Spellcrossed (30 page)

“Come to the Follies,” Rowan urged. “See how he does in that.”

“He’s in the Follies, too?”

“A kind of dress rehearsal,” Rowan said.

“That’s hardly the same as performing on the main stage.”

“It’ll be fun,” Janet assured him. “I’ll even wager Jack will exceed your expectations. If I win, I’ll make you dinner. If I lose…” She flashed a teasing smile. “…I’ll make you breakfast.”

To my astonishment, Long blushed. Then he nodded brusquely. “But if I decide he’s not ready to perform in
Into the Woods
, that’s the end of it. Agreed?”

I nodded meekly. I even worked up a grateful smile; I only hoped it was half as convincing as Janet’s kittenish one.

No matter what happened at the Follies, I would never permit Long to send my father away. Daddy had finally opened the door to his past, and I was going to help him walk through it.

T
HANKS TO THE SHITLOAD OF FAE POWER circulating through the theatre, Act Two went off without a hitch. When the lights came up on the final scene, even I gasped when I beheld the brilliant red and gold of the roses, the deep green of the foliage, and the otherworldly blue of the sky. When Archibald embraced Colin and Mary, I sniffled along with the audience, my vision blurred by tears and the shimmering light that suffused the stage.

I wished Daddy could have seen it: the transformation of the garden, the transformation of all those touched by its magic. I wished he could have seen Archibald and Colin reunited. And I wished that life imitated art. I didn’t expect that Mom and Daddy and I would ever stand in Helen’s sun-drenched garden, all wrongs forgiven, all happiness restored, but for the first time I had real hope that some of those old wounds could be healed.

For the next two days, he remained closeted in Rowan’s apartment, emerging only to apologize to the cast for “getting carried away” and to come to Janet’s house to run through
Snow White
with the rest of the staff. He seemed so relieved to throw himself into our rehearsal that I gave up any thought of telling him I was his daughter. It was far more important for him to shine during the Follies.

Nancy’s arrival offered a welcome respite. Even if I could only escape for a few hours, dinner at the Bough would give me a chance to decompress.

When I invited Frannie to join us for a drink, she shook her head. “I’m waiting for the couple who’ve booked the Honeymoon Suite to check in.”

“So sit where you can see the lobby.”

After a brief hesitation, she agreed, and for the next fifteen minutes, I enjoyed the rare treat of talking about ordinary things like the weather, the economy, and the recent coyote incursions in Dale. Then Frannie jumped up and exclaimed, “I think Mr. and Mrs. Louis just came in.”

“Maybe I should go out and—”

“No. You gals enjoy your dinner.” She winked at Nancy and whispered, “If you get any juicy gossip about Maggie and Rowan, be sure and pass it along.”

As soon as Frannie disappeared into the lobby, Nancy pounced.

“Something’s happened.”

“You and my mother should start a detective agency.”

I waited until Beth presented our salads and retreated to the kitchen. Then I plunged into the saga of opening night. Nancy expressed cautious optimism about Daddy’s breakthrough, but her expression clouded when I described the aftermath with Long.

“You used the F-word?”

“I was upset. I apologized later. And was very sweet. Well, sweet for me.”

“Don’t shrug this off!” she exclaimed with rare heat. “Rowan allowed you to talk like that because he loved you. But you can’t do it with Long.”

The arrival of our dinners saved me from answering. When Beth departed, I said, “I know I should follow Janet’s example and smile and coax and cajole. It’s just…”

“Cajoling isn’t your strong suit. But at least treat Long with respect. And when he drives you crazy, count to five before you say anything.”

“Not to ten?”

“You’d never make it that far.” Nancy picked up her fork and set it down again. “I know you love your father. And you want him to be happy. But you can’t sacrifice your future for him.”

“It won’t come to that. Long will—”

“It’s not only Long. There’s Rowan to consider. And Alison. And your staff. I don’t want to see you jeopardizing those relationships because you’re putting all your time and energy into developing one with your father.”

I poked my grilled trout, appetite gone. I was all too aware of how little time I had spent with Rowan, how much extra work I had thrust onto my staff. And every day that I allowed to pass without telling my mother about Daddy seemed a betrayal of the closeness we had forged. I doubted my father would ever give me the kind of love and support I received from them.

And from the woman sitting across the table from me.

“You’re absolutely right,” I said. “And now, enough about Daddy. Let’s talk about you.”

She described her added workload at the library in the wake of the budget cuts and her poor mother’s case of shingles. In the middle of a story about her cat’s ear infection, she broke off abruptly.

“This is about as much fun as discussing your fight with Long.”

“Who cares? Sometimes, life is crappy bosses and shingles and ear infections. So what did the vet say about Dante?”

Only when coffee arrived did she casually mention that she’d gone out on two dates with a college professor named Ed.

“Two dates? And I’m only hearing about it now?”

“Well, we just had the second date last night and—”

“Wait. Start at the beginning.”

Through a combination of wheedling and relentless interrogation, I got most of the details. Nancy assured
me it was “too soon to tell” if anything would develop, but her faint blush and soft expression indicated things were developing pretty fast.

When she said she had a surprise for me at tomorrow’s matinee, I was sure she was going to produce Ed. I waited outside the theatre in a fever of anticipation. But Nancy arrived alone.

“No Ed?”

She surveyed the horde of people streaming toward the lobby and suddenly grinned. “I brought someone else. Two someones, actually.”

A bass voice bellowed, “Yo, Brooklyn!” And the burly figure of Lou Mancini waded through the crowd like a T-shirted and tattooed Moses parting the Red Sea.

I managed to squeak, “Yo, Joizey” before Lou engulfed me in a bear hug. Then squeaked again as his girlfriend Bobbie shouldered him aside and treated me to an equally rib-bruising embrace.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”

“We wanted to surprise you,” Bobbie said.

“And we sure as shit did,” Lou added.

Bobbie punched his shoulder. “It’s a kids’ show,” she informed Lou in an undertone. “So watch your language, asshole.”

“How long are you up for? Can you stay for the Follies?”

“Hell…heck, yes!” Lou said. “That’s why we came up this weekend. Got into the Bough last night and—”

“Wait. You’re not…are
you
Mr. and Mrs. Louis?”

“That was Frannie’s idea. In case you started poking around.”

“We nearly had a heart attack when she told us you and Nancy were in the dining room,” Bobbie said. “We ran all the way upstairs. And—oh, my God, Maggie—our suite’s gorgeous!”

“Yeah. But I kinda miss my crappy old room.” Lou nudged Bobbie. “We had some good times up there.”

“We know,” Nancy said. “Our room was under yours.”

Lou’s bellow of laughter made several nearby patrons wince and earned him another punch from Bobbie.

“I just can’t believe you’re here. Rowan will be so happy to see you. Maybe we can all go out for a quick dinner after the show.”

Too late, I recalled all the reasons why that would be a really bad idea: mad dogs, special silverware, projectile vomiting.

“Or grab some Mandarin Chalet grub and eat in Rowan’s apartment.”

Lou and Bobbie exchanged awed glances. “
The
apartment?” Bobbie said.

“Maybe you should check with Rowan first,” Nancy suggested.

“We can check with him now,” I said as Rowan edged through the crowded lobby.

He kissed Nancy’s cheek, squeezed Bobbie’s hand, and staggered only a little as Lou enthusiastically pounded his back. But when I mentioned dinner, his smile slipped.

“We don’t have to go out,” I assured him. “Just take some Chinese food up to your apartment.”

“I wish we could, but Alex and I are meeting to discuss music rehearsals for
Into the Woods
.”

“What about lunch tomorrow?” I suggested.

“I’m helping with setup for the Follies.”

“There’s plenty of time for that after the matinee.”

“Lee and I are still working out some of the special effects.”

“But—”

“It’s not a problem,” Nancy said, shooting me a quelling glance.

Lou nodded. “A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.”

“We can talk after the Follies,” Bobbie said.

But their smiles failed to hide their disappointment.

Rowan’s fingers rose to his throat, kneading the scar that was hidden beneath his tightly buttoned collar. “Maggie and I should get backstage. I’ll see you after the show.”

I smiled brightly and allowed him to take my arm, but as soon as we rounded the side of the barn, I shook off his hand.

“You haven’t seen them in two years. Lou and Bobbie came all the way from Jersey! And you couldn’t make time to have dinner?”

“In my apartment.”

“Where else can we go? You refuse to go out. The cast will be eating in the picnic area.”

“So you invited them to my apartment.”

“I thought it would be fun!”

“But it’s
my
apartment, Maggie. You might have asked whether I wanted guests.”

“Okay. Yes. I’m sorry. But—”

“I’ve never even invited the staff to my apartment. Except Helen, of course.”

I knew he’d never socialized with the staff until this summer, but I’d assumed that Alex had been there to work on the shows. Certainly, most of the staff had been inside—Lee and Hal when they stormed the barricades the night of my first Olympic orgasm, the rest to pack up Rowan’s things. But none had been invited guests.

Rowan glanced at the milling crowd, then took my arm again and led me into the Smokehouse. He closed the door and regarded me gravely.

“I’m not like you, Maggie. You’re at ease with people. You know what to say. How to…fit in.”

“How are you going to learn to fit in if you lock yourself away?”

“I won’t always…I was thinking of hosting a party for the staff after the season is over.”

“Why wait? Throw a cocktail party before the Follies.”

He stared at me, aghast. “I can’t invite guests over on such short notice.”

Sometimes, I forgot that he had learned human manners in the nineteenth century.

“Newsflash. You don’t need to send engraved invitations. Especially to old friends who are all going to be at the theatre that afternoon.”

“But—”

“Ask Nancy and Bobbie and Lou to stop by for the last half hour. That way, the staff will be flattered that they got first dibs, and the others will be flattered that they were included.”

“All those people…”

“Nobody will mind. They’ll be having too much fun.”

“Maybe
they
will.”

I put my arms around his neck. “Say yes.”

“That’s coercion.”

I kissed him. “Say yes.”

“Unfair coercion.”

I deepened the next kiss and felt his groan rumble against my mouth. “Say yes?”

“I believe the correct term is ‘uncle.’”

I slipped free and clapped my hands. “A new Crossroads tradition.”

“Dear gods. From a cattle call of a cocktail party to a new Crossroads tradition in ten seconds.”

“It’s better this way. Get it over with fast. Like pulling off a Band-Aid.”

“The perfect analogy.”

“Oh, stop being a grumpy old faery. You’ll have a great time. Just give me a shopping list and I’ll pick up everything you need tomorrow morning. I’ll even help with prep.”

“You in the kitchen? That almost makes this worthwhile.”

“I can cook! Some things. And I can certainly chop and peel and do the grunt work.”

“Maggie Graham, Sous Chef.” He studied me a moment, then said, “You never give up, do you?”

“Maggie Graham, Pit Bull.” My smile faded as I took in his serious expression. “This is the easy stuff, Rowan. If we can’t do this—”

“We can. I can.”

I
SHOULD HAVE KNOWN ROWAN WOULDN’T be content with cheese and crackers. It was only by dint of considerable persuasion that I got him to include veggies and dip—or what he called crudités with tarragon aioli.

Daddy fled after the first fifteen minutes. I soldiered on in Hors D’oeuvres Hell.

“The point is having people in,” I said as I eviscerated a cucumber. “Not to win an award from
Gourmet
magazine.”

“If we’re going to do this,” he replied, stirring his lemony fennel slaw, “we’re going to do it right. The cucumber cups need to be smaller. They’re an—”

“If you say amuse bouche one more time, I’m serving up bacon-wrapped faery testicles.”

“I’d prefer Graham on the half shell.”

Our chuckles died at the same moment. I slowly lowered my knife. He slowly lowered his spoon.

“We’re alone,” Rowan said. “We have an hour until the actors arrive for the matinee. And we’re making hors d’oeuvres. Does that strike you as incongruous?”

“No. It strikes me as crazy.”

He took my hand and led me toward the bedroom. En route, he paused by his desk, ripped a page out of his new journal, and scrawled, “Jack. Take a long walk around the pond.”

I taped the note to the front door and closed it firmly.

“What’s the lady’s pleasure?”

My face grew warm.

Rowan grinned. “Graham on the half shell, it is.”