Last Dance

by Renee Fowler

  The door opens, and Jack comes in. His hair is windblown, and his face is red from the cold. He smiles at me, then his eyes fall on Mikhail. “Are you busy?” he asks me.

  “I was just leaving,” Mikhail says. “Think about it, okay? And I’ll be in touch.”

  Jack holds the door open for him to leave.

  I stagger to go retrieve my bag. “I didn’t think I’d see you today.”

  Some nights he swings by to drive me home, sometimes with Sarah, sometimes without. A few nights I get a lift with Laura. Every so often I walk, but Jack doesn’t feel like it’s safe after dark. The dark doesn’t scare me, but the cold does something awful to my bionic hip.

  “Anna, are you okay?”

  “Mmhmm. I’m just a little stiff. You didn’t have to come all the way for me.”

  “The roads aren’t too bad yet, but the sidewalks are probably a sheet of ice,” Jack says, trailing behind me. “Did you hurt yourself?”

  “I just pushed myself a bit more than I should’ve.” I grab my bag, and collapse against the wall, slowly sliding down to the floor. “Are you okay?”

  Jack bobs his head a few times.

  I’d almost prefer ice skating home on my bum hip to this. He’s here out of a sense of obligation, on a day he’s longing for another woman. I don’t know a thing about Claire. I’ve never even seen a picture, but sometimes I imagine I can feel her ghost filling the space between us. I paw through my bag in search of my real shoes just to avoid looking at him.

  Jack lowers himself to sit adjacent to me. “I kind of wanted to talk to you anyways.”

  “About what?” I ask, trying not to sound as heartbroken as I feel inside. I guess this is going to be the conversation where he tells me - Sorry, Anna. I thought I could do this, but I’m not ready. It’s me, not you.

  “I’m sorry, Anna. I-”

  “There’s nothing to be sorry about. I completely understand. Do you mind turning around so I can change my shoes?”

  Jacks laughs. “What?”

  “I don’t like people looking at my feet.”

  He laughs louder. “What’s wrong with your feet?”

  Pointe shoes may encourage beautifully pointed toes, but they sure don’t do much for your actual toes. I have bunions, calluses, weird arches, plus one or two blisters at the moment. “I’m a dancer. We all have gross feet,” I explain.

  “You think I give a shit about that?” Before I can stop him, he takes my ankles and lifts them across his knee. “I’ve always thought of feet as more of a functional body part. You know, as long as they get you from point A to point B, right?”

  I nod lightly, trying to ignore the warmth of his hands on my leg, and the whole flock of butterflies swarming in my belly. He unlaces the ribbons slowly while he speaks. “I’m sorry because… I think I’ve been doing this all wrong. You are really different than Claire, which is a good thing. I mean, I think you’re great just like you are. I like everything about you.”

  Tipping my head back, I blink towards the exposed duct work of the ceiling. I’m starting to think maybe Mikhail did me a huge favor. I’d much prefer a text to this drawn out agony.

  “But she never wanted to talk about anything serious, or too… emotional,” he continues. “It was just the way she was, and I guess I got used to it.”

  “Jack, this is really unnecessary. I completely understand, and there’s no hard feelings.”

  “I’m not trying to break up with you. See, I really am shitty at this.” He plucks off my pointe shoes and lets them fall to the floor beside us. His hands engulf my feet with gentle pressure. “I know I’ve been kind of wishy washy, which is bullshit. You’re everything I want. You’re perfect.”

  “I’m not perfect.”

  Laughing, he pretends to count my toes. “They’re all here. So you’re perfect enough for me. I don’t want to push you away, or give you the wrong idea. I know I get quiet, and I still have these moments or days, but it doesn’t mean I don’t care about you.” He begins to rub my feet, and I give a soft, contented sigh. “So maybe we can have that evening in like you wanted tomorrow, if you’re still feeling up to it.”

  “That sounds nice.” If he can see past my gross feet, maybe he can see past the rest. Either way, I can’t put it off forever.

  “You seem really wore out. Did the girls in your class tonight give you a run for your money?”

  “No, they were little angels. That was my old director that was here earlier. He asked me to run through some drills.” I blew out a long breath. “He wants me to come back and do a show in the spring.”

  His hands freeze. “You’re leaving?”

  “It’s only one show, but it would be a lot of traveling back and forth for a few weeks leading up to it, and I’d have to find someone to cover my classes here, but the extra money would be nice. It would mean a safety net for this place. Maybe I could afford to have that wall put up, so we could run two classes at once, and I wouldn’t have to resort to that pole dancing nonsense.”

  “It might be fun to go back for old times sake too.”

  “Fun maybe, but complicated.”

  Jack quirks an eyebrow up at me in question.

  “He’s not just my old director. That was my boyfriend.”

  Jack’s stops massaging my feet abruptly, and his mouth falls open into a startled smile. “That’s him?”

  “Yeah. If it was anyone else, I’d jump at the chance, but he’s such a jerk. I really don’t want to work with him again.”

  “I thought he was some little kids grandpa.” Jack starts to crack up. “No offense, but what the hell?”

  I laugh and my face warms with a blush. “Did you ever have a crush on an older singer, or movie star when you were a teenager?”

  “I guess?”

  “I used to have a poster of him on my wall when I was fifteen.”

  “Was he a famous dancer or something?”

  I nod. “He’s also an asshole, which they failed to mention on the poster.”

  Jack laughs again, but it quickly peters out. “That’s still kind of skeevy. When he was my age, I bet you were Sarah’s age.”

  “Probably, but you wouldn’t have to worry. I’m getting a bit old for his tastes. The girl he’s with now is about twenty three I think.”

  Jack’s lip curls up. “Jesus, even I wouldn’t chase after a girl that young, and I bet he’s got twenty five years on me.”

  I nudge his knee with my foot. “You better not be chasing after any other girls if you know what’s good for you.”

  He grabs around my ankle and pulls me closer for a kiss. “I’m not chasing anything. I already caught the one I want.”

  Chapter 15

  Anna

  When Jack calls to cancel the following day because Sarah’s cold has gotten worse, I’m equal parts relieved and disappointed. I have two classes to teach, one around noon, and the other in the early afternoon. I end up staying at the studio for several more hours practicing for a show that’s months away, one I’m still undecided if I even want to do or not.

  Who am I kidding? How can I say no? Working with Mikhail is going to suck, but I’ve worked with dancers and choreographers I don’t care for in the past. I’ve never let my personal opinions get in the way before, and I have no intention of starting now.

  But I feel no urge to rush and pick up the phone right away either. Maybe I’ll let the thought percolate for a few days before I make a final decision.

  My stomach rumbles, reminding me that it’s well past dinner, so I decide to call it a night. I’m sweaty, achy, and sore, but not in pain like yesterday. I pushed myself too hard, and I can’t keep doing that. My bionic hip, and crappy joints have got to last me through the rest of my life, not just this spring gala.

  I change into warmer clothes, boots, and my bulky coat. Light glints off my necklace curled up at the center of the desk, and I put it back on, working the clasp behind my neck. I sling the heavy bag across my body, and turn off the int
erior lights as I go towards the front of the studio.

  Pausing to pull the hood up around my face, I lock up and slide the keys in my front pocket. The wind whips the hood off my head as I start to walk. It looks like winter is coming early this year.

  There isn’t much on this little stretch of road besides a few small businesses and a church. The roofing company next door is closed this time of night, and the parking lot outside the small church is empty. There are two empty storefronts, one with a for rent sign in the window, and then a small bar with a winking, neon light out front. Faint, country music wafts from inside. It’s one of the few such establishments in town Laura hasn’t dragged me to. She said it’s full of old, trucker types, whatever that means. Warm, yellow light spills out from the corner coffee shop, but it looks to be about deserted this late, and I imagine it’s almost time for them to close too.

  When I turn the corner, I hear a hushed scrape behind me, but I don’t see anything over my shoulder. This section is devoid of any street lights, but I keep my gloved hand inside my coat pocket, curled around a small canister of pepper spray. After being mugged once years ago, I never leave home without it, not that I think there’s much need for it here in Garden Grove.

  The wind snatches my hood off again, and I reach back for it. At the same time a hand closes around my forearm in an iron grip, and pulls hard. I’m spun around and flung into a narrow alley. The back of my head makes contact with the brick wall in a thunderclap of pain, and I’m momentarily dazed. I blink a few times in the low light, trying to make sense of the blurry, dark image in front of me.

  “I said give me the bag, bitch!”

  Something hard jabs into my side. It could be a gun, or not. I’m not interested in finding out for sure one way or the other. There’s nothing in my bag worth losing my life over. I start to unloop the strap from across my shoulders, but not fast enough to suit the man in front of me. He shoves me back hard into the wall again. My neck whips back. I scream when my skull makes contact with the unforgiving brick a second time. His hand clamps over my mouth. “Shut the fuck up, and give me your bag.”

  “That’s what I’m trying to do, asshole,” I mumble behind his fingers. The back of my neck feels wet, and my head is swimming.

  He grabs the strap, and I let him jerk it over my head. When one of his hands starts to rip at the buttons on the front of my coat, I claw at him. Being robbed is one thing. Being raped is another. There’s no way in hell I’m not going to fight back now.

  “What else do you have?” he hisses.

  “Nothing!”

  His thick fingers close down around the necklace Gregory gave me. He gives a hard yank, and the tender skin around the back and sides of my neck sings with pain in a thin line. He tries to reach into my pocket, looking for more, and I reach into my coat at the same time. The cannister feels slippery in my gloved hand, and I almost drop it. After a short moment of fumbling, I blast him in the face, and shove him back hard with my palm and shoulder.

  “Stupid bitch,” he howls.

  I stagger past him out of the alley, and run back the way I just came as fast as I can, which doesn’t feel very fast at all. I experience the sensation of moving through sand, or a highly viscous liquid.

  When the segmented concrete is washed yellow by the light of the coffee shop, I pause to press a hand to the back of my head, and bring it back again to see it dark with blood.

  After a very quick glance over my shoulder to make sure I’m not being followed, I grab the door handle to the coffee shop and pull, but it doesn’t open.

  Inside there’s a middle aged woman with artificially blonde hair wearing a matching green apron and ball cap emblazoned with the company logo. She points to the sign on the door, and mouths the words in case I can’t read.

  We’re closed.

  Actually at the moment the big block letters are a little blurry and hard to make out.

  I shout something about calling the police that comes out incoherent, as I slap my bloody hand against the glass door.

  That’s gets her attention.

  She lets me in, and locks the door behind me. “Oh, my god. What happened?”

  “Robbed.” The single words comes out garbled, like I’m speaking around a mouthful of marbles.

  I plop down at the nearest table, and grab a small stack of napkins from the dispenser to press to the back of my head. She calls the police first, then asks if there’s anyone else I should call. Without my phone handy, I only know a few numbers by heart. Gregory is in New York. Jack has a sick daughter at home, so I give her Laura’s. She tries to hand me the phone, but I wave her away lazily, and rest my cheek against the cool formica tabletop.

  “Honey, if you have a head injury, I don’t think you’re supposed to go to sleep.”

  ∞∞∞

  The next thing I know, there is a blinding, white spotlight glaring right into my eyes. “Can you tell me your name?”

  “Bella… No. Anna. Annabella Bishop.” I’m groggy, disoriented, and being jostled back and forth to the tune of loud sirens.

  “Ma’am, have you been drinking, or have you taken any illegal substances?”

  I blink at him a few times. He thinks I’m drunk? “Someone hit me. No. They hit the wall with me. They used my head. My head is killing me.”

  And the man who did it smelled like beer, and he was a few inches shorter than me, but he was a fairly big guy. He might’ve had a dark goatee, but it was too dark to tell what color his eyes were. He was wearing a hat, I think, but my memory is a little fuzzy.

  I tell all this to a police officer shortly after having six stitches applied to the back of my head, and a CAT scan. I tell him three different times. I’m not sure if he doesn’t believe me, or he’s hoping I’ll remember something more meaningful. Then he stands poised with a pen, and wants me to recount every single thing I had in my bag. Dirty clothes. A few different pairs of ballet shoes. Damn it, I’m going to have to break in a brand new pair. Phone. Wallet. I’ll need to call and cancel my credit and debit cards. My hand flies up to my neck, and I remember my necklace. I describe it for him.

  He leaves, and a short while later a female officer comes in, and she asks me the same thing the nurse who admitted me asked, was I sexually assaulted. I assure her I wasn’t, although I can see why they might think so. My shirt was ripped when I arrived, and I was a bloody, incoherent mess.

  Then she asks me to tell her what the guy looked like too. I know she’s only doing her job, but I just want to go to sleep.

  I didn’t think you were allowed to sleep after a concussion, but the nurse told me earlier that was a myth, although someone would be in to check on me every two hours through the night.

  I don’t really want to spend the night here. I spent so much time in the hospital after my accident, I’d hoped to never step foot in one of these places again. This particular hospital is hundreds of miles away from the last, but it still has that same bleachy, disinfectant smell, the same recessed fluorescent lighting and speckled ceiling tiles. Even the ugly blue and green gown I’m wearing looks the same.

  “I’m sorry I can’t remember more,” I say wearily to the police woman once I’ve finished reliving the whole nightmare again.

  Satisfied that she’s wrung every last detail out of me, she leaves me in peace. I curl up on my side, and doze off almost immediately.

  It feels like I’ve just closed my eyes when the same nurse from earlier returns to take my blood pressure, shine a light in my eyes, and take my temperature. She asks me a few questions to make sure I’m lucid, then pats me on the shoulder and tells me to get some more rest. I’m roll over carefully, intent on falling back asleep, when I notice someone sitting stiffly in the chair off to the side.

  “Jack, what are you doing here?”

  “Why didn’t you call me?” he asks softly.

  “I had someone call Laura. I don’t know where the hell she’s at.”

  “I guess she was out drinking, and she
called Jamie, who told me. It doesn’t matter. Who the hell did this to you?”

  “I don’t know. I already told them everything… Shouldn’t you be with Sarah. She’s sick.”

  “Anna, she has a cold, and she’s already asleep. Jamie is there if she wakes up.” He stands, and drags the chair closer to the bed. “It’s a good thing I know people. They weren’t going to let me back here to see you. She said you have a concussion.”

  “Yeah, but I should be out of here in the morning. I need to talk to Laura so she can take my classes.”

  “Tomorrow is Sunday.”

  “Oh, right.” I’m still feeling a little fuzzy I guess.

  “Why were you walking home so late alone?” His fingertips smooth over my forehead and along my hairline. The gesture is so soothing, or maybe it’s whatever they gave me for pain, but I can barely keep my eyes open.

  “I lost track of time.”

  “Get some sleep, Anna. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

  “You can’t stay here.”

  “Sure I can.”

  My eyelids flutter. “Can you go check on Princess?”

  “I don’t want to leave you alone.”

  “She’s been alone all day,” I mumble. “She needs food, and water, and love.”

  Jack laughs quietly. “Do you have your keys?”

  “That’s the one thing that asshole didn’t take.” My eyelids are too heavy to keep open. I wave my hand in the direction of the bedside table, and drift off again.

  The next time the nurse comes to check on me, Jack is sitting in the same spot as before.

  “Princess?” I ask, after the she shines that bright, tiny spotlight in my eyes again.

  “I gave her food, water, and love,” he assures me. “I grabbed some clothes and things you might need too.”

  “Thank you, but you don’t have to stay here, Jack.”

  “I don’t want you to be alone.” His hand curls protectively around mine.