Chapter Ten

At Haven House that evening, Giselle softly closed her last photo album, but her hand lingered on the tooled leather a bit longer than it needed to, before she returned it to the shelf with the other ones she'd been paging through all afternoon. She didn't have to do this. Jerrica had asked for her help, but there were plenty of valid reasons for turning her down. She didn't dance much these days. She couldn't with her injury—not the way she'd used to. She could probably go to a party and sway in time with the music, but even if that was unlikely to cause her knee pain to flare up, there were other kinds of pain. After the kind of dancing she'd once done, what she could safely do now would be barely a wisp of a shadow of her old style.

She could still choreograph, of course. There was nothing wrong with her mind or her ability to visualize how a number ought to look, right down to the costumes, hair, and make-up of the dancers. But she wouldn't be able to demonstrate the moves anymore.

When she'd realized that her days as a performer were over, she'd put them behind her as best she could. It had been over a year before she'd been able to bring herself to tune into a music station other than KJOI or KMPC on the radio. (The first was easy listening, the second nostalgia and big band. Neither was the sort of music she could have pictured dancing to.) She didn't go to the ballet, or to musical theater. And until Jerrica's phone call about the benefit, she would have honestly said she hadn't missed any of it. Yes, dancing had been a major part of her life once, but it was all behind her now and she didn't need to be dragged back into that intensity all over again. It would mean a step backwards. It would mean sitting on the sidelines and telling herself that it was as good as being front-and-center.

It would mean helping old friends.

It would mean facing her demons. Or finding out if those demons were even waiting for her. Maybe, she thought wryly, they'd already moved on long ago, and here she'd been cowering in her corner afraid of a confrontation that would never take place.

She wrestled with herself for a moment. Then, she opened her desk drawer and extracted a video cassette. Giselle. Her namesake ballet and the one in which she'd made her professional debut at the age of sixteen, though she'd played the supporting role of Bathilde, not the lead. She slid the tape into the VCR and pressed play.

Funny. She knew the music. She remembered the rehearsals and the performances. Watching now, though, she felt a strange detachment, as though the girl on the screen wasn't really her. As though she didn't know those other dancers either, despite having gone on to perform with some of them in numerous other productions.

The music really was beautiful. And so was the dancing.

She watched the first act from start to finish without pause. Then she hit the Stop button and picked up her phone. "Hey," she said, when Jerrica answered. "I-I've thought it over and if you still need someone to choreograph the benefit… I think I can make that work. That's, if you haven't lined anyone else up, yet."

Part of her still hoped that Jerrica had. The other part leaped when Jerrica told her she hadn't and accepted an invitation to Starlight House next week.

Maybe she'd get a chance to see how Emma was doing, while she was there, too.

"Uh," Casey waved her hand in front of Emma's face to get her attention. Emma blinked.

"Sorry, what?"

Casey sighed. "You've been humming and tapping your fingers for the last ten minutes. Look, if you want to go to the auditions, just… go."

Emma shook her head. "I'm not getting up on stage in front of everyone. No way."

"Hey, it's just for fun!"

"Yeah, unless I'm somehow good enough to make the cut. Then it's on stage, live, in front of a million people."

Casey shook her head. "Actually, I sort of doubt that."

"But Deirdre said…"

"Emma," Casey said softly, "we're amateurs. That benefit's for the pros. Deirdre may play a good guitar, but there's no way she—or any of us really—are going to be good enough to get up there with Jem, The Stingers, the Misfits, Kaleidoscope Haze, and whoever else they sign; I overheard Jerrica talking about maybe bringing in some Irish jazz punk band, too. You really think a bunch of teenagers who never played a concert or cut an album are up to that level of competition? This is just for fun. No pressure." She shrugged. "Hey, if it makes you feel better, I'll get up there, too. I can't stay on key for more than half a verse, but everyone already knows that except you. And you know it now," she added, rising to her feet. "Come on."

Emma smiled. "Thanks, but… I'd better not. It's okay." Then, shyly she added, "But if you're seriously getting up there, I guess I can come and clap."

Casey shook her head. And then she gave a little half shrug. "Oh, why not? It's still early and we could use a study break. As long as we get back to this afterwards."

"Definitely," Emma agreed with feeling. "I still can't get percentages."

Wendy had always thought that she'd be glad to be out of Neverland, but the twentieth century was proving to be a nightmare of a different sort all together. It wasn't all dreadful, but it was strange and much of it was terrifying. She thought the clothing that John had purchased for her to be far more daring than anything she'd dreamed she might wear back in London. There, she'd envied the smart 'bicycling' suits with their bloomers that had looked so much more comfortable than skirts, but she'd had no bicycle and she'd known better than to ask for either the conveyance or the costume. Mother and Father would never have permitted them to her, though John might have received the first when he was a bit older. Now, though, she held the short trousers against her thighs, eyes wide. They'd expose her knees and several inches above that! Perhaps, if the stockings were high and thick enough…

…They were thick enough, and colored as bright as any Neverland flower, but they wouldn't come up any higher than her ankles! She looked at the shirtwaists. Some of these sleeves were so short! Others were tight, with no hint of any puffs! And some of the garments had no sleeves at all! Perhaps, they were meant to be worn as pinafores over the longer-sleeved ones. She tried holding that combination against herself for effect and made a face at the results. That couldn't be right. It occurred to her that John might not be accustomed to shopping for women or girls. Suppose he'd just grabbed an armload of clothing he believed would fit without considering how it was all meant to go together. That had to be it!

But then she realized that the clothing before her looked very much like that which had been worn by the people she'd seen on the television-box last night. This was how people dressed now. This was how she was to dress now. She couldn't possibly. What would Mother say if she could see her?

But surely, mother wouldn't have expected her to go about in the dry California heat—so unlike the jungle from which she'd recently arrived—dressed for the London of a century earlier!

Wendy made certain that the shades in her bedroom were drawn and the door latched. Then, heart pounding, she slowly unbelted the dressing gown she'd arrived in and drew her nightgown over her head. It took her longer than it should have to don the new clothing, but when she was dressed anew, she opened the closet and surveyed herself in in the full-length mirror that was fastened to the door.

"It's not ghastly," she whispered. "It's not ghastly at all." But her hair would be the better for a wash and a combing, and she rather hoped that she could dispense with ringlets and the curling rags for the styling of them in this time and place.

"Emma!"

Emma froze, when she recognized the young woman who was frantically waving in her direction, as she and Casey entered the auditorium. "Uh… Ms… Larsen?" she asked feebly.

"It's just Ashley," the other woman replied. "You're auditioning?"

"N-no," she mumbled. Then she nudged her friend forward. "But Casey is."

"Emma!" Casey hissed, as Ashley thrust a clipboard at her.

"Great!" Ashley enthused. "Just fill this out and give it back to me when you're done. Or pass it to Emma; there are more blank forms underneath." She glanced hopefully at Emma. "If you change your mind."

"No," Emma said firmly. "I don't sing."

"She writes songs," Joellen said, speaking up from behind and Emma whirled, horrified.

Ashley only beamed. "We can use that too!"

"I-I…" But Ashley was already halfway across the auditorium, squealing at another small cluster of girls. Emma looked from Joellen to Casey in horror. "Thanks a lot."

"Thanks for staying later," Phyllis sighed late the following afternoon. "Still want to do this when you graduate?"

In the passenger seat beside her, Ashley gave her a weary smile and nod. "I know it's not all 'heartwarming afterschool special' or 'movie of the week' territory, but I also know we're helping a lot of kids. Maybe not everyone and maybe not enough, but we're doing something and that's better than doing… nothing."

"Sounds like I haven't smashed your rose-colored glasses yet, kid," Phyllis deadpanned.

"It's 1994," Ashley rejoined. "I'm wearing contacts. Get with the times. Ma'am," she added, as an afterthought.

Phyllis snorted. "Say, Ashley?"

"Mmm?"

She hesitated. "That benefit Jerrica was talking about. If the Misfits are doing it as the Misfits and not just performing with the groups we're with now—or getting up there solo in my case," she added, "it looks like we're doing it without Roxy. Which means we're a guitarist short. We're also doing this for free, so anyone we bring is doing it for the thrills and the publicity. I'll hold open auditions if I have to," she added. "I might do it anyway. But before I do, seeing as time is of the essence and I don't have a lot of that these days, do you know of anyone who might be able to keep up with us?"

Ashley's eyebrows shot up. "I just might," she said slowly. "Mind dropping me at Starlight House instead of the bus stop?"

"No problem," Phyllis said. "I need to run a few things by Jerrica anyway. Might as well do it tonight."

Ashley grinned.

Mrs. Bailey greeted them at the door. "I think Jerrica's still in her office," she announced. "Though it is a bit late to call."

"That's okay," Ashley said. "I also brought Phyllis here to sit in on the callbacks."

"You what?" Phyllis asked.

"For my band…?" Ashley reminded her in a tone that implied she was stating the obvious. "Two members short? We put up posters at school to get more people trying out and the top ten get to play again tonight!"

"And you think some… high school kid has what it takes to perform with the Misfits?" Phyllis asked. "Kid, I may be hard up, but I'm not that desperate."

Ashley shook her head. "Come with me," she said, tugging at her boss's hand. Over her shoulder, she called to Mrs. Bailey, "Tell Jerrica where we are! We shouldn't be too long!"

Phyllis trotted to keep up, even as she protested, "Look. Ashley. I've got a lot on my plate right now and listening to a bunch of teenagers belt out cover tunes isn't my idea of—" Three yards from the auditorium door, she stopped short, zeroing in on the guitar riffs emanating from the room on the other side. "Who is that?" she asked.

"Deirdre," Ashley said proudly. "Getting ready to accompany the girls coming back in about an hour."

"Wait." Under fourteen, minors can only work vacations and holidays, but that can sometimes mean weekends. Fourteen or fifteen, three hours a day max on schooldays. Or is that different in entertainment? Damn, I'm living in LA; I should know this stuff in case I ever have to take some child star into care! "How old is she?"

"Twenty," Ashley informed her promptly. "She aged out of the system a year after I did, but Jerrica doesn't exactly turf us when we hit eighteen. Come on."

Twenty, Phyllis thought with relief. No legal barriers to long rehearsals, if we need them then. Maybe letting Ashley drag her over here wasn't going to be the useless sidetrack she'd thought it would be. A small smile played on her lips as she followed her intern into the auditorium.

"Missed you last week," a friendly voice called, as John passed the community center's front desk. He smiled at the teenaged girl sitting behind it.

"Sorry, I was unexpectedly called away," he said. "I had to take charge of my younger sister."

The girl blinked. "I didn't know you had one."

"She's been studying abroad for some time," John said, the well-rehearsed story coming easily to his lips. "Sadly, with our parents' demise, she's in my care now and I must confess I'd rather she be with me. Still…"

"Still?" the girl repeated, when John didn't continue.

He shook his head. "Wendy may be my sister, but I'm afraid I don't know her nearly as well as I should, what with our years of separation. And, well, I'm discovering that one can read a great deal on how to raise an older child—she's not quite thirteen, and yes, that is quite the gap between us," he added smoothly. "Unfortunately, it's one thing to study the psychology of a preteen. It's something else entirely to apply it to a living breathing example."

The girl giggled, but her expression quickly turned serious. "You know," she said, "you might want to look into Big Sisters. They helped me after my mom died, before Grandma took me in. I still keep in touch with Desiree even now."

"Desiree?"

"My Big Sister," the girl explained. "We got to be really close. And, you know, Dad wasn't much for 'girl talk' either. Desiree helped with that. Anyway, I'm pretty sure they've got a chapter here in LA. If you want, I can look up the number for you."

John smiled sadly. "I had thought of that," he said. "Unfortunately, there's a bit of a wait-list. Meanwhile," he shook his head, "well, she's not used to the city. The climate isn't what she's accustomed to and I'm afraid she's been rather sheltered. She hasn't been willing to venture out of doors much, and yet I must have her start school sooner rather than later." He assumed a worried expression. "I confess I'm at something of a loss. It's one thing to serve as swimming instructor to a dozen elementary school pupils three evenings a week. It's another to be charged with the raising of one twelve-year-old girl." He winced. "I'm trying not to think of the questions she might ask about," he didn't have to feign a blush for the next bit; a Victorian education for young boys had been extremely spotty on this topic at least, "well, about growing from a young girl into a young woman."

The girl's brown eyes sparkled with amusement, but there sympathy there, too. "Uh… well, is there a lobby in your building? Or a rec room? I mean, I don't mind filling in as a Big Sister until a real one comes along."

John let a relieved smile cross his face. "Would you do that? Truly?"

"Sure. Gran wouldn't like me going up to a single man's apartment, but she wouldn't have a problem with the common areas of the building. And once you can get… Wendy?" At John's nod, she smiled back. "…Wendy out of your apartment, we can work on getting her going outside." Her gaze fell on the clock on the opposite wall. "How about you get ready for tonight's swim class and, while you're doing that, I'll check my schedule for next week and see when I'm free? Sound good?"

"It sounds wonderful," John said with a sigh of relief. "You're a true friend, Tamara. We'll discuss this more afterwards."

"Good luck with those kids!"

John smiled. His luck certainly appeared to be on the upswing this evening…