by Renee Fowler
∞∞∞
Jamie looks positively miserable the next morning. She’s dressed in her usual work attire, a modest skirt, button down shirt, short heels. Her makeup does little to mask her sallow complexion.
“You gonna make it?” I ask over the top of my coffee cup.
“I always do.”
Jamie is a junior loan manager at a bank in town. She transferred to the branch a few months back, shortly after walking in on her former husband and his current fiance in bed together. She didn’t just leave her husband, she walked away from her whole life, and even took a lower ranking position just to be free of him. Personally I think it’s the best thing for her. Cole is a piece of shit. I’ve known it from day one, but Jamie was too stubborn to see him for what he was until the proof was undeniable.
“We may be home a bit later than usual. I’m going to run Sarah out to that dance studio after I pick her up from school,” I remind my sister.
“That’s okay. I have plans tonight.”
I quirk an eyebrow up at her.
“Not those kind of plans. I’m meeting up with some of the girls, the ones who still live around here anyways.”
I guess she’s referring to that little gaggle of cheerleaders she ran with in high school. “You sure you’re gonna feel up to it?”
“I’ll feel up to anything after another one of these.” She taps a nail on the edge of her cup. “Some of us aren’t content to sit in and rot on a friday night.”
“Some of us have small children to look after.”
Jamie rolls her eyes. “Mom or Evelyn would take her in a heartbeat if you wanted to go out. Hell, I’ll stay and watch her.”
“No need. You should go see your friends,” I say quickly. She’s been mopping over that piece of shit for far too long already.
“Good morning!” Sarah sings out loudly.
Jamie winces.
“Good morning, Princess.”
“Can I have pancakes with chocolate syrup this morning?”
“That was a special treat for your birthday,” I remind her.
“Pleeeease.”
Jamie shakes her head slowly at me. You better not, she mouths silently.
Chapter 4
Anna
“What do we need business cards for?” I ask, holding the long, rectangular box in my hands.
“Duh. Because we own a business,” Laura says, raising her eyebrows in my directions. “Trust me. My family has owned that bakery for years, so I know all about this stuff. You’re the talent, and I’m the brains.”
“You’re talented too, and believe it or not, there’s a brain hidden under this mess.” I give my headful of dark, frizzy curls a shake for emphasis.
“I’m not as talented as you,” Laura points out.
I don’t think that’s true, but raw talent only takes you so far. Laura got cut from the corps right around the time I got my first soloist role, and it’s not because I’m more talented. My early twenties were spent living and breathing dance, and hers were spent living. I gave up any semblance of a normal life to get to principal.
Considering that we’re both standing in the middle of this empty studio as equals, it’s hard not to feel a twinge of regret at everything I missed out on.
“Talent is bullshit, and I can’t even hold an Arabesque on my right side anymore.” I try to keep the bitter despair out of my voice as I pry the lid off the top of the box and take one of the cards out. “Laura, why did you do this?” I ask as my eyes slide across the front of the black and gold matte business card.
“What?”
“I told you, I don’t go by Bella anymore. That’s not my name.”
“It’s your stage name.”
“And I’m not on stage anymore, am I?”
“It’s still your real name, or part of it anyways.”
I’ve never went by my full first name, Annabella. It sounds so pretentious, and I’ve wondered my whole life why my mother chose it for me, but I never did get the chance to ask her. “I just go by Anna now. I told you that, but… thanks, I guess.” I slide the card back in the box, and set it on the desk. What does it matter? I’m not going to wander around town handing my business card out. I suppose they can collect dust here in the office.
Laura follows me back out of the office and into the main room. She rubs her hands together as her eyes sweep across the studio. There are some chairs set up near the front now, seating for the parents and other visitors, and we’ve finished painting the changing rooms located near the back of the building.
“This is really happening,” Laura says. “It feels like a dream come true.”
I give her a big smile that I don’t quite feel inside. Teaching dance was a dream of mine too. I always figured I’d eventually find myself doing this, but I’d envisioned it a bit later down the road. Thirty five perhaps? I’ve known a few female leads who made it that long, and I was strong, healthy, willing to put up with the aches and pains. I was determined to work as hard as I had to in order to keep going as long as I could. But that choice was taken away from me by a reckless driver who couldn’t even be bothered to stop and see if I was okay after plowing into me.
“I’m gonna head out so I can get pretty for tonight, unless you need me to stick around,” Laura says.
“I can handle it.”
“You sure you don’t need a ride?”
I shake my head quickly. I’m renting a place within walking distance.
“I’ll pick you up later tonight, and no excuses either.” Laura points a finger at me and gives me a fake dirty look. “You’re going to have fun whether you like it or not.”
“You’ve known me long enough to know I’m not much for fun.”
“That was before. Now you don’t have to be up at five in the morning to ride across town for first call practice. Now you’re an owner in a business that isn’t even open yet. No excuses.”
I like to get up early. Even without the long commute, and grueling hours I used to endure, I still maintain that routine. I don’t divulge that to Laura, or the fact that I don’t plan on drinking tonight. She’ll only give me a hard time about it just like the old days.
“I’ll be ready,” I promise. “See you tonight, Laura.”
As she walks out the door, I pull my hair back using an elastic from around my wrist. Looking in the mirror, I notice the pale blue paint smeared on my shirt. Another few splotches stain my jeans. Glancing at the clock, I realize I still have a bit of time to go change before Jack Marsh arrives with his daughter.
I can still remember the first time I ever walked into a room like this one, a bit older than the girl I’m about to meet is now, how excited and nervous I’d been. There were two women, girls really, there to greet me. If memory serves right they were volunteers from one of the ballet schools in the city. I don’t remember their names, or what they taught us that first class. They wore bright smiles, and pastel colors. They put on a little demonstration, and talked about how fun and exciting it was to be a dancer. One of them wore pointe shoes with ribbons wound halfway up her legs. The other had on bright lipstick that made her teeth appear vividly white in comparison.
I think I fell in love with those girls before I fell in love with ballet. Not with them, but with the notion of becoming them. They were both pretty, happy, and perfect. Walking back home the three blocks from the community center with Grandma, I imagined the perfect lives those pretty girls must be returning to. I wanted to be pretty, and wear shoes with ribbons. I wanted a perfect life too.
With my hair in a sloppy, frizzy ponytail, and paint stains on my clothes, I looked neither pretty or perfect. I rush back through to my office to change. There were a few different options shoved in my bag. Grey leggings. A black and a grey leotard. A few different tops. I choose the black full body piece and a pale, pink top that flares slightly at the waist and falls around my hips in an angled skirt.
My comfortable, pointe shoes are old and dirty. I have a newer pair with
a hard toe box, and no real ribbons, but they are clean and a satiny peach color. They feel foreign on my feet. It’ll take a bit to break them in, a process I’ve always hated.
I don’t have a brush in my bag, but I fashion my hair into the neatest bun I can manage with only my fingers.
When Jack arrives with Sarah, she rushes ahead of him through the door. She’s wearing jeans, a pink top with a cartoon Disney princess splashed across the front, and light up sneakers. The little girl completely ignores me to do an impromptu jig for herself in front of one of the mirrors.
“It looks like she’s excited to get started,” I say as Jack comes over to greet me.
His smile is as devastating as I remember from yesterday. The warmth of his hand closing over mine sends a pleasant, tingling shock wave up my arm. “That’s one way of putting it. Sarah, come over here and say hello.”
Her long, blonde waves flow behind her as she runs over. She skids to a stop in front of me.
“It’s nice to meet you, Sarah. I’m Miss Anna. I like your shoes.”
Her gaped grin up at me is huge as she stomps back and forth a bit so her shoes flash pink, purple, and blue around the soles.
“From the looks of it, you might be interested in tap,” I say, returning her smile.
“What’s that?”
“It’s like dancing and making music with your feet at the same time. I’m afraid I don’t have the right shoes to show you. The other instructor, Miss Laura teaches tap.” I give a short demonstration, and Sarah tries to follow along.
“My aunt showed me a video on her phone. I want to do that.”
“What was the video of?”
“I think they were watching The Nutcracker,” Jack says.
“Do you know that one?” Sarah asks excitedly.
I can’t help but laugh. “I’m familiar with it.” I step back and do a quick sequence as the role of The Sugar Plum Fairy, a part I’ve played many times. Since my pointe shoes aren’t broken in, they clip clop on the hardwood like horse hooves.
“I like how you go on your tippy toes. I want to do that too.”
“That’s called going en pointe, and I’m afraid you can’t start that until you’re a bit older.”
“How old?” she demands.
“Usually twelve.”
Sarah’s bottom lips juts out into a big pout.
“It’s not good for your feet if you start pointe too soon, but there are a lot of things you can learn right now that are just as fun. If you and your father have time, I can show you a few.”
Jack gives me a brief nod and a smile.
I lead Sarah over to the bar, show her first position. With my heels touching, I can’t turn my feet out evenly anymore. My right hip won’t allow it, but I can come close. I doubt the girl in front of me, or her father observing from nearby can tell the difference, but it still bothers me.
“There are five basic positions for your feet, and five for your arms,” I explain. “Once you learn those, you can mix and match them in all kinds of ways.”
Sarah watches with curious energy, and tries to mimic my movements. After a quick run through of the fundamentals, I turn to Jack and smile. “I think you were right yesterday. Ballet is probably a good fit for her.”
The little girl nods vigorously. “I want to be a ballerina.”
“How about I put on some music, and you can keep practicing while I talk to your dad about getting you signed up, okay?”
“Okay!”
I go over to the CD player on a shelf near the back, and flick through the cases until I find The Nutcracker disc. I adjust the dial so the music pours through the overhead speakers at a comfortable volume. Sarah prances around in front of the mirror, smiling at her own reflection.
Crooking a finger, I beckon Jack towards the office. In the enclosed space I catch a vague whiff of aftershave or body wash, something clean but earthy. No scent of chocolate this time. There’s a faint shadow along his jaw that I bet would feel vaguely of sandpaper against my palm.
“The classes run in twelve week blocks. For her age I would suggest just once a week to start.”
His piercing blue-grey eyes flick in the direction of his daughter through the open doorway, then back to me. “We’ll see if she sticks with it that long,” he says with a faint smile. “She’s a bit… fickle.”
“You can just try week to week if you want, but I like to keep the classes for her age range small, and preference-”
“No, we’ll go ahead and do the whole twelve weeks. I want to make sure she has a spot”
Maybe I should’ve had Laura stay. I’m flustered and out of sorts as I paw through the desk in search of the appropriate paperwork. “She’ll need some split sole practice ballet slippers. Either a pink, white, or beige short leotard, and tights to go underneath.”
“I’m sure she’ll go with pink,” Jack says. I can hear the smile in his voice as I open and close drawers. “Maybe I should be writing this down.”
“I have it all here. Sorry. I’m a little disorganized. I have a catalog you can order everything she’ll need from, or there’s a place in the next town over that should have it all in stock. My partner usually takes care of all this,” I explain in a rush.
“Bella?”
I pause to look up, and see him staring down at one of the business cards. “No, that was a… printing error.”
Jack quirks an eyebrow at me. He has such an expressive face, which I like. I could never read a thing from Mikhail. He always wore the same placid, slightly stoney countenance.
“I don’t go by that name anymore,” I explain.
A thin line forms between his eyebrows.
Oh, god. He’s a cop, and he probably thinks I’ve assumed an alias for some sinister, shady reason. “My name is really Annabella, but it’s a little… long. I used to go by Bella, but…” I giggle nervously. Why does this guy put me so far off center? Maybe it’s the uniform.
He palms the back of his neck, and stares back down at the card. “Are you certified to teach dance? I mean, is that something people go to school for?”
“I don’t have an actual degree in performing arts, but the other instructor here does. She focuses more on jazz, tap, and… everything else. I guess you could say I have more real world experience. Maybe you’d like to meet Laura, if you’re worried about-”
Jack waves his hand through the air dismissively. “Sarah seems to like you.” He pauses to stare out to where Sarah is twirling in a circle. She grows dizzy and staggers drunkenly before catching herself. “She’s really intent on ballet I think.”
I finally locate the necessary paperwork and hand it over. “You can fill this out now if you want, or you or your wife could just drop it off when it’s convenient.”
Wow. Real smooth, Anna.
The smile on his face fades out to a pained grimace. “I probably ought to get her home, but I can swing it back by.”
“I’ll be here most of the day tomorrow, but if not you can just slide it under the door.”
Jack nods curtly. “I’ll probably see you tomorrow then.”
Chapter 5
Anna
I’m mildly mortified as I wave farewell to Sarah and watch the two exit through the front door of the studio. Not only does Jack probably think I’m unqualified to teach his daughter, I acted like a moron. I had no good reason to feel him out like that, hinting around if he’s single. If I’m going to be teaching his child, it would be completely inappropriate. Even if not, where would it lead?
Sometimes I’m able to convince myself that the scars hiding beneath my clothes aren’t that bad, but most of the time I feel like a lost cause. Maybe one day I’ll meet someone that can see past it, but they probably won’t look like Jack.
Suddenly I just want to go hide from the world in my apartment. I change my shoes, stuff the others in my bag, and shrug on the long cardigan I’ve left dangling on the back of the office chair. Maybe if I rush home, I can call Laura and make up som
e excuse. I really don’t feel like going out tonight.
I turn off the music, then the lights, and go to leave with my bag slung across my shoulders. Jack is still helping Sarah into the backseat of his cruiser as I’m locking up. I probably should’ve given them a few minutes to clear out. Sarah waves to me, and I wave back, then I turn to go.
“Are you walking?” Jack asks, looking around the small, empty parking lot.
I nod. “I don’t live far.”
He tips his head back to glance at the overcast sky. “I think it’s about to rain. Want a ride?”
A few fat raindrops have begun to fall. Thunder booms in the distance. I have an umbrella at the bottom of my bag, but it feels awkward to decline his offer, especially as he moves to hold the passenger side door open for me.
“It’s just right up around the corner,” I tell him when he climbs inside.
“That’s convenient that you’re close enough to walk to work.”
“Yes it is, especially since I don’t drive.” I’ve never been inside a police cruiser before, and the dashboard is cluttered with all manner of things, including a small computer. I stare at it all curiously as I pull on my seatbelt.
“You don’t drive?” Sarah asks. “But you’re old.”
“Sarah, that’s not nice,” Jack says sharply.
“It’s alright.” I laugh. “I’m old enough to drive, but I never bothered to learn. Where I used to live lots of people don’t drive. I used public transportation.”
“Like the bus?”
“Mmhmm. Or the subway.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s like a train that runs underground.”
“That sounds fun,” Sarah says. “Can we ride the underground train, Daddy?”
“I’m afraid Garden Grove isn’t big enough for a subway,” he says.
“I’m right over here.” I point to my building. Rain begins to fall in sheets as he pulls into the parking lot. “Thanks for the ride, Jack.”