When we stopped outside the performance hall, the driver stepped quickly around the car to let me out. "Have a wonderful evening, sir. I'll be waiting right here when the performance is over, but please, take your time and enjoy the evening."
I nodded and shook his hand again. After all, he seemed like a nice enough guy. I just didn't know what in Satan's bloomers I was doing here. And of course, he didn't tell me.
The performance hall was like something straight out of an old James Bond movie. All the rich and famous had come out, and I recognized the faces of celebrities in the crowd, their smiles illuminated by the strobing flashes of paparazzi cameras. These were the perfect. The elite. The best and most beautiful our society had to offer.
I did not belong here.
I carried that monstrosity of a bouquet all the way up to the ticket box. But when I showed the clerk my ticket, he immediately summoned an usher who came, took the flowers from me, and said, "Right this way."
I stared at the main entrance where everyone else was filing into a grand auditorium. Wasn't I going in there?
The usher seemed to sense my uncertainty. "You have a private box seat reserved, sir. Please follow me."
Damn.
Well this was it. Mr. Edmond Dawning was definitely waiting for me up there to flaunt his prize and the fact that he'd taken Beverly back, no doubt. Then he'd probably shoot me when the orchestra reached a crescendo, and I’d be a headless corpse floating in the Hudson by morning.
I'd had a good run, though. Maybe my hairy landlord would remember me fondly.
I climbed the stairs behind the usher who led me up to one of the lofty private boxes overlooking the stage and all the people seated below.
He opened the door …
But the box was empty except for three chairs, a small table where a bottle of chilled champagne and a single crystal drinking flute sat.
I glanced at the usher. He nodded for me to go in. So I did.
"I'll present these to the performer of your choosing. The one who reserved this seat, yes? Enjoy the show."
Performer of my choosing … ?
The usher closed the door, and I was alone with nothing except the sound of the orchestra warming up and that bottle of champagne to keep me company.
I found a program waiting in my seat. This was a charity event, according to the glossy front cover. An annual presentation from which most of the proceeds went to charity.
Which charity?
Saint Jude's.
I swallowed hard. Things were starting to line up with coincidences that I couldn't ignore.
I started to hope, and sometimes hope is dangerous.
But there wasn't time to dwell on it. The house lights flickered, signaling that the show was about to begin. The orchestra went quiet. Everyone shuffled to their seats. Silence rippled across the crowd until all of us sat alone there in the dark, waiting. A voice from over the speakers welcomed us to the event and asked us not to take any flash photography.
And then the show began.
41
ONE SMALL STEP
—Joseph—
I watched a lot of different dancers perform a lot of different routines, one right after another.
But I knew her the moment I saw her.
The lights were completely darkened. I couldn't even see my hand in front of my own face. But she appeared on stage in a costume made of countless tiny, twinkling LED lights. She moved, dancing like a living constellation. No spotlight necessary.
She was a light.
A light in my darkest night.
I didn't know the song. But I was sure I'd never seen anything more beautiful in my life. She floated as though she were weightless, gliding across the stage. Every move, every gesture, everything she did was perfect and precise—until at last she came to an ending pose.
The lights on her costume went dark again. And just like that, she vanished.
The audience erupted into applause. I clapped, too, but I was numb. I felt like an idiot for suspecting it had been her dad who had brought me here.
This was all her doing. I'd asked to see her dance, and now I had.
When the show ended, the house lights came up and everyone started to leave. I wasn't sure what to do, so I wandered back down to stand on the curb.
I'd never felt so lost. Should I have tried to go backstage and see her? Was she even still here? Did she even want to see me?
My hands hurt from the cold. I was freezing and I didn't have a coat. Right on cue, my driver pulled up and I climbed into the warmth of the back seat. I settled in and loosened my tie.
"How was the performance, sir?" The driver was watching me in the rear view mirror.
I forced a half-hearted grin back at him and nodded slightly. Perfection. But I expected nothing less from Beverly.
He dropped me back at the hotel and I stood outside, looking around at the bustling, snowbound city around me. After so long living in a small suburban town, the glittering New York skyline looked alien to me. Big white flakes had started to fall, swirling in the air.
Time to go in.
I rode the elevator back up to my room and unlocked the door. I went to switch on the lights.
Nothing happened.
I flipped the switch again—nothing. I fiddled with it in frustration.
Damn. I'd been here a few hours and already broken something. Fantastic.
Walking into the room, I groped around in the dark for the nightstand so I could try to turn on the bedside lamp. Click-click. The light came on. But it had a strange bluish hue. I hadn't noticed that before.
"Hello, soldier."
I turned around.
She was sitting on the foot of the bed.
Her dark hair was still pinned back and her face dolled up with makeup from her performance. A white silk robe was falling off one of her shoulders. The bluish light from the LED bulb made her pale, impossibly smooth skin seem to glow.
She smiled, dark eyes searching me with all the intensity of six long months spent waiting.
"You were wrong, you know. You sent me away to be happy. But that's not possible if you aren't here," she murmured. "Not that I didn't try."
I took a step toward her.
Her smile widened. "So I was thinking that we should be together. Forever, if it's all the same to you. Tonight was my farewell. I had to finish it. You understand, don’t you?”
I did.
“Mom’s found a new job in Seattle. We move at the end of the month.”
I stopped right in front of her.
Slowly, Beverly stood up to meet me face-to-face. I could see my reflection in her eyes, like two soft brown mirrors. One of her small hands slipped into mine, a feeling so familiar I heard myself sigh out loud with relief. Like I'd been holding in that breath all this time.
"Stay with me, Joe?" she whispered.
I leaned down and let my forehead rest against hers.
1 … 2 … 3 … 4 … 5 …
"Absolutely."
Acknowledgments
Special thanks to my editor, Cameron Yeager,
for all her help.
To my agent, Fran Black, for all her continued support. You’re the best!
To Les (GermanCreative) for the beautiful cover design!
To my friends and family, for all their continued love and encouragement.
And to Turumi Lodge and the housing office at Osan AFB; without which I wouldn’t have been driven to the brink of insanity and needed the escapism only writing a love story can provide.
Thanks guys.
About the Author
NICOLE CONWAY is an author from North Alabama. She graduated from Auburn University in 2012, and has previously worked as a graphic artist. She is happily married with one son.
For more information about Nicole’s books, visit her author webpage at:
@ANConway
AuthorNicoleConway
www.authornicoleconway.com
AuthorNicoleConway@gm
ail.com
The Distance Between Stars Page 11