You and I Alone

by Melissa Toppen

  “Anna.” I hear Patty's voice break into my thoughts and I glance up from my place on the floor to see her looking down at me, a concerned and yet amused look lighting up her face. “Did you hear me?” She asks, clearly realizing immediately that I didn't.

  “Sorry.” I say, shaking my head and switching my stretch to the other leg. “What's up?” I ask, trying to shake off my lingering thoughts of Bentley.

  “Charlie and Marcie aren't able to make it today. Apparently Charlie caught a stomach bug and Marcie’s family had something come up. I went ahead and rescheduled the rehearsal, considering two of the five girls aren't able to attend.”

  “Oh, okay.” I say, pulling myself into a standing position. “Did you need my help with something else then?” I ask, glancing at the clock on the wall directly in front of me to see it is just after five in the evening.

  “Well, I was hoping that maybe you could close up shop for me as soon as Tara finishes up with her class.” She says, smiling at me sweetly.

  “Sure.” I agree, having no where else to be.

  “Thank you. I am going to have dinner with a friend in the city so I won't be home until later.” She says, giving me a brief kiss on the cheek before turning and quickly making her way out of the room.

  The moment Patty disappears, an eery silence settles around me. Looking around the large square space, I can't help but remember all the hours I spent in this very room. I just started working at the studio again this week and while I love being back here, it's also very hard for me as well. It's hard to see all the dancers that come here everyday, most sharing the same dream that I once had. To dance professionally one day. And while a good deal of them are very talented, it breaks my heart knowing that probably only a select few will dance beyond their childhood.

  Patty has me teaching her five to nine year old class on Tuesdays and Thursdays but needing more to do, she agreed to let me help teach her fourteen and fifteen year old dancers their fall recital routine on Wednesdays and Saturdays.

  I jump slightly when music from the next room kicks on. For a moment I had forgotten that anyone else was here. The studio is made up of three separate rooms. Each room is a large square space with floor to ceiling mirrors that cover every wall. Crossing the space, I hook my iPod into the audio jack of the stereo sitting in the far right corner and start skimming through my playlist.

  It has been years since I have actually danced here. I have helped teach classes of course, but I have not actually danced in this studio since the day I went down wrong on my leg and everything changed. Scrolling through my song list, I click on “I Can't Stop Drinking About You” by Bebe Rexha. The moment the first few beats vibrate out of the surround sound speakers wired throughout the room, I close my eyes, taking in the sound, the beat, the tempo.

  It only takes seconds before I am moving across the studio floor. It feels so natural to dance here, having done so for so many years of my life. And yet, it feels strange at the same time, given how long it has been.

  As the tempo picks up and the song really takes off, I find my mind letting go and my body taking over. I move effortlessly across the floor, pushing my body in a way that I haven't done in quite sometime. And while the action is terrifying and every second I am just waiting for my knee to give out and to feel the pain shooting through me that I know will follow, I can't make myself stop.

  While my main focus when I first started dancing was ballet, it quickly shifted to a more Contemporary style with pieces of ballet peppered throughout, the older I got. I was already working on my audition piece for Julliard when I was barely fourteen. Convinced that one day I would move to New York and attend there. Cliche I know. But ultimately every dancer dreams of Julliard.

  I still remember the routine, the jumps, the kicks. And as my body goes through the motions, it's like no time has passed at all. In this moment, it's like I am still that young girl with stars in her eyes and a dream in her heart. It didn't matter back then what I had lost, what I had suffered. When I danced, it all went away. It wasn't about the pain, it was about the happiness I felt when I lost myself to the music and the motions.

  It isn't until I get to a particularly difficult jump that my brain registers the risk. Stopping midway through, I land a little too hard on my leg and immediately feel the strain in my knee. Nothing too severe, but enough to know that I have pushed myself far enough. Collapsing onto the hard floor, I sprawl out, trying to catch my breath as the music still bounces off the walls around me.

  Staring up at the ceiling, everything floods back. My family, my grandmother, my youth. Everything I had lost that dance gave back to me. You would have to be a dancer to understand the freedom and the outlet that it offers. For a young child who had nothing left, dance was everything. I clung to it like a security blanket. Which explains why I was so scared when I lost it. I didn't know who I was without dance. Hell, I'm not sure that even now I have figured that out.

  Chapter Eleven

  By the time Friday rolls around, I have talked myself in and out of canceling on Bentley about three hundred times but ultimately, I know it's something I have to do. I would never forgive myself if I passed up this opportunity. I know myself well enough to at least admit that much.

  So as I apply the finishing touches of my makeup and take a step back to look at myself in the floor length mirror on the back of my bedroom door, I try to focus on how I look and not how I feel. I kept my makeup light, as to not give the impression that I am trying too hard, and decided to leave my long brown hair hanging loosely down my back. I look good. Not overdone, just good. But even still, the nervous energy radiating through me is enough to have me practically bouncing out of my skin.

  It doesn't help matters that Bentley and I never discussed where he was picking me up. He said seven, I just assumed he meant he would pick me up here but the more I thought about it, the more I realized that he has no clue where here is. But knowing he has access to all my personal information via the club, I settled on accepting that one way or another, he will find me.

  The moment the doorbell rings and Patty's voice fills the space, my heart triples in speed. I hadn't thought about what Patty would think. Hell, I hadn't thought about Patty at all up to this point beyond telling her that I had a date tonight. No other details, no indication of who this man is. Just that, a date.

  Shaking my head, I take one more glance at myself in the mirror. Having no idea what Bentley has in store for me this evening, I went with a casual black cocktail dress and matching heels. Dressy enough for a nicer establishment but not too overdone for a more casual environment. Hell, for all I know I may end up spending the entire night naked, which now that I think about it, wouldn't be half bad.

  “Anna.” Patty's voice echos down the hallway just as I push my way through my bedroom door. I immediately spot her at the end of the hall. She smiles at me as I approach but I can tell by the look on her face that she's concerned.

  “What is it?” I ask, my voice hushed. She gestures her eyes to the left and I follow her gaze. Standing next to the door is an older gentleman, probably in his early sixties, with salt and pepper hair and a pudgy face. He stands just a few inches taller than me and is dressed in an all black suit and has his arms folded behind his back.

  “He's a little old for you isn't he?” She asks quietly. Immediately I burst into laughter causing her forehead to scrunch together and her eyes to bore into mine as if she is trying to figure out if I have finally gone off the deep end.

  “That's not him.” I laugh again. Relief immediately floods her face and she smiles hesitantly at me. “Hello.” I say, turning my attention to the older gentleman as I take a couple of steps into the living room.

  “Ms. Blake.” He smiles warmly at me. “I'm Mr. Colbers. But you can call me John. Mr. Reed sent me to retrieve you. I will be your driver for this evening. Shall we?” He asks, gesturing towards the door. Not sure what else to do, I nod and then turn my attention back to Patty.

&nbs
p; “Don't wait up.” I say, giving her a quick peck on the cheek before turning my attention back to driver. I am not sure whether to be offended or intrigued by the fact that Bentley chose to send someone after me rather than coming himself.

  I exit through the front door and follow John down the narrow sidewalk that leads to the long gravel driveway. The moment I spot the black Limousine, my steps falter. I have never been in a limo before and honestly, I am a bit unnerved that Bentley felt like he needed to impress me with such frivolous things. It's clear that he knows nothing about me but I guess I can't fault him for that, it's not like I have been that forthcoming with him.

  Holding the door open for me, John waits until I climb inside the spacious back seat before closing the door behind me. It takes me a moment to take in my surroundings. Long leather seats line each side of the vehicle while two shorter benches line the front and back. Taking a seat in the very back, I immediately notice a white envelope laying on the seat next to me. Logan scrawled across the front in perfect cursive writing.

  As the vehicle starts to move, I pick up the envelope, my shaking hands fumbling with the flap before finally peeling it open. Pulling out a piece of paper that feels more like card stock, I flip it over and read the words beautifully written across it.

  I apologize for not picking you up personally. I had some last minute business to attend to.

  There is champagne in the side bar. Please help yourself.

  I will see you soon.

  Bentley

  I can't help but smile as I stuff the paper back into the envelope and then slip it into my purse. I don't know why I feel the need to keep it but something tells me I am going to want to remember every aspect of this night, down to the very last detail. Because for tonight, for this one night, I get to be someone else.

  To Bentley, I am Logan. I am confident and in charge and not afraid to take everything he has to offer. Tonight, it's okay that I am riding in a limo, currently popping open a bottle of champagne that probably costs more than I make in a week. It's okay that he doesn't know me and that I don't know him. I can be and do anything I want, and as I watch the stars disappear through the moon roof the closer we get to the city, I promise myself that I will make tonight everything I know it can be.

  By the time we pull up outside of The Luminous Hotel, the most luxurious hotel Chicago has to offer, I feel somewhat calmer by the two glasses of champagne I managed to drink on the way over. Not being much of a drinker, the small amount has worked wonders on my nerves but that doesn't mean my heart doesn't find it's way into my throat the moment John opens the back door and holds his hand out for me.

  I try to keep my hand still as I place it in his and allow him to guide me out of the backseat. “Mr. Reed will meet you in the lounge.” He says, closing the door behind me as I step up on the curb, for the first time really taking in the beauty of the building in front of me.

  Of course I have seen this hotel many times, being one of the larger buildings on this strip, but I never really paid much attention to it until now. Looking up, I sway slightly under the large building towering over me. Like Bentley, it is more than a little overwhelming.

  Taking a deep breath, I turn my attention to the driver. “Thank you.” I say, giving him a warm smile.

  “It was my pleasure.” He responds, matching my smile with one of his own. “I shall see you in the morning.” He says, turning and making his way around the front of the car.

  “Tomorrow?” I blurt, turning wide eyes to face him.

  “Have a lovely evening Ms. Blake.” He says, giving me another warm smile before disappearing inside of the car. Taking a hard swallow, I straighten my shin length dress before pushing my way through the double set of revolving doors leading into the lobby.

  The moment my heels click against the perfectly polished marble floor, my steps falter. The Luminous is unlike anything I have ever seen before. White pillars line the center walkway, stretching up to the high ceiling that is painted to look like the night sky. A large fountain sits in the center and two reception areas sit to each side of it.

  Taking a deep breath, I make my way to the desk on the right where a young woman greets me the moment I approach. “Welcome to The Luminous. How may I help you today?” She asks, smiling widely at me.

  “I am meeting someone here.” I stutter through my words and am fairly certain that my cheeks are bright red by the time I continue. “In the lounge.”

  “Name?” She asks.

  “Anna... I mean Logan. Logan Blake.” I stutter again, cursing myself under my breath for my less than composed demeanor.

  “Logan. Ah yes, here you are.” She says, skimming an appointment book in front of her. Without looking at me, she picks up the phone and waits until the person on the other end answers before speaking again. “Logan Blake to see Mr. Reed.” She says. “Yes, thank you.” She hangs up the handset and turns her attention back to me.

  Within seconds, a middle aged man dressed in a white button down shirt and black dress pants approaches, nodding at the woman before turning his attention to me. “Ms. Blake?” He asks, waiting for my nod before continuing. “Right this way.” He says, turning on his heel and heading to the left of the desk.

  Throwing a small wave to the receptionist, I quickly pick up the pace to keep up with the man in front of me. He leads me through the center of the main floor, which looks more like a botanical garden then a hotel lobby. He weaves in and out of other patrons and employees before finally veering to the right and stopping at the entrance of what looks like a fancy restaurant.

  Turning to face me, he speaks for the first time since greeting me at the desk. “Mr. Reed will join you shortly. Until then, you are welcome to sit at the bar. Is there anything else I can do for you?” He asks, nodding when I shake my head no. “Well then, have a lovely evening.” He says before turning and walking away.

  I utter a quiet “Thank you” but by the time it leaves my lips, it's likely he's too far away to have heard me say it. Taking a deep breath, I step inside the dimly lit room. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the light as I quietly make my way towards the bar that lines the back wall.

  Pulling out a stool at the very edge of the bar, I swivel to the side, taking in my surroundings. It's exactly what I imagined a lounge would look like in a hotel of this caliber. Dark wood tables and matching chairs are scattered strategically throughout the space. Matching bar stools line the bar and there is a small stage against the right wall equipped with a beautiful white grand piano.

  There are several people at the bar but only a handful spread out among the tables. I can't imagine many people make their way down here until the much later hours. Pulling my cell out of my black clutch purse, I unlock the screen and quickly check the time. Just after seven. Looking up, I jump slightly when I realize that the bartender is standing directly in front of me.

  “Sorry. I didn't mean to startle you.” He says, smiling warmly at me. He's a younger guy, maybe mid-twenties, and while he is no Bentley Reed, he definitely has some attractive qualities. Messy blonde curls and bronzed skin make him look like he just stepped straight off of a beach somewhere in California and when he smiles wider at me, I find myself smiling back. “Is there something I can get for you?” He asks, sitting a drink napkin in front of me.

  “Just a water please.” I say, immediately changing my mind. “Actually, can I have something else. I mean, something with alcohol.”

  “Sure thing. Pick your poison.” He says, gesturing to the various bottles lining glass shelves behind the bar.

  “Um...” I say, not sure what half of the bottles are. “What do you recommend?” I decide to take suggestions rather than order something without really knowing what I'm ordering.

  “That depends. Do you like sweet?” He asks.

  “I do.” I answer.

  “I've got just the thing.” He says. Turning away, he starts grabbing various bottles from the shelf and pouring them into a glass before
making his way back to me just moments later, an orange drink garnished with a cherry in his hand. “Sex on the beach.” He smiles, sliding the drink towards me. “Let me know if you need anything else.” He says, making his way back down the bar to assist another customer.

  Turning in my stool, I position myself in a way that I can see the entrance to the lounge. I want to make sure that I know the moment Bentley arrives. Taking a sip of my drink, I am immediately rewarded with a sugary concoction that has me going back for a second drink immediately. I didn't know alcoholic beverages could be this good.

  Taking my time, I drink it down slowly, not wanting to push my limits too far. I pass the time watching the people around me, most of which appear to be older gentleman here on business. I can tell by the way they are dressed and how they interact with one another. It's quite fascinating really. How different people are. How different lives are lived.

  I lose myself in the buzz of alcohol flowing through my veins and the various conversations flowing around me and for a moment, I forget why I am even here. That is, until I flick my eyes to the door and am immediately met by the incredibly blue eyes of none other than Mr. Bentley Reed.

  He smiles at me with a mischievous grin and then begins making his way towards me. My pulse quickens with each step he takes. Hands shoved in the pockets of his black slacks, he crosses the room like he doesn't have a care in the world. A power radiates from him and it's unlike anything I can even begin to explain.

  His gray button down shirt is unbuttoned just to the top of his chest and clings to his broad shoulders. I take a sharp intake as my eyes travel down, taking in every inch of this powerful man who still has the body of a professional athlete, before traveling back up to meet his heated gaze.