Steele – Part 3
Steele released the throttle of the BMW motorcycle, then, shifting gears, pressed down on it once more, allowing the bike more fuel as he accelerated through the streets and narrow alleyways of Cannes. A quick glance at his watch was cause for him to grimace and inspiration enough for him to accelerate even further. Based on the last ten nights, Laura's concert would be ending shortly.
Damn, he muttered to himself. He'd counted upon only missing one, maybe two at the most, of the show's intermissions. Those brief absences could easily be explained away: he'd been waylaid by a chatty audience member, the need for a quick drink to soothe his parched throat, a quick call to a nearby bistro to secure them dinner reservations. All innocuous and each easily believed. There was not a doubt in his mind that Laura would be watching for his presence, anticipating his visit backstage. He had established the precedence himself, drawn as he'd been the last ten days of the tour to seek out a moment alone with her between acts.
One could hardly blame a man after all. He'd been absolutely enchanted by her, night-in and night-out. My, she's a vision to behold, up there on that stage, he thought to himself now, a smile of remembrance drawing his lips upwards. Not for a moment had she appeared nervous singing before the large crowds that gathered each evening. No, not his Miss Holt. Rather, the joy at doing something she loved, purely for the sake of pleasure, lit her from within. He'd been unable to tear his gaze from her and often stole glances at the audience members. Their eyes were drawn to her as well, and it filled him with pride. So he'd been unable to resist the lure of stopping backstage at intermissions to cast his eyes on her in a much closer proximity, where he'd also had the pleasure of brushing his fingers against her arm, placing his hand on the small of her back, demonstrating clearly his enjoyment of her performance. That Laura would look up at him with those warm brown eyes sparkling with appreciation for his attentions only made those brief moments all the more significant to him.
Yes, she would be looking for him, he knew. He felt his gut tighten briefly at the thought that he would be the source of her disappointment, yet again. Not a moment passed before he had to forcibly stop himself from grinding his teeth, though he'd freely allowed his jaw to clench as he realized that his escapades that night had opened the door for Ron Whatshisname to make another clumsy pass at Laura. While Laura was bemused by the choral director's obvious crush on her, Steele found it simply galled him to no end that the blighter would hit upon Laura in his presence.
Bloody hell, it's not as though we've kept our relationship to one another under wraps during this tour, he thought to himself. Quite the opposite, actually. While certainly we've not been, err, necking backstage, it is more than obvious to every other member of the tour that we are involved. But yet that bumbling, bombastic excuse for an altar boy acts as though he's completely unaware.
In fact, just the night before after the show had wrapped the Barcelona leg of the tour, the choral director had asked Laura to take what he'd hoped would be a romantic stroll along the waterway. Steele had been more than a bit put out, as his arm had been around Laura at the time, his fingers resting lightly on the bare skin of her upper arm, whilst he made several remarks laced with sensual double entendres that left her skin flushed with heat. Even now, he could feel his blood stir, his body grow taut at simply the memory of how her skin had grown warm under his fingers as a rosy tint spread across her skin in reaction to his words. He'd longed to turn her into his arms and run his mouth along her lips, down her neck and across the tantalizing freckles on full display in her strapless evening gown, to fan the flames of her desire into a crackling fire that would consume them both with its heat. It had taken considerable self-control to limit himself a slight squeeze of her arm, acknowledging he was well aware of the effect his words were having upon her.
And, all the while, the inept want-to-be Lothario continued to hit on Laura. Had Steele not been so bemused by Laura's responses to his intentional play on words, he might have been irritated by the sodding twit. It was only for because the altar boy appeared so clueless that Steele had responded as cordially as he had.
The thought that the altar boy had a bloody open field to Laura right at this very moment chafed. Not that he believed for a moment Laura would take the bugger up on any offer made, but that the want-to-be-suitor would even have the opportunity to make an advance on her was, at the end of the day, his own bloody fault.
The heist had gone smoothly, brilliantly and he'd left the hotel, dagger in hand, well before schedule. He'd be lying if he denied that he'd enjoyed the jolt of adrenaline which had coursed through his bloodstream as he began to enact his carefully laid out plan. That rush was one of the hardest things about the life to give up. He'd once explained to Laura during the Pitkin affair that the rush would temper over time. Yet, after a prolonged absence from life on the shady side of the street, his physical and mental response to the dare of the theft had been more pronounced this evening than in the latter days of his former career.
He'd enjoyed himself, this was true enough. Yet, he'd recognized early on, as he'd scaled the wall outside of the hotel, that something was missing. Someone was missing. He'd grown accustomed to Laura accompanying him on their little jaunts to the shady side of the street. Having her by his side, seeing her responses…sometimes benefiting from those responses… he'd found to be more alluring, more invigorating than even those first days of his career. Now the memories of their little adventures stirred his body to life: the kiss shared in millions of dollars of shredded money in the destruction bin at the Federal Reserve; her adorable request that he never tell her mother about their heist of The Five Nudes of Cairo even as she never blinked an eye, grabbing onto the zip line and careening across the museum in the air; and, lest he not forget – as though he ever could - her thoroughly delectable response to the heist of the Pitkin's.
In his former life he had once likened the rush that accompanied the heist to a quick shag with a stranger: the first tingle of anticipation, a little finesse to gain entrance, the nerve wakening crescendo, a quick exit, followed by the inevitable feeling of emptiness once the act was complete and there was nothing left to look forward to except the next quick shag with a new stranger.
Ah, but a heist with Laura? It's like us, what we are and are meant to be. The dance of two lovers resisting what they are meant to be to one another, prolonging the seductive dance of the courtship; reluctant and heady acceptance; the merging of two bodies mind and soul; and the finding of solace in one another's arms as the crescendo of the melding ebbs.
Just the memory of their heists, the intimacy of them, left his body craving the next encounter they would share. Yes, visits to the shady side of the street were far more appealing with Laura by his side. He'd missed her tonight, terribly. If only….
Thoughts of Laura spurred another quick glance at his watch.
Damn, he muttered to himself again. The concert would be well over by now, and there was no doubt in his mind that Laura would soon be stewing as his absence became conspicuously more noticeable.
It had been the lingering meeting with Joelle that caused the delay. The crush Joelle had on him when he was just a lad had not dissipated across time. Whereas the agreement had been he would meet Joelle, hand off the dagger, and then both would go on their way, instead she had fallen on the behavior of her youth and she had pouted and cajoled him into staying longer than he should. And, like in those days, when she'd leaned in for a kiss, he'd allowed it. It was clear the moment her lips had touched his that she hoped for more than a single kiss. It had been a pleasant kiss, that he could not deny, but there was something decidedly lacking: cinnamon colored eyes swimming with desire; skin flushing a gentle pink from pleasure; captivating freckles; the scent of honeysuckle and springtime; and the trill of contentment when a body melted into his embrace. Pleasant, but not like Laura. Nothing was like Laura. It had not been difficult to separate himself from Joelle and send her on her way.
Finally arriving at the theater, he secreted the motorcycle in the alleyway at the rear as planned. The bike would be found soon enough and returned to the rental agency, he was sure. Pulling his handkerchief from his pocket, he swept the dust off of his jacket and pants, then quickly rubbed the top of his shoes on the back of his pants to restore their shine. After a quick swipe at his mouth, to assure none of Joelle's lipstick lingered, he smoothed down his hair, confident that all signs of his little evening foray had been removed.
Pulling the wallet that contained his lock picks from a pocket, he quickly selected the two that he would need. A quick canvas of the building during Laura's rehearsal that afternoon had assured him the door in front of which he stood was unmanned and would allow him quick, more importantly covert, entrance to the backstage area. With a glance to make sure he was alone, he made quick work of the locks, then slid into the building unobserved.
There was no singing from the stage area and he realized that he was late, quite late. Hopefully Laura would not be in a pique, would not ask too many questions. It had been a long day, and he was looking forward to a quiet dinner, followed, with a little luck, by some tantalizing kisses shared with her then a good night's sleep.
Taking a deep breath, he walked backstage, nervous about how he would be greeted, hoping that she would not take one look at him and know he had once more deceived her. He could only hope that if she did realize, did ask, that he could make her understand, after the fact, as she always had before.
He detoured from his course, momentarily, ordering two glasses of superb Chardonnay from the bar, then made his way through the throngs of people mingling backstage. A warm smile lit his face as he at last saw her across the room, neck craned, seeking him out. From where he was he could see that she was clearly anxious and unable to hide her annoyance with the altar boy's determination to plaster himself to her side.
A feeling of relief swept through him. The heist was completed, the dagger safely in the possession of Henri and Joelle, and in a few brief days it would be returned to its rightful owner. Laura was blissfully unaware, and, even more importantly, was as eager for him to be at her side as he was. They would, of course, be forced to mingle for a while, but he looked forward to the moment they could make their escape and he could pull her into his arms once more.
Slipping up behind Laura quietly, he leaned down and intentionally allowing his warm breath to caress her ear, whispered, "Miss me?"
He stepped to her elbow as she turned to smile at him. He nodded briefly at the glass in her hand. "I see you already have your drink?" and he held up the two glasses of wine he had selected for them.
He watched the relief that swept through her at his arrival and as her eyes lit with pleasure.
Yes, the evening had been a success, he thought to himself. Henri and Joelle are out of danger, Laura was blissfully unaware of his deception, and now an evening full of promise loomed ahead. A success indeed.
Laura – Part 3
The concert in Cannes went swimmingly. If concerts could swim. They were again sold-out, the newspapers having noticed the prior glowing reviews and gave the Stanford University choir good publicity. The audiences had good-natured curiosity about the American performers and the Stanford reputation didn't hurt. And Ron – despite his one glaring fault – was outstanding at matching their repertoire to the audience. For Cannes, he opened with a series of European and French choral pieces, emphasizing Faure and Gounod and Ravel, all masters of choral song. He included the Palestrina because they had really nailed it. For the last portion it was American masters – Copland's Shaker Song and several spirituals, Gershwin's Porgy and Bess and Virgil Thomson's Poems of Edmund Lear. They concluded with Berlin's Yankee Doodle Dandy, which Laura automatically connected with watching Cagney's movie of the same name with Mr. Steele several weeks back when Ron had sent the sheet music.
And where was Mr. Steele? The choir was bussed to the venue and Mildred and Steele would follow later by taxi.
"I have a pressing engagement" he'd said when he stopped by her room late that afternoon. He'd brought a pair of filled champagne glasses and they had made a lover's toast, wrapping arms around before sipping.
"Alcohol before the concert?" she had teased him.
"Just to put that beautiful glow in your cheeks."
"And what's your 'pressing engagement' that can't wait?"
"I just want everything to be perfect."
She deliberately held his gaze. "Everything looks pretty good from here."
"Mmm," he agreed with that understated smile and slight arch of the eyebrows. "Perhaps dinner and dancing?"
"Sounds splendid. Who knows what the night might bring?"
He had blinked at that bold declaration, caught a little off guard, and she smiled to herself. Good. I want to keep him guessing. Consider the possibilities. She set down her glass with reluctance. "Unfortunately, I need to leave and catch the bus."
"I'll meet you there."
"I'll count on it."
He picked up her wrap and she turned so he could place it around her. Although not before he had gently saluted the back of her neck. His lips lingered before pulling away and she shivered under their promise.
And now, here she was, post-concert, and no sign of Mr. Steele. He had made himself memorable during the prior concerts, and that now made his current absence from the intermission unmistakable. She puzzled over it as she helped herself to tea during the intermission and encountered Mildred at the refreshments table that was set up back-stage.
"Oh, magnifique, honey," greeted Mildred from backstage as the choir filed back at intermission.
"Thank you, Mildred." She was still feeling that post-performance buzz that came when like-minded souls merged to make heavenly music together. Laura thought about her post-concert plans and decided it was an apt metaphor.
"Where's Mr. Steele sitting tonight?" she asked as casually as she dared. She liked the idea of singing for Mr. Steele, wherever he was. Twice she'd spotted him in the audience and noted the upturned, sensual lips as he enjoyed the music. Enjoyed watching her. It was foolish, probably. Giddying, definitely. And fun.
"Oh, he's out there somewhere," Mildred promised. "He wouldn't miss your last concert for anything."
"Aren't you sitting together?"
"Not tonight. There was some sort of mix-up with the tickets. But I know he's out there."
"That's good. I just wish he was here." Despite herself, she began to pace in an attempt to channel her growing tension.
Mildred looked at her. "You okay?"
She shook her head and couldn't repress her smile of anticipation. The woman was definitely detective material. "I'm fine. Well, just a little nervous," Laura confessed.
"But why? The concert's going great."
She had to say something; it was all she could do just to make it to the end of the show. And, after all, they were girls together, united by their work and a common subject. "It's not the concert," she confessed.
Mildred frowned. "Not the concert? Then, what?"
"It's us. I mean, me and Mr. Steele."
Her associate's puzzlement grew. "You think there's something wrong?"
"No! No, Mildred. Rather the opposite. I think that maybe…" She hesitated again as the old fears tried to resurface. But then, brave Laura returned. Fan-dancer Laura. Wild and impulsive Laura. The one who had been locked away for three years, forgetting about life. Until Europe. Until she saw her Mr. Steele under the prism of European style and sophistication. There would be two more days on the Riviera, uninterrupted by concerts or rehearsals. Anticipation bubbled through Laura's veins and she impulsively clasped her friend by the shoulder. "Mildred, tonight's The Night!"
"What night?"
"A new chapter to begin! These past two weeks…I don't know…it's something about being in Europe the first time. It's opened my eyes. Given me a new perspective on life."
"All I got was a tan."
"I've always been so analytical, Mildred, always needing to know how everything fits before I make a move. No more! You can't live like that! You've got to live a little, take a chance!" She finished on a trill.
Now Mildred got it. "Que sera sera!"
"Exactly!" Laura chimed in and pulled Mildred into an excited hug. She felt a huge release as her decision was made. Yes, it felt exactly right.
Mildred pulled back to look at her and the puzzled frown returned. "What exactly are we talking about, honey?"
Laura thought of the lovers she had seen who strolled Parisian streets. Steele's amused, knowing expression as he offered her truffles in Brussels. Her first pain au chocolat. Last night in Barcelona, dancing in his arms. Confident, knowledgeable, his own man. Not a creation. Yes, very much a man.
"Let me put it this way, Mildred. I've had certain reservations about Mr. Steele. But he and I have worked side-by-side for two years now. We've grown together. He's more responsible, more caring. And I feel bolder, more confident…So…"
Mildred's eyes widened as she finally twigged to what Laura didn't say. She beamed happiness. "I get it! Tonight's the night! That's great!" She leaned in confidentially. "So, how did Mr. Steele put it?"
Laura hedged a little. "Actually, Mildred, he doesn't know yet."
Mildred did a double take. "Am I missing something somewhere?"
"Look. This is my decision. It's up to me to tell him know how I feel."
"Oh…So you're going to jump him?"
Laura flushed. "Mildred! Where's your sense of romance?" She gestured with her tea cup. "This is the Riviera, where passion blooms with only the slightest encouragement."
"Oh, I get it. You're going to let him jump you!"
Laura felt her cheeks warm and she gave Mildred a reproving look. "I'm sure when the moment comes, it will be as romantic as only Mr. Steele can make it."
"Laura?"
It was a familiar voice, but not the one Laura hoped for. She turned and tried not to show her disappointment as the choristers began filing back to the stage for the second half of their performance. "Oh. Hi, Ron."
Mildred looked him up and down and didn't bother to hide her own interest. "Hi, again, Ron."
Ron turned quickly to Laura. He seemed to be summoning up courage. "I thought, maybe, just…" Laura sighed. He was. "…you and I could, ah, grab some dinner tonight? A—after the reception?" He even stammered a little.
The delivery style was so diametrically opposite Mr. Steele's that she felt a little sorry for him. It wasn't in her heart, however, to be mean, so instead she overcompensated and gushed effusively, unaware it suggested interest. Ron was so nice. And so…wrong. "Oh. Thanks, Ron. That's very kind. But I have a date."
"You do? Oh. Well." His cluelessness and disappointment were writ large across his countenance. No wonder Steele called him the altar boy. "Shucks. Um, maybe a drink tomorrow, then?"
Oh, boy. Persistent. And she had trouble telling him to go away. "Ah, sure. That would be nice," she agreed. Anything to send him away. She knew Mr. Steele would appear at any moment. Was probably watching across the room, laughing to himself. Or grinding his teeth. She hoped the latter. A little jealously wouldn't be amiss here. Ron bounced off, a happy puppy. And the instant his back was turned, Laura's smile vanished.
Mildred smiled at her. "If you don't want him, can I have him?"
"He's all yours, Mildred. Fire away."
But by the time the concert ended, there was still no Mr. Steele. Mildred hadn't spotted him yet, either. And Ron had noticed. He paused beside her as people headed toward the reception room. "Stood up?"
"It's beginning to look that way," she said dourly. Her earlier enthusiasm was fading fast. She glanced around the crowded reception room with frustration. Rescue me! I thought you were good at this?
Suddenly there was a familiar voice accompanied by warm breath next to her ear that stirred magnificent things within her.
"Miss me?"
He stepped to her elbow as she turned to smile at him. He nodded briefly at the glass in her hand. "I see you already have your drink?" and he held up the two glasses of wine he had selected for them. She dropped the glass she'd been holding on the tray of a passing waiter and took the glass offered by her Mr. Steele, sure that his impeccable taste would guarantee a much more enticing blend of grapes.
She smiled at him, her relief that he'd at last appeared apparent. But she couldn't quite keep the annoyance from her voice. "Where have you been?"
"I had to step out for a breath of fresh hair after that last number. It was deeply moving. Oh, yes. Deeply moving." The standard Steele spiel. Laura's eyes narrowed. What's he up to?
"Yankee Doodle Dandy?" asked Ron.
"Stirring rendition. Always gets me here." He clapped a dramatic hand to his chest, then offered his arm to Laura. "Shall we?"
She took it, but gave him a look that clearly said, I know you're up to something.
At the reception, Laura found her mood softening. The guests were lively and interesting, and Steele was again attentive, although a little distracted. At one point he vanished, only to return shortly thereafter with fresh drinks for them both.
"Thanks," she said with a smile and sipped what turned out to be an excellent Chardonnay. He had excellent taste in wine and knew what would please her. "So, why were you really late? I missed you at the intermission."
"Didn't want to spoil the mood. Caught by a concert goer who wanted to share more than impressions of your vocal performance. She was the very devil to shake off." He gave a delicate shudder and Laura laughed.
"Always too good looking for your own good." He gave her a quick look and Laura smiled serenely at him. Oh, yes. This is going to work tonight. There was a new light in his eyes that hadn't been there earlier that afternoon. He'd been excited ever since the concert ended. It bode well for their evening.
Unfortunately, she badly misread the cause of his euphoria.