get outfitted with a chastity belt.”

  A whole series of giggles bubbled out of her throat. “You fool. Neither of those things will do it. Try a bag over your head and don’t, for any reason, touch me. That just might keep us out of trouble.”

  “That’s one of the things I always loved about you. You’re such an optimist. I’ll see you on Tuesday.”

  “Zachary . . .”

  “Yes?”

  She bit her lip. “Goodnight.”

  “Goodnight.”

  She and Matt spent the morning reconstructing the sequence of tempos in the “Money in the Bank” number, which had been Sonja’s primary concern. As usual, Matt came to Ashley’s place to work. Lulu made a large pot of coffee and some cinnamon rolls.

  Matt sat at the piano, stopping every few bars to take a sip of coffee and another bite of roll. “Jeez. Why don’t we write our next musical without any dance numbers? It would make life a heck of a lot easier.”

  “The audiences love dances.”

  “Nuts to the audience. We’ll reeducate them. Bring back stylized posturing and Greek choruses. Maybe we could start a rumor that watching dancers leap around on a stage causes loss of equilibrium.”

  “Better think of something
else. There’re probably lots of people who don’t know the meaning of equilibrium. Matt, will you stop eating that roll while you play the piano? You’re going to get the keys all sticky.”

  “Nag, nag, nag. You’re beginning to sound like my last wife. Okay, listen to this.” His fingers flew over the keys.

  “Good. That’s real good. I hope that’s not the section you expect me to write another verse for.”

  “Sorry, kiddo, this is it. Don’t sweat it; it’s just a little simple syncopation.”

  “How in heaven’s name can anyone dance to that beat and sing at the same time? You know what’s going to happen. After the second try, we’ll be asked to take it out again.”

  “Yep. Or change the rhythm to a mambo. Such is the sad dilemma of the composer.”

  “Well, you certainly are sanguine. What happened, did one of your ex’s remarry?”

  “No such luck.” He came to the end of the section and ran his finger down the keys in a grand glissando. “Amy finally started taking my calls.”

  Ashley stopped studying the melody line in front of her and looked over at Matt. “Hey, that’s great! You mean she actually forgave you, once again?”

  “What’s to forgive? A little human kindness? She came to her senses. Simple as that.”

  She shook her head. “Dear Amy. Much as I like her, I do at times suspect the poor thing suffers a degree of brain damage. If I were more of a humanitarian, I’d take her aside and warn her to run for her life.”

  “Leave Amy alone. She knows a good thing when she sees it. Where would she ever find another like me?” He shot her a warning look. “Don’t answer that.” His fingers picked up the melody of one of the show’s love songs. “So, what about you, oh great purveyor of advice to the lovelorn? I have noted a slight shiftiness to your moods. After skimming around two feet off the ground for a week, you slid yourself in under the door yesterday morning. Now, once again, you resemble a round-eyed smile sticker.” He paused just long enough to take another sticky bite. “How’s Zach?”