the Dance

by Alison G. Bailey

  Lying awake last night, I thought about what to wear in case by some miracle I did get an interview. I chose my black and white Houndstooth pencil skirt, a black long-sleeve silk blouse, and my black leather boots. Makeup was subtle, hair was down, and jewelry was minimal. The look was simple, classic, professional, and sophisticated without being snooty.

  Good Eats was one of the most popular and well respected caterers in Charleston. Over the years I’d sampled their food at several weddings and parties. It was out of this world delicious. They prided themselves on southern charm and elegance with a Lowcountry flare.

  I was a half hour early for the interview. After my monosyllabic performance on the phone, I didn’t want to come off as psychotically eager. So I sat in my car trying to think up possible questions I might be asked and calming my nerves. Several times I thought about calling Hart just to hear his warm encouraging voice. Lucky for him, we hadn’t exchanged numbers.

  Fifteen minutes before the interview was set to start, I walked toward the building with my head held high, shoulders back, and an ounce of confidence I’d somehow held on to. The bell over the door jingled as I entered the lobby area. The walls were a bright white with black framed photos of special events they’d catered and awards they’d won. Other than a few chairs lining one wall and the high counter on the other wall, the place was sparsely decorated.

  Out of nowhere a voice yelled. “Be right with you!”

  My gaze darted around hoping to find where the voice was coming from. I noticed behind the counter, on the far left, was an open door. I stayed put until the voice told me otherwise. After a few minutes a pair of powder blue pants and a bright orange flowered shirt with matching Crocs came bursting through the door. The small lady who looked to be in her early sixties with frizzy salt-and-pepper hair barreled toward me.

  “You Bryson?”

  I headed over to her, extending my hand. “Yes.”

  Bryson, enough already with the monosyllabic answers.

  “I want to thank you again for giving me this opportunity.”

  The lady’s dark gaze slid down behind her dark framed glasses. I followed her gaze to our still shaking hands.

  Flashing her a weak smile, I let go. “Sorry.”

  “I’m Nancy Baldwin.” She turned and headed toward the door she came out of. “Come. I’ll show you around.”

  I followed her into a huge white room divided into different prep areas. At the far end was the kitchen with two stoves and a bank of ovens taking up the majority of one wall. Another wall housed a walk-in freezer and refrigerator. Long work tables, shelves, and rolling racks filled the space. Everything was top of the line, stainless steel, very organized, and spotless.

  “No one’s here because we close on Mondays.” She walked toward a small desk tucked away in an empty corner and waved me over. “Come on.”

  The few minutes I’d been around Nancy I could already tell she walked to the beat of her own drummer.

  “Sit,” she said, pointing to the fold-out chair across from her desk.

  I sat.

  Grabbing what I assumed to be my resume, Nancy tilted her chair back and read over it.

  Her eyes focused on the paper. “By the looks of it, you don’t have any experience.”

  I swallowed hard. “I realize I don’t have much on my resume.”

  “Not much? You got nothing.”

  My throat felt thick as I blinked away the moisture in my eyes.

  “You’re how old?”

  “Twenty-seven.”

  “And never held a job?”

  Running my tongue over my dry lips, I said, “No ma’am.”

  “This says you graduated two years ago. Whatcha been doing?”

  “I got married.”

  “So why a job now?”

  “I’m getting a divorce.” I paused feeling the need to add more details. “We were together for ten years.”

  “You have an MBA. Why do you want to work at a catering company?”

  “A couple of years ago I discovered my passion for food and cooking. I love that I can be creative and also challenged by it. When I’m in the kitchen I feel peace and contentment. Like I was born to be there.”

  My head was swimming so much, I had no idea what I’d just said. Looking over her glasses, Nancy gave me an approving nod.

  She looked back at my resume, then at me, then back at the resume.

  I could tell she was on the fence about me. I had one shot to push her over to my side.

  “I know my resume, for lack of a better word, sucks. I’ve been cooking for just two years. And the only people who’ve eaten my dishes have been family and a few close friends. But I’m loyal, dependable, and even though you can’t tell by my resume, I’m a hard worker. Mrs. Baldwin . . .”

  “Ms.”

  “Ms. Baldwin, I’ve got the drive and eagerness to learn. All I need is that one person to give me a chance to prove it.”

  She was silent for an extraordinarily long period of time. Placing my resume back on the desk, she leaned forward and looked me straight in the eye.

  “It doesn’t pay a lot.”

  “I don’t care. What I learn from you will be invaluable.”

  “The position is for a prep cook.” I nodded. “Weekends are a must and during the busy season we work very long hours.” I kept nodding. “As you get familiar with things, you’ll be asked to assist at events as well.”

  “It all sounds great.”

  My body vibrated with excitement. I couldn’t believe that I had just gotten a job doing what I loved to do. What was even more incredible was the fact that I kept my nerves in check and didn’t ramble incoherently. Hart was going to flip when I told him I got the job. The realization that he was the first person I wanted to share the good news with flashed across my brain.

  Nancy pushed away from her desk and stood. “You start next Monday. You’ll get the complete and detailed tour and we’ll get all the paperwork out of the way.”

  I sprang from the chair and thrust my hand toward her. We shook.

  “Thank you so much. I can’t tell you how excited and grateful I am that you’re willing to take a chance on me. I promise you won’t regret it.”

  I followed Nancy’s gaze as it dropped down to our still shaking hands.

  I let go.

  I practically floated across the parking lot and into my car after leaving the interview. Nancy wasn’t just giving me a job. She was giving me the opportunity to prove to myself and others that I had something worthwhile to offer. And even though I wouldn’t be able to live the life I was used to on what she was paying me, for the first time in my twenty-six years I felt self-reliant and proud.

  I was too excited to go home and wanted to celebrate. Calling my parents or Ryan was out. Too many questions would be asked about why I’d gotten a job in the first place. I had already kept the divorce a secret and tonight was not the time to drop that little morsel on their plates. I almost called Sophie but remembered she’d left for a few days on a business trip. Besides, I wanted to see the look on her face when I told her.

  With my options dwindling, Hart popped back into my head. Who was I kidding, he’d been popping up since before I left Good Eats. It was no big deal that he was the first person I thought of to share my great news with. He’d inspired me to reach for my dreams and we had become friends. What worried me was how much I wanted to share my great news with him. I was so tied up in getting ready for the interview, it left little time and brain power for me to think about that moment in Hart’s office. Until now. Just the thought of his arms around me, the look in his eyes, and the touch of his fingers on my skin caused goosebumps to scatter over every visible surface of my body and a few that could not be seen by the naked eye.

  The next thing I knew, my car was pulling into the rehab parking lot looking for Hart’s car. When it wasn’t in its usual spot, I glanced at my watch, realizing it was past office hours. I wondered if stopping by his house would be
overkill. He did say he wanted a full report. And his house was on my way home so it wasn’t as if I’d be making a special trip. I’d stay long enough to tell him my news and leave. Just a friend stopping by to update another friend.

  As I got closer to Hart’s house, I saw his car in the driveway. Another car was parked on the street between his place and Miss Polly’s, making it hard to tell which one of them had a visitor. The sun had almost set so the front porch and house were lit up. I pulled in behind Hart’s car. Hesitating for a few seconds, I reconsidered my friendly drop by. In all likelihood, I’d see him tomorrow at the rehab and could tell him then.

  Screw it.

  I got out of my car and headed up to the porch. There was all kinds of fluttering going on inside my chest, my stomach, and various other regions of my body. My finger hovered near the doorbell as I listened to my heartbeat pounding in my ears. I closed my eyes and pushed.

  Clicking paws across hardwood accompanied by the excited bark of Butter came toward me. It sounded so clear and loud, I thought she’d run up on the porch. Looking to the left then right, I found no Butter. A loud thud from the other side of the door caused me to step back. I then noticed all the windows at the front of the house were open. In Charleston, there was a very short period of time during the year in which the weather was perfect and windows could be left up. The first weeks of fall were one of those times. Butter continued to bark and the door remained closed. My finger was poised to ring the bell one more time but I stopped myself, figuring it would only upset Butter more.

  I headed down the steps and back to my car when a thought occurred to me. What if Hart wasn’t answering the door because he was hurt? What if he slipped and hit his head while transferring from his chair to the sofa or his bed or any number of other places. His car was here and there were lights on in the house. It was obvious he was home. Maybe Butter’s barks were actually cries for help.

  Remembering the layout of the house pretty well from the other night, I headed around to the side where I thought the bedrooms were located. The pointy heel of my boots sank in the ground, causing me to stumble toward the first open window. The blinds were open enough for me to tell the room was dark and empty. As I backed away a muffled sound caught my attention.

  Wobbling toward the next window, I could see the blinds were down but the lights were on. Another muffled sound, like a moan seeped out. I stepped closer. Laying my palms flat against the house, I craned my neck and tried to peer through the slats.

  “My pussy is hot for you, baby.” A female’s groan assaulted my ears.

  Holy shit! Legs get movin’.

  But they wouldn’t budge.

  “Stop talking.” Hart’s familiar rasp punched me in the stomach.

  “You’ve never complained about my mouth before.”

  There was a moment of silence followed by Hart growling. “Fuck it.”

  “What’s wrong with you tonight?”

  “Just leave.”

  “But we haven’t . . .”

  “Amber, get the fuck out. I don’t need you.”

  “What about my . . .”

  “Money’s on the dresser.”

  Heels clicked accompanied by some unidentified rustling.

  “Thanks, baby. I’ll be at the club if you change your mind. I’ll even give you a little discount since this visit was a bust.”

  It took my brain a few seconds to defrost before realizing my car was still in the driveway. Staggering back from the house, I turned and was just about to run when a set of tiny white teeth stopped me.

  “Hey, Honeybun,” I whispered.

  The white puff of fur vibrated as a low menacing rumble shook of out her.

  I took a step toward freedom. “Shh . . .”

  Still vibrating, Honeybun took a step toward my ankle.

  The slam of a door caused my gaze to shoot to the street just in time to see Amber walking past my car. She was so focused on looking at her phone, she didn’t even notice. Her bubble-butt got into the mystery car and drove off.

  Turning my attention back on the beast in front me, I tentatively stepped to the side, hoping Honeybun would feel less threatened. Before my foot hit the ground a barrage of yip-yaps flew out of the round white puff like a twenty-one gun-salute. I froze. My only hope was that Hart had gotten so used to the noise, he turned a deaf ear on the little bitch. Simultaneously, Miss Polly’s voice filled the air as the front of her house lit up.

  The sweet old lady appeared at the end of her porch, frantically clapping her hands. “Honeybun, stop that right now and get back in this house.”

  The puff shot me one final yap before turning and running up on the porch.

  Holding my breath, I stayed as still as a statue until Miss Polly went inside her house.

  “Bryson, is that you?” she said, leaning slightly over the porch railing.

  Fuuuuuck meee!

  “Hey,” I croaked.

  “My heavens, what are you doing out here?”

  Think, think, think.

  Stepping slightly forward, I kept my voice low and lied. “I was driving by on my way home and I noticed your beautiful rose bushes. I love roses . . . all kinds. I just had to get a closer look.”

  Her face was in shadow so I wasn’t able to tell by her expression whether she believed me or not.

  “Come inside for a little bit.”

  “I really should be going.”

  She turned and shuffled toward her door, scolding Honeybun for her great escape. I could have and should have just gotten in my car and gone home, putting this asinine move behind me. But I found myself walking up to Miss Polly’s porch and into her house.

  “Honeybun you’ve been such a bad girl.” Closing the door, she smiled at me. “She must have snuck out when I was sweeping out front.”

  “She’s a really good watch dog.”

  “Come in the kitchen.”

  I followed her through a large living room and into the bright yellow kitchen.

  Miss Polly pointed to the small café type table by the window. “Have a seat.”

  Realizing my car was still in Hart’s driveway, I said, “I can’t stay.”

  She reached in the cabinet and pulled down two plates. “Hart brought over some of that delicious fried chicken I told you about.”

  The little lady wasn’t exaggerating when she said Hart piled it up high. There must have been two birds perched on the plate set on the countertop.

  “Thank you so much but really I can’t . . .”

  She handed me the plate of fried chicken. “Now go put that on the table.”

  I did what I was told and sat down.

  Miss Polly walked over with our two plates and a roll of paper towels under one arm.

  She placed a couple of pieces of chicken on a plate and handed it to me with a smile. “Hart was going to eat with me but he had something come up at the last minute.”

  He had something come up, alright.

  I sunk my teeth into a drumstick and tasted the best thing I’d ever had in my mouth. Just the right amount of buttermilk batter coated the chicken. It was crisp and seasoned to perfection. Underneath, the chicken was tender, moist, and melted in my mouth.

  I closed my eyes, and a slight moan escaped me. “Mmm . . . this is amazing.”

  “I told you.” She tore apart a wing. “Now, why don’t you tell me why you were lurking in my yard?”

  I sputtered and coughed as a piece of chicken lodged in my throat. Miss Polly got up and brought me back a glass of water. A couple of sips later the chicken was free.

  “I told you.” Bringing the innocence up a notch in my voice.

  She sent me a warm grandmotherly smile as she sat back down. “No one looks at roses in the dark, dear.”

  Busted.

  There was no getting around the fact. No matter what story I came up with I had a feeling this little old lady would know I was full of crap. I had to come clean.

  My gaze focused down on the piece of c
hicken I was picking apart. “I got some great news today. I wanted to tell Hart and since I don’t have his phone number, I thought I’d drop by but . . .”

  “Something came up?” I glanced up at the knowing twinkle in her eye. “I love that boy as if he were my own grandson. When his mom passed I just wanted to wrap my arms around him and not let go until all the pain disappeared. Then there was the accident. After his body recovered he filled his heart and life with work. Hartford has achieved so much. But he’s still lost and searching. With your help, I think he might just find what he’s been looking for.”

  This being only the second time I’d been in her company, I wondered where this was coming from.

  “It’s complicated.”

  She reached over and placed her hand on mine. “Matters of the heart usually are.”

  “He seems to have his life arranged the way he prefers.”

  “Hartford’s a good man. And a good man always prefers a woman of quality over a common whore, dear.”

  She gave my hand a couple of pats and then returned to her plate of chicken.

  After sharing my great news with Miss Polly, I helped her clean up our fried feast. I thanked her and my lucky stars that there were no signs my car had been discovered. I drove home with a belly full of goodness and a head full of scrambled thoughts.

  In a short period of time my friendship with Hart had grown more than I expected. He felt familiar and new all at the same time. It was as if he saw the real me and not the scared girl who spent the last ten years accepting what others thought of her as the truth. Hart challenged and believed in me. He was interested in what I had to say. And he made me laugh. I felt lighter and stronger around him. I wanted his friendship. I needed his friendship. But my attraction to him clouded everything.

  Needing a little breather to clear my head, I avoided Hart for the next few days. I parked in a different spot, came in through the back entrance of the rehab, and did a lot of dodging around corners when I spotted him in the hallway. Not having Hart be a part of my day made everything feel mediocre. But the sinking feeling I experienced when I heard him and Amber scared me. There was a huge amount of self-doubt that I was able to stay unaffected by his relationship with her or any other woman he had an arrangement with. After a little distance, I felt positive I’d be able to sort out my feelings and the pull wouldn’t be as strong.