Love's Last Chance Page 15

  She pushed up from the chair and looked blankly at Gunther before his words penetrated her brain. “Right, right. Evan, Stella, Damon…” She called the dancers by name and made her way over to the set. I’ll sort this out later.

  The shoot lasted until eleven o’clock. A limousine waited at the curb for Gunther. He offered her a ride home.

  “Where’s your fancy car?”

  “In the shop.”

  “What would I do with my car?”

  “That poor excuse for a vehicle? Leave it here. Pick it up in the morning.”

  “How would I get back here?”

  “If you stay the night with me, my limo will bring you back in the morning.”

  Exhaustion caused her to laugh so hard she couldn’t catch her breath.

  “Show up with you tomorrow? Showing everyone I spent the night with you, while attempting to remain professional? You’re joking.”

  He stiffened.

  “You’re not? I see. Stop trying to seduce me, proposition me, kidnap me, dupe me, or anything with me. Okay? I’ve told you I’m not interested.”

  “Can’t blame me for trying.”

  She stepped up to him and poked his firm chest with her forefinger. “Oh, yeah? Can, too, blame you. And I do! I’ve had a rough day. Leave me alone.” With that, she stalked off to the parking lot, praying her rust bucket would start on the first try. Fortunately, it did, and she drove home.

  Her roommates were out when she reached the tiny apartment. She poured a vodka and tonic, hoping it would help her unwind. After plopping down on the sofa and putting her feet up on the coffee table, she tried to sort out the information she’d received from Rick and Archer.

  Rick wants a weekday girlfriend. Archer wants a mistress. I want neither. There’s still Johnny. She smiled to herself. Johnny. She sank back into the sofa cushions and closed her eyes. Visions of their time together at the reunion flashed through her mind. The volleyball game, him carrying her home, making love.

  A warm sensation crept into her heart. Her fingers tingled at the memory of touching his chest, his back, and other parts. She licked her lips. Johnny loves me. He already asked me to move in. Her confidence surged. A text from Gracie drew her attention.

  Dorrie dialed her friend.

  “Who’s the winner? I’m dying to know.”

  “No one yet.”

  “Anyone at least eliminated?”

  “Oh, yeah. Archer and…maybe Rick.”

  “Two, already?”

  “I’m kind of tired, Gracie. I hope you understand if I hang up and go to bed. Early day tomorrow, too.”

  “Sure. Call if you want to talk. Love you.”

  “Love you, too.”

  Dorrie washed her glass and put it in the drainer to dry. She peeled off her clothes and slipped into her narrow bed. Ah, to stretch out in a big bed with the man of my dreams. Maybe Johnny? I get that Rick wants his cake and eat it, too. He’s not ready for a relationship. Won’t even say he won’t date other women on weekends he’s away. Won’t take me with him. I can’t go back for that. I’m sorry, Rick, you’re half a loaf, and it’s not enough.

  She rolled over, turning her furrowed brow to stare at the moon, shrinking each day. Before she could ask it any questions, she was asleep.

  Chapter Eleven

  Two weeks turned into three and no word from Johnny. Dorrie worked harder than ever. Each night, she soaked her ankle and wrapped it in a fresh Ace bandage. She grew sensitive to the limitations forced on her by her weak joint, and stopped dancing before it gave out.

  Each day, there were more rehearsals. Many times she and her troupe would simply sit and watch shots being set up or filmed. It seemed to take forever to reach the point where the last dance routine would be in the can.

  Finally, it appeared on the schedule. Two more weeks until the final shot. Dorrie tried not to think about Johnny, but he crept into her thoughts. The afternoon after the new schedule was posted, she received a text.

  Sorry I didn’t contact you sooner, but I’ve been out of town on business. I’ll be home all night tonight. Alone. Take off your clothes and call me. Lol. John.

  Johnny being Johnny. She grinned and the heaviness in her chest lifted. Maybe this is it. Perfect timing. The movie is almost done, and I can go back to New York. There’s been no more discussion about a series pilot, so maybe this is all there is. I’d love to go back and move in with Johnny. Maybe even something more.

  Dorrie snapped her cell closed and put it in her pocket.

  “We’re ready to set up, Dorrie,” the assistant director said.

  She rose and gathered the dancers, placing them in their spots for the second to last dance routine. Slips, one fall, and missed timing delayed the shoot. Dorrie got home at eleven o’clock, exhausted. But if I don’t call Johnny, he’ll think I’m blowing him off. She toed off her shoes, poured a glass of Moscato wine, and stretched out on her bed before dialing the phone. Lightness filled her heart in anticipation of a loving conversation.

  “Hey, West Coast. How are you?”

  “Fine, Johnny. Not really. Wiped out. You?”

  “I’m good. So, this is the two week mark, or sort of.”

  “Sort of.”

  “I would’ve called sooner, but I was away on business.”

  “How is business?”

  “Great! I’ve been put in charge of a new expansion plan.”

  “Good for you.”

  “You called to get the two week update, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay. Here goes. I think you know how I feel about you. I’m not good with words, you know that. Actions are more my style.” He snickered.

  “Go on.” She rolled her eyes.

  “My opinion? Because I care about you, I’d say you should stay in L.A. Take the job working on the pilot, and hopefully the series.”

  “What?” She bolted upright.

  “Yeah. That’s the best thing for you…your career. Coming back to New York, even though I’d love to have you with me, wouldn’t be good for you. You’d always wonder what would’ve happened if you’d gone for the big deal, the big cheese. You know?”

  Dorrie sucked on her lower lip. “You don’t want me to come back and be with you?”

  “Did I say that? No. Were you listening? Obviously not! I just said I’d sacrifice your company so you could have your dream. If the show flopped, then you could come back to New York.”

  “You don’t want me?”

  “Dorrie!” He hollered. “Of course I want you. It’s because I love you that I’m willing to give you up, so you can have what you really want.”

  “What if I really wanted you?”

  There was silence. Johnny broke it using a softer voice. “Do you…want me?”

  “What do you think?” She rested her hand on her hip.

  “I need to hear it from you.”

  “This conversation is about you wanting me to come back to New York. Obviously, there’s nothing to discuss.” She set her jaw.

  “Wait! Don’t hang up!”

  She put the phone back to her ear. “Why not?”

  “I haven’t talked to you in a while. Are you dating anyone?”

  “I’m dating Three-hundred and fifty different men, all named Robert.” She couldn’t suppress a giggle.

  He laughed. “Figures. Seriously.”

  “No one special. Actually, no time to date at all.”

  “If I said I thought that was too bad, I’d be a liar.” He chuckled.

  “And you?”

  “Living the life of a nun…a priest, rather. Also too busy working to date.”

  Good. Maybe you’re growing up.

  “Wish you were here, babe.”

  Is that loneliness I hear? John Flanagan, lonely? Nah.

  “Me, too.” She brushed her hand through her hair.

  “Please try to understand what I’m telling you, Dorrie.”

  She sat up. “I’m trying, Johnny. But all I get is yo
u don’t care.”

  “I do. More than you’ll ever know.” Then he sighed. “Verbal communication was never our strong point, was it?”

  She smiled. “Guess not.”

  “But we’re killers playing on the same team.”

  “Undefeated.”

  “Think about what I said. It’s getting late, and I have an early morning meeting.”

  “Okay.”

  “Love you, Dorrie.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  With emotion barely concealed in his voice, he signed off, “Goodnight, sweet thing.”

  “Night.”

  She closed her phone and fell back on the bed. Great. No one wants me to come back to New York, and I’ve no job here. Tears stung her eyes, and she let them flow. Burying her face in her pillow, Dorrie sobbed her heart out. Exhaustion stemmed the flow and forced her to dry her cheeks and shut out the light. Sleep came quickly.

  When the alarm went off at five, she was barely able to move. Lots of cold water couldn’t erase all the puffiness from her eyes. Gloom settled over her spirits. Hustle and Dance was almost finished. Only one more short dance routine to film. She had plans to celebrate with Meg and Chaz when the movie wrapped. But drinking champagne and laughing with her friends held no appeal.

  Again, she and her crew had to wait. Every half hour, she led them in exercises to keep their muscles limber and avoid injuries. Meg was on the set. She pulled a chair up next to Dorrie, who was grateful for the company.

  “So, what’s the word on the guys?” Meg asked.

  Dorrie shrugged. “Nothing. No one wants me to come back.”

  “What? I find that hard to believe.”

  “Archer is married. He offered me the job of his mistress. No thanks.”

  “Wow, what a surprise.”

  Dorrie nodded. “You can say that again. Rick wants me to come back and continue dating, maybe more often, but still not on weekends. He’ll be gone every weekend for six months. And probably sleeping with other women then, too. No good.”

  “Really? You two sounded so great, such a rapport.”

  “He’s not ready for commitment, and I won’t settle for anything less.”

  “Stick to your guns, Dorrie.” Meg patted her friend’s shoulder. “What about Johnny? Did you ever hear from him?”

  “Two weeks late!”

  “Really?” Meg cocked an eyebrow. “Give. What did he say?”

  “He said…not to come back.” Dorrie pushed the heels of her hands into her eyes to stop the tears. Meg gave her a hug.

  “He didn’t mean that, did he?”

  “He said it was better for me to be out here doing the pilot. For my career.”

  “He’s right.”

  “But, I haven’t been hired for the pilot, if there is one.”

  “You will. He must have said something else?”

  “Yeah. About how that meant he really loved me, letting me go. It stinks.”

  “That was unexpected.” Meg squeezed her hand.

  “Now, I have nowhere to go after the film wraps.”

  “You can come back to New York. Stay with us.” Meg rubbed Dorrie’s back, eliciting a small smile.

  “Thanks, Meg. I may have to return—to make a living. Johnny’s right about one thing.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Staying to work on the pilot, and then the series, would be a dream come true. It’s hard work, but I’d love it and make good money, too.”

  “Fingers crossed.”

  “If it’s not too late already.”

  “Dance routine!” called the assistant director.

  “That’s us,” Dorrie said, pushing to her feet. “Thanks for the encouragement, Meg.”

  She spent the day on the shoot, but too many mishaps kept them from having a perfect routine. At ten o’clock, they called it quits.

  “Tomorrow they’d better get it right,” Gunther hissed.

  “They will. It’s just nerves. Waiting around all the time.”

  “Can’t help that. This film is running into money. Can’t go more over budget than we already are.” Gunther cornered her. “Make them do it right.”

  Exhaustion took its toll, and Dorrie burst into laughter. “Do you know how silly that sounds?”

  “This is no laughing matter.”

  “I know. We’ll get it tomorrow.”

  “Better.”

  “Goodnight, Gunther.” He turned to throw one last angry look at her before he headed for his limousine. Same to you, asshole. Dorrie rubbed her neck and limped to the parking lot. Her ankle was killing her.

  Once home, her roommates were giggling and drinking wine in the living room. Their cheerfulness irritated Dorrie.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Marsha got a part in a pilot for a series.”

  “Congratulations,” Dorrie muttered.

  “You might know this one, Dorrie,” Marsha said. “It’s Hustle and Dance. I hope the pilot gets picked up.”

  “What?” Dorrie’s eyes widened, and she stopped.

  “Isn’t that the movie you’re working on now?” Greta asked.

  “It is. When did they start casting for the pilot?”

  “I got the audition call two weeks ago.”

  A weight the size of an anvil settled in Dorrie’s chest. Then they’ve decided not to hire me. Two weeks? When was Gunther going to give me the bad news?

  “Congratulations,” Dorrie muttered again, heading for her room. She managed to close the door before the tears started. She fell onto her bed, crying in great, heaving sobs. Back to New York with my tail between my legs. She cried herself to sleep.

  Again, the alarm at five woke a sleepy, puffy, and depressed Dorrie. This is the last day. Maybe I’ll take a short vacation. I need to rest. When she stood up, her ankle began to throb. After popping a few ibuprofen, she issued a silent prayer and turned the key in her ancient car, which started without a hitch. No need to replace this. Don’t need a car in Manhattan.

  She sighed. The freedom to drive down to the beach whenever she had free time was something she loved. Now, that would be a thing of the past. One more day. Please God. Let the shoot work today.

  The weariness in her bones was due as much to her emotional state as her physical one. She re-wrapped her ankle, which still hurt. The dancers looked refreshed.

  “Let’s get it right today. Please. Then you can all go home.”

  Amy stopped by to give Dorrie a check.

  “I’ve been waiting for this.” She smiled at the girl.

  “Gunther gave it to me two weeks ago. I’m sorry I forgot to deliver it. Please don’t tell him. He’ll kill me.”

  The fear in her eyes brought out kindness in Dorrie. “I understand. I won’t breathe a word.”

  Amy’s face relaxed, her shoulders lowered, and she smiled. “I don’t know how much longer I can work for him.”

  “I get it. He’s not an easy man.”

  “He’s a damn tyrant!” Her placid expression became animated.

  “Shhh. Here he comes.” Dorrie folded the envelope and tucked it into her dance bag.

  “Better be good today, Dorrie,” he said in a clipped tone.

  “They will be.”

  “Amy, didn’t I tell you to do something?” Gunther turned his eagle eye on her.

  “Uh…did you?”

  “You’re supposed to remember for me. I can’t remember everything! That’s why I have an assistant. Come along. Later, Dorrie.” Gunther walked away with Amy tagging behind.

  “He has her on a tight rein,” Meg said. Holding hands with Chaz, she joined Dorrie.

  “I’m in this one, Meg. You can watch from here. No noise.” Chaz pulled a chair over for his wife. She made a motion to zip her lips.

  “We’d better make this good, or Gunther will have my hide.”

  “What can he do to you? Nothing.” Chaz fell into stride next to Dorrie as they approached the set.

  “Not hire me ever again. Destroy my reputa
tion in the industry, for starters.”

  Chaz sucked in a breath. “Stupid of me to ask.”

  After twenty minutes of warm-up exercises, the performers took their places. Two run-throughs were all they seemed to need. Then, the cameras were rolling. Dorrie bit her lip and clasped her hands tightly in front of her as she watched.

  One hour became two. Two became three. After five hours, the director had a version on film he was satisfied with. Dorrie let out a big breath. The dancers clapped and smiled.

  “We’re having a party tonight at Sal’s, Dorrie. Would you come?” Donnie, one of the troupe, said.

  “Thanks, but my ankle is killing me. Go celebrate. You all did a fabulous job.” Just because I’m not in a party mood, don’t have to bring everyone down. Don’t have to tell everyone why either.

  He shrugged and caught up with others. Chaz and Dorrie joined Meg.

  “That was fantastic. This movie is going to be a big hit.”

  “Bite your tongue! Too much confidence can sink a film,” Chaz said.

  “So, you worry every second, and it gets better?” Meg cocked an eyebrow at her husband.

  “Not exactly. But not being over-confident means you try harder. You’re more of a perfectionist.”

  “Speaking of perfectionist,” Dorrie said, motioning toward the back of the studio. “Here he comes.”

  Gunther Quill approached, his gait leisurely, his face relaxed and smiling. “Well done, Dorrie.”

  “Thank you.” She sank down into a chair and rubbed her leg.

  Gunther watched her with growing concern. “How’s the ankle?”

  “It’ll be okay. With a little rest, the pain will stop.”

  Gunther squatted down and massaged the joint. “I should hope so. You’ll need to be in tiptop shape. We’re meeting on the pilot next week.”

  “Good luck with that,” Dorrie said, trying to keep bile from rising in her throat.

  “What do you mean ‘good luck’?”

  She stared at him in silence for a moment before looking away to hide the tears gathering in her eyes.

  But Gunther was not a man to be fooled. He turned her chin to face him. “Why the waterworks?”

  “Don’t expect me to be happy you hired someone else to choreograph the pilot, Gunther.” Her voice wobbled a bit, though she tried to sound strong.