Dance for Me

by J.C. Valentine

  I don’t get so lucky with Ransom. He shows up soon after Brody leaves, banging down the door because his key can’t get past the chain. I ignore him until one of the neighbors threatens to call the cops.

  Forced to let him in or see him arrested for disturbing the peace, which will no doubt lead to a whole new set of problems, I sit through his long, impassioned speech over how hurt he was to see me kiss another man, which seems so unlike him, until he begins questioning my morals, my integrity. He asks me about my feelings for him, about what I want out of all of this, but my answer keeps coming back the same—I don’t know.

  What am I supposed to say? It’s the truth. I have no idea where I stand with him anymore. I’ve never had to give it much thought. Being with Ransom was supposed to be easy, no strings. Hell, we were never even supposed to know each other’s names. Instead, it has left me so knotted up inside, I don’t know whether I like him, love him or am simply in love with the idea of him. My entire life has been tossed into the air, and all I keep seeing is big, fat question marks stamped on everything as it falls back down around my feet.

  Ransom drops to his knees before me with a tortured look on his face. I instantly recoil inside, because that look comes with expectations that I can’t handle right now. I have to figure out how to handle me first.

  “Out of everyone, I never would have expected you to be capable of doing that, but I’m also man enough to accept some of the blame.”

  I am surprised by this. Ransom is a lot of things, but I never would have expected him to admit such a fault. “I’m the one who kissed another man.”

  “You wouldn’t have done it if I hadn’t given you reason to,” he contends. “I’ve been giving you mixed messages, I know that. The truth is, we never should have hooked up, and it’s not fair for me to ask you to hide us from everyone.” Stricken, he reaches out, his fingers touching my face. “Tell me to leave, and I will. If it makes things better for you, I’ll walk away right now, Josephine.”

  Do I want him to go away? I try to picture never feeling his skin on mine again, never hearing his roughened voice in my ear after we’ve had sex, never knowing the look of true passion that I see in his eyes every time he looks at me.

  My throat tightens and I shake my head. “I don’t want you to go.” The truth is there are a lot of things I would change between us. I would start with throwing out all this secrecy and telling everyone about us. I could do with a little less of the split personalities, too, but Rome wasn’t built in a day.

  “But you don’t want me to stay, either.” It’s a statement, and I can’t help wondering what he saw in my face to make him reach that conclusion.

  My lungs fill until my chest feels tight, and I release my breath on a heavy sigh. “I want things to change.”

  His expression tightens and his hand falls away, leaving my cheek cold. “I can’t go public.”

  “I know.” I sigh again. I don’t know whether it was the alcohol or the fact that I’ve been up for over twelve hours straight, but I feel drained. My whole life has been one enormous secret—from the stripping to him and other things that I can’t bring myself to think about—and I’m exhausted.

  I continue, and though it breaks my heart, the words have to be said. “That’s the problem, Ransom. You can’t tell anyone, but I can’t continue to keep up this secrecy. It’s too much maintenance and it’s wearing thin. I’m wearing thin.”

  “So that’s it? We’re done?” He’s upset, and I understand that, but I have to think of myself first. I’ve made a lot of sacrifices in my lifetime, and it’s time I take something back. I’m starting with my life. I won’t be held prisoner by someone who doesn’t think as highly of me as I do them.

  “I need to be with someone who wants to tell the world about me,” I explain, hoping to smooth away some of the sting. “Not someone who is ashamed to be seen with me.”

  “I’m not ashamed of you,” Ransom says through clenched teeth.

  I tilt my head, my smile small and sad. “We have sex, Ransom. That’s all we do. We’ve never been out on a date, never kissed in public, never taken a drive together. None of the things real couples do.”

  “We drove together once.”

  “Three times and they don’t count,” I say, thinking of the time his car broke down and I dropped him at the hotel and other times when I was drunk. If I recall correctly, that first time he was meeting a “friend.” Most likely the same friend who showed up with him hours later at the club for a private dance. I admit, it’s something that still bothers me if I think on it too long.

  “Your friend knows about me. My parents know about you. I asked you to come to dinner with me.” His silky voice has taken on a pleading tone, a last ditch effort to sway my decision, but it’s already been made.

  I shake my head. Standing, I slip past him and walk to the front door. Opening it, I stand in the doorway and pass him a meaningful look. “I’m sorry, but it’s just not enough.”

  He has this hateful look in his eyes, but it’s not directed at me. I think he hates himself, or maybe the situation. I know how he feels. I never wanted things to end between us, but here we are, standing in my doorway, and it’s over. Saying goodbye is a physical ache in my chest, but it has to be done. I see no other way.

  Ransom stands over me, and it’s all I can do not to fall into his arms and take back everything I just said. “You know I wish things had been different.”

  “So do I.” But they aren’t. He’s still my professor, and I’m still his student, and let’s face it, this relationship has never been healthy.

  He nods, his gaze shifting from the hall to my face like he’s not sure he can take that first step. Then, without any warning, I’m in his arms and his mouth is on mine and I am breathing and tasting him and all of my senses are exploding because this man—this man—is the one I want. Have always wanted. And he isn’t mine. Can’t be mine.

  He lets me go as fast as he took me, and then he’s gone. I watch him walk out my door and out of my life and I don’t know whether to be relieved or just very, very sad.

  TWENTY

  Being alone isn’t my strong suit. I’ve always made sure that someone is there to keep me from losing myself in my thoughts. It’s not a design that I follow on purpose, but more of a survival instinct. I need someone there to catch me if I fall. That’s why I finally decided to pull up my big girl panties and return Annie’s calls.

  She’s surprised to hear from me. Of course, she is. I’ve been blowing her off ever since she told me she was moving out of state. If she knew why I was calling her now, she’d probably tell me to take a long jump off a short bridge. A certain amount of guilt comes with that. Knowing that I am essentially using her to keep me from doing something even more stupid, like asking Ransom to take me back.

  We’re curled up on the country blue sofa in Annie’s living room facing each other. She’s wearing a soft white, fuzzy sweater that looks like someone skinned Sasquatch and black skinny jeans, and she’s glowing.

  “I’m really happy you’re here,” she says for the tenth time since I walked through the door.

  “Me, too,” I say honestly. I’ve never felt more at home than I have with this girl. She’s my soft place.

  Her nose grows red at the tip and profound emotion tears across her face. “I really missed you this last week.”

  I clear my throat and shift in my seat. I’m no good at heartfelt moments, but for her, I’ll give it a shot. It’s the least I can do. Reaching down deep, I hunt for the right words and lay them out between us.

  “Listen, Annie. I want you to know that it was wrong of me to shut you out like I did. I hate myself for pushing you away over something that is important and life changing for you. If anything, you needed my support, and I was too self-absorbed to set my own insecurities aside and be there for you.

  “I know an apology will never be enough, but it’s all I’ve got, and I hope you’ll accept it.”

  She smiles
sweetly. It’s the only kind she’s ever had. Her eyes well with tears an instant before they start falling down her now ruddy cheeks. “You’re in my apartment, aren’t you?”

  Throwing herself across the single cushion dividing us, she pulls me into a choking hug. I guess that’s her way of telling me that I’m forgiven. I hug her back fiercely and take a relieved breath, because I was so close to losing this person that I need in my life.

  Several minutes have passed by the time she pulls away and settles back on her side of the sofa. We both have to wipe our cheeks and touch up the makeup that has spread beneath our eyes, but it feels as though a tremendous weight has been lifted off my chest.

  “I was never mad at you, you know,” Annie says as she wipes her nose with a tissue. “I understand why you were upset. I kind of hit you with the news out of nowhere and Jason is involved and…”

  …and I have an extreme dislike for Jason. The words are left unspoken, but they don’t have to be for me to understand her meaning.

  She waves her hand in the air and rolls her eyes at the ceiling. “Anyway, there’s nothing to forgive. You’re my sister from another mother. We fight, we get angry with each other sometimes, but we’ll always be sisters.”

  That’s always been our motto. I don’t know how I could have forgotten that, but I’m glad she reminded me. It means we’ll always have each other’s back. Even when we’re alone, we’ll never truly be alone, and that is a security in life that no amount of money can buy. “Right, well, I’m still happy we’re okay.”

  “Me, too, J.” She sits up, her expression lightening. A wide smile that shows all of her teeth emerges and when she speaks, her whole body is animated. “Oh, you have to see this.” Getting up, she dances away.

  I follow her into the single bedroom, and studiously ignore the queen-sized bed that sits unmade, as though she and Jason have just rolled out of it. That is not a picture I want in my head.

  Annie directs my attention to an old wooden rocking chair in the corner of the room, nestled between the wall and long vanity dresser. It looks like a poster child for lead poisoning and is painted a pale yellow that’s cracked and peeling…everywhere.

  “I picked it up at the flea market the other day for a steal. I thought I would paint it blue or pink, and do that whole shabby chic thing with it, then put it in the baby’s room. What do you think?”

  I look at my friend, whose smile is positively lovely. Her shining blonde hair brushes the tops of her shoulders and she looks…happy. As much as I dislike the circumstances, I can’t help joining her. The chair is in rough shape, but with a little work, I know she’ll make it great. If anyone can do it, it’s Annie.

  “I think it’s perfect. You could even make a little cushion to tie to the spindles, so your butt doesn’t fall asleep when you sit in it,” I add.

  “That’s a great idea,” she says, clapping her hands together beneath her chin. Then she aims two fingers at me like a gun. “Hey, maybe you can come with me to pick out the fabric?”

  My reply is instant. “Absolutely. We can make a day of it.”

  “Want to go right now?”

  Her exuberance says I don’t have much of a choice, so I nod just as eagerly. “What are we still standing here for? Let’s go!”

  We end up spending the rest of the day out shopping. By the time we make it back to her apartment, it’s dusk. We made out well. Maybe a little too well. Both of our arms are loaded up to the elbow with goodies, and I help Annie carry the bags up the two flights of stairs, complaining the whole way about her only asking me along because she needed a pack mule. Her tinkling laughter carries through the hallway all the way to her door and is replaced by a warm smile when the door to her apartment swings open.

  Jason is standing on the other side, his semi-muscled shoulders tensed and his cold stare trained on me. My good mood instantly evaporates. As he reaches out to take Annie’s bags, he leans down and gives her a lingering kiss.

  Giving them their privacy, I look away. Now that the mood is significantly subdued, it’s time for me to leave. Jason holds the door and I shuffle inside, laying the rest of the bags on the dining room table.

  “Okay, lady, I had fun today, but you wore me out,” I tell Annie as I stretch my fingers and arms, which are marked with deep grooves and tinged a deep shade of red from holding the bags. “I’m going to head home and veg out on some Mafia Wives.”

  “Are you sure?” Annie looks disappointed as she returns my hug. “We’re ordering pizza tonight. You’re welcome to stay and eat dinner with us.”

  She means it, but one look at Jason and I know that invitation is one-sided. I wouldn’t have accepted anyway. “No, thanks. I need to keep my figure up,” I say, patting my flat stomach. “Eat an extra slice for me?”

  “You know it. Hey,” Annie says as she sees me to the door. “I know I already said it, but I think it bears repeating. If by the end of this class you’re still hung up on this guy, you need to give him another chance. It’s a tough situation, but it sounds like he really liked you.”

  I almost regret telling her what happened between me and Ransom. Almost. The fact is, she’s good at dishing out advice, and I’d be stupid not to eat at her table. I take her words to heart, but I can’t be sure what, if anything, I will do with them. Only time will tell. “I’ll think about it.”

  I wave as I slip past Jason, flashing him a tight smile on my way out. He mumbles a very unenthusiastic goodbye and I hear the door click closed before I reach the top of the stairs.

  What she sees in him, I don’t know, but if she’s happy, then I’m willing to pretend I’m happy, too. Lord knows, I’m great at lying. What must it be like, looking at life through a pair of rose-colored glasses? And where can I find a pair?

  ***

  The last few weeks of the semester fly by. Between work and school and spending time with my friends, I hardly notice it. Keeping busy is the secret to maintaining any level of sanity, especially during the tough times life hands out.

  That’s how I got through my mother’s passing: I threw myself into soccer and friends and adopting the role of daughter and homemaker. It’s also how I got past my father’s death. Before you know it, time has skated by you and wounds that used to ache are beginning to scab over.

  Ransom has shown up at the club a few times. He’s watched me dance, but I don’t watch him. He’s asked for me personally, but I decline. Then he left a number for me with Bernice—I assume, out of desperation—and even though I have no intention of calling it, it sits buried in my purse.

  It’s a small source of comfort to know that I could hear his voice anytime with just the push of a few buttons. It’s also a big source of stress because each day that passes makes me wonder how much longer I can prevent myself from picking up the phone.

  The problem has only grown deeper as my impending show approaches, and now that it’s finally here, I find my hand searching for that scrap of paper. I won’t call it, but I desperately want to. I spent a lot of time preparing myself for this night, but now that it’s here, all of my insecurities are jumping to the forefront of my mind.

  Is this how I want people to see me? Is it really worth taking my clothes off for? Does this cheapen me somehow? It’s supposed to be art, that’s what Mrs. Jackson said, but blending nude art with education somehow feels wrong.

  But it’s a paying gig, and that’s what ultimately has me walking into that room Wednesday night.

  There are easels set up in a circle around the edges of the room, creating a stage for the table placed dead center. It’s draped with white fabric that I think was intended to make the space more inviting, when in reality it lends it a clinical feel. I hate it instantly and a voice inside my head whispers that it’s not too late to turn around. I’m the only one here, so they would just assume I never showed up, right?

  The idea is blown to hell when I turn to find Mrs. Jackson approaching. She’s dressed in a long, flowing tie-dyed dress and she’s pushing
a cart stacked with paint, brushes, and other supplies. And she’s looking right at me with a pleased smile. “Good, you’re here. To be honest, I wasn’t sure you’d show.”

  As I move to the side to give her room to pass, I feel my brows pull down.

  Even though she hasn’t seen my expression, she continues speaking. “You probably wouldn’t know it from the level of cockiness in your fellow classmates, but there are a lot of cold feet at this school, especially the boys. They’ll strip down and blaze a naked path through a football field on game day for a laugh, but they’re shaking in their sneakers if you ask them to get naked and take a load off so a few people can draw a picture.”

  I laugh nervously as I set my purse down on a nearby table and follow her deeper into the room. She stops the cart midway and positions it near a large sink basin.

  Before I forget, I fish the paper Ransom gave me from my pocket and hold it out. “I need you to fill this out. It’s a questionnaire and proof that I was here.”

  She takes it, and unfolding the paper, gives it a once-over. “This is for your final project?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  She nods and reaches over to drop it on top of her desk, sighing wistfully. “What I wouldn’t have given to have such a cool assignment for my final exam when I was your age. I’ll have it back to you at the end of class.” Leaning back, she props herself on the edge of the desk, and her expression is all business. “Okay, here’s the drill,” she says as she eyes me. “I assume this is your first time?”

  “Yes.” That single word reveals the nerves currently creating a maelstrom inside my stomach.

  Her smile is kind, but her words are frank. “You think you’re nervous now? Just wait until my class shows up. That’s the true test for everyone.” Pointing to the table in the center of the room, she says, “That’s your stage tonight. Once everyone is seated and ready to go, I’ll have you start by lying down on your side, facing my desk.”