Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3
Love Spiral
by Alina Adams
Chapter 2
Monday morning, Gabrielle reported to the rink at ten minutes before five a.m., still wondering if Chris would feel like showing up. Shana and Abby were already there, waiting in the parking lot. Mrs. Lawton sat in the car, sipping coffee from a USFSA thermos and counting off her daughter doing jumping jacks on the asphalt. Abby appeared taller than Gabrielle remembered from Nationals, and more developed. Great for filling out sweaters, not great for jumping.
Gabrielle welcomed Abby. The teen nodded in reply and stared at the ground. Shana hoisted Abby's chin with her thumb. "Speak up now. You don't want Dr. Cassidy thinking you don't know how to make eye contact, do you? Actually, she's excellent. John Ramsey used to say he never had a student with more sparkle. Isn't that so, Abby? Isn't that what Mr. Ramsey always used to say to us?"
Both Abby and Gabrielle were spared having to answer, by the sight of Chris' candy-apple Lexus tearing through the lot as if it were an Indy 500 obstacle course. He climbed out of the car, and yanked his skating-bag from the trunk. Chris looked from Abby to Shana to Gabrielle. "What are we waiting for, ladies?"
He chose the bench furthest away from the bleachers to put on his skates. Unfortunately, Shana failed to pick up on his request for privacy, and plopped down right next to him on the bench.
"My Abby's been a huge fan of yours for years, Mr. Kelly."
Chris grunted something that may have been some word in some language somewhere.
"Why, I remember when you won the Olympics -- your second one, not your first one -- Abby was just teeny when you won your first. But that second Olympics, Abby was already a Junior Lady when you won your second, and oh, how she sat in front of that TV, watching you, and she said, "Mommy," she said, "Mommy, that's how I'll skate one day. Just like Christian Kelly." Isn't that right, Precious?" She addressed Abby, warming up. "Isn't that exactly what you said? Tell me, Mr. Kelly, and be honest, now. Do you think my Abby will ever skate as good as you?"
Chris tied the final knot of his left boot, looping the laces over the top hooks. He stood up, heading for the ice, but pausing at the barrier just long enough to take off his guards and answer Shana Lawton's question. "Probably not."
Hoping to diffuse a potentially explosive situation, Gabrielle rested her arm on Shana's, and led her to the bleachers, reminding that every new coach and pupil relationship went through a period of adjustment that included the parents, as well.
Chris indicated Abby wavering by the boards, and asked, "Well, let's see what you're good for. How's about an Axel to start?"
Abby clamored onto the ice. She set up her jump by skating backwards, then leapt into the air, rotating one and a half times before landing on one foot, arms outstretched.
"Fine," Chris said. "Now, the double Axel."
Abby repeated her preparation, attempting to turn two and a half times in the air. She fell short, and crashed to the ice in an ungainly tangle of arms and legs.
"Shit." Chris slapped his thigh with one hand.
The morning went downhill from there.
Chris attempted to fix Abby's Axel, instructing her not to drop her left shoulder when she pulled in her arms. Abby tried, but she concentrated so hard on the shoulder, she forgot to check her free leg during the landing. Focusing on the free leg, Abby failed to jump high enough to complete her rotations.
Her falls grew progressively more painful. Abby took longer and longer to get up between spills. At first, she braced every slip with her hand. But, as her palm grew raw from the ice burns, Abby gave up, allowing herself to smack the ice full-force.
"I'm sorry." She sat hunched over, rubbing a bruise on her knee and looking, pleading, up at Chris.
He plucked her under the armpit and jerked Abby up. "That's enough jumping for today. What say we try stroking a bit?
Abby nodded, relieved, and took off to work on her crossovers, convinced that the hardest part of her lesson was over.
But Chris wasn't quite done with her yet. Because it didn't matter to him that the current trend in their sport was all about jumps and who could complete the most Triples. Chris belonged to the old school. He believed in genuine skating, smooth flow, deep edges. He took one look at the choppy way Abby was plodding around the ice, like she was trudging instead of sailing, and felt every jerky stab spiking right into his gut.
He caught up to Abby in two graceful strides, skating behind her, increasing his speed, and forcing her to pump quicker, or risk being run over. He bent at the waist, mouth over her ear, barking, "Faster, faster. Pick up the pace. No baby strokes."
Abby tried. She took longer steps, bent her knees, swung her arms wildly like a long-distance runner. Chris clamped his hands over her shoulders, yanking them back. "Keep those steady now."
Startled, Abby tensed up, clicking her blades one against the other and tripping over her own feet. Chris needed to jump up and over her to keep from slicing Abby in half as she slid across the ice and crashed against the boards.
Chris towered above her, hands on hips, thoroughly baffled.
"Can't you hear yourself?" he asked. "Your crossovers sound like a blasted Zamboni scraping the ice. What's necessary here is a lighter touch. Listen."
Chris pushed off, skating the same strokes Abby had attempted moments earlier. The only difference was, despite Chris' clearly outweighing her by a good sixty pounds, when his blades brushed the ice, no one could hear a sound.
Even Gabrielle, halfway down the bleacher stairs to berate him for his uncalled-for harshness, was impressed. Such silence was a great deal more difficult than it looked, especially for a man of Chris' height. It bespoke of a sensitivity and gentleness so far conspicuously absent from the rest of his personality. She paused for a beat, enthralled. She hadn't seen Chris skate, really skate -- the previous afternoon didn't count -- for ten years, and she was amazed by the evolution. A decade ago, he'd been an undeniably precocious athlete. Quick, tight, strong. But, he'd also been a child. Now, a world-weary intensity added layers of depth to even his simplest maneuvers. Gabrielle recalled John's favorite maxim. "No place to hide on the ice. It's where your secrets come out. You skate the way you really are."
Chris soared to a silent stop before Abby, gracefully lowering both arms to his sides. "Try it like that," he suggested.
"Oh, no." She shook her head, cowering against the boards. "I could never do it like that. That was beautiful."
Abby's resistance shattered the soothing spell woven by Chris' mesmerizing moment on the ice, and he reverted to the temper he'd come in with. "What the hell does that mean, no? When I say do something, you'll bloody well go out and do it."
Abby shrunk inside herself, like a flower closing at sundown. "I can't. I'll never be able to do it as good as you."
"Well, of course not. Not in your present condition." Chris eyed her critically. "How much do you weigh, then?"
"I - I don't know," she lied.
Chris beckoned her to follow, and skated to the rail, calling up to Gabrielle. "Your scale for the weigh-in. Where is it?"
Gabrielle, remembering vividly the humiliation of weigh-ins, with the number of pounds she'd gained since the last week posted in red on the competitors' bulletin board, firmly told Chris, "We don't do weigh-ins here. These kids have enough pressure on them without having to worry about weight."
Chris sat on the boards, swinging both legs over the side and standing to face Gabrielle. "That, Dr. Cassidy, is the stupidest thing I ever heard. Mrs. Lawton, what do you think?"
Thrilled that Chris had acknowledged her presence, much less asked her opinion, Shana gushed, "I agree one hundred percent with you, Mr. Kelly. One hundred percent."
"Did you hear that?" Chris asked Gabrielle, eyebrow raised in feigned astonishment. "One hundred percent."
"Two hundred percent." Shana beamed.
Chris told Gabrielle, "Two hundred."
She was feeling that urge to kick him in the shins again. At the very least, Gabrielle wished she could wipe that smug grin off his face. But she settled for, "May I speak with you in private?"
"Sure." Chris turned to Abby and Shana. "See you tomorrow, then, Abby. Same time."
"Thank-you, Mr. Kelly." Shana ushered her daughter into the changing room, whispering instructions in her ear all the while.
Chris watched them go, observing, "There ought to be a law in skating. Only orphans allowed, like me."
His remark momentarily distracted Gabrielle from her planned tirade, and she asked, "You're an orphan?"
"Does wishing your parents dead, count?"
"What a horrible thing to say."
He shrugged, pulling a rag out of his skate-bag and proceeding to dutifully wipe first his right, then his left blade.
Gabrielle said, "I'd appreciate your not calling me stupid in front of my skaters."
"I did not call you stupid."
"Alright, then, I'd appreciate your not calling my policies stupid in front of my skaters."
"May I do it in private, then?" He leaned against the bench, elbows propped on its back, legs outstretched, and dug the heel of his blade into the cushioned floor, easing out his foot. "Because, truly, you're doing these kids a great disservice."
It wasn't the first time Gabrielle's theories had come under attack. Every coach she'd initially approached about working for her had said more or less the same thing. But coming from Chris, the quarrel seemed somehow more personal. As if he were maligning her, rather than her methodology. She couldn't fathom her hyper-sensitivity. It first puzzled, then annoyed her.
"You know what, Chris? It doesn't matter what you think. Not about me. Not about my policies. The fact is, while I'm signing your pay-check, you'll do what I say. Period. End of discussion."
She couldn't see his face, but the momentary pause before he rose from zipping up his bag, failing to notice he'd caught a boot-cover in the teeth, told her she'd hit a nerve. Chris straightened slowly, stretching to his full height. He said, "No."
Startled at the simplicity of his resistance, Gabrielle could only gape as Chris calmly swung his bag over his shoulder, heading for the door and out of the rink. She chased him to the parking lot, feeling stupid beyond description and wondering what it was about this man that made Gabrielle constantly lag a step behind.
He opened the Lexus' trunk, tossing in his bag, and moved to the driver's side door. But Gabrielle blocked his way, pressing her back against the handle. "I wasn't finished."
"Really?" He twirled a key ring around his index finger. "I could have sworn I heard something about the end of discussion."
"Your behavior this morning with Abby was unacceptable."
"What say we let her mum be the judge of that."
He had her. He had her, and he knew it.
Chris may have been working for Gabrielle, but Gabrielle, to all intents and purposes, worked for Shana Lawton. Shana paid the bills, and Shana called the shots. When Gabrielle's star rose as high as John's, maybe then she might possess enough clout to tell an interfering mother, "I don't come to your workplace to tell you how to do your job, kindly refrain from telling me how to do mine." But for now, Gabrielle's future, and the future of her entire endeavor, rested on making skaters' parents happy. And obviously, Shana Lawton was deliriously happy with the way Chris browbeat her daughter. So what gave Gabrielle the right to interfere?
She cursed Chris for exploiting the situation, and, unable to instantly think of an adequate response to his cocky proposition, ducked his gaze, her eyes inadvertently settling on the muted scars punctuating her palms like wrathful brows. She remembered then. Remembered exactly what right she had to interfere, and why.
Drawing strength from her memories, Gabrielle said, "I have a better idea, Chris. What say you pack up your things and get the hell out of here."
He smiled. She really wished he wouldn't do that. It was too weird, considering the circumstances.
He smiled, and then he did something even stranger.
Instead of raging at her or arguing, Chris simply raised his arm and, gently, pressed the ball of his thumb against the hollow beneath Gabrielle's throat.
The heat that erupted from the brush of his finger against her skin tore through Gabrielle with the velocity of electroshock. Her every nerve-ending purred in response and pivoted in his direction.
Chris might as well have taken hold of her whole heart, the way her pulse lurched beneath his caress. It practically bounced out from her throat, and into the palm of his hand. Which, both literally and metaphorically, was the last thing she needed to happen.
And yet, no matter how much she wanted to, she couldn't just yank herself away. Gabrielle opened her mouth, but no sound came out. She swallowed hard, feeling the extra tremor it added beneath his touch, and tried to catch her suddenly absent breath.
Chris still said nothing.
Instead, he raised his remaining fingers, skimming the side of her neck and, without seeming to exert any pressure, effortlessly eased her away from his car door.
Gabrielle blinked in surprise, unsure of what just happened, and even more unsure of what she wanted to happen next. But Chris offered her no options in the matter. He slid into the driver's seat, closing the door soundly behind him, and peeled out of her parking lot without a word.
Her phone rang the minute Gabrielle returned to her office. Thrilled for the opportunity to focus on buzzing not going on in her head for a change, she snatched up the receiver. The proper, British voice on the other end informed her that they were calling to inquire as to the status of Christian Kelly's employment.
"Shaky," she said. "With a strong chance of negligible."
"Oh. Well, then. I'm afraid we have a bit of a problem."
She knew.
Or, at least, that's what Chris thought when Gabrielle burst into his room, demanding, "Why didn't you tell me the real reason you wanted this job?"
A host of responses whipped through his brain, none of them true, and few of them adequate. He was still searching for the most believable lie, when Gabrielle continued, "I got a call from a hospital in London. Why didn't you tell me about your brother?"
Terry. She was talking about Terry. Chris mentally exhaled in relief. That was a close one.
"They said you committed to paying all of his hospital bills, and they asked to confirm your employment."
Chris groaned, covering his face with one hand. "Damn. What did you tell them?"
"I said I'd call back." Careful not to pry too deeply, she asked sympathetically, "How sick is your brother?"
Chris debated the merits of coming clean, then figured, she already knew this much, he might as well tell her the rest.
"They call it Hodgkin's Disease. It's a kind of cancer."
"I'm sorry."
He shrugged. "Not your fault, is it?"
Gabrielle presumed, "That's why you needed this job so badly. Why you couldn't just wait for your tour to pick up again in the fall. But, Chris, I thought England had socialized medicine."
"I wanted Terry to have the best. Best costs money."
"That's very kind of you."
"Yes. I'm a peach."
"Is he an older or younger brother?"
"Older. Eight years older." Chris looked around his room at boxes he'd had no chance to unpack before being told to get out. He ripped back cardboard from the top one, and pulled out a photo frame, wiping off specks of dust with his sleeve before presenting it to Gabrielle. "That's Terry. His wife, Sarah. Kids. Cameron is eleven. Meggie turns eight in a couple of months."
Gabrielle looked at a formally posed picture featuring a pair of grinning children, a woman smiling shyly, and a dark-haired man in his late thirties. "There's definitely a family resemblance."
"There is, isn't there? We've got another brother. Drew. I love them both, but Terry, he's my hero. He's one of those really, genuinely good people, who does nice things not because he has to, but because he wants to." Realizing he was getting too intimate, Chris tried to turn the last part of his divulgence into a joke, laughing a bit at the end to show how silly he knew it was, then shut his mouth abruptly. He'd confessed much more than he'd meant to. He chalked the lapse up to his relief that the whole story Gabrielle now thought she knew, was merely the part about Terry.
"The only thing I don't understand, Chris," Gabrielle handed back the photo. "Is what happened to your money? I may have been out of the skating loop for a while, but I still remember what an Olympic medalist can make on the professional circuit. How much did you earn your first year out? A million?"
"Try twice that." Secrets were one thing, but Chris wasn't about to let her insult his earning capacity.
"Two million, okay. So that's two million a year, for four years -- until the next medalist got crowned."
Chris rolled his eyes, successfully conveying exactly what he thought of the hyperactive jumping-jack who succeeded him.
"So that's, what? Eight million American dollars? How in the world did you manage to squander eight million American dollars?"
"I didn't squander it," Chris snapped. "First up, government takes half right off the top. Keep in mind, I'm a citizen of one country who earned most of my money in another. Try filling out those forms, sometimes. Then, I've got debts to repay. Not all of us had lawyer parents. Some of us were at John's on scholarship. And if you think there's no fee to pay for that privilege.... "
"You owe John money?"
"I signed a contract. Twenty-five percent of any income I earn -- shows, exhibitions, endorsements -- goes straight to him."
"That's extortion!"
"It's tit for tat. Gabrielle, my dad walked out when I was twelve years old. And even if he did know the meaning of the word child-support, driving a taxi wouldn't buy a pair of SP-Teri boots. You know who paid for my skating? Terry. He worked as a postman. He and Sarah lived in a bed-sitter the size of a bread-box, so I could afford lessons. When John offered me a scholarship -- that's lessons, and ice time, and room and board -- you bet I leapt at the chance. I'd sign anything to take the load off Terry. First thing I did after turning pro, I bought Terry and Sarah a house. Nothing fancy. They wouldn't take anything fancy. And I'm sending Cam to public school. So don't you go saying I squandered my money."
There, that was just the right amount of moral indignation to keep her from asking any more nosy questions. As long as Gabrielle didn't see his bank statements from the past year, she'd never know how much of his story was true, and how much was fiction.
"I - I'm sorry, Chris. I didn't mean to offend you."
It felt nice to see her on the wrong end of a lecture for a change. Chris fought the urge to smile, deciding that Gabrielle contrite was just as appealing as Gabrielle worked-up. Maybe even more so. When she got upset, it raised the color in her cheeks, painting Gabrielle a fiery rose. But when she stood a bit unsure, like now, the crystalline of her skin reminded Chris of freshly made ice, smooth and cool and clear.
Yet, judging from the heat that flared between them earlier, Chris knew there was nothing icy about this woman. He'd felt the fervor of her heart-beat beneath his hand. Even if he had failed to follow his original ambition, and sample its taste as well.
Gabrielle offered, "I think it's admirable you wanting to help your brother. Maybe if you'd told me about it right away -- "
"What would have been different? I'm still the same person."
"Yes. I know. But, maybe, if you had told me about Terry, I wouldn't have been so quick to... " Gabrielle trailed off. "Look, Chris, what do you say we give it another shot? I need you to work here, and you obviously need the job. Let's forget about the last couple of days, and start fresh. Find a compromise."
"You mean, I'm hired again?" Chris enunciated each word with tentative care, ready to spring back from his vulnerable position at the merest hint of trouble.
"You're hired again. I'll call the hospital in London. Just, Chris, make me a promise. No more games, and no more lies, okay?"
He swallowed hard, uttering the biggest lie of all. "Okay."
To Chris' credit, over the next few weeks, he did try to curb some of his more acute John Ramsey tributes.
Twice, Gabrielle saw him pull back from slapping a student -- one of whom deserved it for repeatedly wandering off while Chris was talking. It may not have been enough to earn him a Coach of the Year Award, but, for Chris, it was a personal best.
Watching him, Gabrielle couldn't shake the metaphor of Chris Kelly as buried treasure. All booby traps, and "Do Not Trespass" signs on the outside, while, inside -- well, nobody knew what was really inside. Gabrielle certainly didn't, though she did harbor her suspicions, and was dying to find out if she was right.
In his struggle to behave, Chris pulled off another coup by managing to talk pleasantly with Shana Lawton for close to seven minutes. Or, at least, that's what he appeared to be doing. In fact, Chris confessed, "Soon as she opens her mouth, I tune out." Gabrielle figured, as long as Shana didn't know the difference, what harm could it do?
And then, she found out.
The next day, Shana informed her, "Mr. Kelly thinks Abby is ready to compete at Chabot Skate. We discussed it yesterday."
Gabrielle tried talking Shana out of it, reminding that Abby hadn't competed in a year, not since her ah, problem, at Nationals. Even if she were technically prepared for a return to competition, Gabrielle didn't feel that emotionally --
But Shana Lawton would hear none of it.
Abby was skating better than ever. Chabot Skate in July was the perfect time to get her back out in front of judges, so they wouldn't forget her before the qualifying season began in November. And, besides, Mr. Kelly thought it was a good idea.
Gabrielle told Chris, "Next time, listen when she talks. You don't really think Abby is ready to compete, do you?"
"Well, we've got the Double Axel back up to par and the Triple Salchow is more or less consistent. That Triple Flip, though, she just can't get it. Maybe with a few less pounds -- "
"Chris... " Gabrielle warned.
"I'm sorry. But it's the truth. She's too heavy."
"Abby Lawton is barely five feet, two inches tall. She weighs ninety-seven pounds. That's below normal."
"For skating?" He eyed Gabrielle. "Now, personally, when it comes to extracurricular activities, I prefer women that look like women. You, for instance, Dr. Cassidy, are outstanding. What you lack in aerodynamics, you make up for in other... enticements."
"Thank-you."
"But, tell the truth, the best you ever competed, how much did you weigh then?"
"I don't know." She knew perfectly well. "Ninety pounds?"
"Ninety pounds. That's less than Abby. And you've got to be a good two inches taller than she is."
"I hated it, Chris. Do you know that John used to search my room for hidden food? He counted every calorie that went into my mouth. Once, he caught me with a contraband apple, one that wasn't on my assigned diet sheet. He had me skate fifty laps around the rink with my hands over my head. I finished, then threw up."
"But did you skate better at your next competition?"
"It was Nationals. We won. Dick Button even said on TV how much more like a dancer I was looking." Gabrielle reached to slap Chris' arm. "I hate you for pointing that out."
Her fingers had just swiped his, when Chris playfully grabbed her hand, pulling Gabrielle, whether by accident or design, into his lap. He'd been sitting in front of the wall-sized window in her office, which meant that anyone passing by could see inside.
And that, Gabrielle told herself, was the precisely the reason why she pulled away so quickly, even if she didn't fully withdraw her hand from his grasp. She faced Chris, searching his eyes for the meaning behind his spontaneous game. The key, Gabrielle knew, was not to overreact. If Chris had been merely playing around, her responding too seriously would supply him with enough ammunition to tease her for months. And she wasn't about to leave herself open for that kind of humiliation. However, if he had been serious -- whatever that meant -- then... then what? Gabrielle chided herself for even asking, and, steadying her voice, inquired, "Conducting a walking tour of my major pulse points, are you?"
"Hm?"
"Pulse points." With her free hand, she indicated the base of her neck where he'd touched her during their argument in front of his car, and then the inside of her wrist, where he held her now. Chris followed her gesture with his eyes, unexpectedly dipping his head and brushing his lips along the bare crook of her elbow. When he looked up, his expression was guileless. And knowing.
"Found another one," he said, innocently.
Alright, now she was officially out of ideas vis-a-vis how to respond. But before Gabrielle even got the chance to take a stab at it, a shadow passed outside her window, prompting Chris and her to spring apart, turning their heads to see who was coming.
Shana Lawton knocked on the door, popping her head in, asking, "I hope I'm not interrupting anything. I just needed to get Abby's paperwork signed for Chabot."
"Mrs. Lawton." Gabrielle withdrew behind her desk, reaching for the entry form. "Please, come in."
She signed the consent sheet, and passed it on for Chris' approval, without once glancing in his direction. Or mentioning her concerns about Abby's fitness to return to competition.
* * *
John's skaters arrived at Chabot dressed in matching blue and white jackets with Team Ramsey emblazoned along the back in silver.
Gabrielle and Chris watched them come in and line up in front of the registration table according to test level, highest ranked skaters first, John at the head. Gabrielle asked Chris, "Each time he moves a finger, do you still get the urge to jump?"
Chris nodded. "Very, very much so."
They'd come early to the venue, hoping to give their kids time to adjust to the surroundings and so lessen the pressure associated with arriving at a rink and being thrust out to compete. So far, the plan seemed to be working. Instead of chewing their nails and obsessing over everything that could go wrong in their performance, a trio of Gabrielle's girls were in the parking lot, making snow-balls out of crushed Zamboni ice. Her sole male entrant, a twelve year old Novice, was hanging out at the concession stand, helping squirt Cheeze Whiz on soggy nachos. Even Abby seemed to be doing alright, curled up in a corner, patiently gluing sequins onto her costume. Although Gabrielle suspected that Abby's calm had less to do with arriving early, and more with the fact that Gabrielle had convinced Mrs. Lawton to keep her distance until competition time.
In fact, everyone seemed to be coping so well, it left Chris and Gabrielle with nothing to do until their skaters' warm-up.
They grabbed a free booth in the snack bar, shoving aside a mountain of make-up cases, garment bags, and damp boot covers, to clear sitting room. Unfortunately, their spot proved to be right across from the wall on which results were posted. The constant clamor of kids climbing on each other's backs to see the standings, followed by the inevitable squeals and tears, made conversation difficult. So Chris and Gabrielle silently clutched their coffee, trying to warm their hands while ignoring the melted wax floating inside their paper cups.
They hadn't really talked since that afternoon in Gabrielle's office. It wasn't that she was avoiding him, exactly. It was just that between getting ready for Chabot, and all the other work she needed to get done, Gabrielle simply hadn't found the time for more than a quick hello and a friendly wave when he was on the ice.
Alright, so that was a crock.
She'd been avoiding him. But she had a good reason. She'd been avoiding him because, honestly, she had no idea what to say.
He was still such an enigma to her. She had no idea where she stood with him. From the moment Chris stepped over her threshold, Gabrielle had wrestled with the nagging feeling that he was hiding something from her. When she'd learned about Terry, she'd assumed that was it, and that now, dealings between them would grow less ambiguous. But, that was far from the case. He was such a closed, cryptic person, Gabrielle never quite knew what was honestly going on behind his eyes. It made him difficult to work with, and even harder to trust. And, as long as Gabrielle couldn't trust him, she knew she had no business even contemplating finding out what he'd really meant when Chris had kissed her arm, and looked like he was interested in a whole lot more.
Too rattled to deal with the situation, she'd tried ignoring Chris. Blocking him out of her mind entirely. But that proved a tad difficult, when all she had to do was raise her head and there, directly outside her office window, he was. Even the skate moms, usually incapable of tearing their eyes away from their own kids, stopped and swiveled their heads when Chris skated by. Because, on the ice, he was magic.
She tried treating Chris like just another one of her coaches. Like Kevin, or Dan, or Nora, or Iris. But that didn't work either. Looking at Kevin, or Dan, or Nora, or Iris, didn't make Gabrielle feel like she'd better sit down or risk losing her balance.
So, in the end, the best solution she could come up with was just to avoid him. And for this, she chided herself, she needed a doctorate in psychology?
Not that Chris was making any particular effort to circumvent her isolationist policies. As far as she could see, he was going out of his way to spend as little time at the center as possible. Chris came in for his lessons, leaving as soon as the session was over. She assumed he went into the city, because Gabrielle rarely heard him return to his apartment before midnight. Not that she sat waiting up for him.
Searching for a conversation topic unlikely to swerve towards the personal, Gabrielle indicated the frenetic atmosphere around them and observed, "Feels just like old times, doesn't it?"
He shrugged, wistfully ripping the top of his paper cup like a peeled apple, and wrapping the scrap around his finger.
Gabrielle said, "I didn't realized how many skaters we trained with became coaches in this area. Isn't that Angela?" She pointed to a slender brunette in the corner, dressed in the blue, pink, and white uniform of the Ice Capades Chalet.
Angela had been one of John's second-string skaters, delegated to assistant coaches, never progressing beyond Regionals. She did, however, make a name for herself in showcase events, where jumping ability wasn't as important as exhibitionism. Angela could always bring the house down with her spins, emphasizing her flexibility by yanking her leg over her head until her heel touched her nose.
Chris craned his head for a better view of where Gabrielle was pointing, and instantly perked up. He caught Angela's eye, waving. She winked and blew him a kiss in reply.
Gabrielle remembered then. She'd never really liked Angela.
Gabrielle tugged Chris' sleeve, forcing him to look away from Angela and back at her. "Have you seen John lately?"
He turned reluctantly, but not before he'd pointed to Angela, himself, the clock over his head, and held up nine fingers, while she nodded enthusiastically.
"No." Chris finally got around to answering Gabrielle's query. "But I'm sure he's here somewhere."
"That's what worries me."
"Afraid John's going to steal your skaters?" Chris smirked. Student stealing may have been a big business. Some coaches made careers out of luring desperate parents to jump pros. But John hardly needed to recruit. "What would he want with our rejects?"
"Chris!" Gabrielle swiveled her head, making certain none of their kids heard his snub.
"I'm sorry, but it's the truth. The only students we've got are the ones John didn't want."
He was right, of course. But Gabrielle wasn't about to give Chris the satisfaction of agreeing with him. Instead she allowed, "What I'm afraid of, is John and his bag of dirty tricks."
"What tricks?"
"As if you didn't know."
Chris chuckled to himself, crumpling his shredded cup into a ball and tossing it into the trash-can behind Gabrielle's head. It went in with a victorious swish.
There wasn't a dirty trick in John's arsenal that Chris, at one time or another, hadn't employed to psyche out his competition. Playing chicken with other skaters on practice ice was the least of it. He also took his time gathering flowers and fan-gifts after a performance, depriving the man after him valuable warm-up minutes. He stopped his competitors seconds before their names were called, asking, "Checked your blades today? That right one looks mighty loose to me," in an attempt to shatter their confidence.
Chris said, "None of that crap ought bother a truly prepared skater. It's just part of the game."
Gabrielle shook her head in disgust. "Don't the words 'good sportsmanship' mean anything to you?"
"Show me a good loser, and I'll show you a loser."
More John-inspired wisdom. She'd hoped they were past that. Gabrielle stood, figuring retreat was better than them going at it in front of the entire skating club. She scanned the rink one last time, looking for John, and finally found him. Next to Abby.
He loomed over the girl, slapping both his gloves against his open palm to underscore a point. She'd dropped what she was doing, pink and gold beads spilling across the floor and rolling under the benches. Abby's face blanched white. Her lower lip trembled.
Gabrielle leapt over the skate bags piled at her feet, rushing to intervene. But it was too late. The spooked teen had shirked away from him, fleeing into the ladies' room.
Gabrielle barely paused to glare at John with contempt, before following Abby. Inside the bathroom, the air shimmered with hair-spray, blue eye-shadow powder, and blush. Everywhere she stepped, the floor felt sticky with sequins and lipstick-blotched tissues. A pair of girls barely as tall as the sinks, jousted with curling irons for a prime position in front of the only mirror. She found Abby cowering by the hand-drier, her face pressed into the corner, sobbing convulsively. Gabrielle laid her hands on Abby's trembling back, soothingly patting her hair, asking, "What's wrong? What did John say to you?"
"I can't." Each word came out followed by a gasping sob. "I can't. Don't make me. Don't make me skate today. Please."
Gabrielle gently turned Abby around, wiping the tears from her cheeks. "What is it? What's got you so upset?"
"I can't skate today. Don't make me, Dr. Cassidy."
"Calm down, honey. No one is going to make you do anything."
"The hell they're not." Chris' voice cut through the cosmetic fog like a flare. He pressed his back against the door, ordering, "Everybody out. Chop-chop. We've got business to take care of."
The girls in front of the mirror exchanged puzzled looks among themselves, unsure if he was serious.
"Come on, now. I mean it." He managed to encompass them all with a single sweep of one arm. "Out."
They did as he said, grabbing their paraphernalia and hurrying out the door without so much as a glance back.
"Alright, now." Chris let the door to swing shut, and stepped up to Abby. "What seems to be the crisis here?"
She broke into a fresh flood of tears, wiping her eyes on her sleeve, scratching her cheek with the sequins glued to her cuffs.
Gabrielle explained, "Abby doesn't want to skate today."
"What sort of rubbish is that? You think they're going to move competition until you're feeling up to it?" Chris threw his hands in the air, then dropped them. "Are we at least allowed to ask the reason behind this ridiculous change-of-heart?"
Gabrielle frowned at him, then softened her tone to ask Abby, "Mr. Kelly is right, honey. Can you tell us what happened? Was it Mr. Ramsey? Did he say something... "
"I can't," Abby insisted, voice rising hysterically until the shrill pitch all but shattered glass. "I can't, I can't tell."
Gabrielle soothed, "You can tell me."
"No." Abby shook her head until she loosened her carefully constructed pony-tail. "I can't. I promised. Mr. Ramsey said -- Mr. Ramsey said if I told, that would be it. For everybody. And it would be all my fault. Please don't make me skate today."
Gabrielle turned to Chris, wondering if he could make sense of Abby's gibberish. But Chris paid no attention to her. All of his focus had narrowed to the frenzied girl in front of them. He bent at the waist, grabbing Abby's shoulders, and gave her a hard shake, snapping her head backward, then forward. She calmed, momentarily stunned. Her eyes met Chris'. A look passed between them.
A look Gabrielle couldn't decipher, and so felt excluded from. All she knew was, in that instant, Chris and Abby understood each other perfectly.
Chris loosened his grip, letting his arms fall to his sides. He straightened, rubbing his face tiredly with one hand, and told Gabrielle, "You're right. She shouldn't skate today."
At Chris' pronouncement, Abby's sobs tapered into whimpers, followed by hiccoughs. She gazed at Chris gratefully.
Gabrielle, however, could only gape at him in stunned silence, knowing that one of them had just lost their mind.
"Excuse me, Chris? What did you say?"
"I said, you were right. Cheer up, Dr. Cassidy, you finally won one. If Abby doesn't wish to skate today, she shouldn't."
"Why not?"
"Well, because..." Chris stammered, "She's in no state for it. She's too wound up. Her muscles are all tense."
"I see." Gabrielle told Abby, "Why don't you change out of your skating clothes? Mr. Kelly and I will see you outside."
Coming out the women's bathroom, Chris got some very strange looks. But those were nothing compared to Gabrielle's fury as she demanded, "What was Abby talking about?"
"I'm sure I don't know."
"Don't lie to me, Chris."
"I'm not." Chris stuffed his hands into his pockets, jingling his change, trying to pass anxiety off as impatience. "Look, are we quite done, here? Because I have other students to look after."
"This isn't over, Chris."
"Right, sure. Whatever you say." He checked the clock, then his watch for good measure, miming urgency. "I've got to go. I'll see you later."
She narrowed her eyes. "Bet on it."