LAX airport
Dorrie ducked her auburn head down to blend into the crowd, hoping to avoid running into Gunther Quill. Dammit! As she exited the plane, she cursed herself for bringing so much luggage. Now, I have to hang around the baggage claim. He’s sure to find me.
She stole a furtive glance up and down the corridor then breathed a sigh of relief. No sign of him. She straightened up and strode confidently toward the luggage area. I guess he changed his mind about meeting me here. Good. We have nothing to talk about other than the movie. Maybe I can deal with one of the other producers on the film instead.
After unwrapping a piece of gum, she popped it in her mouth.
“Got an extra?”
Dorrie looked up to see Grace Brewster, her companion from the flight, standing with her hand out. She handed Grace a piece and smiled. “Gum keeps me from overeating.”
“I could afford to lose some weight, too.”
This was an old habit Dorrie used to deal with nerves and avoid drowning herself in comfort food, especially when she was a professional dancer. Though choreographers don’t have to be as slim, they still need to be in shape. She chewed rapidly, unable to shake her dread of running into Gunther.
“Is he here?” Grace asked, looking around.
Dorrie shook her head. “Not yet. I hope I can get my suitcases and leave before he shows up.”
“Me, too.”
“You know Gunther?”
“Don’t ask.”
Dorrie nodded. “I see.”
Grace blushed. “I’m sure you do. I’d rather not rehash it.”
“I don’t blame you. He does have a way of…getting around.”
Grace’s blush deepened. “It didn’t end well.”
“It never does with Gunther.” Dorrie glanced at the door for the tenth time.
“He’s pretty pissed at me.”
Dorrie raised her eyebrows. “Really? It’s usually the other way around.”
Grace’s smile tightened. “Trust me, it wasn’t happy on either side.”
“Sounds familiar,” Dorrie said, her gaze perusing the area. “I’ll keep watch while you grab our bags. Mine is dark blue plaid.”
The carousel jolted then began to move as luggage slowly slid down the ramp and was transferred to the moving belt. Grace moved toward the conveyor and reached for a suitcase.
While Dorrie took her gaze off the entrance to check for her bags, the hairs on the back of her neck stood up, and her skin prickled. One puff of hot breath warming her ear alerted her to Gunther’s arrival. She jumped.
“If I was insecure, I’d think you were avoiding me,” he whispered, standing too close to her.
Dorrie’s heartbeat doubled as adrenaline poured into her veins. Fight or flight? Let me out of here. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she pasted a smile on her lips and turned to face him.
“Why Gunther, what a surprise.”
“You little liar. I texted you.”
“Did you? Can’t get those on the plane.”
“Still playing tag with the truth,” he growled in a deep, low voice. “You’re avoiding me.” He gripped her biceps hard, detaining her. She caught a glimpse of Grace Brewster stealing away, stopping to give a quick wave.
“I don’t know what you mean. Oops, there’s my luggage.” She ripped her arm loose and approached the conveyor belt. Dorrie’s mind raced to think up an excuse to escape. But Gunther was right behind her.
“This blue one?” he asked. She nodded. He reached over and picked up the large suitcase as if it were nothing. She saw his muscles strain against the sleeve of his sport coat and remembered a time when that sight had thrilled her. Not anymore. Yes, he has a great body but no heart.
“I can take it from here.” She moved toward her valises, but he held them firmly in his grip.
“My car is right outside. Allow me.” He gave a half bow, appearing gracious. But the sharp look in his narrowed, dark eyes gave away his intentions. Dorrie got it. He wasn’t going to allow her out of his sight. She dropped her gum in a trashcan and swallowed. Searching for a glimpse of Grace, she spied her friend headed for the exit.
“There’s Grace Brewster. I need to catch up.”
“I doubt Ms. Brewster wants to run into me.”
“Can’t we give her a lift, too?”
Gunther turned his head toward Grace, who glanced backward once, then moved rapidly through the door.
“Ahh. Too late. Shucks,” he said, his eyes glittering dangerously.
Dorrie was caught in his trap. No one evades Gunther Quill. She followed him out to the waiting limousine and climbed in. The air was cool, almost cold. Gunther offered her a drink, which she refused.
“Are you going to stay in that drab apartment with your dreary roommates?
“Lease is up next month.”
“Good. Why don’t you let me find you an apartment?”
She studied him, trying to figure out what he was up to. “Why would I do that?”
“I’m doing very well financially. I can afford…an extra place.”
“Oh? And what would I have to do to live there?” She cocked an eyebrow at him.
“You know.”
“Spell it out for me.”
“Come, come, Dorrie. Don’t be so low class. You’re a tasty morsel. We could have such fun times…just like we used to.” His gaze rested on her chest.
“I don’t think so. Thanks, but no thanks. I have enough money to get my own place.” She crossed her arms over her chest to cut off his view of her breasts.
“You disappoint me. I was looking forward to being with you again.”
“Aren’t you engaged?”
“You mean Elsa Marquette? She’s a very understanding woman.”
“That’s not what Grace Brewster said.” Dorrie mustered all her confidence and faced him.
“Grace? Why would she have an opinion about Elsa?”
“I don’t know, Gunther. Why don’t you tell me? Grace’s a close friend of mine…she didn’t have anything nice to say about you.”
“That little bitch tried to ruin one of my pictures. But I got the last laugh. Broke up her relationship.”
“Really? She and Jake are getting married.”
He raised an eyebrow at her smug smile. “Pussy-whipped. Stupid actor.”
“You ought to have a little more respect for the people who help make your movies a success.”
“Pfft! He’s a baby. She lured him in with her body. His funeral.”
What do you know about Grace’s body? Maybe I don’t want to know. Dorrie sat back and looked out the window, trying to ignore the man in the seat beside her, but his presence crackled with electricity, creating heat. The car passed building after building, all of them nicer than the place where she lived. Crammed into a tiny, two-bedroom apartment with three other women, she’d had to make do for the three years since her accident.
As her fiancé, Gunther had been compassionate about the tumble she’d taken that had resulted in the destruction of her career—at first. His solicitous behavior had evaporated quickly when it became clear that she’d never dance professionally again.
He had broken their engagement. Perhaps motivated by a guilty conscience, he had helped her move out and had sent her rent money for the first six months. Then, he disappeared from her life as if they had been nothing but acquaintances.
Broken-hearted, she tried to create a new life from scratch. Though her pride had been badly dented when he dumped her, desperation had forced her to take what he offered. Ignoring the humiliation that came with the checks each month hadn’t been easy.
But Dorrie’d been alone. Her parents were dead, and her younger brother was in the military in Afghanistan. Being incapacitated, she’d needed help. Gunther’s money had been a Godsend. In a tiny place tucked away in her heart, she’d been grateful to him.
Her friends had been quick to point out that a few thousand dollars was pretty cheap compared to the hefty settlement of a lawsuit she could’ve mounted against him. She had fallen at his beach house when the railing gave way. Suing her fiancé was not something Dorrie would ever have done, even at the urging of her friends. She wasn’t raised to be vindictive or vengeful and wasn’t about to try to change her heart.
After the pain receded some, she wondered if Gunther had had a secret reason to desert her when she was so vulnerable. But he’d never revealed any reason other than wanting a partner who was a success, and a broken-down dancer wouldn’t do.
His hand stroked her hair. “I miss you, bunny,” Gunther said, softly uttering his pet name for her.
Dorrie jerked away from him. “Don’t give me that crap, Gunther. You had your chance. And don’t ever call me that again.”
“How’d you expect a highly successful producer like me to be married to a yoga instructor…a dance teacher?”
Dorrie held her breath for a second to keep a sharp retort from slipping through her lips. No sense starting another fight. We have to work together.
“Let’s start over,” he said, turning the full force of his charm on her.
By now, Dorrie was immune—almost. She turned abruptly to face him, rage burning in her chest.
“As your girlfriend? Your mistress? Not good enough to be your wife? You have some damn nerve!”
“I can’t forget you. I’ve tried.”
“Try a little harder. Can’t Elsa help you forget? You’re going to be married to her…soon, too, aren’t you?” Dorrie could sense the color creeping up her neck as her anger was fueled by the hurt still remaining from their break-up.
“Elsa’s star is rising. She’ll have a good career, if she doesn’t make any stupid mistakes. A wife is good for a few years. But a mistress is good forever.” He smirked, his eyes filled with lust. His perfect lips and handsome face easily seduced women. Not me. Not this time.
Dorrie knew she wouldn’t be taken in easily by Gunther a second time. I’m immune to his charm, aren’t I?
“Get yourself another girl.” Recognizing his look when he was in the mood for sex, she turned away from him to break the spell. Those hypnotic, snake-like eyes will have me agreeing.
“Bunny…you’re so soft and sweet, like a tiny rabbit.”
“Shut up, Gunther. That stuff doesn’t work on me anymore.” After he left her, she had heard rumors of his cheating while they were engaged. His double betrayal had hardened her heart.
It was as if she had thrown a pail of cold water over him. His eyes turned from coaxing to cold, glittering with a mixture of passion and anger. “You’ll regret this. Trust me.”
“I don’t think so. I’ve gotten along without you fine, so far.”
“You call where you live and the meager existence you eke out ‘fine’?” He released a mirthless laugh.
“I do okay. I’m independent.”
“But now you work for me. You wouldn’t want to get fired, would you?”
Fear spiked through Dorrie’s chest for a moment until she got her bearings. “You’re not the only producer. You can’t fire me without a reason. I have a contract, and you’d have to have the other producers go along.”
“What makes you think I can’t?”
“Because they know all about your little personal vendettas. And besides, getting rid of the choreographer in the middle of a film can cost a fortune.” She smiled. I’m learning to speak his language—dollars and cents.
The nasty grin fell off his face. His façade crumbled. “Don’t push me, Dorrie.”
“I know you went to bat for me, Gunther.” She rested her hand on his forearm. “And I’m grateful. You and I were great once. Now, we’ve both moved on. Please let it go…let me go.”
He closed his fingers over her hand as his eyes made contact with hers. “Can you do the job?”
“You hired me, but don’t know if I can do it?”
“Figured if you couldn’t, we’d fire you and find someone else. I wanted to give you a chance. Knowing you’re sweating through those classes every day is painful.”
“Save your tears. I enjoy teaching and have made some friends. I’m good at what I do.”
“Can you choreograph Hustle and Dance?”
“Of course. I’ve been studying the show, been to see it at least twenty times already. I’m prepared. You won’t be sorry you hired me.”
“I was hoping that the apartment would be part of the deal.”
“Guess you were wrong.”
He let go of her hand, allowing her to move away from him.
The limousine stopped in front of her rundown building, promoted as historic, on Hollywood Boulevard, and Dorrie hopped out. The driver took her bags from the trunk as Gunther slowly eased from the vehicle. He bent down to kiss her.
“Good luck, Dorrie. Make it a knock-out.”
“You won’t be sorry you hired me.” She hugged him briefly, then picked up her luggage and walked to her front door. As the car pulled away, Dorrie turned to watch. A tiny sting of regret shot through her heart. Oh, the luxurious life of Mrs. Gunther Quill. She sighed and went inside. And his endless infidelities that go with it. She smiled briefly as she lugged her bags up to the second floor and put her key in the lock.
Thankful her roommates were out so she could avoid conversation, Dorrie unpacked quickly and opened her laptop. She planned a trip to New York for three weeks to shoot a dance scene in Central Park. She’d be taking a few days’ vacation time there as well. As she read her email, she prayed she’d find the answers to her questions about the three men she’d left behind five years ago.
She couldn’t shake the memories of these guys, wondering if she had had one more day with each of them, would it have made the difference? Would I now be happily married to one of them, instead of miserably alone in L.A.? Hope I’ll find out on this trip back to New York. Love, this is your last chance.
A smile spread across her face. There it was—a reply from her old friend, Drake Cunningham.
Got the info you wanted. First, Archer Canfield is still with Moonlight Books. Moved to New York from Canada. He’s now senior vice president. Second one was easy. We see Rick Tarlock at parties. He’s here and still single. No surprise. Third, easiest of all. Yes, Johnny Flanagan is still here. Now he’s John, though. Still single, also no surprise. Yes, he’ll be at the Fire Island reunion weekend. Do you want me to tell him you’re coming, or is it a surprise? I’ll meet you at the baggage claim. Give me your flight info.
Drake
Thanks a mil, Drake. This is awesome. So appreciate it. Please don’t tell Johnny, let it be a surprise. Will send flight info next week. Love to Chrissy.
Dorrie
Good ole Drake. Never one to waste words. Can’t wait to see him, Chrissy, and the guys. A tingle of anticipation mixed with trepidation shot through her. What if they don’t remember…don’t want to see me? What if it all goes bad? Then I guess I made the right decision to leave them behind. She sighed. This isn’t about ending up with one of them, is it?
Before she could answer her own question, Serena burst through the door.
“I got an audition! I got an audition!” She hollered, waving a bottle of champagne.
Dorrie lost herself in her roommate’s good news. The two women toasted to Serena’s new opportunity. They talked and laughed until way past midnight, leaving Dorrie to crash from exhaustion before she had sorted out the true mission for her journey back to New York.
* * * *
Two months later, Kennedy Airport, New York City
Dorrie smiled to see Drake Cunningham standing by the baggage claim. Her old friend waved and grinned when he spotted her.
“Thought you were only staying three weeks?”
“I am.”
“You’ve got enough stuff for a year.”
“Bitch, bitch, bitch. If you can’t handle it…” she teased, reaching for the suitcase.
Drake whipped it away. “Never said that. Just sayin’ it’s a lotta shit. Geez.”
“Doesn’t Chrissy over pack?”
“Not like this. Did you bring the whole ensemble in here, too?”
Dorrie took a playful swipe at his shoulder. They joined the line waiting for a taxi, but didn’t have long to wait. Drake loaded her luggage in the trunk and they sped off toward Manhattan.
“What’s your schedule?” Drake asked, as he sat back against the seat.
“Let’s see…rehearse for two weeks, shoot for one, squeeze the Fire Island reunion weekend in there—I think between week one and two or two and three? Then back to L.A.”
“Doesn’t give you much time for…going out.”
“Just a couple of nights after rehearsals. When we shoot, we do it ’til there’s no light left. This time of year, that’s about nine.”
“Won’t you be too tired?”
“Not for these dates.”
“Who are you going out with?”
“First, Archer Canfield.”
“Guy you modeled for?”
She nodded. “We had sort of a thing going. Couldn’t do anything about it because it was business.”
“Then?”
“Then calling Rick Tarlock.”
“I thought you dumped him.”
She nodded. “Time for second chances.”
Drake shook his head. “And last?”
“You know the last one…Johnny.”
“He’s ‘John’ now.”
She cocked an eyebrow. “Not to me. Still Johnny. He’s all grown up…a successful businessman? Is he still sleeping with every woman who walks?”
Drake laughed. “Not exactly. What if some of these men don’t want to see you?”
“Unless they’re in relationships, I’m sure they’ll have a friendly dinner with me.”
“Love your confidence.”
“It’s just dinner.”
“If I remember, you’ll have a hard time keeping Rick and John out of the bedroom.”
Dorrie sensed heat in her cheeks. “Don’t exaggerate.”
“From what you told me…”
“Drake!” She raised a fist to his face. He put his hands up in a defensive position and chuckled. Dorrie relaxed back against the seat.
“Last time I confide in you,” she mumbled, half angry, half amused.
“Come on. Can you blame me? The set-up was too good.” He squeezed her shoulder, and she smiled back at him.
Dorrie turned her gaze to the view of New York coming closer. “Ah, the City. Good to be back.”
“Good to have you back,” Drake said, trying to keep his tone light.
Riding in the taxi through Central Park to get to the West Side, Dorrie smiled at the lush, deep green of the trees and the occasional glimpses of light pink roses and bright red geraniums. The cab pulled up in front of a high rise building on West 88th Street. She paid the driver while Drake lugged her suitcases inside.
Dorrie had stayed with Drake and his wife, Chrissy, on her last trip to New York, too. She had lived there for several months and paid them a little rent for a comfortable room in their two-bedroom apartment. This time, Drake refused to accept money. Chrissy greeted Dorrie with a big hug and a plate of homemade brownies.
At midnight, Dorrie couldn’t sleep. She slipped on a robe and padded out to the living room. The window was open. She sat cross-legged on the floor and looked up at the moon. A cool, July evening breeze blew in, caressing her face. She smiled as her mind wandered to the three men she intended to look up. One more date, or maybe two, and I’ll know if leaving them was the right thing. I’ll know, won’t I?
A noise startled her. She jumped and turned eyes filled with fear to the archway leading to the hall. A familiar curse and a limping Drake wearing only pajama bottoms made her chuckle.
“What are you doing up?” she asked him, oblivious to his firm chest and narrow waist.
“I could ask you the same question. Hey, I’m injured here.”
“You’ll live.”
“Is that your prognosis, doc?”
Dorrie laughed then covered her mouth to stifle the noise.
Drake sat down next to her.
“Can’t sleep?”
She shook her head. “I’m wondering about the three guys.”
“John’s a changed man.”
“Really?” She cocked an eyebrow at him.
“He’s not a man-whore anymore.”
“We’ll see. He’ll get his chance, like the others,” she sniffed. Shadows prevented her from seeing his eyes, but she sensed his gaze on her. “How are you and Chrissy doing?”
“Okay. Still speaking to each other.”
“You two are my role models.”
Drake cleared his throat and shifted position. “What exactly are you expecting?”
“I don’t know. I hope I’ll know if I made the right decision to leave them behind.”
“And if you didn’t?”
“Then I’ll try to pick it up where we left off. Each one has something…special about him.”
“Good luck. I’m not sure you can recapture the past.”
“Maybe not. But I can try, can’t I?”
“Hell…you can try anything.”
A cough made them turn around. Chrissy stood in the archway, her long ash blonde hair glowed in the moonlight. Drake pushed to his feet. “Hey, honey. Whatcha doin’ up?” He brushed his hand through his hair.
“Wasn’t tired. But I know how to get sleepy…Drake. You coming?” She shot a flirtatious look at her husband. Dorrie hid a smirk behind her hand and turned away.
“Hell, yeah!”
“Night, Dorrie,” Chrissy called as she laced her fingers with Drake’s.
Ah, married love. Maybe someday I’ll have a husband who’ll make love to me until I fall asleep. She smiled and yawned. After one more glance at the moon, she hoisted herself up and padded back to her room. Visions of four men danced in her head. Gunther, how’d you get in there? Sleep wiped the images from her mind.