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The whole room might as well have imploded. From under her, the chair could have dropped, leaving her suspended precariously over a sink hole the size of a football field. At least then, she would have screamed. At least then, she would have clawed the air, fighting for her life.
Instead, she sat immobilized, speechless and at a loss for reaction.
What, on this side of Heaven, was going on?! Was this a bribe? It didn’t feel like a generous opportunity. Had Len been playing a game of cards she was never dealt a hand for? She could not believe he cared for her, or even Joel as beyond how it served his wants.
It felt like a bribe. She could go on to have the things she wanted, whether that included Joel or not. Len walked away with what he wanted—her ousted from La Faire.
Emotion and reaction fought for dominance. He should be ashamed of himself. Right here, right now, she should stand up and berate him in front of the whole restaurant. Make that smug, all-controlling look on his face drip away.
In a hushed tone, laced with accusation and vinegar, she ought to unleash on him. Give him all the pieces of her mind that had been accumulating over the weeks. He was an undercover despot, ruling from behind Joel, and making him second guess his own rightly intentioned decisions.
She should throw the dried apricots at his face. Tell him what was going on between her and Joel would stay like that, and he could tread pavement. How dare he think he had any right to interfere! He loved Joel the way a single mother loves her only son—under control.
Offended, heat flushed up her neck. Embarrassed, she clutched her hands in her lap. Shocked, she couldn’t do anything more than sit there, mouth slightly agape.
Unruffled, all the power in his hands, where he liked it, Len seemed content to wait for her to form words. He slid the plate with apricots back in front of himself. And it was a long time before Annalisa managed to say something.
“I think you’re horrible.”
“Oh?” He did not look at her, deciding on which of the same looking white cheese cubes he wanted to experience with the dried fruit. “Why is that?”
“Because, because none of this is your business.”
“The man I consider to be my brother, his well-being is none of my business?”
“You don’t get to—”
“I can do whatever I want, Miss Jean. As can you. Take the offer or don’t. Help the man you profess to care for and have the freedom of not being his employee or don’t. But I’m telling you, unless you can change the past, age ten more years, or not work at La Faire, he won’t budge.” His eyes flicked up to hers. “You know how he is.”
She coughed. It was true. Joel was doing what he thought best, no matter how much it hurt him. Like some stupid law of math and science. Something about an object staying in motion unless another object hits it. She was the other object. The deciding force.
Annalisa stood. “I’m leaving.”
“Tuesday. After Tuesday, I can’t help you.”
“I don’t...I don’t need—”
“Don’t be proud.” He said, mildly, as if reminding her it might rain. “I know you tend towards it.”
Her response was inarticulate. A mixture of telling him off, mocking who in the world he thought he was, and stating again that she was her own person. All that came out, however, was a gasping cough of consonants.
Instead of walking to a bus stop nearer the repair shop, she opened the transit app on her phone and waited at the one closest to her. The ensuing ride and drive “home” to an annoyed, adorable feline were a blur. Vaguely aware of feeding Smidge and taking off her shoes, the rest of the day passed with Annalisa sitting on the bed.
***
COME MONDAY, AS WAS her plan, she did not go to class or rehearsal at La Faire. Instead, Monday morning found her near Navy Pier, in her car, in the parking lot of the Bellus.
Len might have been more gifted with reading people than Annalisa wanted to give him credit for. An email from the choreographer at Bellus had appeared in her inbox late the other night. He was “just” reaching out. His availability was limited, as he was sure she understood. He’d be waiting for her at nine-thirty Monday morning.
If the email hadn’t come through, she would not be sitting in her car, watching the minutes tick nearer the appointed time; she had to give Len that. He knew the offer alone was one thing. Leaving everything in her lap, it was easy to do nothing. Not Len. He got another person involved and she could not bear for there to be casualties in this weird trio dance she was forced to perform in.
She replied to the email. She said she would be there, half in mind to decline the offer as soon as this Lubov guy entered the room. Or maybe she’d go through the interview, morbidly curious to see the inside of the Bellus where, only a few years prior, scandal had rocked.
At the time, in New York, it was hard to distinguish between what was conjecture and what really happened. Some said Maraav Levondovska and Alan Jung came to a physical fight over the new dancer, Martina Mariposa. Others said Jung made so many indecent passes at her that she hid for days until Maraav, her lover at the time, and now her husband, found her. Wilder suppositions said Jung tried to rape her. Others said Maraav seduced her. The ending result was Jung checking himself into a rehab center and Levondovska taking over the Bellus.
Morbid curiosity, she told herself, was the reason she’d come. No doubt, Lubov was busy; she wanted to honor the time he was taking and satisfy her own curio. Boom and boom. No foul or harm done. And Len could suck an egg. A pickled egg past its prime.
The whole drive over, her mind was made up. Things with Joel did not need a bribe to be fixed. Neither could the pain of how it might be fixed be a determining factor. She and him were adults.
Except that might have been part of the problem. They were adults. She wanted him to get over himself. He wanted her but was sure he was right in why they could not be together.
Like a miserable daydream, she watched it play out. Longing looks, a few more stolen moments that left neither of them satisfied. Probably some genuine mistakes on both sides. She watched him want her, resent her, and grow callous. She saw herself shake him off, wish him back, and get angry he wasn’t man enough to take what he wanted.
The whisper that Len was right stung. She was proud and Joel was dogged. Together, they smoothed one another. She was an outlet for his concerns, support for his worries. He kept her honest and fanned in her a desire to make him smile.
Still Len had no right to interfere and the last thing she wanted to do was give him the satisfaction of taking the offer.
She blinked back down at the radio clock. It ticked to 9:28 and she got out of the car.