“Loosen up, Mom. We’ve been dancing.”
“Oh. Where did you go that there’s dancing?”
“We’re down the street at Discovery Green. There was a hip-hop festival.”
“Hip-hop? What is it with you and hip-hop lately?”
I opened my mouth to reply but was interrupted by the sound of a man’s voice in the phone’s background.
“Mom? Is someone there?” The phone went chillingly quiet. “Mom?”
“Of course not,” she said at last. “It’s the television.”
I glanced up to see Raoul striding toward me. “I have to go.”
“Don’t forget curfew,” she warned.
“I won’t.”
I hit the End button at the same time I envisioned Cooper Nance at our apartment, ensconced comfortably in front of Dad’s big screen TV.
Chapter Twenty Six
“This was all they had,” Raoul said, offering me a canned soda.
“It’s fine.” I reached for the Coke and noticed my pearl bracelet was gone. “Oh, no!” I cried and went to the ground again.
“What’s the matter?” Raoul stooped in front of me.
“I lost my bracelet.” The crowd had opened up some. I could now see the area around us, but there was no sign of the bracelet.
“Someone bumped into me. It must have come off then.”
“What does it look like?” Raoul asked.
“Two strands of white pearls.”
“I don’t see it anywhere. Was it expensive?”
Shaking my head, I stood up. “No, not really.” I gripped my wrist where the bracelet had been. “It was fake. It’s no big deal.”
Then I noticed Raoul had a red, white, and green Mexican serape draped over his arm.
“Where’d you get that?”
“Found it on a chair under the portico where the picnic tables are. I thought we’d spread it on the grass and chill for a while.”
“You found it?”
“I’ll return it,” he said. Then he took my hand and we started walking. “C’mon, let’s go over there.” He pointed to a slope of grass not far from the pond. When he’d spread the blanket on the lawn in front of the water, we sat down and relaxed.
“You didn’t tell me you could dance,” I said.
“You never asked.” He raised his soda can to his smirking lips. Then he placed the can on the ground, lay back on the blanket, and folded his arms leisurely under his head. “It’s hard to see stars in the city, but sometimes here in this open area, you can spot a few.”
“You come here often?”
“More when I was a kid than I do now.”
He stared up at the sky, and lazily pointed upward. “Hard to believe they’re several hundred thousand miles away, huh?”
I craned my neck to look up even though right then, a star could have plummeted to earth for all I cared.
“You can’t see them like that,” he said. Then he sat up, shed his jacket, and molded it into a pillow. Before lying back down, he draped an arm around me and tugged me close, pulling me down beside him to share the improvised pillow. “You can see better from here.”
Deep in my stomach, a pleasant tickle developed, and I held my breath for fear I’d do something to ruin the moment. We lounged there for some time, him talking about the constellations and me pretending to care about pollution blocking the view. Then he lifted himself up on an elbow to gaze down at me. His eyes were like the blue moon overhead, and his cologne was delightfully dizzying. I wanted to take a deep breath and hold it, so I could somehow keep that scent with me always. Then I did something I’d wanted to do since the day I first saw him in the elevator. I pressed my fingertip into the cleft of his chin.
With a light touch, he took my hand in his and kissed the finger. Then he leaned down and pressed his lips to mine, and something warm and satisfying swept over me. The only kisses I’d ever had were pecks stolen by young dance partners in a studio. None of them was ever so utterly mesmerizing as this.
Raising his head a fraction, he allowed his lips to linger ever so slightly above mine, teasing and tempting. I felt a smattering of whiskers and tasted a trace of soda on his lips.
I’d wrapped my arms around his neck to pull him back, when we heard, “Eh-hum. No PDA.”
Raoul groaned and lifted his head. Over his shoulder, I saw a park security guard.
“It’s cool, man,” Raoul said without taking his gaze off of me. “We’re leaving anyway.”
Getting to his feet and boosting me up with him, Raoul slipped back into the jacket and snatched the blanket from the ground. “I don’t want you to be late on our first date. Something tells me your mother wouldn’t allow another if you were.”
Another? Another! He wanted to go on another date with me!
On our way out of the park, we walked by the picnic area for Raoul to return the blanket. There were few people around now, so I watched the ground for my bracelet on the outside chance it might still be there. More than likely, someone had probably found it and kept it.
Hand in hand, we retraced our steps to Templeton Towers. Raoul did most of the talking on the way home, while I contemplated how hours could pass like minutes.
Back at the Towers, inside the elevator, Raoul moved close to me. A confident grin curling his lips, he backed me against the wall, and I grabbed the handrail behind me to keep steady. When he ran a hand through my hair, I quivered and was glad for the railing.
“Damn—” he sighed, “—you are hot.”
His words reduced my insides to mush, and my lungs refused to take in air. Finally, I stammered, “So, are you staying at your dad’s tonight?”
“Mm-hmm,” he groaned, planting a kiss on my eyelid.
“Will you be around in the morning?”
“No, Dad’s making me go fishing with him.” He trailed kisses down my cheek. “We’re leaving for Galveston before the sun comes up,” he whispered into my ear.
“Wow, you won’t get much sleep, will you?”
Mental head-butt. Could I have sounded more lame?
“Christine,” he said.
“Yeah?”
“I’m gonna kiss you again.” And he did—a long, slow kiss that coaxed my lips apart with his. Then the elevator stopped at my floor and the doors squeaked open. Raoul moaned and let his head fall into my neck, sending shivers up my spine.
Inhaling deeply, he lifted his head and stepped back, allowing me to exit the elevator. In the hall, I stopped to look at him. “I had a great time.”
“Yeah, me, too.” He raised a hand and mussed his hair.
“So, I’ll see you later,” I told him.
“Later,” he said, and the elevator doors closed.
The apartment was dark, but I doubted Mom was truly asleep. She would have waited up to know what time I came in.
As I readied for bed, I replayed the night’s events over and over again. Between the dancing and kissing Raoul, I couldn’t remember ever feeling so exhilarated.
I looked at the clock for the last time around three a.m. My final thoughts should have been about Raoul. But they weren’t. The last thing that went through my mind before falling asleep was the dancer behind the curtain and his declaration, “Your technique is flawless, but you stifle your gift with it.”
Chapter Twenty Seven
Around ten-thirty the next morning, I awoke to find Mom standing by my bed. “Get up, sleepyhead.” She shoved my feet aside and sat on the bed next to me. “Here.” Offering me a glass of juice, she sipped from the cup of coffee she’d brought for herself. “I let you sleep as long as I could stand it, but I’m dying to know how it went.”
I’d never kept anything from my mother, and I was aware that that wasn’t necessarily normal. I’d seen Jenna’s relationship with her mother, disagreements, contention, strife, but it had only been since Dad had left that Mom and I’d begun butting heads. Before that, we were close. Yet now, I wanted to keep last night to myself. I didn’t want her
intruding into it.
I sipped the juice and pushed my hair out of my face. “It was nice.”
“Did he behave appropriately?”
“Yes, Mother. We had a great time. We went to the Mexican Cantina down the street, and then we went to the festival, where we hung out the rest of the night.”
“So, are you two an item now?”
I nodded and smiled. “Yeah, I think we’ll go out again.”
Sweeping a hand forward, she cupped my cheek and smiled.
My cell phone vibrated on the nightstand next to my bed. I picked it up to see a text from Jenna that was simply a series of question marks. “It’s Jenna. She wants to know about last night.”
“I get it.” Mom rose to her feet, looking a little disappointed. “Let me know when you’re ready for breakfast, or maybe I should say brunch, and I’ll make you waffles.” Then she leaned in and kissed the top of my head.
After she left, I looked at my phone again and saw Raoul had texted around six-thirty this morning.
Ugh! really don't wanna be here. rather be with you. mandatory Sunday dinner with mom tonight, school and football tomorrow, so I won’t see you till Tuesday.
A spark of heat shot through me as I realized he’d been thinking about me when he left early that morning. Not only thinking about me but also anticipating our next encounter.
Downing the remainder of my juice, I dialed Jenna. Unlike Mom, I told Jenna everything, the dancing, the kissing, and the possibility of more.
“Damn, girl, sounds like you hit the jackpot,” she said.
“I know, right. He’s really cool.”
“So you seeing him again tonight?”
“No, he has a family thing.” Then I had an idea. “Hey, can you get the car tonight? Maybe we could attend Romeo and Juliet?”
“Yeah, I guess so. If it’s to go to the ballet, Mom would probably let me.”
One of the benefits of being a level eight student was free admission to ballets. It was especially encouraged for understudies and dancers wanting to absorb all they could from professional performances.
“I can be there around six.”
“I’ll be ready,” I replied and we hung up.
After showering and getting dressed, I found Mom in the kitchen stirring up waffle batter.
“Jenna and I are going to see Romeo and Juliet tonight,” I said, realizing I’d told her rather than asked.
“Oh? Well, did you want me to drive you?”
“No, Jenna’s going to pick me up.”
“Jenna’s picking you up? I don’t know if I like that. She hasn’t been driving long.”
“Mom, the theater is five blocks from here. Barring hurricanes, earthquakes, and other natural disasters, I think we can get there safely.”
“All right, then. But be careful.”
“Always.”
Chapter Twenty Eight
After gorging on waffles, I tried to video chat with Marisol but couldn’t get her online. Since it was Sunday afternoon, I figured she was at some of her family’s for dinner; they had big family meals every weekend. So I spent the day cleaning my room, hand-washing a couple of leotards and repairing a pair of slippers.
That evening, while finishing my make-up and dressing for the ballet, Jenna called. “I am so pissed,” she spat into the phone. “Mom won’t let me go tonight.”
“What? Why not?”
“They got my grades. I’m flunking math and science. I’m grounded until I show some improvement.” She mimicked her mother’s decree. “Can you believe it? Show some improvement! She sounds like Zaborov! I’m sorry. If you still want to go, maybe your mom can take you.”
“It’s fine. Do you want some help with your math? I could come over.”
“Thanks, but I’ll do it. Why should you have to suffer too?”
After our goodbyes, I paced my bedroom floor. Dressed and ready to go, in a pink backless dress and strappy silver heels that added four inches to my five-foot-five frame, I looked fierce. I didn’t want to stay in the apartment, so I picked up my handbag and headed for the living room.
Mom was on the sofa, reading a book. I was about to ask if she’d drop me at the Wakefield when I realized she was wearing her frumpy around-the-house-clothes and her hair was piled atop her head, a clip barely keeping it in place. There was no way she would go in public like that. She glimpsed up at me right then.
“You look beautiful,” she said, and in that moment, I made up my mind.
“Thanks. I’m meeting Jenna downstairs.” I started for the door before she had time to respond.
“Don’t stay out too late. You have school tomorrow,” she called after me.
“I won’t.”
Then I closed the door on her last words. “Be careful.”
I didn’t relax until I was out of the building and trudging down the street. There was no reason for her to doubt me and catch the lie, yet I was antsy. But as the balmy, evening breeze wrapped my skirt around my knees, and the theater came into view, I shrugged off the uneasiness. It was worth it, even if I were caught.
At the box office, I got a mezzanine seat ticket, which would allow me to see the dancers at every vantage point. I found my place in the gallery, two from the front row, and sat down as the lights flickered, signaling the ballet’s start.
Once the show was underway, I studied Claudette Sunderland, the principal dancer playing Juliet. As she flowed gracefully across the stage, I struggled to discern what it was that truly made a prima ballerina. What did she have that the Mrs. Hahns of the ballet world looked for? What did she have that I didn’t?
Immersing myself in the music and the performance, I pushed aside self-absorption and allowed the ballet to carry me away. Several movements passed and they were deep into Scene 2 of Act 1 when I experienced a strange sensation and a chill passed over me. Straightening in my chair, I wondered what had caused it. The air conditioner maybe?
The ballet went on, and when the Dance of the Knights commenced, the sense that something wasn’t right nagged me. The heavy one-two, one-two rhythm of the music accelerated my unease. The horns and the bass resonated, while the strings played a dark, forbidding march, and I had the overwhelming feeling I was being watched.
As inconspicuously as possible, I surveyed those around me. The seat to my right was empty, so I casually lay my handbag in it as a way to look down the row of seats. Nothing seemed out of order there. Furtively, I twisted my neck to peer over my shoulder. Everyone behind me was lost in the ballet.
It was ridiculous and probably only my conscience, the guilt I felt for having lied to Mom. I focused on the stage again then, determined to enjoy the rest of the performance.
Like always, Claudette Sunderland inspired the crowd. At the end, everyone went to their feet and remained there until the last curtain call. All around, men and women alike oohed and aahed over her performance. Envy, jealousy, and rivalry were emotions every dancer was familiar with, but in this setting, even the best of people longed for that kind of adoration and appreciation. There wasn’t a person in the theater who didn’t dream of being Claudette Sunderland, including myself.
Slowly, theatergoers began leaving but I remained in my seat, in no hurry to go home.
The auditorium was almost empty, and I knew at some point security would do a walk-through to ensure the building was clear, but I still didn’t want to leave, and I had no intention of doing so.
Shoving to my feet, I hurried downstairs to the powder room, where I hid until everyone had gone. Holing up in a stall on the back row, I finally heard the familiar voice of one of the ushers. “Anyone here? Closing time. Lights out.” Then after a pause, every light but one went off. As my eyes adjusted, I counted to twenty before leaving the stall to walk across the room.
Cautiously, I opened the powder room door and peeked through the gap. The hall was empty and dark but for a couple of low lights. The door grated on its hinges as I opened it. I worried the usher might have heard it,
so I counted again before stepping out to tiptoe quickly down the corridor, thankful for the plush carpet muffling the sound of my heels.
Wending my way through the theater to get backstage, I started to question what I was doing. It wouldn’t hurt to go in Claudette’s dressing room for a few minutes, would it? No one would ever know.
Hers was easy to find. Her name was scrolled across it in sparkling, metallic letters. But was she still inside? Doubtful. She would have gone out to meet with her devotees at the building’s back exit. Nonetheless, I raised a hand, knocked, and waited. With only the occasional wall sconce glowing, the hall was shrouded in gray and gave off a creepy vibe, but rather than frightening me, it only added to the strange sense of adventure propelling me forward.
When there was no answer, I knocked again. The silence swelled around me, and I made my next move, grasping the doorknob and giving it a slow, deliberate twist. The frame responded with a severe groan as the door coasted open.
“Ms. Sunderland? Are you there?” My voice echoed dully back to me.
What I was about to do was wrong, but I wanted to do it anyway. Glimpsing around the dim foyer once more, I slunk in to the room.
It was like entering my dreams. This was every ballerina’s fantasy brought to life. Pausing in the middle of the chamber, I took it in—a principal dancer’s dressing room. Flowers covered every available space, on the dressing table, a sideboard, the floor, everywhere. Pink, white, and yellow, in vases and wrapped in tissue paper, their sweet aromas competed with one another, leaving the air with an indistinguishable odor.
To my right stood a garment rack laden with flamboyant costumes made of chiffon and lace, sparkling crystals and rhinestones, and I thought them more beautiful than the flowers. Easing closer, I ran my hands across a couple of them, letting shimmering fabric glide luxuriously through my fingers. My conscience began to bother me again, intruding like this was wrong, but I overrode it and stepped closer to Claudette’s dressing table.
The room was in shadow with only the gloomy light from the hallway filtering in. Still, I could see Claudette’s personal effects scattered across the tabletop. My hands tingled with the desire to reach out and touch her things, but I came to my senses and decided to go.
As I turned to depart, there was a swooshing sound, followed by a sudden clatter behind me. My heart shot to my throat and I whirled about, expecting someone to have emerged from behind the dressing screen. But the only thing there was an open duffle bag, which had slid from a chair to the floor spilling its contents everywhere. Laughing at my jitteriness, I scooped up the hair accessories, an Ace bandage, and a bottle of Tylenol, crammed them back into the bag, and returned it to the chair.