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A/N:Sooooo sorry for the long wait for this chapter. I have been super busy with school and stuff going on between my parents right now, it's been crazy. However, I'll try and get the next chapter up as soon as I can, I promise. Enjoy!
Chapter Four
There was spring in my step and song in the air as I strolled into work Monday morning. I turned on my computer with a flourish, did a little jig next to my desk, then headed into Dan's office.
"Jesus, Davies. Did you eat a leprechaun for breakfast, or what? Soon I think you'll be farting rainbows."
"And wouldn't you dig through the stench for the pot of gold," I grinned, plopping down in a chair across from my editor, where he sat behind the big, messy desk.
"What do you got for me?" he asked, all business as he slid his reading glasses on.
"Welllll," I said in a sing-songy voice. He glared at me above the rims of the glasses, which I promptly ignored. "I found some more stuff on that Rose Henry story we'd thought about doing a few months back," I explained, tossing a few pages in front of him that I'd printed out.
"Okay. What's your angle?"
I spent an hour with my story editor, whistling as I headed to my desk. I sat in my chair, slowly rocking from side to side, eyes transfixed by my screensaver.
"Yah!" I jumped, getting to my feet and whirling, hand flying to my neck where lips had just been. Dawn stood there, eyes huge in stunned surprise. "Oh, Dawn. Shit. Sorry."
"Are you okay?" she asked, stepping around the chair that separated us.
"Yeah, you just startled me." I took a deep breath. "Hey." I allowed myself to be pulled into her arms. I felt sick to my stomach as I realized I hadn't thought about my girlfriend all weekend.
"How was your trip?" I asked, pulling back.
"It was good. Ronnie looks good. I'm so glad we finally got my brother to go to treatment," she said, running her fingers through my hair.
"I am, too. That's great. Hopefully it'll work this time." I gave her the best smile I could manage. Dawn had been gone for a week, visiting her family and brother in Iowa for the holidays. I hadn't seen her in nearly three weeks, as she was in her "alone" period.
"Well, I was wondering if I could take you to dinner tonight?" she asked, leaning back against my desk. I sat in my chair, rocking slightly.
"Yeah. That would be nice." I tapped my fingers nervously against my desk calendar.
"Okay. Well I have to go, and no doubt Dan already has you working on ten different stories at once." She grinned, then leaned down and kissed me on the lips. "See you tonight, baby," she murmured against my mouth.
"Kay," I agreed, feeling my body heat rising. It had been too long.
I laid back, body still pulsing. I felt the soft, curly brown hair against my shoulder as Dawn curled up against me.
A small smile lingered on my lips, the sweat on my body beginning to cool and dry. Damn, I had needed that. I hadn't had sex in almost a month, and Dawn certainly knew how to press my buttons.
Even so, as she touched me, my mind would begin to drift to another time, another bed, another woman. I'd shake myself out of it, but then those eyes would float before me again. I felt like a real ass when at one point Dawn had to ask if I was okay.
Turning, I glanced out the window, seeing the huge tree that was outside Dawn's bedroom window, the branches lightly scraping against the side of the building with the night wind. Taking a deep breath, I tried to focus on my relationship with Dawn.
We were apparently back to an "on" time. That was all great and good, and I'd enjoyed spending time with her tonight, as well as we had made plans for the week. But did I want to live my life by quotation marks?
I had much to think about, but laying in the dark with a warm, naked body against me wasn't the time. Who could think straight under those very trying circumstances?
Sighing heavily, I closed my eyes and let sleep take me.
Have you ever had a really great idea? I mean, an idea that's so great that when it hits you, you feel like the biggest genius on the planet?
Okay, so you have said Great Idea, and then you scurry around to carry Great Idea out. Alright. So now you've done all the work, are at the threshold of Great Idea, and then it all collapses around you. All you can do is stand there, wondering what you were thinking, and if Great Idea isn't actually the biggest bomb you've ever come up with.
Well, I was wondering just such a thing as I stood at the threshold of Spencer's apartment door.
My fingers flexed around the pot I held. Taking a deep breath, I knocked.
I half smiled, half cringed as I heard the deep, throaty bark of Brutus on the other side.
"Get back, boy," I heard from inside. My smile won out over my cringe at that, picturing the small woman trying to overpower the brute. I waited patiently as I heard the barking getting fainter, and then the removal of chains and locks.
When the door opened, my smile instantly widened by about a mile and a half. Spencer gave me a surprised smile.
"Hi."
"Howdy." I held up my prize with pride, praying that Great Idea inspiration would strike again. "I bring you Sprout."
"Sprout?" she asked, though I could see the amusement in her eyes as she took in the little branch that was planted in a small, black pot.
"Yes, Sprout. I figured it was only appropriate since he was cut off Jolly Green."
"Jolly Green?" she said slowly, trying to follow my logic.
"Yes. He was my house warming gift from you, so it's only right that his son should be yours." I gave her my biggest, brightest smile. "And! There's more," reaching into my coat pocket, I pulled out the small, red satin-wrapped ball. Bending the hook just so, I pinched the thin metal around the little chute. "Merry Christmas."
Spencer looked at me for a moment, as though she weren't sure what to say. She looked up into my face, slowly shaking her head.
"I think that's one of the most adorable things anyone's ever done for me," she said softly, her smile beginning in her eyes before it spread like a wave across her face. "Thank you, Ashley."
"You're welcome," I said, suddenly feeling very shy indeed, hands clasped behind my back. "I'm sorry to just drop in on you, but uh, well, belatedly I realized I didn't exactly have a number to call."
"It's okay. I was just unpacking. Come in, please." She stepped back from the door, looking down at the plant she'd taken from me. Chuckling lightly, she walked over to one of the two arched windows, setting the little guy down on the ledge. "I'm sure Sprout will be very happy here." She arranged the pot just so.
"Someone told me that if you give the water a little milk now and then it works wonders," I supplied helpfully. She gave me a side glance.
"Wonder who told you such a crazy thing."
"Oh, I forget," I waved it off, smiling at the chuckle I heard. Looking around, I saw that indeed Spencer had been busy. About half the boxes were gone, and a new bookcase was set up against a particularly bare wall, the five shelves about half full with books.
"So how did your research go?" Spencer asked, walking over to the open box I assume she'd been working on when I arrived. I could hear Brutus whining from deeper in the apartment.
"It went great. Got that story done and am doing work on the couple hundred other ideas my story editor had for me."
"Gosh. Busy week." Spencer began to load some dishes onto the bare boards that ran along the wall of kitchen.
"Always. Would you like some help, or I can simply get out of your hair-" I indicated the door with my thumb. Spencer glanced over at me, the end of her ponytail whipping her in the cheek at the sudden movement of her head.
"No, not at all. Neither. Just talk to me," she said, unwrapping some glasses.
"Okay." Walking over to the kitchen, I leaned against the wall. "You know, you don't have to lock your dog up. I came prepared." I grinned patting my jacket pocket. Just the hint of a small forest of Kleenex could be seen. Spencer laughed when she saw that, shaking her head.
"You're a crazy woman, Ashley," she said softly, glancing at me before returning her attention back to her task.
"Yeah, well it's not a first for me to be called that."
"No doubt, and it's okay. Brutus was getting on my nerves anyway. He was trying to help unpack," she glanced over at the trash can where I could see the remains of a dish.
"Ouch. Tough break." I winced at my own stupid pun that I hadn't intended. Spencer just shook her head, seeming amused at my cheesiness. What was it about this woman that turned me into a total moron? She was so bad for my reputation.
Deciding to let it go, I watched for a bit, moving the empty box out of her way once she'd taken out the last dish, then grabbed another, the word KITCHEN carefully written across in black marker. Okay, okay, so unlike me, she's a practical packer.
Soon we had a smooth, efficient assembly line going. As soon as Spencer was finished with her box, the next was slit open and ready for her. While she put away her dishes, she told me about some of the places she'd been, some off the stages she'd graced all over the world.
"I have to say, when I was in Rome, it was amazing to meet Sarah Brightman," she explained, stepping up onto a small plastic step stool to reach the cabinet above the fridge. I stopped what I was doing, utility knife in hand.
"You like Sarah Brightman?" I asked, voice filled with all the wonder and admiration I had for the singer.
"Of course," she said, that same wonder filling hers. "I heard her for the first time when I was a little girl, singing 'Pie Jesu'-"
"Requiem!"
"Yes. Requiem." She smiled at my recognition of the song. "But the original version with Paul Miles Kingston."
"I know it well."
"I would listen to it over and over and over again," the softest smile of a precious memory brushed her lips. She stepped from the stool, tucking it back under the sink. I was surprised to hear her continue softly. "For a long time her music was my only constant."
Her voice was so soft, I wasn't sure if that was meant for my ears. I decided to let her expound if she wanted to. I knew nothing of Spencer before she was twenty-two. I had no idea where she came from, where her family was. She wasn't all that forthcoming. When she added nothing more, I decided to ask some questions.
"Were you a Denver native, Spencer?" I broke down the forth box, tossing it onto the pile with the others. She shook her head.
"No. I grew up in Sterling, with my grandparents." She moved around some glasses to fit the few coffee cups she owned onto the same shelf. "I used to ice skate up there."
"I love ice skating, though can't do it to save my life."
Spencer grinned over at me. "Just dancing on blades." I raised a brow. "Right. Teddy bear girl."
I lowered my eyes, fully embarrassed, and still not knowing how the hell mom had gotten me to do that in front of Spencer.
"Anyway, I met this man named James Dillon who was a coach. He thought I had some talent, so brought me to Denver when I was thirteen. We worked together for about three years until," she stopped herself, folding some dish towels before sliding them into the drawer. I looked at her, waiting for the rest of the story. "It didn't work out," she finally said quietly. "I stayed in Denver, turning my attention from ice skating to dance, which is what I loved about ice skating in the first place. I fell in love with it."
As I watched Spencer work, I could feel a pallor wash over her, causing her to keep her eyes on her task, often her back to me.
I cleared my throat, determined to bring a smile back to her face. "Well, I was born right here in the Big Apple, rumoured in the back of a yellow cab. I didn't start walking until I was two, before that I scooted on my diapered butt. I think it was then mom knew I would never be graceful on the stage."
I was thrilled to see a sparkle in her eyes as she glanced at me. I held up a hand.
"True story. We kept heading further and further west until dad fell in love with the Broncos, and wanted to be closer to his team."
Spencer looked up at me, brows drawn. "You're kidding?"
"Yeah, actually I am." I chuckled as she rolled her eyes. "No, we ended up there because my parents wanted to get away from the business for awhile, and figured Colorado was about as far from the lights of Broadway as you could get. They were right, save for the Buell in downtown Denver.
"Eventually that nasty bug bite from their childhood rose again, and the scab was just too much of an itch temptation. They opened Davies School of Dance not long after."
Spencer nodded, taking in everything I'd just told her. Suddenly she turned to me.
"Have you had dinner?"
I have to say, I've never eaten dinner on the floor before, large pillows under our plates and watchful brown eyes in the corner. It was fantastic!
"Okay, so after college at CU, what then?" Spencer asked, taking a bite of her chicken breast, grilled to perfection. Thanks go out to Mr. Foreman.
"Well, I got my degree in journalism, then got on at the Rocky Mountain News for a little while. I think I was there about three years when one day I get a call from Aiden, begging me to be his roommate." I laughed at the memory. Blue eyes opened wide.
"He wanted you to leave your job and move all the way to New York to be his roommate?" she was incredulous.
"Basically."
"Nice friend," she muttered, stabbing at her boiled carrots.
"The best," I agreed, getting a glare in return. "No, it's not all that bad. He knew I was really wanting to leave Colorado, but just hadn't quite gotten the gumption to make the break, and figure out where I wanted to go. So, New York seemed as good a place as any, and I could help him out." I sat back, resting on my hands. "Three years later, here I am."
Spencer got to her feet, heading back into the kitchen for another bottle of water. I chewed on my lip as I waited for her to return, deciding on my next course of questioning. I would be going into some dangerous territory, and I wasn't sure if I wanted to.
"What?" She asked as she sat down, noting the look of deep thought on my face. I met her gaze.
"Why did you leave Denver when you did?"
Spencer slowly twisted off the lid of her new water bottle, her eyes focussed on her plate. I had the feeling she was thinking about her answer. Staying quiet, I finished scooping up the rest of my veggies with my spoon. When she finally started to speak, her voice was so soft, almost dream-like.
"When I first came to Denver, I was a young kid, full of so much expectation." She kept her eyes low. "I thought a whole new world would open up to me with Jim." Her laugh was biter, rueful. "Guess it was. It's not uncommon for an athlete to live with her coach, so we thought nothing of it." She sighed, finally meeting my gaze. "Jim Dillon taught me lots of things, and made me a better skater and dancer. But at a price."
I felt my stomach lurch, swallowing the bile. I nodded in understanding, not making her spell it out. Shrugging, Spencer turned back to her dinner.
"I was sixteen, and had nowhere to go. I was too ashamed to go back home, and besides, I wasn't ready to give up on my dream. I walked into The Den one day, lied about my age, and was offered a job after a short audition. I knew I'd be taking off my clothes, but I didn't care at that point," her voice was wistful and filled with all the dreams of a young girl. "I'd be dancing." She played wither fork, the metal scraping against the plate, making us both shiver. "Sorry." Setting the fork down, she continued. "Eventually I was able to save up the money to start paying for legitimate lessons. I bounced around from school to school, realizing you get just what you pay for. So, I stopped for a year, deciding to save up for the expensive tuition of a reputable school." She gave the first genuine smile of the conversation. "Enter the Davies School of Dance. I knew I'd get my money's worth there."
I leaned forward, transfixed by the soft tone of her voice as she told her story.
"My time with your mom's school was the best of my life up to that point. She made me feel like I had a chance, like I could really dance, and for the first time in my life, I felt like maybe, just maybe, I could go somewhere," she whispered, so much passion behind her words. "I felt beautiful." Her eyes flickered up to meet mine for just a moment, then quickly looked back to her plate. "Then I met Patrick."
I sat back a little, nodding. "Yes. Patrick."
"Well, you know how that turned out. I don't know," she sighed, looking up at me. "It was just time. I think he was the final straw for me. I had been with your mom's school for three months by then, and my tuition was coming to an end. I decided not to renew my contract, and move on. It was a good decision." She finished, her voice soft yet filled with the strength of a woman who had seen the world.
I lacked the courage to ask what was really on my mind, so I let it go.
"And how long do you plan to stay in New York?"
"As long as I can find work." She looked around the apartment, which was slowly showing the signs of a human inhabitant. "I like it here." She met my gaze. "I'm ready to find a home. At least one where my living room isn't in front of thousands of people. The stage will always be my true home."
"And rightly so." I leaned back on my elbows, ankles crossed. Staring up at the ceiling, I smiled. "I remember the first time I saw you dance. Remember it like it was yesterday, in fact."
My attention was brought up for a moment as music began to play. From this far back in the house it wasn't loud, but I knew it instantly. You couldn't live in a house full of dancers all your life and not know every single musical or piece of classical music created.
'Once Upon A Dream' from the musical Jekyll & Hyde began. Robert Cuccioli's strong baritone began, though it was soft and wistful. As I glanced back to my homework, I noticed the blonde making her way onto the stage, her hair seeming to glow under the intense lights.
Pencil beginning to tap in time with the slow, yet powerful song, I glanced up. The girl was dressed in a pair of trunks and sports bra, the kind that reach to mid-stomach. Looking at the girl, I knew she couldn't be in mom's ballet classes. Her body was all wrong for that; she looked to be fairly short, and her body was very muscular and compact- powerful. She didn't have the long, lithe bodies of mom's ballet girls.
Leaning forward in my seat, I watched her. She moved with an easy grace, belying everything I just said. Her flexibility was incredible, as was her balance. Pirouette after pirouette she did across the stage, perfect timing and form. From that she launched into a perfect jump, legs spread wide, landing with cat-like grace and silence.
I was captivated as the song moved to 'Dangerous Game', Linda Eder's sultry voice speaking of desires she dare not seek, but could not stay away from. Soon Robert Cuccioli's voice joined in.
The blonde's movements matched the sexy song perfectly, so aware of her body, and where it was on that stage. The girl's head thrown back, her hands ran down her own body before she threw her leg into the air, whipping around, then landing on her knees, upper body thrown back, hands running through her hair seductively.
I was transfixed, eyes glued to her every movement, every thrust, every counter thrust. She was incredible.
This song morphed into 'Confrontation', which in my opinion is one of the most powerful songs ever written for the stage. The intense words and music to back it up were caught in the girl's every move. She leaped through the air, seeming to have springs built into those incredible legs, landing on the bare tips of her toes, only to spin with dizzying speed and agility, never seeming to tire. Hell, I was exhausted just watching her!
As the song hit its climax, she was a blur of nonstop movement, her body flexing and unflexing, muscles bursting with use and the strength it took to launch her into the air over and over again. She had the jumping ability of many of the best male dancers.
I couldn't blink, couldn't breathe. Who was she? Why wasn't she gracing a stage in New York somewhere?
I realized that I had stopped talking, Spencer staring at me, waiting. Shaking the dust of the past out of my head, I cleared my throat.
"You were dancing to a compilation you had done from Jekyll & Hyde. You were amazing," I said, my voice filled with reverence. "I hadn't seen anything like it, nothing that wasn't on a professional stage. I was completely at a loss as to why you were dancing in some school in Denver. This was where I thought you should be," I indicated the room around us. "Even then."
"You know, your mom once told me that you questioned her casting for that show. The only time you've disagreed with her."
For some reason I felt embarrassed, and turned my head away. "I felt you were too good to just be a background dancer."
"Thank you, Ashley. That was sweet."
"Well," I said, grinning at her. "I don't know how sweet it was then, but true enough."
Spencer looked down, but I could still see the smile that played across her lips. I couldn't help but wonder what memory or thought had sparked such a smile. Quickly it was gone, and she looked up at me, cocking her head to the side.
"Were you always a writer?"
"No," I said, shaking my head. I didn't discover that until a bit later." If only she knew it was because of her. I think I'll keep that little tid bit to myself. We were quiet for awhile, then I tilted my head in thought. "Spencer?"
"Yeah?"
"How doesn't your ass freeze off on the ice in those little skirts?"
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