“I know, that’s why I said thank you,” I said calmly picking up the sugar and creamer. “Half a teaspoon of sugar. Milk until it is exactly this color.”
He nodded in acknowledgment. We ate in silence again for five painful minutes. The sounds of his chewing were soothing. It had been a long time since I had eaten a meal at home with anyone. I hoped I hadn’t become a swine at the table in that amount of time.
“I had an amazing time with you at dinner,” Nate said. His eyes widened and his pupils dilated as soon as the words flew out of his mouth.
Even though my heart was racing, I forced my words to remain calm and steady.
“I drank too much,” I said, my cheeks becoming rosy with embarrassment.
“I don’t think you did,” Nate said. “And I don’t mind.”
I was getting irritated with the elephant in the room. I placed the remaining sandwich half on my plate and looked at Nate while I wiped my fingers.
“Nate, he’s not your competition,” I said. Nate’s mouth fell open to defend himself but I cut him off before he could speak. “I’m not lying to make you feel better either. I’m serious when I say that he isn’t….”
I didn’t want to say the word boyfriend.
His fingers glided across his lips in contemplation as I polished off my plate. I looked to his plate which had been licked clean for a while.
“Are you sure you are going to be full?” I said, getting up to put the dirty dishes in the dishwasher. “A man your size must eat more than a sandwich to keep up that weight.”
I turned around as I realized he had cheated on his protein diet – twice.
“Let me cook you chicken and some brown rice,” I said. “How dare you put me before yourself.”
He got up abruptly from the table with coffee in hand, looking straight into my eyes.
“What if I want to?” Nate said before his hand found his front pocket. He turned to the door and before going through it, spat the next few words. “You can cook for me on Thursday. I’ll bring the wine and movie.”
He didn’t even give me a chance to answer before he exited. I stood by the sink in disbelief as I listened to his footsteps reach the bottom of the stairs and heard the front door shut.
Through the curtains, I saw his frame cross the street and mingle in the crowd below. I didn’t know where he was going, but I was shocked that on Thursday he would be coming back whether I liked it or not.
Chapter 8
“Here you go, Molly,” Spencer said while handing me my paycheck. The other girls were sitting around the mirrors painting on their game faces as I opened it to take out the tip money from last night that I forgot to pick up.
“Girl, you never come to pick up your check,” Sugar said, fluffing her weave. “What’s the big event tonight?”
I smiled as I looked coyly at Spencer, who was holding his breath through his clenched jaw.
“I am cooking for someone tonight,” I said before turning back to Sugar. “I need grocery money.”
“Girl!” Sugar said before I exited the club and walked the two blocks to Dean and Deluca. Pulling out my list, I picked all of the fresh ingredients I needed for tonight’s meal. As soon as the delivery boys brought the bags up the steps, I started in on my five-course masterpiece.
With a two-step and my laptop blasting my favorite playlist, I pranced around my kitchen with my apron strings swaying in the vanilla-scented air. Five minutes in, I lost myself in the melody and made every task part of the beat. My kitchen and I were in complete harmony.
As I whipped, chopped, and stirred ingredients, the guilt began to overwhelm my heart as it had days prior. I felt as if I owed Nate an explanation. I had felt this way since he had walked out of my apartment after breakfast.
It was true that Adam wasn’t my boyfriend. He wasn’t even an interest, and that’s why I liked our arrangement. He was convenient. However, after telling Nate that I wasn’t, as I put it, “that type of girl,” I realized I had done the exact opposite of what I wanted to portray.
I believed that’s why I found myself with five different plates in the oven when the doorbell rang. With a bottle of wine in hand just as he had promised, Nate entered the apartment and was knocked back by the aroma of foods laid out on the table.
“Wow…” Nate started as he gingerly set down his contributions on the table. His eyes hadn’t peeled off of my creations since he had walked in the door.
“Nate,” I said, picking my fingernails as he looked up at me. “Before we eat, I wanted to talk about something.”
Nate’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion, producing a diamond shape of folded skin in between them. He nodded his head while he tended to opening the bottle of wine.
“Since you left the other day, I have felt horrible,” I said. Nate stopped what he was doing and set everything down on the table to give me his full attention. I braced myself on the edge of the table to rid myself of nervous fidgeting. “I told you I wasn’t one of those girls, and then I showed you the exact opposite of that.”
Nate’s hand flew up to cut me off but I kept going.
“The truth is,” I said. “I just like the convenience right now, and sticking to what I have known for the past two years is working out well for me.”
I was hoping he would read into my words and come to the conclusion that I wasn’t looking for something serious right now.
“It’s quite alright, Molly,” Nate said. “Believe me, I’ve been there.”
While that last line could have sounded menacing, his body relaxed in front of me into an open stance validating that it was sincere.
Nate’s eyes scanned the table, still in disbelief.
“You didn’t have to do all of this,” Nate said.
“You asked me to cook for you,” I said, with a giggle. “You get what you deserve. I told you to come hungry.”
“I’m famished,” Nate said. At that, I turned to place a bowl of Muligatawny soup in front of him. A few moments later, I joined him as he finished pouring wine in each of our glasses.
“So, let me ask,” Nate said after humming with his first taste. It brought a sheepish smile to my face. “Are you the type of girl who wears leggings as pants?”
My hand flew up to my hair as it had on our night out as a giggle escaped my lips.
“I think it’s a crime for dancers not to,” I said, looking down at my fall outfit.
“Good, because despite all of their negative commentary,” Nate said, taking another slurp of his soup. “I like it.”
I smiled once more before polishing off my bowl of soup. Getting up to serve the second course, a cranberry and mixed greens salad with almond butter dressing, I quickly started in on the litany of questions I had lined up prior to his arrival.
“Quite frankly, I am tired of talking about myself,” I said as I heard him moan once more as the glaze found his tongue. “I want to know about you.”
Nate flipped his eyelids my way as he forked another bite into his mouth.
“What questions could you possibly have for me that you couldn’t find the answers to on the internet?” Nate said, his eyes dancing across my flourishing cheeks.
I diffused his comment with my own.
“Sorry, but I don’t have the time to stalk people online,” I said. Scooping the last of the dressing onto the side of my fork, I licked it clean while I our eyes met. “So, what’s your favorite color?”
“Green,” Nate said, as his eyes focused deeper on mine. “Like your eyes.”
My gaze dropped to the table coyly as I got up once more to serve the next course. Walking to the fridge, I pulled out two complementary rich beers and popped their lids off with the opener.
“Well, I already learned that you are a beer man,” I said. “And while I don’t like football much, I’m assuming you played in high school?”
Setting them on the table as the carbonation settled, I brushed the remaining maple glaze onto my roasted duck. I placed both duck brea
sts on beds of oriental-infused rice and placed them in front of our seats.
“What did I tell you about assuming, Molly?” Nate said, his amazement peaking as he looked down at his third course. “I was actually really scrawny in high school. No sports, just… dance. My mom was an instructor.”
I shot him a glance that was meant to destroy his joke in midair. However, when I saw that he wasn’t lying I set down my fork.
“Interesting,” I said. “You weren’t half bad.”
“You are being modest,” Nate said, keeping his humility the top characteristic peaking my interest.
“How old are you?” I said, looking him up and down. In my mind, I didn’t put him past twenty-six. Thinking to my own twenty-two year old wisdom, I validated our potential compatibility.
“Thirty-one,” Nate said, and I felt my insides lurch as if they wanted to purge their contents. My head tilted back in disbelief before looking away to the side. “You do that a lot, you know.”
I took a deep breath before taking a large swig of my beer. It was my favorite local brew, and it went well with the texture of the duck.
“And you are?” Nate said. “Twenty-five?”
“Twenty-two,” I said, watching him try not to spit up his food as well. I nodded sarcastically at him as he reacted the same as I had as I got up to serve the last meal we would eat at the table.
“See, this is why internet stalking is mandatory,” Nate said, trying to laugh off our discomfort. When I didn’t turn around or respond, he filled the silence with condolences. “It doesn’t bother me, Molly. It actually intrigues me.”
As I situated his plate of roast beef au jus in front of him, I gave a wry smile.
“I suppose I have a history of being attracted to older men,” I said.
This brought the biggest grin to his face.
“I believe you just gave yourself away, Miss Molly,” Nate said. His eyes pierced into mine once more as I sat down. They swam up my veins, dodging the palpitations of my heart, and flooded my entire body with a rushing warmth.
“I did no such thing,” I said. And for the remainder of the fourth course, we didn’t exchange any words except the hums that escaped his lips.
Clearing our plates, I picked up his glass of wine and ushered his sluggish build into the living room. As I popped the disc into the DVD player, I felt my self-conscious guilt creep back into place as my left breast grazed my knee. It was strange how a small trigger can call forth a host of bad thoughts.
I cleared my throat before I curled up on my usual side of the couch. Taking my first sip of wine tonight, I mentally patted myself on the back for not using alcohol as a crutch.
After the previews rolled by and the main scene lit up on the screen, I turned to Nate before I hit play. He was sprawled out on the couch in a food coma, but it didn’t stop him from sitting up to meet my gaze.
“I’m still afraid you are judging me,” I said softly as a frown painted across my face.
Nate’s hand grazed my cheek to allow his fingers to comb my styled locks.
“Quite frankly, I have better things to do with my time, Molly,” Nate said, before leaning in. “Such as kissing you.”
With one swift motion of his lips, I lost myself in their soft embrace. My body relaxed as he lifted the weight of the world off of my shoulders and made every worry I had dissipate through our meshed lips.
Saying goodnight to Nate that evening was excruciating. After I closed the door receiving yet another token of Nate’s gratitude for my cooking, my smile faded into sobs as my back slide down the wall.
I had just met the most genuine man to ever walk into my life, and it just so happened that, due to circumstances out of my control, the timing was off.
I didn’t want to lead Nate on, but I didn’t want him to disappear either. As I recalled how it felt to be in his arms and tangled in his lips, I let out a sigh.
It was as if a lullaby was playing softly every time he innocently touched my skin, caressing away the worry and pain. Locked in his bulky arms, I felt safe from all evil. Cradled in his embrace, I forgot about my health and finances. Kissing him, I felt at home.
These were the reasons why I broke down as soon as his last footstep sounded in the apartment complex lobby.
I didn’t want to let him go, but I couldn’t stand the thought of not having him around. He was my light in the dark. He was the calm before the storm.
He was security instead of convenience.
Chapter 9
“Molly Sharpiro,” the production assistant called from the doorway of the theater.
I rose from my seat and threw my bag around my shoulders before entering the theater. I could hear the casting director yelling my name in disgust as one of my colleague’s frantically begged him to give me a chance.
“Really, Dave?” the boisterous man dressed in a bow tie and fedora spat from his middle-stage seat. I hid behind the curtains as I listened to their dialogue unfold. “I need someone who is reliable, not some wannabe who might die on me mid-season.”
My heart sputtered inside my sternum as I recalled what he was referring to – my cancer.
“She’s passionate, Martin-” Dave said, waving his hands in front of him furiously.
“I need more than passion, Dave,” Martin interjected. “I need a pretty face, a slim body, a natural, a star – a fucking pre-madonna that will prance across this stage every night as if she’s on the front line or awaiting death row.”
“Give her one minute of your time,” Dave said, his voice becoming hoarse as he tried to speak over Martin. “This girl’s got it. She’s the one you have been waiting for all day. I swear on my life you will not find a better dancer than her.”
Martin let out a deep sigh and cast a scowl on his face. Looking at his watch, he mumbled more obscenities under his breath before slamming his bag on the floor.
“Fine,” Martin said. He folded his arms across his chest and slouched in his chair. “Bring her in.”
I gave myself ten seconds to regain my composure before walking up the five steps to center stage. However, I found that I couldn’t shake my nerves. For the first time, I was so nervous about dancing that I was sure I was on the verge of throwing up.
“Hi, my name is Molly Sharpiro,” I said, doing my best not to shake.
“No,” the director said bluntly and bent down to pick up his bag. Even though I felt defeated, I didn’t back down. I needed this money – even if it was for a part in which I would blend into the background.
“And I have been dancing for-”
“I said no,” the casting director said.
I threw my bag down on the stage, letting the thud from its weight echo throughout the auditorium. I kicked it to the side and stood looking at his figure, which had turned around.
“Play me any song,” I said. Even though I was looking deep into his eyes with conviction, I was still shaking in my boots. “And I will dance to it.”
His evil cackle bounced off of every wall as he swiveled with his hand on his hip.
“OK,” Martin said. “I’ll play your little game. Jordan, play the National Anthem.”
My eyes closed while my fingers flew up to meet the bridge of my nose. As the music started, my brain raced with ways to tackle this challenge. I had heard this song millions of times throughout my years, but I have never once pondered how anyone could dance to it.
Even though I knew I was being set up for failure, I still gave it my all. My legs carried my figure across the stage, diligently giving emphasis to my patriotic hands. As they flew to my heart, I twirled and swooshed the best I could while contorting my body into positions I didn’t even know I could achieve until now.
However, as I had suspected prior to the song choice, my efforts wouldn’t be enough no matter how hard I tried. Martin’s hand flew up in the air after five seconds to signal Jordan to cut the music before it snatched up his bag to carry it out of the double doors.
I was mortifie
d beyond belief. As the piercing silence began to call my ears home, my trembling grew into knocking knees. My body did the first thing it thought to do as my brain registered the rejection. I ran off stage past multiple assistants and set up crews sobbing unmercifully.
All I wanted to do was go home – to jump on the subway without looking anyone in the eye and not come out for days. However, that plan ended as fast as it was devised when I rounded a corner and bounced off of Nate’s firm chest.
“Whoa,” Nate said, catching me before I fell on the cement. Realizing it was him, I forced myself to not make eye contact with him or anyone passing by as my embarrassment level reached new heights. “Of all of the places to run into someone you know, I think New York City would be the last.”
I let out a nervous laugh and looked away to the side. The New York skyline was gray today with low clouds engulfing the tops of the buildings.
“How’ve you been?” Nate said, assessing the situation before returning his sunglasses to sit across the bridge of his nose. His hand swept my braided up-do, gingerly touching it while a smile of satisfaction stretched across his mouth. “I haven’t heard back from you in a while.”
“Busy,” I said, squelching tears as I tried to pull it together. “Really busy.”
“I’ll bet,” Nate said. His hand met my arm with the gentlest caress. “Would you like to tell me about it?”
I grabbed at the strap of my bag before breaking down into another fit of tears. I was in distress as I recalled the past fifteen minutes of my life. However, most of my embarrassment stemmed from the fact that I was angry with myself.
“I have spent the past two weeks practicing for this audition,” I said. The words flowed in rapids, tossing and turning on every detail I told. The deeper I got into the story, the higher my voice sounded. “And then the casting director wouldn’t even give me a chance. I told him to play any song and I would dance to it. He played the national anthem-”
Nate let a chuckle escape his lips at that detail before regretting it a second later.
Manhattan Muse: A Contemporary Romance Page 3