by Janice Sims
He thought he had found someone he could enjoy being with for the rest of his life around eight months ago, but she didn’t know how to be honest with him. Subsequently, they had stopped seeing one another over a misunderstanding.
It suddenly struck him. Nona was going to the ballet tonight. And the woman he’d just thought about was a ballet dancer. He wondered if his daughter listed her as one of her idols. If she did, Nona had never mentioned it. Which wasn’t surprising since his daughter didn’t share her hopes and dreams with him. She reserved that for her grandmother. His heart ached because of it.
His cell phone rang. He hoped it was Nona calling but one glance at the display revealed it was another of his clients. He answered with an enthusiastic, “Joey, how’s it going?”
“Oh, man, you’re not gonna believe this,” said Joey Blake, a right fielder with the Boston Red Sox, “Lola’s expecting!”
Nick breathed a happy sigh of relief. Good news for a change. Joey and Lola had been trying to have a baby for years. “Congratulations, daddy,” Nick said, laughing.
After the performance was over, Belana was in the dressing room she shared with several other ballerinas, getting out of her costume when the door to the dressing room opened and yet another ballerina entered. “Belana?” she said, looking around the room to the back where she spotted Belana pulling on a pair of jeans.
“Yes, Suri?” answered Belana, as she zipped up the jeans and stepped into her athletic shoes.
Suri Nash, a dark-haired dancer with brown eyes smiled as she approached her. “You’ve got a fan, an adorable teen with stars in her eyes. She’s waiting for you in the lobby.”
Belana laughed softly. Suri could be talking about none other than Nona Reed, the teenager she had been mentoring for the past six months. They had met when Belana had volunteered her time and expertise at a community center in Harlem. The woman who ran the program liked to introduce neighborhood kids to people in interesting careers so they would know there was no limit to what they could aspire to. There had been a few kids in the audience who wanted to be dancers and afterward they had approached Belana as a group, led by Nona Reed, and asked her to come to their dance class. She’d done so and had been impressed with their dedication, especially Nona’s. Before long, Belana was teaching the class, along with their regular instructor, one Wednesday night per month. After class the other students hurried away, happy to be leaving the dance studio in favor of more interesting pursuits. Nona Reed lingered, practicing in front of the mirror until the community center closed. Belana stayed behind one night, too, and they began dancing together. Nona told Belana of her dreams of one day commanding the stage, traveling around the world dancing, just like her. Belana told her about the glamorous side of a dancer’s life, but made sure to give her the sobering facts, too. They’d become friends.
“Thanks, Suri,” Belana said now as she grabbed her bag and, fully dressed, headed for the door.
“Are you coming to the after party?” asked Suri, hopefully.
“I think I’ll pass,” Belana said. She rarely went to after parties. It was opening night that excited her, hearing the audience’s first reaction to the performance. Her friends Elle and Patrice and their husbands had attended opening night three months ago. The ballet had been the longest-running of Belana’s career, eight performances per week for twelve weeks. She simply wanted to rest for the two months the company would be on hiatus, and come back refreshed.
“There will be guys there,” Suri said, still trying to entice her. “Guys who aren’t dancers. When was the last time you went out on a date?”
It was true. Belana had been experiencing a dry spell. After getting her heart stomped on eight months ago, she had decided to take a break from men. She had recently met a nice guy, though, and was attending a fundraiser with him next Friday night.
“Don’t waste your pity on me,” she told Suri with a sly smile. “I have a date with Eli Braithwaite.”
Elias “Eli” Braithwaite was one of the most eligible bachelors in New York City. It didn’t hurt that he was the highest-scoring player on the Knicks’ roster. Sports reporters swore the Knicks were having a good year largely because of him.
“You lucky girl!” exclaimed Suri. “I’m so jealous.”
“It’s just a date,” Belana said. “Nothing is going to happen. You know my motto…”
“Never kiss on a first date,” Suri said, laughing. “I don’t understand. How are you going to know whether or not you want to see him again if you don’t kiss him?”
“If you’re drawn to a person, you know it from the moment you meet. You don’t have to kiss to know whether he excites you or not. He can just walk into the room,” Belana avowed. “I know you’ve experienced chemistry with a guy.”
“Yes, but I like to test whether or not the chemistry is real. What if you’re attracted to him but when you kiss him he has bad breath?”
Belana laughed. “If he has bad breath, you’re going to smell it long before you get close enough to kiss him.”
Suri, walking with her to the door, wrinkled her nose in distaste. “True. I guess I just like kissing.”
“No harm in that,” Belana said. “I don’t do it because if I decide I don’t want to see a guy again after the first date, I haven’t given him any encouragement. He can’t say I led him on only to drop him.”
“You should have been a lawyer instead of a dancer,” Suri said with a smile. They hugged again at the door. “You’re still going on vacation with your girlfriends?” she asked as she held the door open for Belana.
“Oh, most definitely,” Belana said. “Elle and Patty and I are going to Greece for a girls-only getaway. What are you planning to do over the break?”
“I can’t tell you,” Suri said in a whisper. “It involves that guy you warned me about.”
Frowning, Belana stepped back into the room and shut the door. She could spare five more minutes for a friend. “Look, Suri, I know you’re young and carefree and you think dating a married man is daring and you’re having the time of your life. But married men rarely leave their wives, especially rich men who have so much to lose. His wife is going to take him for everything he has and ever will have if she finds out about you two. If she still wants him, she’ll bring him to heel. And the first thing he’ll do is drop you.”
Suri shrugged nonchalantly. “I’m having fun. I’m not in it to break up his marriage. It’s just nice to be pursued by such a rich, powerful man.”
Belana dropped her bag on to the floor, grabbed Suri by the arm and dragged her over to a mirror. “Look at yourself!” Suri smiled at her reflection. She was a brunette beauty with wavy hair that fell to her waist, a perfect dancer’s body with long, shapely legs. “There are so many men out there who would treat you just as well as Mr. Moneybags, without the inevitable heartache. Get a grip. Drop him before it stops being just fun and turns into love.”
Suri sighed deeply and stopped smiling. “He says I’m the best thing that ever happened to him.”
“They all say that!” Belana cried vehemently. She turned Suri around and looked her in the eyes. “Has anything I’ve said gotten through?”
Suri lowered her eyes shamefully.
Belana knew when she was beaten. Suri would have to learn the hard way. She threw her hands up and turned and walked away. “Just be careful,” she said in parting. She was gone before Suri could say anything else.
As she quickly walked through the mostly abandoned backstage area and headed to the front of the building where the lobby was located, Belana wondered if anyone actually listened to advice from well-meaning friends when they were involved in illicit love affairs. She supposed the excitement of an affair was simply too hard a thing to resist. To say nothing of the forbidden sex and the subterfuge needed to meet for their assignations without being caught. It was too much drama for her, which was why she avoided married men. Let a married man come on to her and she was quick to cut him off at the knees.
Chapter 2
“I’m sorry your father couldn’t make it,” Belana said to Nona after they’d hugged hello.
Nona, who was five-six, two inches taller than Belana, shrugged her slender shoulders regrettably. “We invited him, but he had to travel for work.”
Belana had once asked Nona about her father’s occupation and the girl had told her he was a lawyer. She had then quickly moved on to another subject, which made Belana think her father was a sore topic of conversation. To further make her suspicious that things were not going well between Nona and her father, one day, when they were practicing in the studio at the community center, Nona had mentioned that she didn’t live with her father. She lived with her grandmother, while he had an apartment in the city. Belana wondered why that was, but didn’t ask. She only knew that if she had a daughter as wonderful as Nona, she wouldn’t palm her off on her mother.
Belana smiled at Nona’s grandmother. “I’m glad you could make it, Mrs. Reed.”
Yvonne Reed was a petite, golden-brown-skinned beauty with silver, naturally wavy hair that she wore cut short and tapered at the nape. She was sixty-eight, but looked years younger. “I wouldn’t have missed it,” she said, dark brown eyes sparkling with excitement. “You were wonderful!”
“Oh, thank you,” Belana said with a warm smile.
“There you are!” Belana heard her brother, Erik, call behind them. She spun around and there he was hurrying toward her and the Reeds. When he reached her he hugged her tightly. “Great job, sis!”
“Thanks, Erik,” Belana said after he’d let her go. She gestured to the Reeds. “I’d like you to meet Nona Reed and her grandmother, Mrs. Yvonne Reed.”
Erik, six-one and athletic, was dressed in a black tailored suit, white shirt, dark gold tie and black wingtips polished to a high shine. He and Belana shared the same dark golden-brown skin tone and coppery brown eyes. He wore his black natural hair shorn very close to the scalp and was clean-shaven. Belana often told him he was ugly as sin, but that was simply a sister bringing a too-confident brother down a peg or two. He was a handsome devil, as both Nona’s and her grandmother’s reaction to his presence attested. They were smiling widely and gazing up at him with open admiration.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, ladies,” Erik said as he smiled down at them.
“Did Mom and Dad already leave for the airport?” Belana asked Erik. Her stepmother, Isobel Jones-Whitaker, whom she called Mom, had phoned her to tell her she and her father would have to fly to Zurich for a scientific symposium right after the performance, but wouldn’t dream of missing her final bow as Odette.
“I’m afraid so,” Erik answered, still smiling at the Reeds. “I told them I would wait around and take you to a late dinner.”
“That sounds good,” said Belana. “I’m starving.” She looked at the Reeds. “Would you like to join us? My treat, it would give us more time to chat.”
“I’d love…” Nona began. But her grandmother grasped her arm, stopping her. Smiling, Yvonne turned to Belana. “You’re very sweet, but we should be getting home.”
Nona sighed with regret. She would’ve loved to share a meal with Belana and her gorgeous brother. How often did she get to dine with a ballet star? Better yet, how often did she get to practice her flirting skills, which needed a lot of work since she had just discovered she had flirting skills, on a real man? The guys she went to school with were no challenge at all. However, her grandmother delivered meals to elderly shut-ins on Saturday mornings, a task Nona helped with and it was more important to her not to disappoint her grandmother than socializing with one of her idols.
“Yeah, we have to get up early in the morning,” she said to Belana. She gave Belana another hug. “Thank you for inviting us tonight, we really enjoyed it.”
Belana hugged her back, thinking that even if her father couldn’t be with her as often as she wished, he had certainly chosen a good substitute in his mother. It was obvious Yvonne Reed was a good influence on her granddaughter.
“You’re welcome. I’m glad you enjoyed yourself,” said Belana. “See you at the center in a couple of weeks, okay?”
“I wouldn’t miss it,” Nona assured Belana, and she took her grandmother’s proffered hand. They bade Belana and Erik good-night.
As they walked away, Erik said softly, “What a nice kid.”
“Yes, she is,” agreed Belana with a wistful tone to her voice.
Erik put an arm around her shoulders and they began walking toward the exit. Most of the two-thousand-plus theatergoers had left the theater so the lobby was fairly deserted now.
“You sound like you want one of those,” Erik joked.
Belana knew he was referring to her desire to have children one day. But that meant putting her career on hold and Belana, at twenty-eight, still felt she had a lot of years left in her body. Some dancers continued to perform well into their forties. Occasionally, you found one who was still dancing in their fifties, but they were the exception. The human body wore out. Joints became arthritic, muscles lost their tone, and bones became brittle with age. Dancers were constantly fighting to stay healthy.
“Someday,” Belana said softly. She looked up at him, “You’re the one about to turn thirty-three. You need to get on the ball!”
“I don’t need that from you and Gran,” Erik complained good-naturedly. Their father’s mother, Drusilla Whitaker, was on his case quite often. She said she wanted to be around to see at least one great-grandchild born. A mischievous smile crinkled his face. “Of course, if Ana Corelli were interested, I could be persuaded to procreate.”
Belana laughed. “Why don’t you just ask the girl out? You’ve been salivating over her for the past two years.”
“Because whenever I’m free, she’s involved with someone, and whenever she’s free I’m involved with someone.”
“She’s not involved with anyone right now,” Belana told him. “That pretty-boy actor she was dating was caught cheating.”
“What kind of fool would cheat on her?” Erik asked incredulously.
“A fool who believes the hype about his being the sexiest guy in America,” Belana answered.
“She was dating him?” Again, his tone was disbelieving.
Belana frowned, thinking of the flavor-of-the-month actor who had recently trampled on Ana Corelli’s heart. Ana, the sister of her friend Elle’s husband, Dominic Corelli, was a highly sought-after model living in New York City. She was exquisitely beautiful, her Italian and African-American heritage producing an exotic look that made anyone seeing her for the first time do a double take. As beautiful as her visage was, though, Ana Corelli’s spirit was even more beautiful. She was a sweet girl who was genuinely nice, sometimes a rarity among beautiful women. And she had talent, not just posing for the camera. She was a painter who, when she gained confidence, Belana was sure, would quit modeling and turn all her attention to her art where it belonged. That’s how strongly Belana felt that Ana’s true calling was not modeling but painting.
“I put a curse on him,” Belana told her brother as they stepped outside of the building and began walking toward the street. Friday night in Manhattan was crowded as usual. People were not in as big a rush as they were during daylight hours, though. They strolled down city streets going to the theater, in this district, going out to dinner, or just meeting friends for drinks. “The next time he has sex with some trampy starlet his thing is going to fall off.”
“Ouch!” Erik laughed. “Must you be so Lorena Bobbitt?”
“He deserves it,” Belana said with emotion. “You’re a man…”
“Oh, no, when a sentence starts with those words, I know I’m in for it,” said Erik.
“Seriously,” his sister persisted. “Why can’t a man be satisfied with one woman? Why does he need to have sex with as many women as possible?”
Erik, whose nature was to joke around when presented with an uncomfortable situation, cracked, “Where are all those women they’re hav
ing sex with? I’m lucky if I have a date on a Friday night. Look at me, taking my sister to dinner.”
Belana gave him her dead-eyes look. Erik hated that look. It meant she was fed up with joking and wasn’t going to put up with his mess. He swore she got it from Grandma Drusilla who was the only woman who could make him shake in his boots.
“If we’re going to have a serious conversation about the state of the male/female relationship, I’ll need sustenance,” he said. They stood in front of a small restaurant that theatergoers frequented and which was a favorite of Belana’s. Erik held the door open for Belana.
Inside, the hostess, a tall leggy redhead with green eyes cried, “Belana, I heard you killed tonight. Bravo, my sister!”
Belana gave Julie Banks, an actor working as a hostess until her big break came along, a warm hug. “Thanks, Julie.” Julie in turn kissed her on both cheeks. The two were invariably supportive of one another, as was often the case in the huge artistic community in New York City.
“Table for two?” asked Julie, her attention now on Erik. Belana hadn’t brought Erik in here before.
“Yes, please,” Belana said, smiling at Erik who was blushing from the intensity of Julie’s stare. “This is my brother, Erik,” Belana told Julie. “Erik, Julie Banks. She’s an actor.”
Julie held out her hand. Erik took it and covered it with his other one. “Nice to meet you, Julie,” he said.
“Any brother of Belana’s is a friend of mine,” quipped Julie, her pale cheeks turning a bright pink.
Erik let go of her hand and Julie led them through the packed dining room to a private booth in the back of the room. Julie took the reserved sign off the tabletop and gestured to the table. “I hope this is all right.”
“Perfect,” said Erik. “Thank you, Julie.”
“My pleasure,” said Julie, giving him a high-wattage smile. “A waiter will be with you shortly. Enjoy your evening.”
