Boys and Burlesque

by Ripley Proserpina

  My Josh.

  Writhing and gasping, I came. He followed me, his face flushing as a breathless moan left his lips. Holding himself in place, he stayed inside me.

  When he withdrew, it was a loss of more than heat. It was a loss of simplicity. Our bodies spoke what we couldn’t, or —in my case—wouldn’t.

  So what happened now?

  Fifty-Five

  Josh

  Unsent email to tinydancer@gmail.com from derryfarmer@gmail.com

  July 19th. Six years ago.

  Dear Betsy,

  I’m going to pretend everything is the way it’s supposed to be. You’re in New York. I’m in Birmingham. You came to Homecoming and you were proud of us.

  We have no internet out here, but I’d never send this anyway. It’s going to go with all the other unsent letters and emails and text messages I started and erased.

  Coming from the South, I thought I knew heat. But there’s nothing like the heat here. I thought when I joined the Navy I’d spend most of my time on a boat, but here I am, in the desert.

  I’m worried about you, and I haven’t done a thing to make sure you’re okay. And I know you’re not. You told me you weren’t. That’s what keeps me up at night. Not the explosions and the firefights. It’s that you called for me and I didn’t answer.

  Fifty-Six

  Betty

  What broken bone?

  What career in crisis?

  Absolutely none of that mattered when I felt this good.

  Josh rolled off me and the bed, disposing of his condom. I thought maybe he’d linger in the bathroom, but he didn’t. He came right back, slid onto the bed, and wrapped me in his arms.

  “Are you okay?”

  Sort of? My body, despite my broken ankle, was humming with energy. I was in this space between lethargy and alertness. I watched Josh for any indication of regret and realized that was what he was asking me.

  “I don’t regret that,” I said. “Not one bit.”

  His smile blinded me. “No?”

  It was hard not to smile back. “No. I wanted you. And you—”

  “I wanted you, too. Betsy, I’ve wanted you for so long. I can’t believe that just happened.” He lifted his head and stuck an arm behind it. “How’s your foot?”

  I was distracted by the way his position made his biceps flex. “What foot?”

  He laughed and turned onto his side to face me. I pushed my hair out of my face as I turned onto my side as well. His gaze followed my movement, and he reached to skim his fingers over mine and tuck my hair a little more. “I want to know everything about you.”

  A sudden pit opened in my stomach. Everything? I wasn’t—I couldn’t— “I don’t think I’m ready for that,” I admitted. “Can’t this be enough?”

  He frowned. “What do you mean?”

  I sighed and put my hands under my face. “Can’t we just do this? Be together this way? No strings? No expectations?”

  He sat up suddenly, pushed his hair out of his face, and propped his arms on his knees. When he’d slid back in bed, he’d gone under the sheets with me. His bare upper half was exposed, but the rest of him was hidden. “Just sex? That’s what you want from me?”

  It was less of a question of what I wanted from him, and more about what I could give. The account where I’d held all of their love had been overdrawn long ago, and I hadn’t made a deposit in years.

  I sat up as well, tucking the sheet under my arms, and I pushed until my back was against the headboard.

  “Bets?”

  I glanced over at him, embarrassed that my cheeks were hot, giving away my feelings.

  “Is sex all you want?”

  “I just want to keep things simple,” I replied, and quickly dropped my gaze back to the sheet.

  He sighed and shifted. Now was where he left. I waited for the sound of him sliding out of bed, zipping his pants, but it didn’t come.

  Instead, he smoothed my hair out of my face and tipped my chin so I’d look at him. “Simple is okay. But nothing I feel for you is simple.”

  His admission came with the sound of a coin being dropped in a jar. A deposit.

  “And I’m not going anywhere,” he added. “So get used to seeing me.”

  Another deposit.

  “I have a lot of work to do,” I said, because he should know I wouldn’t put it off for a man. “A lot of people rely on me.”

  Josh’s smile was slow. “I know. Damn proud of you, woman. You showed Shawville just what you were made of.”

  “I showed the world.” I wouldn’t let Shawville define my life.

  “You showed the world.” He nodded. “Now. How about you take a shower with me?”

  “It’s not so easy,” I indicated my cast. “I have to wrap it and—”

  “There’s a chair in there, and it gave me some ideas.” He stood, completely uncaring that he was nude, and strode around to my side of the bed. “You show me how to wrap it, and I’ll show you just what I’m thinking.”

  Clink. Another coin dropped.

  I threw off the sheet and reached for him, certain he’d lift me in his arms.

  He didn’t disappoint me, and for the next hour, he distracted me in the best ways.

  Josh left a few hours later. We’d made love—had sex—again and then I’d fed him. It wasn’t that I heard his stomach rumble and wanted to feed him. It was important that I stick to my own schedule. Calories were fuel.

  I rolled my eyes at myself. Who was I kidding? I liked his company. I loved the easy way we’d interacted with each other, and I adored the way his touch lit my body up.

  I limped back into the kitchen and turned on the electric kettle before settling my back against the sink. Despite saying I wanted to keep things simple, what I’d just done had complicated my life multiple times over.

  Four times, to be exact.

  Because I knew that sex with Josh would lead to sex with Landry, Wes, and Brant. It was inevitable.

  A shiver ran down my spine just as the teakettle whistled. I stuck a bag in a mug and poured water over it. “This is going to come back to bite me.”

  I took my tea to the table where I’d placed my phone earlier. Not surprisingly, Steven had left me a message. He’d given me a list of things to do before our Serial Staging meeting and asked if I wanted to come to rehearsal at the studio we’d rented for the other dancers.

  And there was a message from Josh. I can still smell you on my body.

  Holy shit. How did I respond to that? I lifted my hand to my face and breathed in, but I only smelled the vanilla of my body wash. Whatever he would have left on me was washed off in the second shower. But I could remember his smell. It was the same—his dressed-up smell. His school smell.

  Josh in the evenings and on the weekends smelled of hay and grass and exhaust from the tractors. He smelled like oil when he had to fix something, or sweat when he’d been baking out in the sun.

  He didn’t smell like that anymore, and it made me sad.

  And reminisce. How was Mr. Derry? I’d never thanked him for his kindness to me back when the boys first left.

  He’d delivered the news that they’d left carefully, holding my hands when I thought I’d break apart.

  “Betsy, hon, I know this is hard,” he’d said, “but it might turn out to be the best thing for y’all. You have dreams. And my boy has dreams. And now you have a chance to live them.”

  When I decided I couldn’t stay in Shawville, he’d given me five hundred dollars free and clear. Money I knew was dear to him and probably meant for a month of groceries. With it, I’d gotten a shitty little pay-by-the-week motel room in Birmingham and a bus pass.

  The display on my phone faded, reminding me I hadn’t responded to him. I lifted it back up and opened his message.

  I liked how you smelled, too. Jesus. That was lame. But I pressed send anyway. What else was I supposed to say?

  A message appeared as soon as mine was sent.

  Josh: What are yo
u doing?

  Email, I answered. Work stuff.

  The phone rang, Josh’s number popping up. “It’s easier to talk than type.” His voice was deep, and he chuckled. “It probably makes me old that I’m talking on the phone.”

  “If you’re old, then so am I,” I replied. I took off my crutch, propped my foot on a nearby chair and leaned back. “I have a ton of emails to reply to, and Steven left me a list, so I was running through that. Completing all those little things.”

  “Like what?”

  I would probably bore him with all the details. “You wouldn’t think it’s interesting.”

  “Try me.”

  I sighed. “Well, I have to okay a list of cities where I want my show to run. Then I have to look over the resumes of a few additional dancers and cast members. I have to okay interview and audition times for those dancers. I need to electronically sign contracts between me and promoters. Approve interview requests. Sign off on final costume design. Music.” I laughed. “Bored yet?”

  “Not at all. It’s so much more than dancing. I knew it was, but hearing you make that list—I’m floored.”

  I shrugged, even though he couldn’t see me. “It’s interesting. Meaningful. Because all those choices are mine. I never imagined being the director of a show, but here I am.”

  “Here you are.”

  “What about you?” This chair was getting uncomfortable, so I put the crutch back on and headed into the living room. I wished I’d appreciated those days when I could walk from one room to another easily. It was dark in here, illuminated by the thousands of lights in the windows of the buildings surrounding mine. The sky was purple from them all. “What are you doing?” I settled onto the couch, took off my crutch, and propped my foot on a pillow.

  “I was reading, but I can’t concentrate. I keep thinking about you. I was supposed to bring back dinner, but I forgot, so the other guys are out finding a place.”

  I drummed my fingers on the back of the couch. “Are they mad?” I finally asked.

  A sigh blasted across the line. “Not mad.”

  But something—definitely something. I waited. They hadn’t messaged me. This was different than the moments we’d all shared when we were younger. Those were stolen; any opportunity we had to make out, we took. We all knew where the other stood, and none of that was true right now. I’d kissed Josh and pretty much told him, “Fuck me.”

  Right in front of them.

  When we were together, they hadn’t gotten jealous of each other. Maybe I’d made the assumption that they wouldn’t now, but I shouldn’t have.

  So what did I say to Josh? I’m sorry? I wasn’t. I was sorry if things were uncomfortable for him. For them. But I wouldn’t take back what I’d done.

  I wouldn’t regret it.

  I put Josh on speaker and opened my messages, creating one for the three of them. My thumbs hovered over the letters as the silence between me and Josh continued. “Give me a second,” I told him.

  “Okay,” he answered.

  If you need to be mad at someone, I typed, be mad at me for being thoughtless. Send.

  I took the phone off speaker and lifted it again. “Maybe,” I started, thinking about what I had to do tomorrow, “Maybe we can all meet for lunch tomorrow. If I give you the address of my rehab, would you meet me there? I’ll order lunch.” He was quiet so long, I offered, “It’s on me.”

  “I don’t fucking thing so,” he growled. “Send me the address. We’ll be there, and we’ll bring lunch with us. Does your staff need it as well?”

  That was kind of him. “I’m sure they’d love it. I’ll have Mike, my security guard, and Candy, my nurse. My PT will be there, too…” I trailed off. That was a lot of people to buy lunch for. “I’ll just order.”

  “Betsy.” Josh’s voice was firm. “Let me buy lunch, for God’s sake. It’s fine. I can swing it.”

  “Fine,” I finally replied.

  “Fine.” Was he trying not to laugh?

  “I’ll call you later,” I muttered.

  “Bye, Bets.” He sounded altogether too happy. “I can’t wait to see you.”

  Clink. More deposits. The honesty rang in his voice. Me, too. But instead I said, “Don’t be late. I get cranky when I’m hungry.”

  He laughed. “I remember.”

  “Bye, Josh.” I hung up and stared at the phone. It lit up immediately.

  Josh: Can’t wait.

  I smiled as my phone lit up again. This message wasn’t from Josh though. It was Westin. Not mad. Jealous. He’d sent it just to me. The next time I see you, be ready.

  Landry: All I can think about is holding you.

  Brant: The wait is killing me.

  Anticipation had me squeezing my thighs together. Everything they said, it was how I felt, and just like Brant had written, the wait was killing me, too.

  Fifty-Seven

  Betty

  By nine o’clock that night, I had finished the bulk of replies. My lists were complete and sent to Steven, and there was nothing left for me to do except go to bed. I put my crutch on so I could get to my room. It was getting really old, fastening and unfastening the straps just to hobble from one room to the next. Briefly, I considered hopping, but the bulky boot-slash-cast left me wobbly. I could see it; one hop and I slammed my foot into the wall. No thanks.

  At the door to my room, I stopped. My bed was a mess, covers strewn all over the place. There was the pillow that Josh had shoved under my hips. My lampshade was askew, and I had a vague recollection of smacking it with my hand.

  After washing my face and brushing my teeth, I got into bed, pulling the covers over me. Now I could smell Josh. His hot-boy cologne and body wash. Should I have invited him to spend the night?

  All alone in the darkness, his scent enveloping me, there were worse things than falling asleep in his arms. I bet I would have slept soundly, and ten-to-one, he’d have woken me at some point during the night—or I’d have awoken him—to make love again.

  My phone vibrated on my bedside table, and I lifted it up.

  Josh: Wish I stayed.

  Rather than reply, I set my phone to do not disturb. It was too much of a temptation to send a simple message, come over. But I wanted to.

  As I lay in bed, I thought about what I’d imagined my life at twenty-six would look like. In my wildest dreams, I’d hoped to live in an apartment like this, but it was never just me. I’d never really worked out the details, but I thought we’d be here together.

  Someone would always fall asleep with me.

  I reached for my phone, started to type, and dropped it. Then I lifted it again. And dropped it.

  Be strong.

  I fell asleep with my phone in my hand.

  The next morning, I did a hobbled version of a jump. Today was going to be a good day. I could feel it in my bones. The boys would come to rehab, and we’d have lunch together.

  It was a date.

  A steel wall dropped between that word and the direction my thoughts headed. Not a date. Lunch. It was just lunch.

  I hurried through my morning routine and was pulling my hair into a bun when the doorbell rang and the lock clicked open.

  “Morning, Betty!” Candy stood in the door, bright eyed and smiling. “I hope you had a nice day yesterday.” Her eyes seemed to twinkle, but I was too excited to be embarrassed.

  “I did.”

  “Mr. Mike is waiting for us. Are you ready to go?”

  I was. Candy had a bag slung over her shoulder. It contained an extra set of clothes for me and anything I might need after rehab. I paused in the doorway and held out my hand for the bag, chagrined that I’d allowed her to think of everything for me.

  “Uh-uh.” She turned her body away from me. “This is part of my job. Besides, I wouldn’t want you toppling to one side.”

  Good point. If I toppled, then I might Humpty Dumpty. The elevator opened, and Mike stood, holding open the door. “Morning, Miss Belle.”

  “Good morning,
Mike.”

  I got in the elevator and the doors shut. “The boys who visited yesterday will be joining us at rehab today.”

  He stared at the doors and after a moment, nodded. “Miss Belle,” he began, and then glanced at Candy. I understood there was more he wanted to say, but didn’t feel he could in front of my nurse.

  “Go ahead, Mike,” I told him.

  “It’s protocol to run background checks on anyone who has access to you.”

  Right. But these were the boys. Mike’s face was pained, and he shifted uneasily, shrugged his shoulders back, and stretched his neck. It wasn’t something he had wanted to bring up, but keeping me safe was what I paid him to do. I wasn’t going to cut him down for doing his job.

  “That’s fine,” I answered. “I understand.”

  He lowered his shoulders, and the tension in his jaw eased as he visibly relaxed. The sun was out, and most people on the street were clad in shorts or dresses.

  “It’s supposed to top out in the nineties today,” Mike told me.

  Candy turned around in the front seat, glancing over her shoulder at me. “It’d be a good day for a walk.”

  Mike grimaced and I reached over to pat his hand. “I won’t stress you out just yet,” I told him. “But maybe you could prepare for that.”

  I’d have to let Aucoin and Celeste know as well. It would take a lot of coordination to be seen in public again. After rehab, I looked pretty rough. Red-faced. Sweaty. Hair all over the place. That wasn’t the image I wanted splashed over the internet.

  The car slowed as we arrived at the building. For all the pain I felt at the end of every session, I was excited to get to work. Nell would probably have me flipping giant tires and doing one-armed push-ups. Fun.

  We got out of the car, and Candy secured my crutch in place. It was humid outside the car and I got my first breath of fresh air. It smelled like wet garbage.

  Ahh. New York.