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It had been a long time since Girl’s Night. There were two small frozen pizzas fresh out of the toaster oven. One with cauliflower crust and the other dough so they could each enjoy half. There was sparkling apple cider and white cheddar popcorn. A comedy special was queued up and waiting to be watched.
No sooner had Kristy opened the door to her comfortable, large apartment then she wrapped Annalisa in a fleece robe and demanded she get out of her wet clothes, into a hot shower, and the pajamas that were going to be too long in the arms and legs but dry.
All the tears Annalisa had been sitting on during the drive spilled forth. Through congested sniffs and uneven words, she tried to thank her friend. To Kristy’s credit, she did not ask a single question. Instead, she only bustled her more to get clean and dry so they could eat and laugh.
Topped with green bell peppers and zucchini, the pizzas tasted like the best thing she had had in months. Wherever the white cheddar popcorn came from, nothing had tasted so crisp, and flavor chocked. Sweet, spiced effervescent cider went down more refreshing than water.
By the time they were halfway through the comedy show, toasted vanilla scent of Kristy’s bodywash lingering on her skin, shea butter infused socks on her feet, her body began to feel like a body again.
Part of her felt like she could pour out the whole episode to Kristy. Part of her felt like she owed her an explanation. However, the sofa she sat on was so comfortable. The dusty blue robe hugging her was several inches too long and felt wonderfully extravagant. If she went back to what happened, all this relief might crumble.
Not until later, spread out like a starfish on the soft mattress of the guest bedroom, did she allow herself to relive the night.
Feeling how Joel had held her, kissed her, and wanted her, made her arms, legs, and stomach ache. For a hedonistic moment, she was his pleasure, and he was her slave. In his embrace, she was alive and helpless. She wanted him to drain her, and she wanted to drive him crazy. His body was hard and dazzling for her. She was pliable and ready for him.
Primal. Heavenly. Raw and strangely delicate.
Yet, in an instant that felt like a block of ice had been shot-put into her abdomen, the very strength she wanted to enjoy and be spent under forced her away. He stood there, chest heaving, mouth open. A villain. A coward. All of her was wild and raw. She feared her body might rupture.
She hated him.
Until he stepped out into the rain. Concern and caution strained his voice. She saw the shame in his eyes and the hurt that drew his mouth downward. Somehow, clutching her phone was the only thing that kept her resolve from crumbling. How miserably easy it would’ve been to turn, take both his hands, and kiss them ‘til she saw his pain drift away.
Lucky for pride. Lucky for anger.
Back in the black box, he might as well have slapped her; he deserved nothing. The difference in their age didn’t matter. She saw him as he was—a determined, kind man, handsome and strong in body and mind. The sweet, strict teacher of her formative dance training was the man she could joke with and understand. For him she was willing to deal with all the rhetoric and gossip that would follow their relationship.
But he didn’t want it, so neither did she.
Except that wasn’t true and she forced her wounded pride to admit it. Yes, he’d harmed her, but she still cared. It didn’t seem like there was a way forward, but she was still in love with him.
Wow...
In love.
It was wonderful to care but, like all ephemeral things, like in fairytales, there was a cost. She got to care for and be tantalized by him; at the same time, when he hurt, she hurt, too. His pain stung her. Yes, there was physical attraction so striking it made her blind but worry sliced through without mercy.
She exhaled and rolled over onto her side. Right now, it didn’t matter that she had spent six months training herself to sleep on her back. The duvet was heavy, soft, and didn’t smell like a hotel. Tucking her legs up towards her stomach, she shut her eyes.
Everything sucked but it could wait ‘til morning.
***
COME THE INDULGENT hour of nine-thirty a.m., Kristy was ready with an egg white omelet. Bleary-eyed and confused, Annalisa let herself be bustled to the adorable square kitchen table, convinced her friend had already been up for hours judging by the presence of jeans and the smell of hair product. That she cooked a second breakfast made Annalisa want to protest, but she was fuzzy-tongued, and stiff.
Kristy herded her like a mother hen an errant chick.
Halfway through the mild, fluffy egg creation, absently wondering if Kristy purchased egg whites or separated yolks every time, she listened with a full mouth to her friend say she had a shopping trip planned with her grandmother who did not comprehend tardiness.
“And they pay the rent here,” she admitted with a sheepish smile. “But you rest and be comfortable. I’ll be back around noon.”
“Somewhere in another life, you run a bed and breakfast. I’ll do my dishes and make the bed. I’d cook for you, too, but the only thing I can make is macaroni salad.”
“You don’t need to do any of that. Just rest.”
“That sleep was the best I’ve had in a long, long time. Do you buy your pillows from Heaven? I feel so much better, honestly. Thank you, Kristy. I saw the email from the auto-repair place. I put in a tow order last night and my car’s ready. Plus,” she added, stuffing her mouth with another bite, “Smidge is gonna be mad.”
“Your...?”
“Cat. He doesn’t understand missed meals. As soon as I finish eating, I’ll get going.”
Kristy smiled and said she would’ve welcomed her for as long as she wanted to stay. If the tone of her voice did not radiate sincerity, her eyes spoke it and Annalisa wondered, with self-deprecation, how pathetic she looked the other night. Was wet, lost housecat enough or was she treading on forlorn-kitten-in-the-rain-lost-from-its-momma?
Either way, Kristy was a good person and she’d enjoy getting to know her better.
That is, if she stayed in Chicago.
No. No.
She was staying. Lost love and chances between her and Joel weren’t stopping her. She’d get over it. She’d get over him. Soon, rehearsals would get more intense, and performances would start in no time. She’d come to Chicago and to La Faire to be a success.
It hadn’t been a great start. She wasn’t failing. At the get-go, he had not been part of the picture she planned for herself. Nothing had changed. Just a glitch.
In her mind’s eye, she imagined them two months from now, comfortably professional with one another. Simultaneously, she tried to will hope over the hurt of that potential future. She told herself she was being a stubborn little girl who always wanted her way. That’s why it hurt to imagine not having him. One embrace and a kiss don’t count as a relationship.
Big a big girl, babe. You still have a life to move forward with. You’ve got a cat who deserves to have better than non-clumping litter from the dollar store.
Dutifully, she did the dishes and made the bed. She also looked around the apartment for anything that might need tidying, but Kristy was, apparently, also a diligent cleaner. Or she had a maid. Unnoticed vases and paintings were looking awfully expensive in the mid-morning light.
Clothes from last night had been washed and dried. The toiletries Annalisa kept in her dance bag were sufficient to make her socially acceptable with deodorant, a hair brush, and all-over body lotion. Dressed in the same olive-green joggers and fitted, black Henley style shirt, Annalisa also donned the scarf and vest that lived in her backpack.
Assured she had all her things, and having left a note thanking Kristy once more, she left the building and headed across town. Her intention was to walk several blocks and then find the nearest bus stop from the app on her phone to ride to the repair shop. Although she was refreshed, her body still felt as if she had been rolled through a press, a little unstable and thin. However, each time she’d change buses was another charge to her account.
Hopefully, window shopping along the way would distract her. She might even allow herself a hot matcha tea from that one expensive, high-end café chain. The North side of Chicago had money. Upscale bars, boutiques, and shops were easy to fall into. If she had the money, she could buy a pair of yoga pants that cost half her current rent and then purchase a pair of sunglasses for equal the price.
All the same, it was fun to browse, occasionally going into a store and holding her tea a little higher, signifying she was the right type of shabby chic. The low ponytail she had slicked her hair into was creating a similar impression. A woman with money either wears her hair on top of her head in a top-knot, or at the base of her neck. Midway was middle class.
An artisan jewelry shop made her think of when she was in New York and had determined that, once she’d made her place in ABT, she would be one of those women who have a signature look. That type always wore one or two specific pieces of quality jewelry. A gold necklace that lies flat and a tennis bracelet. A turquoise ring around her thumb. One inch twisted, textured brass hoop earrings.
Ha.
Turned out, the only jewelry she ever wore was the same she’d left home with. One day that would change.
If you can stay at La Faire. If you can stand it. If he can stand it.
Bristling, she shook the thought from her mind and moved to a storefront window. Right now, looking at herself and seeing how really wan her complexion was, how deep the circles under her eyes had become, felt like Joel had just pulled her from his body again.
Thank goodness for the smell of garlic and thyme. The next awning she lingered under belonged to an olive oil and vinegar café. Heady herbal aromas drifted around her. A hand-written menu on the lacquered glass door explained the different tasting packages, complete with fresh goat cheeses and crackers so studded with seeds there was risk of chipping a tooth.
It sounded wonderful.
Beyond her immediate vision, staring at the menu, motion flickered her focus. Someone was waving their arm. How impolite at a place like this, trying to get a server’s attention like a hometown buffet. At places like this, servers made table rounds when their chakras aligned horizontally.
However, as her vision cleared, she found she not only locked eyes with the person waving their arm, but that she knew him, too.
It was Len. He was waving at her. Motioning she come in.
Inward emergency lights flashed within her body made of bright orange, red, and yellow. What was he doing here? Shouldn’t he be locked away in his fortress of solitude? It had entirely escaped her mind that Joel said he lived near Kristy the other night.
The last thing she wanted to do was obey his motion; this wasn’t the studio. However, him witnessing her flee was the last thing she wanted him to see. Mentally squaring her shoulders, outwardly jutting her chin forward, she opened the door and went inside.
Earthy extra virgin olive oil, thyme, garlic, and creamy, fresh milk aromas swirled around her. Patrons sat at wrought iron tables from which burgundy tablecloths hung to reveal the metal. Tea light candles floated in water that had been laced with rose petals. Music of an ethnicity she could not place wound across the space, twisty and made of woodwind and stringed sounds.
Though he was seated near the back, attired in an off-white Aran wool sweater, Len looked like he raced yachts on Sundays and wrote checks to wipe his nose.
With a slight wave of his hand, he somehow got the attention of one of the servers and conveyed he wanted another chair brought to his table.
“How unexpected to see you, Miss Jean.”
“Just doing some window shopping,” she replied, sitting down. “I’m glad you’re feeling better.”
He smiled. “I wasn’t sick.”
Caution prickled at the back of her neck. “Oh. Well, I’m glad you seem to be good.”
“And how about you?” His gaze was unblinking. “Are you good?”
“I’m tired,” she bandied. “It’s been a long week.”
“Then I won’t keep you long.”
To be poised to run but not know why. Annalisa gripped the stem of the goblet glass filled with chilled water.
Calm down. Calm down. He can’t do anything to me. He doesn’t have the power to fire me, as if I’ve done anything that could get me fired.
Except kissing the boss, she thought.
But we were off the clock when that happened.
“Do you know The Bellus Ballet, Miss Jean?”
“Of course. That company has made more waves in ten years than the Joffrey has. I even heard about the scandal with Alan Jung in New York.”
“Their Nutcracker is impressive.”
“I haven’t seen it, but I know audiences like the darker take on the story.”
“They’ve been in rehearsal for a few weeks now.”
He paused, pinning a cube of cheese and half a dried apricot on his fork before consuming it.
She wasn’t sure what to say, trying to run ahead of his conversation and figure out where this might be going. Len wasn’t the type to make conversation.
“I assume they started in August.”
“Yes,” he answered. “That was before one of the soloists knew she was pregnant.”
Her back went ramrod straight and she coughed a gasp. “If you’re trying to insinuate—”
“Nothing of the sort.”
He pushed the decorated plate of food aside and a layer of the mask she knew he kept ossified over his face gave way. The half-bored, half-unimpressed gaze faded. The insolent bent of his mouth evened and he leaned forward, putting his elbows on the table.
“Joel told me everything.”
If someone could expose in an instant, like switching on a flood light in an empty room, she felt like her clothes had been ripped off and she stood naked for eyes she had not sanctioned to see her body. Like a flash, every sweet, tender moment between her and Joel played over. This time, however, not only was she a spectator of those exchanges, she saw Len watching them, too.
Annalisa crossed one leg over the other. “I think I need to go.”
“Not yet, Miss Jean.”
“Nothing between Joel and me is any of your business.”
“On the contrary. Joel is more my brother and the person closest to me in the world than just a business partner and cousin. So, when he comes to me with his head in his hands, not only am I there to listen, I’m going to do all in my power to help.”
Pride wanted to shove her middle finger up his nose. Tenderness played the image of Joel’s powerful frame hunched forward, exhausted and broken.
She faltered to reply.
“He...”
“Is in love with you. Your history with him, however, and the current situation of being employed by him is wrecking him.”
“That’s not my fault.”
“You’re right but he’ll let it destroy him because he thinks it’s the right thing to do.”
Idiot. Jackass idiot. I could slap you and hug you at the same time. Would either of them work? No. I know Len is right. You big, strong man, doing big, strong man things even if it’s hurting you. You know it’s hurting me but it’s the right thing to do because you can’t get over your own ass.
“I’m still confused,” she managed. “Why do you want to talk to me?”
“I would have pulled you aside Monday. This is more convenient, and I am a selfish man. I would like my best friend to see straight again, one way or another.”
He sat back in the chair and folded his hands in his lap.
“A principal dancer in the Bellus Ballet’s production of The Nutcracker is going on emergency leave in two weeks due to unexpected complications in the pregnancy she just learned of. She’s dancing Sugar Plum, I believe. Or she was. The Bellus needs a new soloist and I’m on good terms with Levondovska. I asked him to wait until Tuesday to promote from within the company. You’d be making more money than you are now with the chance to remain on as a soloist of the Bellus. Then you and Joel could move forward. Or,” he shrugged, “not. It’s immaterial to me. But you’d be out of La Faire and either you move on without Joel and he gets over you, or you two try the relationship.”