Amorous Liaisons. Sarah Mayberry
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Magic Flute,” he said. “I’d forgotten all about that. Never did catch on.”
“We had our own names for you, don’t worry,” she said. She toed off her shoes. As always, it was bliss to free her feet. If she could, she’d go barefoot all day.
“Yeah? You never told me that. What did you use to call me?”
He settled back on the couch. He filled the entire corner, his shoulders square and bulky with muscle.
“Not me, the corps. Wonder Butt was the most popular,” she said. “Because of how you filled out your tights.”
Another laugh from Max. The warm wine-glow in the pit of her stomach expanded. The more he laughed, the more the years slid away and the more she saw her old friend. Maybe it hadn’t been so stupid coming here after all.
“Some of the girls called you Legs. Again, because of the way you filled out your tights.”
“We’d better be getting to the Magic Flute part soon or I’m going to be crippled with size issues for weeks.”
She felt her cheeks redden as she remembered the last nickname the other ballerinas had for Max. She shifted on the couch, not sure why she was suddenly self-conscious about a bit of silly trash talk. It had been a long time since she’d been coy or even vaguely self-conscious about anything sexual.
She cleared her throat.
“I believe they also used to call you Rex, too,” she said.
He frowned, confused. She made a vague gesture with her hand. She couldn’t believe he was forcing her to elaborate.
“You know. As in Tyrannosaurus Rex. Big and insatiable.”
He threw back his head and roared with laughter. She found herself joining in.
“Maddy Green,” he said when he’d finally stopped laughing. His light gray eyes were admiring as he looked at her. “It’s damn good to see you. It’s been too long.”
A small silence fell as they both savored their wine.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked after a while. “Call people names, throw a tantrum? I’m happy to listen if you do.”
She drew her legs up so that she was sitting cross-legged.
“I wasn’t ready for it. I mean, they told me the surgery was a long shot, but I’ve always been a good healer. And the knee was getting better. If they’d just given me more time…”
She looked down and saw her left hand was clenched over her knee, while her right was strangling the glass.
“What did the doctor say?”
“A bunch of cautious gobbledygook about my body being tired and not being able to compensate anymore. I know my body better than any of them. I know what I’m capable of. I know I’ve got more in me. I can feel it here,” she said, thumping a fist into her chest so vehemently that the bony thud of it echoed.
“Careful, there, tiger,” he said.
She took a big, gulping sip.
“I still can’t believe that Andrew took Hanson at face value like that. Like it was gospel.”
“Hanson? I was wondering who treated you. He’s supposed to be pretty good, right?”
She shrugged a shoulder dismissively. “Yes. The best, according to Andrew. Which is why they use him exclusively. But he’s not the only doctor in the world. Remember Sasha? He was told he’d be crippled for life if he kept dancing, and he went on to score a place with the Joffrey Ballet. He’s one of their lead soloists now.”
He smiled. “Fantastic. Good for him. I’ve lost track of so many people, I’ve been out of it all for so long now. Is Peter still dancing? I tried to keep an eye out for him. Always thought he’d make it big.”
“He got sick,” she said quietly. “You know what he was like—never could say no.”
Despite the well-known risk of AIDS, there were still plenty of beautiful, talented dancers who slept their way into an early grave. The travel, the physicality of the dance world, the camaraderie—passions always ran high, on and off the stage.
“What about Liza? I heard she’d gone to one of the European companies but then that was it.”
Max and Liza had had a thing for a while, Maddy remembered. Was he thinking about making contact with her, now that he was free to make decisions for himself once again and Maddy had turned up on his doorstep, reminding him of the past?
“She’s with the Nederlands Dans Theatre,” she said. “I heard she’d gotten married, actually.”
Max looked pleased rather than pissed. She decided he’d merely been curious about an old friend. For all she knew, he was involved with someone anyway. She’d seen no evidence that there was a woman in his life in his apartment, and he’d never mentioned a girlfriend in any of his e-mails, but that didn’t mean a thing. He was a good-looking man. And there was that whole Rex thing. A man who enjoyed sex as much as Max apparently wouldn’t go long without it.
She frowned. Since when had Max’s sex life been of any concern to her? Their friendship had always been just that—a friendship. Warm, loving, caring and totally free of any and all sexual attraction on either side, despite the fact that they were both heterosexuals with healthy sex drives. Without ever actually having talked about it, they had chosen to sacrifice the transient buzz of physical interest for the more enduring bond of friendship. Which was why Max remained one of her most treasured friends—she hadn’t screwed their relationship up by sleeping with him.
She lifted her glass to her lips and was surprised to find it was empty.
Maybe that was why she was wondering about things she didn’t normally wonder about where Max was concerned—too much wine, mixed in with the unsettling realization that her old friend had changed while she’d been dancing her heart out around the world.
He pushed himself to his feet. “Let me fix that for you.”
She watched him walk away, drawing her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. There was no hint of the lithe young dancer she’d once known in his sturdy man’s walk. He still moved lightly, but his feet didn’t automatically splay outward when he stopped in front of the counter, and there were no other indications that he’d once been one of the most promising, talented dancers she’d ever worked with.
Max had abandoned his career as a dancer to care for his father. Walked away just as his star was rising. At least she had had the chance to realize many of her dreams before Andrew and Dr. Hanson had written her off.
Her bleak thoughts must have been evident in her face when he returned because he shoved a plate of sliced, pâté-smeared baguette at her.
“Eat something, soak up that wine. I don’t want you messy drunk too soon,” he said.
“I’m off carbs,” she said before she could think. “Need to drop weight.”
How stupid was that? She didn’t need to drop weight anymore. She could eat herself to the size of a house if she wanted to.
She looked at Max, desperately seeking some magic cure for the hollow feeling inside her.
“How did you do it?” she asked in a small voice. “How did you walk away? Didn’t you miss it? Didn’t you need it?”
He slid the plate onto the table. There was sympathy in his eyes, and old pain.
“I had lots of distractions. Worry over Père, practical things to sort out. I didn’t have the time to think about it for a long while.”
“And then?”
“It was hard. Nothing feels like