Steven took notes, nodding while I spoke. “Yes. I’ve even got some guests lined up.”
I swallowed. Now came the big question. “What about our meeting with Serial Staging?”
“As of now, it’s still a go. I did push it back to give you time to heal, but they haven’t cancelled.”
“What’s Serial Staging?” Josh asked.
It was strange to have observers to my business conversations. The boys knew so little about my life now. I wasn’t just a dancer, I was a business owner, and my business was my life.
“It’s a company that serializes shows,” Steven answered. “Running multi-cities with multi-casts.”
“That’s amazing.” Josh turned a wide smile my way. “Congratulations. You started your own American Ballet Theatre.”
I had. Heat flushed from my neck to my cheeks. I had wondered what they remembered about my dreams, so Josh’s comment meant something. Something big.
“Her company doesn’t mean anything if she’s not around to run it,” Westin said, getting my attention. I turned to see him staring at Landry, who nodded decisively.
“You’re right. What about the person who is trying to hurt her? That was a very personalized attack.”
“Police are investigating. We have surveillance. It’ll be a matter of time. Until then, we’ve doubled down on security. The question is,” Steven said, glancing at me, “where are we going? Or do we stay? You’re going to need rehab, girl, and the best physical therapists are in one place.”
New York. He didn’t need to say it out loud.
“So you go to New York,” Westin announced.
Like he had a say, or a horse in the race.
He didn’t.
“Book the tickets,” I said. “I want to leave this afternoon.” Steven stared at me for a long moment, and I returned the stare. That’s right. I was running. I was getting the hell out of Dodge. Making like a tree and leave-ing.
“We’re coming, too,” Westin said. His voice was hard.
Exasperated, I faced him. “No. Our visit ends here.”
“You called us,” Landry argued.
“I was on pain meds,” I replied, internally wincing at the way Landry stepped back. It was too much for me to handle them here. My foot hurt. It hurt like a motherfucker, the pain so real and present it made sweat drip down my back. “I didn’t know what I was doing.”
There was a knock on the door, and it opened. Mike was there and next to him a hotel worker pushing a cart.
“It’s time for antibiotics and a pain pill,” a voice said from nearby.
I jumped and bit back a yelp of pain. I’d forgotten all about my nurse. “Just the antibiotic.” On edge and irritated, I turned my scooter toward the bedroom. “Show them out after they eat Mike, would you? Let me know when the police arrive.” This was my boss voice and about six degrees away from bitchy. I’d apologize later. “I’m going to be packing.”
“I’ll get someone to pack for you,” Steven said.
“Let’s go lie down and elevate that foot,” Deirdre added.
Had anyone been listening to me?
“You got it,” Mike responded to my earlier direction. Good. Someone who would do what I wanted without arguing.
“If you throw us out of here, we’ll just see you in New York,” Westin called as I scooted back to the bedroom.
“Don’t waste your money,” I replied and shut the door with a thud.
Lying down in my bed, pillow over my head, I tried to ignore the arguing and raised voices. The boys called my name more than once, but I didn’t have it in me to answer, because I didn’t have the energy or the will to follow through. If I went out there, and they asked me to stay, I’d let them.
And I couldn’t let them.
“Miss Belle,” Deirdre said from nearby. “I have prescription strength Tylenol. Do you want to try that?”
I moved the pillow off my face. “Okay,” I answered, an ear to the penthouse. A door slammed and it was suddenly quiet.
Deirdre handed me the pill and a glass of water, and I took it. I leaned back on the pillows, waiting to hear their voices. But there was nothing. They’d left like I told them to.
“Are you sure you don’t want something stronger?” Deirdre asked. “The doctor prescribed a heavier—”
“I’m sure.” I closed my eyes. “If it’s all right with you, I’m just going to rest now.”
“Sure,” she replied. “Just holler if you need anything.”
I smiled through the pain. “Thanks.”
The bedroom door opened and shut, and then I was alone. Opening my eyes, I stared at the ceiling. For the first time in days, my mind was clear enough for me to process everything that had happened.
How in the world had I ended up here?
The question pulled all those memories to the forefront of my brain. Hours passed with me replaying scenes from my life with the boys. My body tingled, remembering the first time I’d been with Josh. I’d had sex since they left me, and each time it had left me cold and detached from my body. For a person who used my body to convey stories and emotions, it was only with the boys that it’d really come alive.
There was a war going on inside me. My body wanted me to call those boys back here. It wanted me to give them another chance.
But my heart. It was armored, but it was pounding in my chest, pushing at melted edges and forcing out rivets. I couldn’t trust myself.
What’s the worst that could happen? What was the worst? Hadn’t that already happened? My heart was hard, and I was older. I knew myself and what I could handle.
I couldn’t handle those boys.
A knock on the door interrupted my thoughts. Steven opened it, peering inside. “Detectives are here. You okay?”
I nodded, pushing myself to a seated position. “Do I need to change?”
“Nah.” He considered me. “Just run a hand through your hair. You look perfect.”
I did as he suggested, and he opened the door wider to admit two detectives. The first woman he introduced was Detective Santos, a youngish woman, probably in her thirties. Her dark hair was gathered in a low ponytail, and she was fit, like a swimmer or runner. Her partner was older and reminded me of a mother. She introduced herself as Detective Nicolaj. Her face was round and rosy, and she smiled easily. “Miss Belle.”
“Hello,” I greeted. “Thanks for coming.”
Once pleasantries were exchanged, the detectives got right into it. They’d done their research about my life and questioned me about my past—going all the way back to Shawville. Here it was, eight years out, and I’d somehow ended up talking about Pastor Morehouse and Madame Giroux again.
Did I think they had something to do with my injury?
No. I thought Pastor Morehouse’s evil was limited to cursing me to the church congregation, but I couldn’t see the man taking a plane to Vegas to hack away at a stage and hope I broke an ankle.
Madame Giroux? The woman was bitter and cruel, but she had her own kingdom to rule. Once she’d taken her shot at me on national television, I had no doubt she’d gone back to inducing eating disorders among her students.
The detectives didn’t stay for long. Steven and I gave them all the help we could, but the truth was, in spite of the Madame Girouxs of the world, I couldn’t name one person who hated me enough to do this. It was such a personal injury, designed to go right to the heart of who I was and destroy me.
Well, too bad. Whoever did this was going to be disappointed because I’d be back, no matter how long it took me to get on my feet. They didn’t know who they were messing with.
“Detectives,” Steven said as the conversation wound down. “I’m going to give you my contact information. We’re going back to New York this afternoon, but we’ll be available if you need us.”
Detective Nikolaj accepted his card. “If we have any further information, we’ll let you know. Just be sure to keep your security close.”
“Absolutely,” Stev
en agreed. “That’s our plan.”
“Thank you,” I said. They held their hands out to shake, and I did. There wasn’t anything else Steven and I could do, and I hated that. Would I forever be looking over my shoulder, suspecting every person I came across as the person who wanted to hurt me?
Steven saw the detectives out and then returned to my room, falling dramatically on the end of the bed. It spoke to the quality of the Bellagio that I didn’t even jiggle. “Well,” he let out a sigh. “That’s enough excitement for one lifetime, don’t you think?”
“I do,” I answered quietly. I lifted my foot off the pillow, stuffed another one beneath it and lay back on my pillows. A moment later, Steven’s face appeared next to mine, and I yelped.
“I wasn’t talking about the detectives.” He waggled his eyebrows.
“The boys.”
“Yeah, Betty. The boys.” Propping his head on his hand, he flicked the end of my nose. “They’re gone now. You have closure?”
Fuck closure.
“Where the boys are concerned, I’ll never have closure.” The truth, when it spilled out of my mouth, shocked me.
But Steven, that asshole—sorry, arsehole—only smiled. “At least you’re aware of your shortcomings.”
Oh. I was aware all right. No one was more aware of my failures than I was.
“So what’s the plan?” I asked, diverting us to a topic that didn’t focus around how I sucked.
“We should be in NYC by tonight. The crew is going on hiatus. I’ve found a short-term rental near the rehab center. You’re starting tomorrow.”
“That soon?” I thought I’d have a few more days to heal.
He looked at me over the tops of his glasses. “Really?”
Yeah. I was anxious to get to work. If I couldn’t dance, at least I could keep my strength and flexibility. I pictured lots of strength training, and probably yoga. “I guess I’ve been pretty lucky,” I admitted, “for this to be my first injury.”
“It never should have happened.” All of Steven’s teasing disappeared. “If you’d pulled a muscle or torn something, that’d be one thing. But this? I swear to God, Betty, when we figure out who did this, I’m going to nail their ass to the wall.”
So was I.
“One last question.” He sat up and strode toward the door. “What do you want me to tell the boys who are blowing up your phone? Since we’re at least being honest about where you stand.”
“They know we’re going to the city,” I said. “That’s enough.”
“Ghost them?” he asked.
No. I wouldn’t do to them what they’d done to me. “Just tell them I’ll be in touch when I can.”
There. That was a mature response. Right?
Being injured meant I moved a lot slower than I usually did. It also meant that when I traveled, I had to be even more careful of how I looked. You wouldn’t think one had to do with the other, but as the face of Belles of the Ball, I had to look healthy and, well, marketable.
If I wanted to grow this show into something bigger, I couldn’t be seen haggard or hurt. There was no getting away from the scooter. It was a better look than a wheelchair, for damn sure.
Celeste and Aucoin came to my room as my stuff was hauled to the airport. They put their heads together, studying me closely.
“Your part is easy,” Celeste complained to Aucoin. “She’s already beautiful. How am I supposed to get something over that cast?”
“Shorts,” I replied. I couldn’t get jeans over it, not yet, and I couldn’t very well be in a skirt when I was scooting to the airplane steps with my knee up. “We usually make me so retro, what if we show people a little bit more of who I am?”
“A young woman from Alabama,” Aucoin said. “Less Marilyn Monroe, and more Norma Jean.”
Exactly.
“That’s genius,” Celeste said. She pulled pieces from the suitcase she’d brought with her. Eventually, she removed a pair of slim black shorts and a tight, white turtleneck sweater.
“I’m going to do a nude lip and simple eye.” Aucoin studied me. “What do you think, Celeste, hair up or down?”
She tilted her head as she watched me. “I think she’ll look younger with it pulled back. Show off that neck.”
It took just as long to make me more natural looking as it did to dress me up, but eventually, we left the Bellagio and carefully got into the car to bring us to the airport.
“Your boys aren’t happy with your answer.” Steven stared at his phone. “They haven’t stopped texting. You know, I could barely get them out the door. The only reason they left at all was to pack, I think.”
I held my hand out for my phone. Steven had been replying for me, but maybe I needed to take over.
“Huh.” I read their messages. There was an I’ll meet you in New York, message, but the bulk of them were just variations of stay safe. “This isn’t so bad.”
He snorted. “Were they as bossy and intrusive as teenagers?”
I didn’t read the messages as intrusive.
Landry: Be aware of the people around you. Keep your head up, and if you see someone strange, say something. Listen to your instincts.
Westin: Landry is right. Try to stay off your phone, that way no one sneaks up on you.
Brant: Know where the exit is.
Josh: Please text when you arrive.
It was sweet, actually, and not so very different than when we were together. The difference was, I’d sent the same sort of messages.
Term paper tomorrow!
What time are you done with practice?
Sighing, I typed an answer to their myriad messages. I will.
“Sucker.”
“I’m not,” I replied. “I’m just not an asshole. Whatever else, we used to care about each other.”
Steven leaned forward to see out the window. “I think they still do,” he said quietly and pushed his glasses up his nose.
They felt something. I wasn’t dense enough not to see that, but I wasn’t sure what it was. Guilt. Probably. But beyond that?
I was attracted to them, but I didn’t really know them anymore.
Rather than answer Steven, I settled back into my seat and watched the traffic go by.
Forty-Six
Westin
I cracked my knuckles and tried not to notice the old woman staring at me from across the airport. I knew what I looked like, and I knew what people assumed.
Like Betsy’s look, mine was one I cultivated. The difference was, hers enticed people, and mine warned people off. Jiggling my knees, I turned my gaze toward the huge window. The flight was delayed, and yet again, there were hundreds of miles between me and Bets.
Standing, I glared at the plane. It was right there. Right fucking there. Apparently, the flight crew had to be switched out, which made no sense to me. Back when I’d been in the Navy, I’d worked days straight before sleeping.
Serving drinks and making sure seat belts were fastened was exhausting I guessed.
“Hey,” Brant said as I paced by him. “You look insane, and you’re making people nervous. Sit down.”
I hated being told what to do, but a quick peek at the ticket counter showed Brant was right. I was getting too many concerned looks.
“You want to get on this plane, you’ll calm the fuck down.” Landry laid it out plain.
I was my own worst enemy. Taking a deep breath, I dropped my head between my legs and focused. It was just a flight. So what if it was delayed? Didn’t mean it would never happen.
“You okay?” Josh asked.
I nodded, sitting back. “The sooner we get there, the better I’ll be.” I studied my friends. “You good to go?” Josh had been working as a civilian contractor, while Brant was still in the service, and he’d had to request leave. Landry was an officer. It was even harder for him to get away.
“Yeah,” Josh answered.
Brant just nodded, and Landry shrugged. “They owe me. If they give me shit, I’ll retire.”
That was something. Landry had been working his way up in the ranks. He was on a fast track to Admiral, so retirement? He’d be giving up a lot. Everything he’d worked for.
Couldn’t say I was surprised, though. I worked in the auto repair shop at a car dealership. They hadn’t wanted to give me time off, so I quit. Fuck them. There were other jobs. I could piece shit together. I’d done it before.
I didn’t know how long we waited there. Every time my anxiety rose, I took deep breaths, centered myself, and focused on what I needed to do to get to Bets. I wasn’t going to mess this up, not when I was right. There.
It wasn’t until I was sitting in my seat, the plane lifting off and the force pushing me back against my seat that I could relax. On my way. I pictured my words traveling through the air all the way to New York. They’d wind past buildings, through tunnels, to Betsy where they’d wrap around her.
Later on, I’d worry about whether or not she wanted to see me. But for now?
On my way.
Forty-Seven
Betty
I awoke to a cloudy, rainy day. After the endless heat and sunny days in Vegas, the gray surprised me. Rain pinged off my apartment windows, blurring the view.
We’d gotten here late the night before. Steven had booked me one of those extended stay hotel rooms, but it wasn’t like the motel rooms I’d rented when I was trying to find housing in Birmingham or Portland.
Looking around, you’d think this was my home. There were no pictures or touches that were personalized, but everything was comfortable and designed specifically to be homey. With pale pink accents and books on a bookshelf across the room, it was pretty close to something I’d have chosen for myself.
My foot hurt. I pushed my blankets back, glancing down at it. Steven had drawn on the white Velcro bootstraps. Now it was covered in flowers and vines. Huh. Who knew Steven was so artistically inclined?
Boys and Burlesque Page 20
