Off Balance (Ballet Theatre Chronicles Book 1) Read Free Page B

Whittier.”
    "Ah. Railroads."
    Alice nodded.
    Andy cocked his head at her. "What did you say your last name was?"
    "Willoughby."
    "As in James Willoughby?"
    "No. Thomas."
    "I don't know the name."
    "Neither did my mother's family." Alice offered him a conspiratorial grin. "But she married him anyway."
    The corners of Andy's mouth lifted as he raised his highball glass and took a sip of his scotch. “Well, Gil,” he said after he’d set the drink down. “It would appear you lost the bet. So what do you owe your associate?”
    “A drink.” Gil’s eyes latched onto Alice’s, transmitting pure, unadulterated gratitude. “A big one.”
    Gil hadn't conceded the game, however. He worked the conversation back to Chicago, to the mutual friend, mentioning how he’d helped Joel's brother create and run the Haberdasher Street Repertory Theatre.
    "Good troupe they've got there in residence right now,” Andy commented.
    "Agreed."
    "Who do you think is the better actor, Bryce Hamlin or Hodge O'Connor?"
    "It depends on whether you're talking about the dramatic roles or all-around versatility. Or sex appeal."
    "Which do you think most lends itself to an actor's success?"
    "Oh, sex appeal,” Gil said. “Face it. Sex sells."
    Alice winced.
    Andy, as well, looked taken aback, even disdainful. "Sex…”
    "Sex," Gil repeated. "An unmistakable facet of life. And what's theater if not an elaboration of the core stimulus that drives us? A vicarious release of all those subconscious desires every human carries down in them. Desire for power. For sex. For domination. Being dominated."
    Silence. Alice saw the account flash before their eyes and disappear. She hardly dared look in Gil’s direction. But when she stole a glance a moment later, he was smiling, calm, regarding Andy expectantly.
    Andy sat back in his leather armchair, his hands coming together to form a steeple. "I think that's a provocative perspective.”
    "Good theater is nothing if not provocative. Art in general. As it should be.”
    Andy mulled over this without replying. He reached for his glass, took a sip of his scotch and glanced at his Rolex. Alice's spirits sank. They’d been dismissed. Andy confirmed this when he stood a moment later. The two men accompanying him scrambled to their feet as well.
    "I'm afraid we must take our leave," Andy said.
    Gil rose and thrust out his hand, undaunted. "It was a pleasure to meet you. And if you talk to Joel, tell him Gil Sheridan sends his regards."
    Andy shook Gil's hand but paused, mid-shake. His other hand swung around to sandwich Gil's hand. The Cadillac of handshakes: the two-handed grip.
    "I'm having a private party in a month’s time, at my Hillsborough home. Maybe I’ll send a few invitations your way.”
    "We would certainly appreciate that," Gil replied without missing a beat. "It would be a pleasure to spend more time discussing, uh, theater with you.” He gave Andy's hand one last vigorous pump before Andy released it.
    "I’ll give it some thought,” Andy said. “We’ll be in touch.”
     
    Had that been an official invitation or not? Over the next twenty minutes, on the way back to the WCBT offices, Gil and Alice speculated over this. Gil thought yes. Alice wasn’t so sure. She told Gil he’d been too shocking, too overt about the sex-and-domination business. He told her quite the contrary, that if they received invitations, it would be because he’d gotten Andy’s attention over that.
    She shook her head as they entered the lobby. “It was my reference to the great-great-grandfathers. Otherwise he would have asked us to leave. I mean, did you see how cold his eyes had grown?”
    “I would have come up with some way to save us. And hey, I didn’t know Marianne was a Whittier.”
    She hesitated. “She’s not.”
    “So, you lied.”
    “I did not. Maybe Marianne’s not my birth mother.”
    “Nice try. Except that I’ve heard you call her ‘my mom’ a hundred times.”
    “I’m serious. Deborah