by Olivia Noble
I feel a warmth begin in the pit of my stomach, and I just want to trust him and believe that he can make it better. Even in the harsh light of day, his face is so beautiful and his eyes are so blue. I thought that men were supposed to look worse when you sober up enough to see them in full technicolor detail, but Klaus only looks better. Dammit. I’m in trouble.
“Look at this,” Eve says, pointing. “They refused to let her perform.”
“Who refused?” I ask with confusion.
“The fans,” Eve says breathlessly. “This was Chicago.”
We all stare at the video as Amy Sanders gets on stage to perform my role. However, the crowd begins to chant, “We want Clara! We want Clara! We want Clara!” They chant this over and over, some of them holding signs, and some throwing tomatoes at Amy until she gets booed off stage.
My hand lifts to cover my mouth in amazement. I’ve never seen the audience act like this at the ballet. Maybe for a rock concert. Maybe for a monster truck rally. But not the ballet.
“You didn’t know about this?” Mary asks me.
“No,” I whisper.
“They had to cancel all the remaining performances,” Eve says triumphantly. “Because no one wanted to see Amy Sanders perform, after what she did to you. They’re all standing with you, Clara. Your fans love you. I told you that you’ll always be the prima ballerina in our hearts.”
I stand there for a moment, feeling overwhelmed with emotion. My eyes meet with Klaus’ for a second before I realize that they are filling with tears.
“Excuse me,” I whisper to my family before rushing away to my room, to cry.
Chapter Nine
I have buried my face in my pillow, and I am sobbing pretty hard when Mary walks in and sits on my bed with a sigh.
She pats my back gently. “Oh, cheer up, Clara. Things are going to be amazing. Look at how loved you are.”
“I didn’t think they cared that much,” I say, but it’s muffled by my pillow. “It means a lot.”
“You’re awesome, that’s why!” Mary responds happily. “So, what do you think of Klaus? Is he gorgeous, or what?”
“I guess he’s okay,” I mumble.
“Okay? Okay? I feel like one of the best chefs in the world just served you a gourmet dish of like... lobster and caviar or something, and you’re like ‘meh, it’s fine, it’s whatever.’”
“Well, you’re not a chef Mary, and you didn’t cook him up in a laboratory, and I would prefer if we didn’t talk about men like they are morsels of meat. Reverse sexism isn’t liberating, it’s just stooping to the level of the oppressive patriarchy, and makes us no better than those who denigrate women like that.”
“Okay, who are you and what have you done with Clara?” Mary asks suspiciously. “I feel like you’re trying very hard to distract me from something or change the subject here…”
“I already slept with him, okay, Mary?”
“You did what?” she shrieks.
“I met him at a bar last night. I was feeling down, he was feeling down. He didn’t tell me his name, and I didn’t know he was the doctor who’s supposed to operate on me.”
“You slept with him already?” Mary squeals loudly.
“Shhhh,” I tell her, sitting up and looking around. “I don’t want everyone to know.”
“I knew it,” she declares happily. “I knew you were going to want to get Klaus all up in your Cloyster!”
“What?” I ask, wrinkling my nose. “You did not just refer to my vagina as a Pokémon.”
“Oh, who cares!” Mary says, throwing her arms around me in a giant hug. “Everything is going to be wonderful.”
“We’re not dating or anything,” I tell her awkwardly. “I never thought I was going to see him again.”
“It’s still so romantic,” she says with a sigh. “My little sister got laid!”
“Shut up!” I say, laughing and smacking her. “It’s not that special.”
“It’s pretty special. How was it? Was he good?” Mary asks.
“Oh my god,” I say, falling back on the bed with my arms stretched out wide. “He was a revelation. It was incredible.”
“That’s what I hoped!” Mary says with glee, clapping her hands. “Clara got laid for Christmas! Clara got laid for Christmas!”
“Oh, no,” I say, pressing my hands over my ears. “Why did I tell you? Kill. Me. Now.”
When a knock sounds at my door, Mary quiets down and moves to answer it.
Of course, it’s the man in question. Klaus Andersson. I groan at how awkward this is.
“Helllllo, Doctor Christmas!” Mary says suggestively.
Klaus sighs. “You told her?”
I nod and shrug sheepishly.
“I had better leave and let you two lovebirds have some time alone,” Mary says, as she bounces out of the room.
Klaus enters the room and closes the door behind him. He clears his throat. “She was much less hyper when I met her in Los Angeles.”
“She’s drunk on holiday spirit,” I explain weakly.
“So, I didn’t realize you were about to be my patient last night,” Klaus says softly.
I frown pointing a finger at him with accusation. “You can’t make a stranger call you Mr. Claus when your name is Klaus, that’s similar enough that you didn’t give me a fake name. Faker. You’re a fake at being fake.”
He smiles. “You started it. You suggested Mrs. Claus first, and I just went along with the theme.”
“I guess I did,” I grumble.
“I’m honestly just glad to see you again,” he says, moving over to sit beside me on the bed. “When you walked out on me like that… I felt horrible. I thought I screwed up somehow, hurt your feelings, or offended you.”
“No, it was perfect,” I whisper. “It was all so perfect.” Without realizing it, I am reaching out to pick a piece of lint off his shirt.
“Then why did you leave?” he asks, and he sounds… vulnerable.
“I was afraid,” I explain. “As you can see, I just lost my career, and lost my ability to dance… and everyone at work hated me so much. I was just afraid of getting attached, or spending more time with you, and then having to say goodbye and walk away…”
“What if I said that I am already getting a little attached?” Klaus asks.
I stare at him, my eyes wide. “I wouldn’t believe you.”
“I was in a dark place last night, Clara. I told you… it’s the anniversary of Lilly’s death. And I feel like I’ve been walking around in this dark cloud for years, and you just came along and let in a few rays of sunlight. For the first time in a long time… things didn’t feel so bleak. When you were there. Is it wrong if I want you to be around a little more?”
“No,” I say, still picking lint off his shirt. Except there is no more lint. I’m making up imaginary lint to pick off his shirt, just because I want to keep touching him. Or almost touching him. So I just stop this childish, anxious behavior, and actually touch his hand. I just skim my fingers over the skin of his knuckles, and his palm turns over to clasp my hand as easily as breathing.
“So your name is Klaus,” I murmur, staring at him. “Like a Santa Clausemopolitan.”
He winces. “I saw that on the menu at The Drunken Elf.”
“It’s really good. Tastes like fruit juice,” I say.
“Klaus is a shortened version of the name Nikolaus,” he explains.
“Oh. That makes sense,” I murmur, not realizing that I am stroking his hand and sliding closer to him.
“And you’re an incredible ballet dancer,” he muses, “from that short little clip I saw. I guess that’s why you didn’t want me to take off your socks, and see your feet.”
“They are horrifying,” I assure him. “My feet will give you nightmares.”
He smiles. “Clara, I’m going to need to see your feet in order to perform surgery on them, you know.”
“That’s different,” I grumble. But then I bite my lip. “Do you think
you can help me? The surgery, I mean. Do you really think it will fix me?”
“I need to take a closer look before I make any promises,” he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a business card, handing it to me. “If you can forward your diagnostic imaging to that email address, along with any reports the technicians made, I’ll take a look as soon as possible.”
“When can you perform the surgery, if we decide to do that?” I ask, tucking the card in my pocket.
“Well, we could fly to Sweden in the morning to do it,” he answers. “I will need my staff to help out. Plus all the legalities of where I can perform medicine, etc.”
“I understand,” I say softly. Then I squint at him. “What about the ethics of… us having… been intimate? Will that cause any legal problems with you operating on me?”
“I mean, it certainly could,” he says quietly. “But that’s mainly if we… continue to have some kind of intimate relationship, while I’m your doctor.”
“Would you like to… continue?” I ask him awkwardly.
“Very much, yes,” he answers at once. “But I also want to help you feel better, Clara. Which is more important to you?”
“Do I have to choose?” I ask him. Before I realize what I’m doing, I have moved to sit on his lap, straddling him and facing him.
His hands are on my waist, and sliding up underneath the shirt of my Christmas pajamas to feel my skin. I lean forward to press my lips against his, and his hands drag my body closer, so that I can feel the heat of his swollen cock, pressing against me. I sigh against his mouth, and begin to pull off his shirt.
“Hey, Cousin,” Sven says, walking into the room. “I was just wondering if—”
We both turn to look at the door with surprise, and Sven freezes.
“Uh,” he says lightly, his eyes wide with confusion. “Sorry to interrupt! I’ll come back later.”
He leaves and shuts the door, and Klaus and I burst out laughing.
“Now I know why he asked me to come here,” Klaus says with a grin. “I think we’ve been set up.”
“But I guess they didn’t expect us to set ourselves up, at the bar.”
Klaus suddenly frowns. “Clara, are you sure you’ll be comfortable with me being your surgeon? Do you think we should try to refrain from being intimate, at least until after your surgery is performed, so we can keep things more professional and clearheaded?”
“Oh,” I say softly, sliding my hands over his shoulders. “I don’t know. I really like you.”
“I like you, too,” he says. With a deep sigh, he picks me up by the waist and places me back on my bed. He gets up and backs away slightly, adjusting his clothing and clearing his throat. “Maybe we should take a minute to think about this. Send me those images, and I’m going to go and see what Sven wanted.”
When he leaves, I sit there staring at the door in confusion.
But the door opens a second later, and Klaus reaches into a different pocket (not the one with his business cards) and pulls out a familiar pair of red lace panties. “I, uh, forgot to return these to you,” he explains, with a slight blush, as he tosses the panties at me.
I catch them and look at them with surprise. Then I smile. “Thank you, Doctor Andersson,” I say teasingly. “How very professional of you.”
“Uh, you’re welcome,” he says, with a polite nod, and awkward salute, as he turns to leave.
Chapter Ten
Christmas passes at home without much more drama. My brother wasn’t able to fly home to spend it with us, but between Sven, Adam, and Klaus, it feels like a rather full house, anyway. Because all the couples are paired up, Klaus and I are forced to spend a large amount of time together. But he’s suddenly shifted gears, and he’s acting all stiff and professional with me. Somehow, the more professional he acts, the more I feel tempted to tease and flirt with him.
I’m not even sure why. I definitely think it’s great that he wants to take his job seriously and properly patch up my ankle, but I don’t think that should interfere with… whatever is happening with us. Do you see why I wanted to run away? I am way too attracted to this man. I keep picking imaginary lint off his clothing, even in front of my parents.
I don’t think it’s a normal, professional thing to want to pick lint off your doctor’s clothing. But I try to behave myself keep my hormones in check.
Eve even pulls me aside at one point to comment on our chemistry. “I think the doctor has the hots for you,” she whispers.
“Did Mary not tell you?” I ask her with surprise.
“Tell me what?” Eve asks, genuinely clueless.
“I met Klaus at The Drunken Elf last night,” I whisper to her. “I didn’t know it was him. I went back to his hotel room with him last night, and we slept together.”
“You did what?” she shrieks loudly, causing our parents and Adam to look over with concern.
I clamp a hand over her mouth to muffle any more screams, and wait until she has calmed down before removing my hand.
“You did what?” she whispers again, more calmly. “With your doctor?”
“I didn’t know! I didn’t know he was my doctor yet!” I tell her. “Now he’s trying to act all professional because he doesn’t want to make me uncomfortable, but it’s making me uncomfortable that he’s acting so professional.”
“Do you want to fornicate with him again?” Eve asks, in the crazy way that only Eve could ask.
“Obviously,” I respond, checking Klaus out as discreetly as possible. “Look at him. Holy crap, he is gorgeous.”
“He’s pretty damn cute,” Eve agrees. “So what are you going to do?”
“I don’t know. Go to Sweden with him, I guess,” I say with a shrug.
“Forever?” Eve asks. And then I see the flicker of fear on her face, the same one I had when Adam returned and I realized our cat café dreams had been destroyed. She’s afraid of losing me, just like I was afraid of losing her.
“Maybe,” I say, just to get a little bit of payback. Although I’m pretty sure there is no chance of me going to Sweden forever, and I will just be there briefly for the surgery. And then back home. Alone.
Although where is home? Here, or New York?
The uncertainty of what I’m going to do with my future is driving me crazy. But I know one thing for certain. If I can ever dance again, I’m going to surround myself with people I trust, not backstabbing jealous bitches.
I am lying in bed at home, and staring at the ceiling. It’s not quite as nice a ceiling as the one in Klaus’ hotel room. I feel so uneasy about how distant we’ve been all day—although I don’t know why I expected more. I did run out on him. Since I sent him the x-rays, he’s been even more quiet, and hasn’t given me a straight answer about anything.
Frowning, I throw my legs over the side of the bed and grab my crutches. I move out of my room, and down the stairs, and don’t even bother to grab a pair of shoes before heading outside and moving through the snow toward the guest house.
When I knock on the door, Klaus answers before much time has passed.
“Clara?” he says with surprise.
“Why are you being so weird?” I ask him.
“Come in,” he says softly. “Where are your shoes?”
“I don’t need shoes,” I tell him. “I’m from Minnesota. Why were you being weird? You said you were getting attached. You said that cool thing about the rays of sunlight. Why did you get so cold all of a sudden?”
“I feel like I was coming on too strong,” he says. “You ran away from my hotel room, and you didn’t feel comfortable enough with me to show me your feet. I didn’t want to… push you into something, you know?”
“I’ll show you my feet,” I tell him, moving forward, and into the guest house. I pass him and place my crutches against the wall.
“Clara, you’re freezing,” he says gently, picking me up and carrying me up the stairs to the loft. There’s a warm fireplace there, and he places me on the couch and covers me with
blankets.
“I want to show you my feet,” I tell him again. “But you’re going to be so disgusted. Have you ever seen the feet of a ballerina?”
“I’m an orthopedist, Clara. I’ve seen everything.”
“Have you seen the feet of a principal dancer?” I ask him. “It’s not pretty.”
“I don’t think so, but I want to see them,” he says, kneeling at my feet.
I nod, and he removes the blankets, and gently peels off my wet socks. I press my eyes shut tightly, knowing that this is the moment of truth. I’m probably going to scare him away forever, but at least I’ll know now.
“Wow,” he whispers, running his hands over the callouses.
“I look like Frankenstein. Or the Abominable Snowman,” I say weakly.
“You look beautiful,” he says. “This is the result of pure dedication.”
And then, to my surprise, I feel a featherlight touch against my toes. I open my eyes, and see that he has cradled my feet gently, and he is kissing them.
He is kissing my feet.
Tears begin to stream down my cheeks. Can this really be happening? Could someone really care about me so much that he could look past my disfigured body parts?
“You’re so strong, Clara,” he says, studying the bones and skin. “I’ve never seen such powerful feet. And each callous, each bruise… you earned it through being fierce and unstoppable. I saw what that girl did to you, and I know you’re not going to let her hold you back. I find you so resilient and inspiring.”
“Klaus,” I whisper, wiping away my tears. “Why are you saying these things?”
“Your feet are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he says softly, still showering them with kisses. Then he moves to my injured foot, and gently begins removing the bandages. “May I?” he asks.
I nod.
“I’ll be honest,” he says, after studying the swollen foot. “I saw your x-rays, and I think that maybe there’s a 20% chance that I could help you dance again at the level you did before. If everything goes really, really perfectly. I work with a lot of modern therapies, like stem cell injections that will allow your tendons to heal themselves. But obviously, we will have to operate here, and here. I would normally remove the bunions, but I know that dancers need to keep their bunions until they retire, for the strength it provides the feet.”