the Dance

by Alison G. Bailey

  The outline of Hart came into view. The Frosty from earlier bubbled and churned in my stomach. I needed to leave. I’d seen too much already. But my legs were currently ignoring my commands, forcing me to watch Hart pull Amber toward him and bury his face deep between her tits.

  “Are you lost, dear?”

  A gasp of epic proportion shot out of me. The small crackly voice had me jumping twenty miles out of my skin. Turning around, I was met by a gray-haired little lady, holding a cane in one hand and a leash in the other. At the end of the leash was a tiny white puff.

  “Are you okay? Your face is bright red. Do you have a fever?” Concern was evident in her tone.

  As inconspicuously as possible, I side stepped away from the peepshow, trying to distract the little lady’s sweet brown eyes. “Oh . . . uh . . . yeah. I’m fine. I was just heading home.”

  “You’re a friend of Hart’s?”

  My gaze darted between the window display and the old lady. “Yes, ma’am. We actually went to high school together.”

  “That’s nice. He’s such a sweet boy. Always checks on me. He brings me fried chicken from work every time they fix it for dinner.” The old lady closed her eyes and puckered her lips as if she had just taken a delicious bite of the fried bird. “Oooh . . . they make the best buttermilk fried chicken. Have you had it?”

  I shook my head.

  “Hart piles so much on my plate that I have enough for the entire week. I’m Polly by the way. What’s your name, hun?”

  “Bryson.” I smiled and relaxed a little, realizing she wasn’t able to hear the booming music.

  “What a lovely name. It’s nice to meet you, Bryson.”

  “Nice to meet you too.”

  “I’m sure I’ll be seeing more of you. Maybe you could come for fried chicken next time.”

  “That would be great.”

  Looking down at the white puff, she said, “Come on, Honeybun. Time for bed.”

  A pair of beady black eyes poked out from behind the fur and looked up at Polly. “Goodnight, Bryson.”

  “Goodnight,” I called after her as she waddled off down the sidewalk.

  I watched the little old lady and Honeybun head into the house right next door to Hart’s. Forcing my gaze to stay straight ahead, I got into my car. My eyes had been tainted enough for one night. Besides, as I drove home I preferred to fill my head with thoughts of the Hart who brought his elderly neighbor fried chicken rather than the Hart who was banging Slutty McMasterson.

  About a mile down the road the fried chicken flew the coup and my thoughts drifted back to the old bump and grind. I gripped the steering wheel tighter with one hand while the other hand shoved fries in my mouth. Hart and Amber didn’t even look as if they had anything in common. Not that I had an idea of what either of their interests were or hobbies . . . nor did I care . . . nor was it any of my business.

  As I pulled into my driveway, it occurred to me that I was working a little too hard at trying to convince myself how much I didn’t care about the Hart and Amber show. More than likely it was just the newness of the subject matter. For months all of my thoughts and energies had been concentrated on my failed marriage. My mind just needed a little break. A simple diversion. Everyone needs a little mindless fluff now and again to break up the pain in life.

  The next morning I groggily dragged myself out of bed having spent the entire night tossing and turning. Every time my eyes were about to close visions of Amber’s big sugar plums with Hart’s face buried between them danced in my head. I decided to get up early and get a few things done around the house before Sophie showed up for breakfast.

  Once out of the shower, I applied light makeup and gathered my hair into a messy bun. I’d been living in yoga pants, T-shirts, and tennis shoes for weeks and needed a change. I pulled on a pair of olive green capri pants and a plain white tank. I topped off the casual look with gold hoop earrings, my collection of bangles, a lightweight tan denim jacket, and brown wedge sandals.

  I was on my second cup of coffee while sitting at the breakfast bar paying bills online when my phone buzzed with a text. I cringed, hoping it wasn’t Will already. This was the first morning in three weeks that I’d had to myself. I was thrilled when I saw Sophie’s name pop up. Since Will’s accident we haven’t had much girl time.

  Sophie: Hey girlie! Open up. I brought breakfast.

  Me: Yay! Walking to door now.

  I opened the door to find my best friend holding a bag of cinnamon buns from my favorite local bakery, The Bake House Café.

  “I love you more than words can express,” I said, eyeing the bag of goodies.

  “I’m no fool. You only love me for my buns.”

  I could smell the warm pastries as Sophie walked past me heading toward the kitchen.

  “They are mighty sweet buns.” I followed.

  Knowing she was going to bring breakfast, I had already set out two small plates and napkins. While I grabbed our coffee, Sophie plated the gooey goodness.

  Sitting, she took a sip of coffee and said, “Talk.”

  “So much for pleasantries,” I said sarcastically, pulling out a stool.

  “Well, our time is limited since Prince William has you at his beck and call.”

  “Sophie.”

  “What? I’m sorry. Am I out of the loop? Has he stopped laying a guilt trip on you?” She tore off a piece of the blueberry pastry, tossing it in her mouth.

  “He has his moments. But I’ve been very clear. He knows once he’s recovered we have things to deal with.”

  Her violet eyes were filled with concern. “I hope so.”

  I hoped so too.

  I took a bite of sugary warm dough. “Mmm . . . These are better than sex.”

  “With the crew I’ve been screwing lately, I’d have to agree.”

  “You need to be more selective with whom you share your buns.” I smiled, pausing a second to take another bite. “With things being so crazy lately I forgot to tell you . . .”

  That was a little white lie. Sophie had been in and out of town sporadically since Will was admitted to rehab. I started to text her several times about running into Hart. But decided to keep it my little secret until we were together.

  “Guess who works at the rehab place?”

  “You know I’m no good at guessing games. Cut to the chase.” She took a sip of coffee.

  “Hart Mitchell.”

  Sophie’s face scrunched up in confusion. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”

  “Are you kidding me? Hart Mitchell, tall, blond, mysterious bad boy.”

  “That dude from prom? He was hot.”

  “Yes! He’s the director of the entire physical therapy department. I saw him the day Will was admitted. One of the nurses was giving us a tour of the facility. We were at the pool . . .”

  “Pool? What is this place, some sort of spa?”

  “They do aquatic therapy. Anyway, he was sitting on the side of the pool. I recognized him immediately. I wasn’t sure he’d even remember me but he did, last name and everything. His hair is a little shorter. He still has the scruff and the dimples. We’ve run into each other a few times. We chat. He’s really fun.”

  Setting her coffee down, Sophie’s eyes narrowed as she pointed her manicured finger at me and wiggled it. “What’s going on here? What’s happening?”

  “I’m telling you about running into an old classmate.” My gaze dropped to my fidgeting fingers.

  “No. No you’re not. You’re telling me about a guy . . . a guy you’re hot for.”

  I choked on a gasp, coughs pouring out of me.

  Sophie rushed to my side and vigorously patted me on the back. “You okay?”

  “I’m fine.” A couple of faint residual coughs escaped as she sat back down. “And I’m not hot for anyone. I don’t even know him.”

  “Bryson, being hot for someone is a pure chemical reaction. It has nothing to do with whether you know the person. You could pass some random guy on the street who
gets your juices flowin’.”

  My nose crinkled.

  “I mean, if I had a dime for every guy my hoo-haw heated up for on any given day . . . Well, I’d have a pocket full of change.”

  “Rest assured, there’s no heating of hoo-haws happening.”

  Completely ignoring my last statement, her eyes brightened with excitement. “This is perfect if you think about it. While Slimy Bastard is laid up you could be doing a little rehabbing of your own. This Hart dude could be your transition guy.”

  “My what?”

  “Transition guy . . . he fills in the gap between serious relationships. You have fun and a lot of sex. He helps you forget the old guy and clears the way for the new one. A cleansing of the vajayjay, if you will.”

  “I’m not ready for any of that. I’m still married.”

  Reaching across the table, Sophie placed her hand on mine. “Things between the two of you have been bad for a long time and you’ve basically been living apart for months. You’re getting a divorce. You have no kids. No one will get hurt by you having a little fun.”

  I’d be lying if I said Hart hadn’t appeared in a few of my dreams lately. The idea of being with someone other than Will terrified me. I’d never even been kissed by another guy. Then there was Hart’s disability. My mind hadn’t gone to how that affected his love life.

  I shook my head Etch-A-Sketch style in hopes of erasing the silly notion of me and Hart together.

  “I don’t exactly know his situation. Besides, I gotta look at his type and I’m nowhere near it.”

  With her elbows on the table, Sophie rested her chin in her hands. “Do tell.”

  “He was having car trouble last night so I gave him a ride home.”

  “Listen at you prowling the rehab parking lot.”

  “We were on his front porch when this Amber creature showed up. Fake from top to bottom.”

  “Girlfriend?”

  “I don’t think so. He hinted that there was no girlfriend or wife. He likes to tease me a lot, so he could have been playing around. What’s weird is he referred to it as a business appointment.”

  Sophie leaned back, her brows rising up her forehead. “Oh my god! Maybe he’s a dom and she’s his submissive.”

  “Ugh . . . you and your erotic books. It wouldn’t hurt to pick up a Jane Austin once in a while.”

  Gathering the remnants of our breakfast, Sophie said, “Maybe I need to pay a little visit to Slimy Bastard and check out Mr. Mitchell.”

  “Don’t you dare!”

  A mischievous smile crept over her perfect rose bud lips as she slid from the stool and threw our trash away.

  “Sophie, I mean it.”

  “Relax. But I think you’re missing out on a prime opportunity. You’re obviously attracted to him.”

  I huffed. “What makes you think that? I never said anything about being attracted to him. I was simply letting you know he’s alive and well and working at the rehab.” The word shot out of my mouth like a bullet at warped speed.

  “Man, the sugar and caffeine combo has you all wound up. Or is it a certain bad boy therapist?” She walked over to where I sat and draped her arm around my shoulders. “Bryson, I’ve known you for most of my life. And I’ve become quite adept at spotting your bullshit. All I’m saying is, if he’s willing and able, treat yourself to a little fun.”

  It occurred to me that I hadn’t told Sophie about Hart being in a wheelchair. It wasn’t that I was trying to hide it from her. It was nothing to be ashamed of. So he was in a wheelchair. After the initial shock wore off, I never saw the chair again. I just saw Hart.

  “But I’m still technically married and if Will ever found out he could make things . . .” I jumped off the stool waving my hands. “This is all a moot point. Nothing is going to happen with Hart.”

  Sophie moved in front of me, placed her hands on my shoulders, and looked me directly in the eye. “All I’m saying is pass the idea by the guy. If he’s into it, just keep things on the down low. Besides, I don’t believe for one second that Slimy Bastard limited his slimy dick to just his own hands.”

  A slight tremor ran through my body at her words. Finding out Will never truly loved me, along with his online activity, and texting other women devastated me. It may have been a protective shield of denial I held in front of me, but I’d always chosen to believe him when he said he’d never physically been with another woman. I knew I was being naïve and gullible. I just needed to hold on to one tiny thread of hope and pretend it was real.

  Tears pooled in my eyes.

  “I didn’t mean to make you cry.” Her eyes were misting.

  “I know you didn’t. You’re probably right about Will. It’s so stupid that I’m even getting upset. I don’t love him and haven’t for a while. I guess I’m having a hard time saying goodbye to ten years of my life even if it was all a lie.”

  Sophie pulled me into a tight hug. “I don’t see how you are able to sit in the same room with him.”

  “I have to for the time being.”

  She pulled away from me and with her thumb wiped the couple of tears that had trickled down my cheek. “Please, seriously consider having a little mindless fun. You deserve it.”

  I nodded in agreement to appease my best friend. I had no intention nor the guts to ask Hart to serve as my play thing while I mended my broken heart. I was completely satisfied with our occasional chats and my daydreams.

  After Sophie left I packed the cooler with Will’s lunch. He still refused to eat the food the rehab facility provided. He was such a brat. Mrs. Tanner, the head dietician, was very understanding, allowing me to come in the kitchen to reheat food if needed. We were both foodies, so I think that helped in persuading her. The only thing she asked of me was to keep a tight lip. If others knew she had made an exception for me then everyone would bombard her with requests.

  Will was in a particularly pissy mood when I arrived at his room. He’d already been to his morning therapy session and was sitting in the recliner when I walked in.

  “Where the hell have you been?” He snapped.

  “Well, hello, Sunshine.” I placed the cooler at the foot of the bed, tossing my purse beside it.

  He shifted in the chair, wincing in pain. “I’ve been pushing that fucking call button forever and still no nurse.”

  “What do you need?”

  “A pain pill. Damn Jackie almost killed me today.” He squeezed the call button again. “Where the fuck is that stupid nurse?”

  “Will, keep your voice down and don’t be so ugly toward the staff.”

  “This is what happens when you’re off having a fun morning. Bryson, I need you to be here every day, all day. They stick me in bed or this fucking chair and ignore me.” He was gripping the call button so tightly that his knuckles were changing color.

  “I have to have some time to run errands and make your meals. The outside world is still revolving.” I needed to reign in my sarcasm. “I know it’s difficult when you’re in pain but you’re not the only patient.”

  “I’m starving.”

  I started unpacking the containers from the cooler.

  “I made my famous chicken salad, sourdough bread, and pecan pie,” I said, trying hard to sound cheery.

  “Yum,” Angie, Will’s day nurse, said, as she walked in the room.

  “It’s about time,” he growled.

  “Will!”

  “Oh, it’s okay. He’s more bark than bite.” She handed him the little white cup that had his pain pill in it along with a cup of water. “Here, that should hold you for a while.”

  “Angie, would you like a piece of pie? I brought three.”

  “I’d love one but my waistline wouldn’t.”

  Angie was a very attractive woman, maybe in her early forties. She had long blond hair that was always in a bun whenever I saw her. She was a little taller than me and curvy. I’d never seen her without a sweet warm smile. I admired that. Her job could not be easy.

 
; “Well, just let me know if you change your mind.”

  “Thanks.” She directed her attention to Will. “You behave yourself and buzz me if you need anything.”

  “Should I start buzzing you now for my four o’clock meds? Maybe I’d actually get them on time.”

  “Angie, I’m sorry.”

  She raised her hand, waving off my apology. “It’s the feisty ones that get better quicker.”

  As she walked toward the door, I gave Will a dirty look.

  “Y’all enjoy your lunch.”

  “Thanks,” I said.

  I opened up the container of chicken salad and placed it on the hospital table in front of Will.

  He huffed. “I’m not in the mood for chicken. Would you go across the street and get me a burger?”

  “Are you kidding me?”

  “No.”

  “I went to all this trouble. Why didn’t you text me this morning and tell me to get you a burger?”

  “I didn’t know you were bringing chicken,” he grumbled.

  “You knew you wanted a hamburger.”

  “Bryson, get off my back. I’m in enough pain without having to listen to your whining.”

  I inhaled a deep breath and tried to tamp down my anger. Will could be a manipulative son of a bitch. After dating for a while I began to notice how he’d say hurtful things just to see my reaction. Once he got what he was going for, he’d swoop in all sweet. At first I didn’t argue, chalking it up to teenage angst. I had my moody days too. As we got older I challenged him on occasion. He’d back-pedal, claiming he never meant the harsh words the way I took them. As the marriage crumbled I knew this was his way of inducing guilt and making me feel even worse. I’d been working very hard not to take the bait.

  I put the lid back on the container of salad and packed up. Grabbing the cooler and my purse, I turned on my heels and headed toward the door.

  “Bryson, wait.” I stopped and waited for an apology. “I’d like fries too.”

  As I closed the door, my middle finger levitated on its own volition as I muttered, “Asshole.”

  I stomped down the hallway and out the main entrance. As I rounded the corner of the building where my car was parked, I passed the courtyard. It was a quaint little area with shade trees, azalea bushes, a couple of benches, and picnic tables. I’d come out here before when I needed a breather from Will’s attitude.