by Jess Epps
My phone goes off too loudly as a text from Mae comes in. My eyes shift away from my notes as I glance at my Galaxy’s screen.
How are your studies coming along, Noah?
Mae, my mother for a lack of a better word, has always been involved in my life. Hell, I’d be dead if it weren’t for this kind woman’s open arms and earnest heart. If my fate were left up to my parents, I’d be six feet under. I’m grateful that I have no recollection of my parents, nor the dumpster in New York City where I was abandoned as a week-old infant. Mae found me on my deathbed and took me in as her own. Once the adoption went through, I was legally hers, and for that I will forever be in her debt.
A smile forms on my face as I read the text message. I type out a quick response to inform her that I am, indeed, keeping my nose stuck in these damn law books. I hit send and moments later my phone starts vibrating on the wooden desk. I answer without having to look at the caller ID.
“Mae, how are you?” I ask, distracted by my notes.
“Oh Noah! You are so wonderful. I am so very proud of you. Look at everything you have accomplished.” She sniffles and I know she’s on the verge of tears from my accomplishments alone. Pushing my notes aside, I remove my reading glasses and give her my undivided attention.
“I would be nothing without you, Mae. I’ll be back this weekend, and I don’t plan on leaving Scottsdale for the remainder of the year. I’m taking you to see The Nutcracker on Christmas Eve at the Phoenix theatre.”
Mae loves the ballet. I grew up accompanying her to performances whether they were a local high school show or a world-renowned traveling company. Hell, we went to every ballet performance in town that she knew about.
I can hear the joy in her voice when she replies, “I would love that. It will be just in time for Christmas. Tell me you will be home for Christmas, son?” Realizing she is asking a question I just answered, I frown. This old age shit must be hard on her.
“I’ll be there Mae, and I’m looking up ballet tickets as we speak.” I move to my laptop and pull up the Phoenix theatre’s website where I purchase two tickets, choosing seats as close to the orchestra pit as possible. “I’ll see you on Friday, Mae. Call me if you need anything.”
“I simply cannot wait to hug you. Goodbye, my dear Noah,” she says enthusiastically.
“Goodbye, Mae,” I add before hanging up. I purchase the tickets before shutting my laptop down to get back to the never-ending process of studying.
Thursday, December 18th
I HAVE BEEN studying for the past twelve hours and I doubt I could cram any more information into my head. Now I have to endure the grueling process of waiting for my exam date and studying my fucking ass off some more.
I know without a doubt that I’ll pass the character and fitness test, which isn’t really a test at all. It just involves an FBI background check with all the damn bells and whistles. It’d be a waste of three years if I don’t pass the simplest step in the process of acquiring my license. Hell, I need to pass this check in order to even take the exam. I pack up my shit and nod to the librarian as I walk past her on my way out. She knows me by name now.
Once I get back to my apartment, I quickly shove shit in a duffel bag and call it packed. I’ve decided to surprise Mae and arrive a day early. I grab my duffel and toss it onto the passenger seat of my truck.
After the short drive from Tempe to Scottsdale, I park outside of Mae’s house and kill the engine. Leaping out of my pickup, I go to the door and knock repeatedly. Given her age, it takes her longer to get to the door, but I know she’s coming because she calls out in her singsong voice, “Who is it?” She slowly swings the door open and before I know it I’m entangled in a Mae hug.
She holds onto me as she says, “You are early, Noah! How is your studying going? Oh my…you always have your head stuck in your books.”
I walk inside with her while she questions me and I hug her again before replying, “Why don’t we sit down and we’ll talk about everything?”
“Oh I would love that,” she says eagerly.
Mae makes herself a cup of tea and a large steaming cup of black coffee for me. We sit down at the kitchen table and I tell her about all the boring shit that comes along with studying. While Mae sips her tea, my gaze moves to the clock above the kitchen door, noticing that it’s getting late.
“Mae, you should get some rest. I’m here until December 31st, and we’ll have plenty of time to talk.”
She squeezes my hand before getting up. “Let me know if you need anything. Your room is ready for you as always.”
“Thanks, Mae. Goodnight.”
In a loving voice she murmurs, “Goodnight, my son.”
Once I hear her bedroom door screech shut, I get up and head to my childhood room. Nothing much has changed since I left. Mae and I didn’t have much when I was growing up, but she always made sure we got by. She was constantly working two or even three jobs at a time to pay the bills and put food on our table. Since then times have changed, and we’re fairly well off. I haven’t had to worry about money for the past six years, and it’s a weight lifted off of my shoulders.
It all turned around when her boss, the owner of Vento Diner, unfortunately passed away seven years ago. His will stated that Mae Ryan would be the sole owner of the diner. She’s been working at Vento’s since she was eighteen and has been the diner’s utmost loyal employee. She’s put her heart’s work into the place, which is now thriving.
Damn, we’ve come a long way.
After reminiscing, I pull my shirt up and off of my torso then unbuckle my belt and step out of my jeans. Kicking off my boxer briefs, I fold up my clothes before getting into bed. There is no other way to sleep than stark naked. Ah. I stretch out and take up most of the available space on the bed, unlike many other nights when I’ve had to share my mattress with a very naked female…or females.
Christmas Eve
DRESSED IN A tux, I’m holding Mae’s gift in my hand as I wait for her in the foyer. Mae and I have always exchanged gifts on Christmas Eve.
I glance up when she walks in. She’s wearing an iridescent rosy dress this evening. “Well don’t you look like Christmas itself? Merry Christmas Eve, Mom.” I wrap her in a hug. She’s beaming and I know it’s because she loves it when I call her that, but somewhere deep down inside, it’s fucking painful as hell for me. I can’t stand to think of her as a parent. When anyone asks me about my parents, I cringe. Mae is my guardian angel.
I have to remind myself to breathe before I pull away from her. I feign a smile and hand her a gift box. “I got you something.”
She looks at the small white box wrapped in a red ribbon, “Oh Noah, you shouldn’t have.”
An exasperated laugh spills out of me and I hold my hands up in disagreement. “You deserve more than I could ever give you.”
Despite her admonishment, she excitedly reaches for the box and pulls off the ribbon. She gasps when she sees the golden heart brooch.
“Oh it is gorgeous, but I can’t accept this. It’s too much,” she says quietly, but I know there’s no way in hell she’d give it up now.
“Don’t worry about it and just accept it.”
Her smile brightens as she hugs me again, “Thank you, Noah. Merry Christmas Eve, my handsome son.”
“You’re welcome, Mae. Are you ready to head out?”
“Yes, I am. Oh Noah, I almost forgot about this.” She opens her purse and pulls out a box wrapped in childish Christmas paper. “This is your gift.” She smiles and places the box in my hand. I rip open the paper and box, pulling out a black stainless-steel watch.
Tilting my head to the side, I admire it. “You have truly outdone yourself. Thank you,” I say sincerely as I slide the watch onto my wrist and fasten it: it’s the perfect fit. I glance at myself in the hallway mirror as I hold up my wrist, turning it so I am able to see her gift reflecting back at me. I smooth my lapels before turning back to her. “This is great, Mae. Now let’s get you to the b
allet.”
Heather
THE NUTCRACKER IN Phoenix is the last show on the tour this year. Although ballet has been a passion of mine since I was a little girl, I have no problem admitting that I will be pleased when this tour comes to an end. It’s Christmas Eve and I’d rather be tucked into bed, reading a good book.
The cast is currently stretching backstage as the lights flicker on and off as a five-minute warning. Each and every one of us is completely done up. Our faces are masked with foundation and glitter that take mere minutes to apply, but hours to remove. I dab a tissue against my lips to blot off some of the caked-on lipstick. The makeup artist refuses to change the brand because it looks remarkable on stage, but it feels like little grains of sand on my now rosy lips. Apart from loathing the lipstick, I don’t mind the glitter. It adds a little special something on stage.
The lights dim as the curtain opens across the stage. As my fellow ballerinas begin the scene, I watch from the dark wings, hidden from view as I peer out at this evening’s crowd. The show is completely sold out and all eyes are trained on the Christmas tree as it grows and mice invade the stage. My eyes move from face to face in the crowd as they light up when The Nutcracker reappears. Observing children’s expressions change as they watch an all-consuming show is like watching the groom as his bride walks down the aisle—no one ever notices the look of pure love in his eyes or the dazzling smile on his face because the guests are preoccupied with the spectacle of the bride.
The children are on the edge of their seats, watching the white dress as I study their little expressions. The cast and crew are well aware of where I’ll always be when it’s my time to shine. As Nikolai approaches me from behind, my eye catches an elderly woman in the crowd. She’s sitting on the edge of her seat, engrossed in the performance.
I look to her left and see a woman with her daughter, pointing to the stage as the gingerbread man defeats the army of mice. I glance to the right of her and see her companion is a younger gentleman. He’s not watching the show. Instead, he watches the elder woman as she falls in love with every single character on stage. I’ve never seen anyone watching another person enjoy the show for as long as I can remember. He’s watching the groom instead of the bride and I can't help but stare at him. Sitting there, he oozes sex. His jaw is strong and angled and I find myself wanting to bite it. Oh my, where did that come from?
A tap on my shoulder brings me back to the stage. I nod to Nik so he understands that I’m ready to go on. Nik has been dancing all of his life, just as I have. He moved to New York City from St. Petersburg, Russia, nine years ago and has been a hit with the ladies ever since, including myself. I recently broke up with him because he’s too domineering. All he wanted was sex.
He’s beyond in love with himself; it’s become a huge turnoff. There’s cocky and then there’s Nik. In addition to his good looks and rock-hard thighs, there's his aggressive sexual drive. In the beginning I found him charming. He said he was fine with waiting for a sexual relationship with me—and that couldn’t have been further from the truth. He uses his looks and accent as a weapon to get all the sex he wants. When he realized I wasn’t going to sleep with him the second I said, “I’ll go out with you,” I became a challenge to him, and he’s been trying to conquer that challenge ever since.
Before we leave the confines of the wing, I adopt my stance and Nik lifts me up with ease. The smoke machine fills the stage with an eerie blue fog as he carries me into the spotlight, which strikingly catches the crystal beading on my bodice. A snowflake-shaped, classical pancake tutu, embroidered with thousands of crystals that sparkle under the stage lights, comprise my costume skirt. With his hands on my hips, Nik lifts me higher as he follows our practiced choreography then proceeds to walk in a small circle, showcasing my hand-stitched, one-of-a-kind, custom-made costume. The stage is all encompassed in a winter wonderland as I perform my role as the Snow Queen.
Even though Nik looks utterly professional at the moment, I know that look on his face—it’s deceptive. Those cold cobalt-blue eyes haunt me and I know he’s enjoying having his hands all over me. The way he grips my thighs as he hoists me high above his head and his fingers linger over the bodice of my costume at every pass makes my stomach churn. Careful not to make eye contact with Nik, I try to keep focused on the crowd before us, as they watch our graceful dance. Thoughts of why I ever fell for this Russian jerk fill my mind as we dance Tchaikovsky’s Snow Pas de Deux.
Act I ends when Nik and I are standing side by side as we watch Clara, the main character, exit the stage. I suddenly feel Nik’s arm snake around my waist and I try to stay in character, but this is not part of the choreography. He digs his fingers into my side and my smile falters. His dominance frightens me.
As the curtain falls and we are freed from the audience’s view, I try to escape his painful grip, but I can’t move: he’s too strong. Scowling up at him, I clench my jaw. "Let go of me, Nik Demski!"
He smiles through beautifully whitened teeth yet I find his smile appalling. Undeterred, he tightens his grip on my waist and leads me offstage before the stage gets crowded with crew members rearranging props for the second act. He manages to keep up the appearance of a perfect gentleman, all the while acting like a true asshole. We're not needed back on stage for the next act, so he knows he has time to spare. The dark of the wings covers us as he presses my back against the wall.
“What are you doing?” I cry, knowing no one will be able to hear me over the rupture of applause.
“Heather, you shouldn’t have ended what we had going on.”
I can feel his warm breath on my cheek as I try and pull away, but his grip once again tightens on my hips.
“Going on? I wasn’t going to give up anything to you that easily, Nik. Let go of me!” He grabs my wrists as I try to pull away, his grip becoming painfully tight, and I look up into those lifeless eyes. I wince when I see him sneering down at me.
"I don't like to be told no, Heather." He leans in closer and I turn my cheek, trying to keep as much distance from him as I can, struggling to free myself from his grip.
"You teased me…You knew what you were doing the whole time," he adds in a voice all too familiar. He wants me to bow down to him and let him have his way with me. I feel the bile rise in my throat as he pushes his knee up between my legs.
"I've missed that sweet-tasting pussy of yours, Lanie. Let me have another taste." His thick accent is low and it brings the darkest of memories back. My nightmare is holding me captive once again.
"Stop it, Nik," I growl, struggling more as panic sets in.
"Mmm...You know I'll never stop, Lanie. I always get what I want. You know this," he moves his hand between my legs and touches me there.
Just as I’m about to scream, a backstage crew member calls out, “Intermission! I need everyone off the stage.” Nik’s grip falters and I pull free of him. Making my escape, I flee the stage and duck into my dressing room, bolting the lock on the door behind me.
I’m grateful for my little sanctuary as I’m on the verge of tears, but I know I can’t cry. The makeup artist will be livid if I mess up my makeup before the final curtain. She has multiple faces to mask and re-mask during our intermission and adding mine to the mix will not be acceptable or professional.
I plop down on my pink sofa chair, which I’m glad I requested on my rider, and stare up at the ceiling, reliving what just happened with Nik. What does he not understand about ‘no’ and ‘we’re over’? Groaning internally I mumble, “Men…”
I’m so glad I dumped his butt. I cannot deal with such a malevolent man like him. I’m going to put good in and get good out of my life.
When my breathing has returned to normal, I get up and grab a bottle of water, downing the icy-cold liquid. The lights flash in my dressing room as Act II of The Nutcracker is about to begin. Thankful for the reprieve, I grab my book from my duffel and lose myself in Aleatha Romig’s captivating story of Consequences.
Noah
THE LIGHTS OF the Phoenix theatre’s lobby flash off and on, essentially telling us to get our asses back into our seats so the next act can begin.
“What did you think of the first act, Mae? Was it as good as last year’s?” She’s flipping through the show’s program and barely paying attention to a word I’m saying.
“Mae?”
She smiles and points to the program. “Oh look! I found her. Isn’t she just beautiful, Noah?”
Rubbing my jaw, I look down at the page and she’s pointing to one of the performers, a ballerina, and a fucking gorgeous one at that. “She is. Who is that?”
Her head jolts up as she gazes at me with an expression of disbelief on her face. “Noah. That is Heather Lane. She was just dancing on the stage as the Snow Queen. I believe this is her first tour and wow. I can see what all the buzz about her in the ballet world is about now. She’s magnificent.”
Surprised that she keeps up with ballet so wholeheartedly, I nod in agreement, but I just have no idea what she is talking about. Hell, she was never a dancer, at least not to my knowledge. “I guess. Let’s get you back to your seat so you can see more of this Lane girl,” I say dryly.
“HEATHER Lane! Don’t be dismissive of such a talented ballerina; she is not a football player,” she snaps as her eyes burn into me.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Shit. What the fuck was that about? My adoptive mother is a sympathetic and loving woman, but there are times when she completely loses who she is. It happens when she gets pissed, and there’s nothing I can do about it.