by Karen Reis
I clocked out at four and went home. I lingered in the shower for a few minutes, my hands against the wall, my head bowed. I wanted to wash my bad day away. Ten minutes went by, then fifteen, and I finally had to turn off the water, feeling guilty at letting it run for so long. I dried off mechanically, and then took stock of myself in the mirror. I’d never gone dancing before in my life, nor had I ever danced with any male besides my cousins at weddings when I was a teenager.
“A man who is not related to you will have his hands on you, Carrie,” I told myself in the mirror. I took a deep breath, and got to work. I took a pumice stone and scrubbed my feet and elbows, getting rid of accumulated dead skin. Next, I shaved my legs. I painted my toes red and slathered perfumed lotion all over myself so that not only would I be soft and smooth, but I would smell good too. I put on my prettiest bra and panties, plucked my eyebrows into shape and put on my makeup. My hair I curled.
That left me to decide what in the world to wear. I bit my bottom lip absently as I scanned the contents of my closet. My clothing, mostly bought while I still lived at home, was drab and nondescript. I had a few dresses though; ones I used to wear to church that were bright and pretty. Most were knee length, and I finally picked one that had a voluminous skirt since I figured it would look better while I was dancing than if I wore my pencil skirt.
The dress was a soft blue that matched my eyes perfectly, and I donned a pair of black pantyhose because I’d been told once that black hose always make a woman’s legs look sexy. Black heels dug out from the back of my closet completed my outfit. I looked at the results in my full length mirror. Never had I worked so hard to look pretty for a man. Never had I worked so hard to look pretty for myself. I prayed that no one at the studio would think I looked ridiculous for dressing up.
By the time I declared myself beautiful, it was 6:55 and time to go. I’d completely forgotten to eat a bite of dinner, but my stomach was in such knots as I grabbed up my purse and sweater that I was sure I would have barfed if I’d tried to fill it.
When Sean knocked on my door at 7 pm sharp, I almost gave into the urge to just hide out and play the coward, but I knew I couldn’t let Genny down by not showing up, and I really wanted Sean to see me at what I thought was my best. So I took a deep breath and opened the door.
Sean was dressed in the same outfit he’d worn to Genny’s and Isaac’s party, black pants, white shirt, but he had on a blue tie this time. He looked sharp. He looked handsome. I no longer thought of him as scary and threatening.
Sean looked me up and down and smiled. “You look really beautiful,” he said warmly.
I couldn’t help but blush and smile hugely. That compliment made my day. “You look handsome too,” I said timidly.
Sean offered me his arm. “Ready to hit the road?”
I was ready, so I tentatively put my hand through the crook of his arm and he drew me outside. I locked my door, and then we were off. We took his truck, which looked freshly scrubbed on the inside, and smelled like vanilla.
“How was your day?” he asked me.
I smiled at him gently. “It’s good, now.”
We didn’t speak much on the way to the studio, and I used the time to just observe him. He didn’t get angry when other drivers cut him off, he didn’t listen to lewd music. He was relaxed, unhurried. Just being with him was soothing to my nerves, and slowly I relaxed.
We arrived just as everyone else in the wedding party did and Genny beamed when she saw that Sean and I had arrived together. “You look stunning Carrie,” she whispered in my ear as we hugged hello. “Good job with the mascara.”
We all filed inside and a receptionist took us through to the main dance area where our instructor was warming up. She was a tiny woman in her fifties with bright bottle red hair and clear, smooth skin. I eyed the thin woman carefully as she finished stretching and greeted us. I thought her face was maybe too smooth. I watched her facial muscles as she spoke to us in a beautiful Castilian Spanish accent and oh! – there it was: the telltale signs of Botox injections.
Our instructor introduced herself as Señora Valdez, and she made us stretch and jump in place as a way of warming up our muscles. Soon, she was putting us through our paces, and I began to believe with all my heart that she would have made a good dictator to a small country. We spent most of that first lesson learning about posture and frame and how to move on our toes and we spent very little time, it seemed to me, on actually dancing. It wasn’t until the last fifteen minutes that she let us partner up, and as Sean and I stood there in front of each other, our practiced positions and posture just felt right and comfortable, and I felt that I could easily begin to move without worrying about either of us stepping on the other’s toes. It might also have had a little something to do with the fact that it was Sean’s hands that were on me and not, say…Quinn’s or Dan Doherty’s, but I will give most of the credit to Señora Valdez.
However, Sean was still a man, and when I stopped and thought about the fact that there was a man’s hand encircling waist and holding my hand, his eyes gazing into mine, I started to get very nervous and it showed in my steps and posture, which the Señora was quick to point out to me.
“The gentleman will not bite,” she told me in clipped tones, putting her hands on my shoulders to yank me back into proper position. “He is your support, your leader. Do not be afraid to let yourself relax. Become vulnerable. Allow him to take charge.” She grabbed my jaw and turned my head so that I looked straight into Sean’s eyes. “There. Stand closer, look into his eyes and pretend that he is the only one in the room for you.”
Sean took advantage of the situation with a grin on his face and griped on my waist more firmly so that it was impossible for me to slink away. “She’s right, you know,” he whispered into my ear as the Señora went back to counting out steps. “I promise to not bite you, and I really am the only one in the room for you.”
Well, now what was I supposed to say to that? I had no idea what to do either, and it didn’t help that my mouth went dry and my face flushed a bright pink. Sean smiled when he saw my blush, but he had mercy on me and said no more. He did however stroke my back lazily as we moved, and he kept me closer to him than was strictly necessary. His eyes held mine captive and rational thought stopped. I was hot, then cold, then hot again, and my skin tingled where he touched me. I ached to be closer to Sean even as the idea terrified me.
The clapping hands of Señora Valdez ripped me out of my reverie, and I jerked away from Sean as if I were guilty of something bad. He let go of me, his fingers trailing off mine.
“Our hour is over everyone,” Señora Valdez called out. “You all did very well, especially you, Genny and Isaac.” They both smiled at each other, pleased with the praise.
“I look forward to see you all here next week at this time,” our teacher said, moving us toward the front room of the studio were our purses and coats were stored. “Now, you must practice, practice, practice. I expect strong frames and toes when you come back here.”
We all said thank you and good night, gathered up our things, and left. I rushed outside, overwhelmed. I was a simple girl who had grown up without affection. My father had never hugged me, my stepmother had never kissed me, and I didn’t remember my real mother. I was starved for love, but Sean’s tender touch and speech left me so swamped that I had to struggle for clarity.
“You look pale,” Genny whispered to me as we all walked down the sidewalk to our cars. “Are you alright? Did Sean do anything?” Her forehead was wrinkled in concern for me.
I rested my head on her shoulder and looped my arm through hers. “I’m fine,” I reassured her. I glanced backwards to look at Sean, who was watching me. I couldn’t read his expression at first, but then he smiled at me, and I couldn’t help but smile back. I turned back to Genny. “I’m great.”
Genny looked back at Sean, who winked at her, and she laughed. Isaac took her hand as they reached her car. “Told you so,” she declared as he
guided her towards the passenger door.
I waved goodbye. “Don’t get a big head.”
“Too late.”
I laughed, hoping that no one knew what we were talking about, and got into Sean’s truck, accepting his hand up onto the seat.
“What was that all about?” he asked me, his hand still holding mine.
I couldn’t help but blush. “N-nothing,” I stammered.
He nodded as if he really did know, and let go of me to go around to the driver’s side.
I was embarrassed, and I didn’t know what to say to him. I was completely alone with him, and I didn’t know what was going to happen next. I wasn’t in fear for my safety though. I was afraid of my own emotions.
We drove in silence all the way home. When Sean pulled into his parking space, I began to unbuckle my seat belt, but he put a hand on my arm. “Will you stay? I want to tell you something.” His voice was soft, almost a whisper. I nodded, waiting, my heart beating so hard I could hear it. What could he possibly want to say to me?
Sean nodded his thanks and then put his hands back on the steering wheel. “You asked me about my family,” he said slowly. “At the shower, remember?”
I nodded. He wanted to talk about his family?
Apparently so, because he said, “I wasn’t prepared to talk about that then, but I think you should know. I want you to know. Is that alright?”
“Of course,” I could only say.
Sean sighed, and studied his hands as they gripped the wheel. “My dad was real s.o.b. He was manipulative and unreasonable; nothing ever made him happy, nothing was ever good enough. He was controlling, too. The only thing he didn’t do was raise his fists to me and my mom. He had other ways to punish me though.” He let out a huff of ironic laughter. “Sometimes I used to think I’d prefer being hit.”
I said nothing, and he continued. “My mom was a nightmare too, in her own special way. We lived in a real violent neighborhood. I grew up with boys who would kill a person over a six-pack of beer, and with girls who put out in order to get a hot meal. Both of my parents were alcoholics and drug addicts. Dad was mean whether he was drunk or not, and he and my Mom fought constantly. They separated when I was eight; my mom had found herself another guy and skipped out to go live with him in California. She left me with my dad. As controlling as he was, he let me run wild and I got into a lot of trouble. I took my first drink when I was 12. I started stealing my dad’s drugs when I was 13.”
Sean paused and looked at me as if he expected me to run away in shock. “I’m sorry your mom left you,” I said instead. “I know how that is.”
Sean smiled at me gratefully. He took one of his hands off the wheel and reached for mine. I let him take it. He linked his fingers with mine, which were slender and cold. His were large and warm. I studied our linked hands as he continued his story.
“My dad had some real emotional problems made worse by the booze and the drugs.” Sean paused, looked out the windshield and said in a voice that was a little too emotionless, “He killed himself when I was a month shy of fifteen.”
I swallowed. “I’m sorry.”
Sean shrugged, still not looking at me. “My mother wasn’t anywhere to be found at that time; her last known address was a newly demolished building in an old part of San Francisco. She had no forwarding address, no utilities in her name, no bank accounts. I found out years later that she was living off the radar in some commune on the border of California and Oregon where the women there keep multiple ‘husbands’.”
I couldn’t help but laugh at that. “For real? What do they call that? Backwards polygamy?”
“Polyandry is the correct term,” Sean supplied dryly, finally looking at me. “And yes, it’s for real.”
I grimaced at his tone, sorry that I had interrupted. “What happened to you then? Did you have any other relatives you could go to?”
Sean shook his head and his thumb stroked mine softly, which made my heart begin to beat faster again. “None that the state felt comfortable placing me with. So…I was sent to a group home. An orphanage, basically, though they don’t like to call them that anymore. It’s not PC, I guess.” There was a trace of bitterness in his voice.
My heart went out to him then. He had had a rough life. Much rougher than mine, I realized. “I guess they aren’t really much in the way of ‘homes’ then,” I whispered, not knowing what else to say.
“They’re pretty bad,” Sean said shortly. “It was worse than living with my dad had ever been. Long story short, I ran away from the home, made some really stupid choices and a few bad friends, and from there started a career in crime. When I was 20 I almost went to federal prison for it.”
Sean’s thumb stopped moving and he asked me plainly, “Does that freak you out?”
I licked my lips “Does it freak me out that you used to be a criminal?”
Sean nodded his head. “Yeah. Does it?”
I shook my head. “No.”
Sean wrinkled his brow like he was confused. “Why not?”
I let out a huff of laughter and shrugged. “I don’t know. Genny and Isaac accept you. They’re good judges of character. You’ve obviously cleaned your life up, and you’ve been nothing but kind to me.”
Sean reached out with his free hand and stroked my cheek. “Isaac and Genny know all this about me, but no one else. I don’t advertise my background because people do judge.”
He traced my cheekbone with his thumb and sighed before taking his hand away. “Anyways, it was a wakeup call – one that I needed badly. The Feds gave me the opportunity to get out, to leave my old life behind, and I took it. I moved to a new city and got my act together. I had dropped out of school when I left the group home, so I got my GED, went to a trade school, where they gave me a slip of paper saying that I was a certified mechanic, and I got a job. That’s been my life ever since. I try to live quietly and well, obey the law and be a contributing member of society. I stay away from all alcohol and drugs; I don’t smoke. Most importantly, I try to be nothing like my parents.”
“Me too,” I whispered.
He smiled thinly at me. “You’re probably wondering why I told you all that when I never tell anyone.”
I nodded. “Not that that I don’t appreciate your candor,” I said.
“I like you,” he said straightforwardly. “I have since the day I first saw you.”
I swallowed. He liked me. My heart skipped a beat.
“I know I’m kind of scary looking,” he continued. “I know I freaked you out.”
I squirmed uncomfortably. “You did,” I couldn’t help but admit.
He reached out and stroked my cheek, my hair. He put his hand behind my neck. “I don’t want you to be afraid of me.”
I shook my head, the only part of my body that would move at that point. “I’m not.”
“I want to kiss you.”
I panicked. “I don’t know,” I said, stiffening up. Nancy’s voice reverberated inside my head: whore, whore, whore.
Sean looked disappointed, but he didn’t push me. His hand left my neck and he unbuckled his seatbelt. “We should get out.”
But I didn’t want him to leave. “I used to wish I’d just get hit too,” I blurted out.
Sean stopped and turned back to me, waiting for me to go on.
“My stepmother, Nancy, wasn’t one to devise cruel punishment, but she could yell and belittle me and my sisters till we felt no better dirt,” I said in a rush. “Less than dirt. She made us feel unworthy of anything good. I would wish that she would hit me and leave a bruise so that I could call the cops on her. I would fantasize about her getting taken away, and my dad divorcing her so that she could never hurt us again.” I held Sean’s gaze, who just sat and listened to me. “She called me just this afternoon and told me that I’m a whore and sinner and that I’m going to go to hell for being friendly with Charles and Glen.”
“Do you believe that?” Sean asked in a tight voice. He was angry for me, I re
alized.
I shook my head. “No.” I was not a whore. And I wanted to kiss Sean. Kissing him would not make me a whore, I told myself. I scooted across the seat and touched his cheek. It was smooth. His hands came up to cradle my head, his fingers tangling in my hair, but he didn’t move towards me. He waited while I made a study of his face, caressing his jaw and his ears, tracing his eyebrows, which were dark and thick.
“I-.” I wanted to tell him that I wanted to kiss him too. I wanted to be brave, but my voice failed me. “I want-.”
I was not brave, but Sean was. He pulled my head to his and kissed me, gently, softly.
“You are good,” he said, pulling away for a brief moment. “And kind.” He kissed me again. “And sweet.” He kissed me a third time. “And I hate that your stepmother makes you cry.”
His words made tears well up in my eyes. Genny was totally right, I decided. Sean was good for me. His words made me brave, and leaned forward and kissed him. He was not so gentle this time; more hungry, more…just more. I tingled from my lips to my toes. I had never felt so good, and his hands in my hair drove me crazy.
But I pulled away. “We should stop. We should go home. To our own homes,” I clarified. I was breathless from kissing him.
Sean nodded. “Can I see you tomorrow?”
I nodded.
“Dinner?” he asked me. “We can go anywhere you want.
I nodded. He grinned. “I’ll walk you upstairs,” he said as he got out of the car.
I laughed and got out too. “How chivalrous of you.”
He smirked. “No, just convenient.”
I slugged him playfully on the arm and he walked up the stairs hand in hand. When we came to a stop in front of my door, he drew me close, his arms around my waist and kissed me. I slid my hands over his shoulders and looped them around his neck. He apparently liked that. His mouth left mine to nibble my neck and I shivered. Genny would be certain to crow when I told her about it.