Off Balance (Ballet Theatre Chronicles Book 1) by Terez Mertes Rose Page A

killing time before going to pick up his girlfriend from the airport.”
    “Ah, Julia. The famous Julia.” Boyd raised his beer cup as if in a toast.
    “She’s gorgeous,” Courtney said. “Have you seen her?”
    Lana gave a reluctant nod. She’d seen both Gil and Julia on Wednesday evening; they’d all been leaving the building around the same time. Julia was a thin, coldly beautiful woman in silk trousers and an expensive-looking blouse, her shimmering gold hair in a cut that set off her cheekbones, her wide blue eyes. She had a commanding presence and an authoritative voice as she declared that she’d been simply pining for a good cioppino. Lana had stood there, dance bag now heavy on her shoulder, and watched them sail out the double doors, never once looking her way. Julia looked older than Gil, she’d decided uncharitably. Much older.
    “But Gil and I are just friends,” Lana said to the others, realizing too late that she was parroting Courtney’s comment.
    “Oh, that Gil,” Boyd said. “He so gets around. Makes a new friend every day.” The innuendo hidden within his words made everyone laugh. Lana forced herself to join in.
     
    Saturday was Lana’s afternoon with Gil, which he still insisted on doing even though he’d paid off his rain-check obligation with Monday’s dinner. He drove them over the Bay Bridge and up into the Oakland Hills, to a regional park with glorious views of the San Francisco skyline, the bay, sparkling in the sunlight, and around them, the rolling, golden hills of the East Bay. They strolled along the redwood-studded trails, talking about everything and nothing, inhaling the pine-baked smell of the warm air, the shimmering dried grasses around them issuing a soft ssshhhh . It felt like paradise.
    Time passed too quickly. The sun was beginning its descent as they returned to the car. Gil told Lana about his plans for the evening: a party, but business related. Some suit with deep pockets named Andy Redgrave he was trying to woo. She, of course, had no plans for the night, just the confines of her lonely prison cell of a studio.
    Correction. She had a phone date. With her mother.
    She’d called Mom the previous night, pouring out her loneliness, which Mom alone seemed to want to hear about. When she confessed her dread of another lonely, solitary Saturday night, Mom had grown animated.
    “Tell you what. I’ll be your date. I’ll call you, once the boys are off to bed and your dad’s watching TV. How does that sound?”
    A phone date with her mother sounded almost as lonely and pathetic as sitting alone in her studio, but Mom seemed pleased by the idea. Her voice quivered with purpose as she decided aloud that she’d pour herself a glass of wine and commandeer the bedroom, so Lana could have her undivided attention.
    Lana had learned to reward these infrequent bursts of motivation and euphoria on Mom’s part with complete agreement and enthusiasm. She could almost see her mother right then, her thin body straightened out of its customary fatigue-induced slouch, her tired eyes brightening at the prospect of this change of routine and the chance to play hero to her homesick daughter at the same time.
    Lana forced excitement into her voice as she agreed yes, that would be the perfect solution, and yes, seven-thirty her time would be great. She’d be home. No plans whatsoever.
    Gil noticed her gloom now as they drove back toward San Francisco.
    “You’re awfully quiet. What’s up?”
    It took a moment for her to sum it up in a non-self-pitying manner. “I guess I haven’t fully adjusted to life out here yet.”
    “You miss Kansas City.” It was a statement, not a question.
    Lana gave a small nod in reply and silence once again filled the car. There was nothing more to be said, after all. Kansas City was no longer her home.
    A moment later Gil sat up straighter. “I just thought of something. We have enough time to squeeze it in. You want a taste of Kansas City and