Amorous Liaisons

“Will you miss it?” she asked.

The apartment had been in their family for two generations. He could remember his grandmother serving Sunday meals in the dining room, the family gathered around. But he could remember more clearly his father’s pain and suffering.

“No. You?”

She shook her head. “Too many sad memories.”

He locked up for the last time and handed the key to his sister. They parted ways in the street and he walked two blocks to the Metro. After changing lines twice, he climbed the stairs of the St. Paul station and emerged into the weak afternoon sunlight.

It was early February, and he could see his breath in the air. He stopped to buy a bottle of wine and some fresh-baked bread on his way home. Then he let himself into the former shop that he’d leased on a cobblestoned side street of Le Marais.

His footsteps echoed as he made his way across a wide expanse of floorboards to the kitchen.

Normally a place the size of his loft would cost a mint to rent, but he’d managed to discover the last shitty, unrenovated hole in the upwardly mobile third arrondissement. What it lacked in ambience, hygiene and plumbing it gained in space. More than enough to accommodate his bed, a couch, an armchair, a kitchen table and all his workshop materials and leave him with plenty of room to fill with his art.

His art.

He studied the handful of small sculptures and the one full-size figure in bronze that stood next to his workbench.

For a long time he’d fooled himself into thinking that his sketches and small-scale sculptures were a hobby, mindless doodling to chew up the time between tending to his father’s needs and fill the hole that losing dancing had left. He’d always drawn and experimented with clay, ever since he was a kid. It was harmless, he’d figured, pointless.

But as his skill had increased, so had his drive to capture more and more of his ideas in clay, plaster, bronze—each time bigger and better than the time before. He’d pushed away the urge as it became more insistent, but when his father’s health had deteriorated a few months ago, he’d found himself thinking about what would happen after his father had found his peace. Max’s hands had itched as he imagined what he could do with his art if he had more time, more space, more energy.

The past eight years had taught him that life was never predictable, often cruel, and even more often capricious. Men plan and God laughs—he’d often thought the quote should be men dream and God laughs.

But he’d had a gutful of what-ifs. He’d had eight years of being on hold, in limbo, living for someone else.

He and Charlotte had inherited a small sum of money from their father’s estate. There would be a little more when the apartment sale was finalized—but not much since they’d taken out a mortgage to fund their father’s care—and Max had decided to recklessly, perhaps foolishly, use his share to give himself a year to prove himself. The rent paid, food supplied, his materials purchased. And if he had nothing to show for it at the end of it all, so be it. At least he would have followed one of his dreams through to its conclusion.

His hands and face felt grubby from the hours amongst dusty books. He stripped and took a quick shower. His hair damp, clad in a pair of faded jeans and a cashmere sweater that had seen better days, he slit the seal on the merlot he’d bought and placed a single glass on the counter.

The sound of his doorbell echoed around the loft. He eyed the distant front door cautiously.

He wouldn’t put it past Charlotte to pay a sneak visit after the conversation they’d had today, trying to catch him in the act of having a sex life so she could truly rest easy.

He ran his hands through his hair. His sister was going to find out her brother was chasing a rainbow sometime. Might as well be today.

His bare feet were silent as he made his way to the white-painted glass front door. He could see a small silhouette on the other side of the glass and he frowned. Too short for Charlotte. And too slight for either Jordan or Marie-Helen.

He twisted the lock and pulled the door open.

And froze when he saw who was standing on his doorstep.

“Maddy.”

“Max,” she said.

Then she threw herself into his arms.

Chapter Two

MADDY PUSHED HERSELF away from Max’s embrace and brushed the tears from the corners of her eyes. He appeared utterly blown away to see her. She suddenly realized how stupid she must seem, arriving on his doorstep unannounced and crying all over him.

She was feeling kind of blown-away herself. It had been eight years since she’d last seen his face, and she was surprised at how much older and grown-up he seemed. He was thirty-one now, of course. No longer a young man. She hadn’t expected him to remain untouched by time, but the reality of him was astonishing. He almost looked like a stranger, with new lines around his mouth and eyes. His formerly long, tousled hair was cut short in a utilitarian buzz cut. His body was different, too. As a dancer, he’d been all lean muscle and fluid grace, but the man standing before her seemed bigger, wider, taller than the friend she remembered.

She laughed self-consciously as she realized they were both simply staring at each other.

“Always knew how to make an entrance, didn’t I?” she said.

“It’s great to see you,” he said. “I didn’t realize you were in town. Where are you dancing? Or perhaps I should ask who’s trying to steal the great Maddy Green away from the SDC?”

She opened her mouth to tell him her news, but nothing came out. Instead, a sob rose up from deep inside and she felt her face crumple.

“Hey,” Max said. He moved closer, one hand reaching out to catch her elbow. “What’s going on? Who’s got you so upset?”

She pressed her face into the palms of her hands. She couldn’t look at him when she said it. God, she could barely make herself say the words.

“They retired me. I had a knee reconstruction in July after I tore my anterior cruciate ligament. It’s been coming along well, getting stronger, but the company’s surgeon won’t clear me to dance. So it’s all over,” she said, the words slipping between her fingers.

“Maddy. I’m so sorry,” Max said.

She dropped her hands. “I didn’t know what to do, where to go. And then I thought of you. And I caught the first plane to Paris. Didn’t even bother to pack,” she said. She tried to laugh at her own crazy impulsiveness, but the only sound that came out was an odd little hiccup.

Max’s eyebrows arched upward and his gaze flicked to her dance bag, lying on the ground at her feet where she’d dropped it when he opened the door.

She understood his surprise. What kind of person took off around the world on the spur of the moment and lobbed on the doorstep of a man she hadn’t seen in over eight years?

“Guess I wasn’t really thinking straight,” she said.

An icy breeze raced down the alley, rattling windows and cutting through the thin wool of her sweater. She shivered and Max shook his head.

“You’re freezing.” He tugged her through the doorway as he spoke, reaching to grab her bag at the same time.

“Merde. This thing is still as heavy as I remember,” he said as he hefted the black suede bag.

The ghost of a smile curved her lips. Max used to give her a lot of grief about all the rubbish she hauled around. He always wondered how someone as small as she needed so much stuff. One time he’d even tipped the entire contents onto the coffee table and made her justify every piece of detritus. They’d been laughing so hard by the time they got a third of the way through the pile that Maddy had begged him for mercy for fear her sides really would split.

“Girl’s got to have her stuff,” she said, the same response she’d given him all those years ago.

He smiled and kicked the door shut behind him.

“I was just opening a bottle of wine. That’ll help warm you up,” he said.

She glanced around as he led her across the large open space. Ancient beams supported the roof high overhead, and the walls were rough brick with the odd, haphazard patch of plaster smeared over them. A workbench lined one wall, filled with hand tools, and a row of sculptures sat side by side near a painted-over window.

She knew from the mass e-mail that Max had sent to his friends that he’d recently moved into a new apartment after the death of his father, but this was the last place she’d imagined him living. In the old days, he’d always been the one who complained the most about the moldy bathroom and crusty kitchen in their shared rentals. He’d even painted his bedroom himself because he couldn’t stand the flaking, bright blue paint that had decorated his walls.

But maybe his appearance wasn’t the only thing that had changed. Maybe the years had given him a different appreciation for what made a home.

“I was sorry to hear about your father,” she said as he dumped her bag on a low modern leather couch. At least that conformed to her idea of the old Max’s tastes—sleek, welldesigned, high quality.

“Yeah. Thanks for the flowers, by the way. I can’t remember if I sent a thank-you card or not,” he said. “It’s all a bit fuzzy, to be honest.”

“You did.”

They were both uncomfortable. She wondered if it was because she’d brought up his father, or because she’d miscalculated horribly in racing to him this way. She hadn’t expected it to be awkward. She’d expected to walk through the door and feel the old connection with him. To feel safe and warm and protected.

Stupid. She could see that now. E-mails and Christmas cards and the occasional phone call were not enough to maintain the level of intimacy they’d once shared. She’d run halfway around the world chasing a phantom.

“Maybe I should come back tomorrow,” she said, stopping in the space between his makeshift living zone and the counter, sink and oven in the back corner that constituted his kitchen. “You’ve probably got plans. I should have called before coming over. We can meet up whenever you’re free.”

Max put down the bottle of wine he’d been opening and walked over to stand in front of her. He reached out and rested his hands on her shoulders. The heavy, strange-but-familiar weight warmed her.

“Maddy. It’s great to see you. Really. I wish it was for a happier reason, for your sake, but I’m honored you thought of me. Now, make yourself at home. I don’t have a thing to do or a place to be. I’m all yours,” he said.

More foolish tears filled her eyes. She blinked them away, then nodded. “Okay. All right.”

He returned to the wine bottle, and she sat at one end of the couch. She was tired. Emotionally and physically. She felt as though she’d been holding her breath ever since Andrew had looked her in the eye and confirmed Dr. Hanson’s pronouncement that her career was over.

“Here.”

He slid a large wineglass into her hand. Red wine lapped close to the brim and she raised an eyebrow at him.

“Save me a trip back to the kitchen to get you another one,” he said.

“I haven’t been drunk in years,” she said, staring down into the deep cherry liquid. “I guess if there was ever a time, this is it.”

“Absolument,” he said.

She drank a mouthful, then another.

“I was wondering what else was different about you,” she said when she’d finished swallowing. “Apart from your hair and your face. It’s your accent. It’s much stronger now.”

“That would come from speaking my native tongue for the past eight years,” he said wryly. “These days, the only time I get to practice my English is when someone from the old days calls or visits.”

“It’s nice,” she said. “The girls from the corps would love it. I remember they used to be all over you because of your accent.”

“I think you’re forgetting my stellar talent on stage and my legendary status as a lover,” he said mock-seriously.

Her shoulders relaxed a notch as she recognized the familiar teasing light in his eyes. There was the old Max she knew and loved, the Max she’d craved when her world came crashing down around her.

“Right, sorry. I keep forgetting about that. What was that nickname you wanted us all to call you again?”

He snorted out a laugh and she watched, fascinated, as his face transformed.

He’s been too serious for too long, she realized. That’s what’s different about him, as well.

She could only imagine what caring for his wheelchair-bound father must have been like. Terrifying, exhausting, frus-trating and rewarding in equal measures, no doubt.

“The 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 dancing. Nothing.”

She nodded, swallowing emotion. “It’s my life. I’ve given it everything, every hour of every day.”

“I know. It was one of the things I always admired about you. You were the most passionate dancer I knew.”

Her jaw clenched.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to use past tense,” he said.

God, he was so perceptive. Always had been.

“I can’t believe it’s over. It’s too big, too much,” she said.

A heavy silence fell. She could feel Max trying to find something to say, something that would make it all right. But there was nothing he or anyone could say or do. The decision had been made.

She shook her head and shoulders, deliberately shaking off the grim mood that had gripped her.

“Tell me about you. About your dad and…Charlotte, right? That’s your sister’s name, isn’t it?”

They talked their way through the first bottle of wine and then the second. Maddy ate more than half of the bread and pâté and by ten was bleary-eyed with fatigue and alcohol.

“I need to go find a hotel,” she said.

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re staying here.”

As soon as he said it, something inside her relaxed. She’d been hoping he would offer. She could still remember how she used to crawl into bed with him when it was cold and the heating wasn’t up to the task of fending off the drafts from the many, many cracks and gaps in their house. The smell of Max all around her, the warmth of his body next to hers. He used to pull her close and she’d fall asleep with her head on his shoulder.

Just the thought of feeling that safe again made her chest ache.

“You can have my bed, I’ll sack out on the couch,” he said, standing to clear the dishes.

She stared up at him.

“I don’t mind sharing with you. We used to sleep together all the time. Remember?” She hoped she didn’t sound as desperate as she felt.

He hesitated a moment. “Sure. I’ll try not to hog the quilt. It’s been a while since I’ve shared with anyone.”

She smiled up at him, relieved. “You know, I’m glad I came. It was a bit weird at first, but that was only because we hadn’t seen each other for a while. And now it feels like the old days.”

He looked away, his focus distant.

“The old days. Yeah.”

“Do you mind if I have a shower first?” she asked.

“Of course not. I’ll get you a towel.”

He moved away, disappearing through a doorway to one side of the living area. Maddy began weaving her long hair into a braid to prevent it from getting wet.

She had no idea what tomorrow held. Even acknowledging that fact was a scary, scary thing for a dancer who had lived a life of strict self-discipline.

For a moment she got dizzy again and her heart began to pound. No rehearsal. No costume fittings. No classes. No gym or Pilates. What would she do with the time? God, what would she do with the rest of her life?

Max reappeared with a fluffy white towel and a fresh bar of soap.

“The bathroom’s pretty primitive, but it gets the job done,” he said.

The panic subsided as she looked into his clear gray eyes.

It would be all right. She was here with Max, and somehow she would find a way through this.

She stood and took the towel, then rested her hand on his forearm for a few seconds to feel the reassuring warmth of him.

Definitely she had done the right thing coming here, no matter how crazy it had seemed at first. Definitely.

MAX RAN A HAND ACROSS the bristle of his buzz cut as Maddy disappeared through the bathroom door.

Maddy Green. He couldn’t quite believe that she was in his apartment after all these years.

The shock of seeing her on his doorstep continued to resonate within him. It was almost as though thinking of her today at his father’s apartment had conjured her into his life.