The Ballerina's Stand

by Angel Smits

  Or maybe he should ask Lauren now. Hastily, he moved to catch the women before they climbed into the elevator.

  “Lauren.” He called her name as he slowly spelled it. Anne tapped her on the shoulder and pointed at him. Lauren turned around. Her hair swung against her shoulders, and the smile that brightened her face was stronger than anyone else’s. He didn’t understand, but let himself enjoy it.

  “Can I ask you a few questions?”

  Lauren nodded.

  “Do you want me to stay?” Anne asked him, signing for Lauren.

  “No.” Jason waved her offer away. “If Lauren will come to my office, we can use the computer. It’ll only take a couple of minutes.”

  Lauren nodded, obviously remembering how they’d communicated before. Then she signed to Dylan, “Meet you at the studio.” The boy left with a thumbs-up sign.

  “She says that’s fine. She doesn’t have to be back at the studio just yet.”

  The elevator arrived, and Anne disappeared inside. Jason extended his hand to indicate Lauren precede him. She’d been to his office before, so he didn’t have to lead the way.

  Once she sat down, Jason hesitated in the doorway. He always closed the office door for a meeting, but the room suddenly felt small, close...intimate. Slowly, he shut the door.

  Shaking his head, Jason gathered his thoughts and settled beside her. He turned the monitor, pulled the keyboard forward then typed a simple question. How well do you know the Hancock family?

  Lauren sat for a minute, a frown between her eyes. She began typing. They’ve been Dylan’s foster family for about six months. I didn’t know them before that.

  He sat back and thought before typing. Do you think the kids are in a good place?

  She didn’t immediately respond. He liked that she gave it some thought. I think so. She hesitated in between typing. They live very busy lives. Tina is a handful.

  He laughed. “I got that,” he said aloud. Then went to type it.

  She touched his arm and smiled. She typed, I read your lips.

  “Can you do that?” He faced her. Of course, she could read lips. He should at least try to make it easier for her.

  With her hand, she made the nodding gesture, then typed. Yes, if you face me, it’s easier. Once I get to know you and your speech patterns better, I’m pretty good at understanding.

  He nodded. “I am still lousy at understanding you,” he admitted.

  She smiled. Keep practicing. She typed it, then made the sign, rubbing her fist back and forth along the side of her index finger on her flattened hand.

  Jason copied her gesture. “That means practice, right?”

  She nodded, and for the first time, he realized he understood her. Without writing it down on paper or typing it or having someone else interpret. He understood her. It was a beginning.

  Their eyes met. And held. So much was going on behind those pretty eyes, in her bright mind. Suddenly, he wanted to ask her a million questions and get to know the woman sitting beside him.

  He turned back to the screen. Typing was still easier for them both. I got some strange vibes where Tina was concerned. Is she normally that reserved and quiet?

  Lauren barely paused. No. She rummaged around in her purse for her phone, sliding her fingers quickly over the screen. Finally, she turned the bright blue phone to face him. The image of a young girl, her shirt open well past appropriate, wearing a very short skirt, with another group of kids, filled the screen.

  He cursed. That’s what he was afraid of. “Can you send that picture to me?” If that was who Dylan had been dragging home, versus the prim and proper girl in the meeting, that could make a huge difference in his case.

  Lauren nodded. He typed his phone number and heard his phone beep, indicating he’d received the text. He confirmed it and smiled at her. “Thank you.” He said it and made the gesture.

  She smiled back, and once again their gazes locked. He couldn’t look away. She was amazing and beautiful and... A client. Of sorts.

  Clearing his throat, he turned back to the screen. It was a safer, less intimate means of communication. If there’s something— Bad? Abusive? He settled for odd going on, would Dylan tell you?

  She paused to think, slowly reaching over to type. Their fingers bumped.

  I think so.

  Could you let me know if he does?

  She didn’t nod as quickly this time.

  It could make a difference in his case.

  Okay.

  She was so close, her fingers still poised over the keys. The scent of her, soft and sweet, wrapped around him and he leaned closer, aching to be a part of her inner circle.

  Hastily, Lauren shot to her feet. She fumbled to catch her purse, shoving the strap up on to her shoulder. She spelled g-o and pointed at the door. She walked quickly, pulling it open before he could even reach for it. She hurried to the elevator, waving vaguely, before stepping inside.

  There was something in her eyes that confused him.

  And concerned him.

  CHAPTER SIX

  LAUREN’S HEART POUNDED hard against her ribs. Sweat drenched her skin, and she leaned against the wall of the elevator. The cool metal felt blessedly good as the car descended. She had to catch her breath before she reached the lobby, had to get control of herself. She had to meet Dylan and Maxine in—she glanced at her watch—just over an hour.

  She needed to get it together.

  Jason was probably shaking his head, thinking she’d lost her mind. He’d been kind, and he was working so hard to understand her. The conversation they’d had was simple, mainly because it took too long to write anything complex.

  The dawning comprehension in Jason’s eyes when he’d understood her sign, the broad smile that transformed his face, had triggered too many memories. Her heart had hitched as he’d met her gaze. She’d nearly gotten lost in the hazel brightness.

  But ugly memories obliterated his image, reminding her of the pain that came with letting people in too close.

  The last time she’d let herself believe that she was someone to be interested in...

  Kenny had been in foster care with her. She’d thought of him as a friend, hoped for that anyway. She’d been about the same age as Tina was now. Kids didn’t need to talk as much as adults did. She’d hoped he was different, right up until he’d pushed her against the school yard fence.

  She’d run then, too. Run for everything she was worth. Escaped his painful grip. She hadn’t heard any of the foul things he’d suggested they do, but she’d seen them form on his lips. The lips that had come too close to hers.

  She’d run until she couldn’t run anymore. Blocks and blocks away from the school, in the opposite direction of her foster home. She didn’t stop until the sharp, painful stitch in her side made her. She hadn’t even known where she was. Darkness was falling, much like the afternoon shadows now. She shivered, remembering how she’d kept walking until she found an open grocery store. She’d gone inside and the manager had called the police.

  One of the few pluses of being a kid in foster care was that she was in the system. She already had a file.

  They’d taken her back to her foster home, and she’d tried to pretend nothing had happened, but Kenny’s behavior had turned awful. Teasing. Tormenting. Demeaning. “Sound like a dummy...you’re a moron who can’t talk right...”

  Her caseworker finally picked up on the bullying and had her moved. Any place was better than that place.

  Almost. That’s when she’d stopped trying to talk, refused speech therapy. Ultimately, she’d been placed with Maxine. But the damage was done and the half dozen in-betweens still hurt too much to think about.

  Jason’s suspicions about the Hancocks couldn’t be correct, could they? If there was something wrong, Dylan woul
d have said something, wouldn’t he? She was positive of it. She wouldn’t let another foster kid suffer, especially one who couldn’t necessarily speak up for himself. No one was going to go through what she had. No one.

  This time, as she left Jason’s office, instead of waiting for the bus, she went over to the doorman and wrote a note asking him to help her get a taxi.

  She couldn’t wait a half hour for the bus. Not when the memories lurked, waiting to pounce. She stood at the lobby’s glass wall, in the bright light, watching for the yellow cab the doorman’s note had told her was on its way.

  * * *

  JASON WANTED TO kick himself. What was it about Lauren that made him do things he wouldn’t normally do? Going to her house. Taking a criminal case. Feeling an attraction to a client—amend that, potential client. He thought at first that he’d understood why she’d moved away from him just now, but her reaction was too strong. She really was upset. And while he couldn’t be positive, he was pretty sure he’d seen fear in her eyes.

  The idea that she had to be afraid of anything made his blood boil.

  He was a Hawkins. He took pride in that. His younger brother, DJ, was a marine who’d been injured in Afghanistan. His older brother, Wyatt, had stepped up when Dad died, and still took care of them all, including DJ’s son when DJ was hurt. His three sisters were no slackers, either, and were probably even more protective than he and his brothers combined.

  Jason was no different—he just chose other means to protect people. Legally. But right now, he wasn’t thinking very legal thoughts.

  Someone had hurt Lauren. That type of reaction didn’t come from anything else. The person who’d put that fear in Lauren’s eyes needed a good old-fashioned taste of the Western justice he’d grown up with.

  Except that would probably scare her just as much, if not more.

  He reached the lobby in time to see Lauren climb into a cab that quickly pulled away. “Nick?” he asked the doorman who was behind the valet stand. “Did you call that cab for her?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  At the other man’s nod, Jason continued. “Did she give an address of where she wanted the taxi to take her?”

  Nick frowned. He pulled a small trash can out from under the desk. He plucked several pieces of crumpled paper out, opening the balls, tossing those he didn’t want. Finally, he handed Jason a semiflattened piece of paper.

  “Can I keep this?” Jason asked.

  “I’m just gonna toss it back in here.”

  “Uh, yeah.”

  This wasn’t a residential address.

  Jason vaguely knew the neighborhood, and he wasn’t pleased when he realized this was her studio. What had Chloe said about her working with underprivileged kids? Right, she had planned to meet Dylan here.

  Jason headed back to his office. He finished up a few things as quickly as he could. An hour later, he shut everything down and headed to his car.

  He needed to apologize. Jason hadn’t meant to scare Lauren. He couldn’t call her and texting seemed so...impersonal.

  He drove through the streets, the streetlights flashing intermittently across the car. It didn’t take long to reach the address.

  The old theater, built with classic Art Deco styling, was beautiful. Elegantly restored, and lit, the facade looked as if a world premier were happening tonight. Too bad the rest of the street wasn’t as bright. Shadows and broken streetlights were more the norm.

  Jason parked across the street from the studio. The marquee splashed a white glow clear across the street, over him and his car. Where there would have been a show title on the white background in the old days, the black plastic letters announced Lauren Ramsey’s Dance Studio.

  The old ticket booth was shuttered, but the front doors, newly painted a bright red, were open when he turned the handle. He shook his head at the shoddy security as he stepped inside. The lobby was shadowed, the only light coming from the marquee outside. Farther down the wide hallway, squares of white light spilled out onto the carpeting. He headed that way.

  * * *

  THE STUDIO WAS EMPTY, the last student had been picked up, and Lauren had the place to herself. Peace slipped over her. She so needed this after today.

  She went back to the locker room. Opening hers, she pulled out her toe shoes. These were her old practice ones. She stared at them a minute. Not tonight. She put them back—she needed something more. Lauren quickly changed into her favorite leotard, then headed to the booth that housed the sound system.

  The components were old, and one of the next things she hoped to replace. But for now, this was familiar and she quickly found the music she wanted. As the song title scrolled on the display, she laughed. Yeah. This was perfect.

  Somewhere in her early teens, she’d discovered that she could feel music if it were loud enough. She’d gone to a concert with hearing friends—not wanting to be the outsider, but knowing she wouldn’t enjoy it. Until then, music hadn’t been a part of her silent world.

  Maxine would have killed her if she’d played this on her sound system at the mansion. But headphones and earbuds were worthless. Lauren needed the music to rattle her bones. So now, she cranked the volume. Through trial and error, she’d learned where the limit was to not blow the speakers. Counting, she knew exactly how much time she had to get out on the floor to be in sync with the music. She prided herself on that exactness.

  She felt the beat inside. It throbbed in the air, through her feet, up along her spine, wrapping around her limbs, dragging her onto the dance floor. This was not ballet. It was wild and free, beat-driven. Rock. Hard and loud.

  In the middle of the wood floor, she moved with the magic, letting her body follow the music’s lead. This was heaven.

  She watched herself in the mirrors that lined the walls. She spun, letting the lights morph in her eyes.

  She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt this free, felt this in tune with her body. So much of her time was spent in rehearsal, learning, relearning routines and rhythms. Or in class with the kids where precision and discipline were required.

  But this? This was something she’d never shared with anyone.

  * * *

  JASON STOOD IN the doorway of what looked like a rehearsal hall. He’d hoped to simply slip in and watch the tail end of a class, or catch Lauren as she left.

  Halfway down the hall, he’d felt the beat of the music through the soles of his feet. He recognized it as something he’d blasted from his car stereo as he drove across the Texas hills back in high school.

  She had the music up loud, probably as loud as the system would allow. Not like there was anyone in the old abandoned neighborhood to complain.

  The smooth polished wood floor seemed to stretch endlessly from the doorway where he stood. One wall was all mirrors, with a wooden bar running the entire length. Nothing else filled the room.

  Nothing except Lauren.

  Her eyes were closed, her head thrown back. Her wild copper tresses that she normally kept bound in the braid down her back had fallen loose. She wore a bright blue form-fitting leotard that clung to her every curve. Her legs and feet were bare.

  Jason swallowed as he stood there and watched, enthralled with the magic before him.

  The music hurt his ears, but it pounded in his chest in time with his accelerated heartbeat. She turned and ran across the room, leaping and landing, gyrating and bouncing on the balls of her feet. She was the human interpretation of the music he felt.

  Her arms waved and cast about in the air...imploring what? The gods to come to her? The music to envelop her?

  How did she do that? How did she let herself go and take that leap, landing so perfectly? He’d never admired anyone. He wasn’t easily impressed. Today, just like the night Pal had taken him to Lauren’s performance, Jason was speechless.
>
  She turned then, her eyes meeting his. Her squeal of surprise startled him. She stumbled, and instead of catching herself, she let her body continue into a roll. Finally, momentum slowing, she settled, cross-legged on the floor. And glared at him.

  Words formed in his mind, but none matched any of the signs he knew. Slowly, he made the gesture for “I’m sorry.”

  Lithe and limber, she rose to her feet and stalked to the back of the room. She grabbed a towel and wiped the sheen from her face and neck as she snapped off the stereo system. The ensuing silence fell thick and heavy. At least for him. He realized it was the norm for her and that bothered him.

  She spun on her heel, signing quickly and heading into what looked like a locker room. He had no idea what she’d said.

  For once, ignorance was bliss. He hung around. Slowly, he checked out the studio. On closer inspection, the polished floor showed signs of age and wear. The stereo system was imbedded in a back wall, and it, too, was old.

  The mirrors lining the wall made the room appear twice its actual size. The wooden bar had nicks and scratches from years of use.

  Lauren stepped out of the locker room and froze in the doorway. She was back in her jeans and blouse from earlier and had pulled her hair back in the familiar braid. With a frown on her face, Lauren looked him straight in the eye and lifted her chin.

  Now what? They’d have to rely on her lip reading. How the hell was he going to understand her? He didn’t know.

  “I wanted to talk to you.”

  She frowned, then grabbed her phone from her purse. Seconds later, his phone vibrated and he took it out of his pocket.

  What about? her text asked.

  Earlier, he texted back.

  About Dylan?

  No. You. Me. I’m sorry for upsetting you.

  She looked confused. With a sigh, she reached around the corner and turned off the locker room lights. She headed toward him, passing him and pausing at the studio’s door. She focused on her phone. Don’t worry about it. She waved him off and headed toward the door. I have a bus to catch.

  She flipped the studio’s light switch, leaving him in the dark. He hurried after her. The rest of the theater was dark, with only the light of the marquee falling in through the front windows to illuminate anything.