One More Year: The Romantic Path of Ana Lee (The Path Less Taken Series Book 1)

by SJ Cavaletti

  “Yeah, of course,” I said, “What makes you ask that?”

  “You just seem a bit different,” he replied, “a bit distant maybe?”

  Whoa. He could tell my mind was elsewhere. Falling in love is like new perfume. Invisible but highly conspicuous to those who know you.

  I knew better than to admit to this so I fobbed it off, “I’m just a bit tired tonight I think.”

  Pete narrowed his eyes. Then he did something he had never done before. He put out the signal that he needed a bit more entertainment.

  Being in the Champagne Room is all about pacing. Most dancers would not just hop on and start riding. Honestly you would ruin your thigh muscles for life with an hour long dance. No, you need to first have an intro chat, then maybe sip the drink slowly. After that start some flirtation, a bit of gentle caressing like grabbing his hand and holding it or linking arms while having a discussion. Then, with about 20 minutes to go, you lay it on heavier and start dancing, getting hotter and sexier just as the timer is about to ding. At least that was my technique.

  But there were times when my drawn out foreplay did not work. I could tell that some guys zoned out when I talked or had eager eyes. Maybe they would stroke my thigh or flat out ask me to show him what I’ve got. Tonight, Pete gave me a signal that he wanted some action and it was the first time he ever had in such a long time of seeing each other. I had always thought he was happy just being my special, secret friend. I felt almost hurt by his advances. Like he was just pretending to value our friendship over the years. The thoughts and hurt that were whirling around made me wonder if it would all come to an end. More than all of that, I felt like a fool. What kind of professional am I? Was I the one that had mixed business and pleasure rather than him?

  He turned his body to face me more straight on and put his hand on my waist. I was taken aback and hoped he hadn’t noticed me flinch a bit. He cocked his head and gave me a dry smile.

  “You know,” I said, “Maybe that’s enough talk for one night. Shall I give you a little dance for once?”

  “You read my mind,” he said.

  I got up and started gyrating to Ariana Grande’s Focus. It was a good song for a tease. It was then that I realized I hadn’t even taken off the lacy minidress that covered my bikini. Though to be honest with Pete I rarely did take off my layers. In fact, I can honestly say I’m pretty sure I had never once danced for him once, even the times when we got super drunk and I was bored of talking.

  I did my best to care. As a faithful customer and financial supporter of my life he deserved a good show. But my heart wasn’t in it not only because of Carlos but also because I was a bit gutted that it turned out he didn’t ‘like me for me.’ After all these years, he really was out for one thing. Guess he was just extremely patient. Guess I should have known better. But then again, I’ve never been a cynic and hope to never become one. My feelings were surprising, mustering up all sorts of worthlessness.

  The night ended rather flatly and he didn’t tip me as much as usual. What I didn’t know was that our monthly meetings had come to an end… even though it was hardly the last time I would see him.

  Doubting Doter

  I moped around for a day or so after Pete left. It was that feeling that came with the end of an era, an Eeyore-like lack of direction. It sunk in deeper; my carefree days as a dancer were over and now I had two more shifts to mull over my morals as I navigated the rights and wrongs of being in love while being a topless dancer. Did every other dancer go through this existential crisis? The very foundations of my life were crumbling and dancing, my friends and everything I used to enjoy now didn’t matter… all I wanted to do was be with Carlos. It was a profound philosophical change, as if Sartre just started to believe in God.

  I made dismal returns on the next two shifts at Brick Road and told my managers ‘the truth,’ that I had a last minute travel deal to France and really wanted to take it. Carlos had told me that we would be flying Nice to do some boating and promised me a better meal than the hamper. How cute.

  Although I had always been diligent and careful with my money in the past, I used my credit card to buy some new clothes and when I say some that really means a lot. Jamie and Angelica came shopping with me one afternoon, which made for the perfect segue into talking to them about my new beau.

  I bought summer dresses and even splurged on a new cocktail dress. We were exhausted as with tomorrow’s departure looming I had forced them to literally shop til we dropped. We rested our feet over a salad.

  “So… the clothes… I’m going away next week,” I said.

  They looked at me with raised brows.

  “You can still afford to go away next week after blowing your wad like that,” Angelica asked, not expecting an answer but rather wondering how I found funding.

  “Where are you headed?” asked Jamie.

  “Well, I know what you guys are thinking… but…” I didn’t have a moment to finish.

  “You’re going on vacation with Carlos,” said Angelica.

  “Yeah, how did you know?” I asked.

  “Angelo said something about some guy you were in love with, I just put two and two together. Nobody buys summer clothes in July, your insane spending…You don’t have to be a genius,” she said.

  “Well, anyway, yeah, with Carlos,” I confirmed.

  Jamie was always the first one to point out Street Rules. She had always said I was a smart cookie when it came to book smarts but occasionally questioned my ability to make sane decisions outside academia. She may have been right. She certainly helped me navigate the world of drugs. My first discoveries were pretty intense.

  “Ana… you hardly know this guy. Now you’re going away with him… what are you doing? Where are you going? You should leave us his cell number, address and all that. He could be some psycho for all you know. Why don’t you just do something simple to start, like go down the street to dinner?” she asked.

  “Jamie, if he wanted to kill me he could do it anywhere in the world, even down the road at Gary Danko.”

  “Don’t you think you’ll outsmart me this time, honey,” she gave me a cheeky grin as I rarely fought her logic but sometimes tried my best with semantics. “You know what I mean. If he slays you here, at least we’ll know you’re gone before you’re completely decomposed,” she said.

  “You’re so grisly,” I replied.

  “You probably do take in a bit too much Crimewatch,” Angelica said, “I’d take the free trip in a heartbeat. Where are you going?”

  “He said the south of France.”

  “South of France…?!?” Jamie buried her face in her hands dramatically.

  “Wow,” Angelica said, “He really is loaded.”

  It rubbed me the wrong way to have her mention money again. Ugh.

  “Anyway… I will leave some details behind. But it will probably be Abby that you contact. That’s his assistant.”

  The girls both rolled their eyes comically. I shouldn’t have said that.

  “Whatever… you two… what, I can’t happen to fall in love with someone who has money? Like it’s a crime? Should rich guys be love pariahs?”

  “Speak English please,” Jamie said.

  “I mean, by making it somehow ‘bad’ to be with Carlos because he’s rich you’re making him untouchable. Like any person who loves a rich guy can only possibly love him for one reason. That’s not fair to lump successful people together as only being attractive for their wealth. I’d love him no matter what. He’s just a super guy. Honestly guys he’s so so lovely.”

  “Lovely… ha. We’re just kidding anyway, dude,” Angelica said, “You’re the only one that has the hump. I don’t really care why you like Carlos… Anyway, I’m jealous. I haven’t been out of the country since I went to Hawaii.”

  “Don’t be so self-conscious… and wait a minute, did you say love?” Jamie asked.

  I stabbed a bit of lettuce and steak and filled my mouth to avoid an answer. But as th
ey stared at me with questioning eyes, I gave a little wink. Yes, it was definitely love we were talking about here.

  Like Grace Kelly

  If I wanted to prove to you that I would love Carlos even on a night out with a beer and a pizza, these will not be the details to make my case.

  I lied on a sun lounger on Carlos’ yacht, now moored in Monaco, I was both excited and ever so slightly out of place. The yacht was huge. It had a kitchen, formal dining room, an office, four bedrooms, party decks, six crew to help us with every whim… My Mom used to watch a show called Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous. It was like Real Housewives or Keeping up with the Kardashians (but only after Kim was with Kanye). I never watched it with her because as soon as the intro came on with the cheesy theme tune I knew she didn’t have Scooby-Doo on for me anymore. But I did catch glimpses of the beginning… castles, Rolls Royces, yachts and sunshine… always sunshine. One opener showed a girl in a bikini getting into a sun-bed. Funny that was once perceived as a luxury.

  I closed my eyes and as the warm sun relaxed my mind it wandered and wondered if I would ever tell my Mom about this experience. But why wouldn’t I? What worried me so much that this should be kept secret? Did I not think Carlos really liked me? He seemed to make that clear but his inaccessibility also kept my guard up. Did I wonder if she would think Carlos was too old for me? No, my Mom was now married to a guy a decade older than she; no judgement there. I told my Mom everything. She even knew I was a stripper for goodness sake. Perhaps therein lied my inability to confess my love for Carlos.

  The tension that had mounted in my face came to a sudden halt when I felt a hand run across my cheek. I smiled but didn’t open my eyes. His hand stroked my other cheek and then he slowly ran his fingers through my hair, delicately following the strands all the way to the end. I would have normally felt self-conscious, knowing that someone was staring at me. I would have opened my eyes, laughed nervously and found something to talk about that wasn’t me. But Carlos made me happy and at ease in every single way. Lucky me.

  I finally opened my eyes after enjoying my stroke and saw him, his shiny brown mane coming down slightly around his face, the azure sky behind him, the mountains confidently creating the perfect backdrop. His expression spoke volumes. It was every loving face I had ever looked at rolled into one: the lustful math geek, the doting best boy friend when I was ten that I didn’t quite like the same way he liked me, the adoring teacher that recommended me to Columbia… even my Mom, tucking me up to sleep at night.

  Sarah had once told me there are many different kinds of love. Maybe true love encompasses them all.

  “Were you sleeping?” He asked with his eyes that squinted when he smiled.

  “No, just daydreaming,” I said.

  “About what?”

  I didn’t want to tell him that I had just been worrying about where this was all going. It was so needy, infantile and guided by silly old bias. I didn’t want him to know that I struggled to rise above the idea of being seen as a golddigger. My logical brain had often been good at finding arguments that could conquer the heart. I was trying so hard not to do that this time.

  I changed the subject.

  “What I really want to talk about is what we are doing today,” I said, “I mean, I’m happy to hang out on the boat if you’d like. I have to confess that I’m feeling pretty spoiled.”

  “Not at all! This is our floating hotel… not our adventure. Let’s go out and do some silly things. There’s great people watching, casinos, good food, beaches, parasailing…”

  “Parasailing!”

  I couldn’t help but nearly shout. I had always wanted to do it.

  “Parasailing it is,” he said.

  “You’ll probably need to get some clothes on to walk through town. This isn’t Cancun,” he joked.

  “Of course. I can see that.”

  But I didn’t quite understand the extent to which most people would dress up in Monaco. Perhaps it was the money in town, perhaps it was the age of the average person who could afford to live or vacation here, but the level of sophistication was next to none. Women actually wore heels in the daytime. We walked from the yacht by the famous Hotel de Paris and past some shops. The cars, the people, the smells. It oozed luxury.

  He pulled me into some shops along the way to the parasailing docks.

  “Let’s cool off for a minute. Do some window shopping,” he said.

  A man that shops? He really was perfect.

  We went into Lanvin, Miu Miu, Prada, Ferragamo… we just giggled through the various shops, trying on whatever was handy but not wanting to get dragged into dressing rooms. We finally ended up in Cartier.

  “Are you a jewelry kind of girl?”

  It made me nervous. I didn’t know why, a simple yes or no would have been sufficient.

  “I, uh, never really thought much about it. I mean, I accessorize of course, like girls do…” I bumbled.

  He looked around and seemed not to have listened very closely to what I replied.

  “I love jewelry. My Mother always made us wear necklaces and things from the time we were babies… little gold bracelets and such.”

  “Well, there certainly are beautiful things in here,” I said.

  “Indeed,” he said and then stopped nosing through the glass cases.

  “Are you still looking?” he asked.

  “No, no… I’m ready to wander if you are.”

  Off we went, and finally, after watching and participating in the parade of indulgence, we arrived at a more modest dock. We walked to the end and approached three French gentlemen dressed in red swim trunks, their tanned torsos calling us over to play.

  One of them came up to us and went directly to Carlos, “Monsieur Ferrera… nice to see you. Coming to have a fly in zee sky, oui?”

  Carlos turned to me, “I’m not well known around here or anything, I swear. I sent someone ahead to book us in.”

  How did these magical things happen in Carlos’ life? Everything just flowed. It all felt so easy it was impossible not to want it.

  “This is Ana,” Carlos said and the man took my hand and kissed it. Oh the charm of the Frenchman.

  “Yes, we’d like to go up today. Doesn’t seem too windy?” Carlos asked nervously.

  “Non, non, c’est parfait… Monsieur. Absolutely beautiful conditions today. Will be très romantique.”

  I beamed from ear to ear. After wrapping us in life jackets we got in the boat and off we zoomed. We headed off into open water. The loud wind forced us to hold our hair back and shout. As we headed into the sea I looked at Carlos and chuckled.

  “Carlos, I’m sorry to say this but I’m not sure that thing will help you float if the line lets loose.”

  I pointed to the life jacket that strained to reach around his gigantic body. I loved his broad manly stature but the buoyant part of the life vest looked so small on his chest, it was as if they had strapped a child’s vest to him.

  His chest laughed and bounced the orange lapels up and down.

  “Yes, this isn’t my best look, is it?” He asked.

  “Never mind… I’m a great swimmer. If anything happens I’ve got your back,” I said.

  “I was going to say the same to you. I’m mostly blubber now at my age I’ve always found swimming easy going. You could probably sit on top of me and row me back to shore!”

  “Shut up… I said, you don’t have an ounce of fat. I don’t know how you stay so fit.

  He appreciated the compliment. It was the first time I had heard him self-deprecate and his humanity made him so darn cute. I loved that as serious as he could be, his sense of humor never got lost in the complex labyrinth inside his head.

  The boat slowed down and Frenchie said, “Bon, let’s get you in zee air.”

  The parasail apparatus was a parachute with a bar and two swings attached. The swings suspended from the bar, side by side and the bar looked like what we would hold on to. Frenchie connected us to what felt like
quite flimsy harnesses and we sat each in our own swing. They reminded me of the bendy, rubber ones at a children’s playground and hardly felt substantial enough to securely hold us three hundred feet above the sea. It all happened quite quickly which was great as I was extremely excited. Looking over at Carlos, his face wasn’t quite so eager. The color had turned from caramel to plaster of Paris.

  “I’m guessing you haven’t done this before?” I asked.

  “Nope. I am acutely acrophobic,” he replied.

  “Afraid of heights?! We could have done something else,” I exclaimed.

  “Too late now,” he said, raising his eyebrows.

  Frenchie gave our harnesses both one last tug (not the most reassuring of final safety checks by Carlos’ standards) and then ushered us to the back of the boat and onto a small platform. We looked at each other with childish smiles and gave Frenchie a thumbs up.

  The cable started to unwind and we went up quickly and with no true sensation of rising other than that which came from our optical nerves. In fact, I hardly remembered the ascent as it was so effortless. I had heard that going up in a hot air balloon is a weightless, immediate and unexpected rise; perhaps this was similar. I looked down and saw the ends of my feet dangling hundreds of feet above the water.

  Carlos gave me an anxious smile, trying hard to enjoy himself. I reached over as far as I could and was able to grab his hand. “Are you scared?”

  He didn’t reply immediately. His face seemed frozen in this awkward, forced smile. The hand that I wasn’t holding was white knuckled, gripping the rope of the harness relentlessly. I rubbed my thumb along the side of his balmy palm and tried to calm him.

  “Carlos, look up.”

  “Yes… I’ve so been trying to enjoy the beautiful view,” he said with very little pleasure in his tone.

  “No, don’t look out, look up. At the clouds, at the sky. When you look out, you can still see the water below, that’s what’s scaring you. But when you look up, all of that disappears and you can just breathe in the day,” I said, trying to make him more comfortable.