by D. C. Ruins
And now…it was gone.
She remained a moment longer, staring at it blankly, and then silently hefted her bag and turned on her heel, heading on to the Benedum.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Heath was drained. He felt like he'd been up for two days straight. But underneath his exhaustion, he felt like a brand new person.
He felt like someone who finally had his shit together.
As he walked down the street in downtown Pittsburgh that afternoon, his mind spun as he thought of the major way his life had picked up and changed right after his meeting with Maddox Smith a couple days ago. He'd gone straight to the bank to sit down with a financial advisor. He'd visited his attorney and had a notarized letter drafted to Carter Steele and his attorney regarding selling Heath his business. He'd purchased the studio for Drew, paying for it outright. He'd been feeling great about that, when the news broke that Carter Steele had officially been banned for life from MMA tournaments. The story had been featured prominently on ESPN and other sports networks, and was even featured in the sports sections of major news networks, both broadcast and print. Smith had meant what he'd said about blacklisting Steele, truthful though it all was. Unfortunately Drew's name had been mentioned in those stories as well; the stories shared that Carter had had a major role in leaking the details regarding the attack, including the "very small" detail of her identity, shortly before her trial. It was revealed that he had participated in bribery and match-fixing, causing the judges to throw the fight in Clay Cavasso's favor, but shared that Heath was the true winner after a new set of judges had reviewed the footage.
Subsequently, Heath's phone had started ringing off the hook with reporters trying to get his side of the story. He had been mildly amused; they did this shit all the time, and he never gave in. When would they take the hint? Connor and John both encouraged him to speak to them, but Heath didn't feel a need to say anything. Smith had done an admirable job and Heath felt there wasn't much left that needed to be said.
Heath's attorney and Carter's attorney had been locked in a room at Heath's attorney's firm beginning Tuesday afternoon and extending into Wednesday evening. They had a mediator brought in. As Heath had expected, receiving occasional updates via text from his attorney, Carter and his attorney staunchly refused to sell the business. It was Carter's, his attorney argued, created from his dream and blood, sweat and tears. Heath had to roll his eyes at that. Carter was so full of shit. Heath hopped on the phone, called his lawyer, and sternly instructed him to lower his proffered selling price to a price point that was just a hair above "insulting".
"He's done in this business," Heath had said coldly. "No more MMA, no more managing fighters. Now that he's fired me and I took my initial investment back, he won't be able to make the bills or fix things around the place. He's done." Heath's attorney made a note of his new offer, and Heath's phone had remained silent after that.
Meanwhile, he had plenty of things to do while he waited for his attorney to sort things out. Tuesday evening, he had spent hours going through all of his documents he had from the gym as he prepared to take over sole ownership. He was confident that it was going to happen. He pored over his documents late into the night. Wednesday morning, his first order of business after checking in with his lawyer to find that things were still at a stalemate was to contact a contracting business to begin transforming the dance studio downtown. He agreed to meet up with the contractor to begin work on a blueprint and describe what he wanted, per Drew's vision that she had shared with him a few different times. They went to the space, where the realtor also met them, pulling down the "For Sale" sign and replacing it with a "Sold" sign. They walked through the tiny space as Heath described what he wanted, and the contractor noted everything. He felt that the space could be transformed in a reasonable amount of time with few problems. Heath asked if they could do it within a month; he didn't know how long he could trust himself to sit on such a huge surprise and moreover, he wanted Drew to be able to start living her dream as soon as possible. The contractor saw no reason why they couldn't have the space transformed in that time, but it would require a couple of shifts and additional manpower. Heath told him to do whatever it took but he wanted the space ready in a month's time or less. As this conversation was taking place, Connor and Bunz had joined him at the studio. Bunz was smiling in amazement as she looked around. She glanced at Heath and shook her head slightly, grinning.
"I can't believe you did this," she'd said softly. "This is—this is—just wow."
"You can't tell her," Heath warned. "I know how you two are, and you cannot tell her."
"I won't, I won't," Bunz said with a sigh. "Just know this is, like, the hardest thing ever. We don't keep secrets."
"She's already suspicious about something," Connor chimed in. "When I kept calling the café today she kept answering. Do you guys only have one phone or something?"
"Correct," Bunz said cheerfully. "It was actually pretty funny to watch her get so worked up over all these 'prank calls' she thought she was getting."
"Man, I thought she was going to recognize my voice," Connor said. "Glad you took the phone when you did."
"Me too," Bunz said. She twirled in a circle, her arms out. "I just can't believe you did this!"
Heath rubbed the back of his neck, feeling embarrassed. He wanted Bunz to be in on the surprise since she was Drew's best friend and confidante, and knew just how much this would mean to her. He wasn't sure how he'd reveal it all to Drew but he knew he wanted her family to be involved. He also wanted Bunz's input on the studio—what color the walls should be painted, if she knew what Drew had planned to call her business, what the sign should look like. Bunz didn't have all the information he wanted to know but she promised she'd be able to get it in a casual way that wouldn't arouse Drew's suspicions. Connor had snorted at that.
"Good luck," he'd said wryly.
Late Wednesday night, when he'd finally gotten back to his apartment, he'd gotten a call from his lawyer. He'd been slightly tempted to not answer it, as all he wanted to do was crawl into bed, but he knew realistically he couldn't afford to do that.
"Well," his lawyer had said, and Heath realized the man was simply exhausted by the way he said that one word. "Let's see. It's eleven o'clock-and-change at night. We started at five o'clock on Tuesday. So it only took…..fifty-four hours of negotiation, minus breaks for meals, of course. The few we had."
Heath had waited patiently, drumming his fingers on his hip. He wasn't going to be moved by his lawyer's pitiful attempt at martyrdom; he was getting paid, and handsomely, after all.
The man had sighed in annoyance when Heath didn't take the bait. "Calm yourself, Mr. Riley. Please stop interrupting me. I'm getting to the point, I promise. Congratulations. You are now officially the proud owner of the property formerly known as Carter's Gym."
Heath had allowed one very rare, full-mouthed, genuinely happy grin to spread across his face, before biting it away and clearing his throat.
"Great news, man. Thank you for your hard work. I'll be down to sign the paperwork first thing in the morning."
"And then I'm going on an extended weekend vacation to Atlantic City," his lawyer had replied grumpily. "On your dime, of course."
"If by 'my dime' you mean the check I'll be bringing you for payment of services rendered, then yes," Heath had said calmly. "Otherwise, you can shove it up your ass."
"Pleasure doing business, sir," his attorney said. "See you in the morning."
Heath had hung up the phone and grinned again, shaking his head. He yawned deeply and fell into bed, groaning as the tension of the past couple days seemed to settle itself in his back. As sleep had flowed thickly up his body, clouding his brain, he realized he hadn't spoken to Drew at all that day. It hadn't been intentional at all—he'd just been so wrapped up in everything he'd had going on that he hadn't realized he hadn't heard from her like he normally did at some point throughout the day. He had barely had time to stop for
the only meal he'd halfway eaten that day. He had groaned inwardly, too tired to move, and hoped she would understand and that she wasn't too upset with him. Her angry face was the last thing he pictured before sleep had finally claimed him.
Now, as he strode down the sidewalk leading to the studio space that day, after spending the morning at his lawyer's office to sign all of the paperwork, he still felt exhausted, but he felt really pleased with how things were coming together. After visiting his lawyer, he'd drafted an email to all of the clients at the gym to let them know there was going to be a change in ownership. The gym would be closed for the rest of the week and over the weekend, and would reopen that following Monday. Anyone wishing to cancel their membership had only to contact him, and the contract would be terminated. Otherwise, clients were welcome to resume their normal routines beginning Monday as there would be no changes to the facility other than the name outside the building.
Next, he'd called Rex and Jameson, explaining the change in circumstances, which they were already aware of. He asked if they were interested in working solely for him now that Carter was out of the picture, and they both agreed.
"We get a raise, man?" Rex had asked. "I'm tired of working for minimum wage."
"Yes," Heath had sighed. "I'll give you a raise. But no more ESPN at the front desk, dig? I'm giving you real work to do."
Then, he had contracted a company to redo the sign outside the gym. He decided to keep the new name of the gym very simple—The 17th Street Boxing Gym. He didn't want his name associated with it, although he wasn't so naïve to overlook the fact that it would be news soon, if it wasn't already, that he had acquired the gym from Carter. Surprisingly, he had yet to hear from Carter himself. Heath wasn't personally afraid of the man—that was laughable. However, Carter had surprised him with a few well-placed jabs over the past weekend, and he wanted to make sure he was ready and on his toes if he decided to throw a few more.
Heath knocked on the door of the studio. He heard noises from inside and knew that the contractors were there. Someone had placed a large, window-sized piece of plywood in the window behind the "SOLD" sign, blocking the interior from the street. His main contact at the contracting group unlocked the door to let him in, smiling.
"Hey there," he greeted. "You're just in time. We just got here a few moments ago."
Heath nodded as he shook the contractor's proffered hand. "You've got the blueprint ready?"
The man nodded. "I do. It didn't take too long since this isn't a huge space. But what I was thinking was that we could divide this space up and create two studios in here, for two sets of classes. If she decided to hire another teacher or something once she gets going." He tapped the blueprint page he held out to Heath for inspection.
Heath took it and looked over the blueprints carefully. Drew had never mentioned anything about dual studios, but, if she were as successful as Heath knew she would be, it wouldn't hurt to plan for the future. It would be much simpler to create them now as opposed to having to halt classes to refurbish the studio in the future.
He spent the next several hours walking around the space with the man, discussing everything that would go into transforming the space into a proper dance studio. Heath's main concern was flooring; Drew had always been very specific on the type of floors that would be needed in a studio. The contractor assured him he'd worked on dance studios before and knew just what kind of wood was required and the special springs that would be placed underneath.
Finally, Heath felt confident enough that the men had all the information they needed according to his interpretation of Drew's vision and he shook hands all around before he left. His cell phone vibrated in his pocket as soon as he was outside. It was Bunz.
"Hey," he said when he picked up. "What's up?"
"Well, she's really pissed and upset," Bunz said bluntly. "She hasn't heard from you for like, a million days and she said she thinks you're not coming to the showcase performance."
"Of course I am," Heath replied automatically. Then, the realization hit him like a ton of bricks. "Wait. Is today Thursday?"
"It is, friend," Bunz replied. "They say it happens every week around this time."
"Fuck," Heath hissed, swiping a hand over his face. He already felt like a huge piece of shit for being so unavailable for Drew during the week, but now he'd completely lost track of time. He looked at his watch, and saw that it was five-thirty. "What time does it start?"
"Six," Bunz replied.
"Shit!" he exclaimed. He was filthy from the dust and dirt in the studio, and he needed to get home to change and find a place to buy some flowers. "Damn, I'm like, up the street from the Benedum but I have to shower…"
"Well, she doesn't go on right at six," Bunz said. "She said she goes on around seven."
"All right. Fuckin' hell. I gotta move," Heath said as he started jogging down the street. "My family wants to come too, so I gotta let them know."
"I already told Connor," Bunz said. "We're BFFs now."
"Great," Heath said, not even breaking a smile. "Can you look out for them? I gotta hustle. Can you tell Drew—"
"I can't tell Drew anything. Her phone is off," Bunz sighed. "She told me she was turning it off so that she could get into 'performance mode'. She is scared absolutely shitless. She hasn't done this in a few years."
"Dammit," he cursed mournfully. He wouldn't even get to talk to her before the performance. Maybe that wasn't a bad thing—he was fairly sure that if she were as pissed off at him as Bunz said she was, she probably wouldn't even try to hear him out and just hang up on him. And he refused to spoil the surprise he had planned for her. He only hoped that he could coax her into forgiveness.
"You better get your ass in gear, Marine," Bunz said. "Or else she'll never forgive you."
"Roger that," he sighed. "Gotta go. See you later." He ended the call and jumped into his car, cranking the engine and speeding off. He truly felt awful for neglecting her this week and forgetting about her performance; he knew he had quite a bit of making up to do.
***
Drew paced around her tiny dressing room. It was fifteen minutes until showtime, and she was fairly certain she was going to throw up.
She peered at herself in the mirror of her small lighted vanity. Her makeup was simple; after covering her face and lips in a heavy, shine-free foundation, she had enhanced her eyes with dark eyeshadow and liner and her cheekbones with bronzer, but otherwise nothing else. Her mouth was going to be covered in layers of duct tape that she would gradually peel away as she illustrated her character gaining a voice as the song progressed, until finally only two pieces of black electrical tape, forming an X over her lips, remained.
Her costume itself was simple; tight black dance shorts and a ripped black top, done strategically to highlight the areas on her own body that she had self-harmed. She had painted over her scars with a special, pale red body paint that would show up under normal lights but glow in the darkness. At the climax of the song, she'd requested the houselights be killed and would be dancing completely in the darkness, with only the glowing red streaks and her silhouette visible. She had painted the scars on the tops of her breasts, on her rib cage, on her lower stomach, on her thighs, and the inner portion of her ankle. She prepared herself for the questions she was sure to receive from her family regarding the placement of and reason for her paint, but she wasn't entirely sure how she wanted to answer them.
Her body shook from the coldness of the theater and from nerves as she continued her pacing. She glanced at her cellphone sticking out of a pocket in her bag. She was tempted to turn it on and see if "anyone" had attempted to contact her, but decided that given that the chances of that happening were slim, based on the last several days, she didn't want to put herself through any more disappointment prior to this performance; taking the stage after so many years of not being on a stage was extremely stressful.
Aside from feeling let-down and sad from Heath's sudden disappearance in her life, she
was also genuinely disappointed he wouldn't see the final result of all her hard work. She had put her heart and soul into this dance, and the gradual evolvement of her character being a mute victim with no voice to a strong survivor finding a voice by the end was a subtle dedication to him. Even if they had gone as far as they were going to go, she would forever be indebted to him for helping her heal past her pain. Sometimes, she reasoned, remembering an old adage she'd heard somewhere, people came into one's life for a short season to fulfill some sort of purpose or teach a lesson. Then, the season passed.
She just never expected that she and Heath were just a season.
The opening of her dressing room door was preceded by a short knock, and then a young woman stuck her head in. She wore a pair of headphones with a microphone attached to one side, hanging in front of her mouth. A battery pack was clipped to her belt and she held a clipboard.
"Hi, Drew," she said. "I'm Jen, the stage manager. I just wanted to let you know you're on deck."
"Okay," Drew said, reaching for her footies and sliding them on quickly. "I'm just about ready." She quickly slapped on the layers of tape, starting with the black X and adding three layers of duct tape, positioned around her mouth in an approximation of a starburst shape. When they were in place, she turned and gave Jen a thumbs-up, and the stage manager began to lead her toward the backstage area.