The Fated Dance: Bound to the Shadow Dancer

by Leeann Whitaker

  I discreetly wipe my wet cheek while looking at the painting. His hand suddenly spins me into his body, and he sees my upset. Hesitantly, his fingers move and press against my face as he gazes down with glassy eyes.

  “I’ve chosen you, Jen. And I am going to fight for it.” He kisses my forehead. “Okay?” I nod, overwhelmed. “So no tears.” He takes a small remote out from his trouser pocket, and presses so music echoes around us. “Just Dance.”

  His hand creeps around my waist. He begins to sway his body, coaxing me into his arms. Our fingers interweave as the song: One, by Ed Sheeran sounds throughout the vast space. I stare up at him, and now all my tears have stopped falling. It is simply us being, living, and forgetting as one. I lay my head on his chest, inhale his scent, and close my eyes, cherishing every moment of movement with him. His touch. His breath flurrying in my hair. His respect for me.

  He delicately draws away. “I’m in love with you,” he says, sincere.

  The once hardest three words for me to say, are now easy to part from my lips, “I love you.” My eyes shy down to his feet.

  His fingers push up my chin. “Will you stay?”

  “Yes.”

  The silence couldn’t even be disturbed by a pin dropping as he led me up the grand staircase. Now I wait at the end of a corridor on the first floor, as he opens the door into a suite someone like me is not accustom to. The deco and furnishing; it screams honeymoon suite. But I don’t particularly care where we are. I could be surrounded by diamonds, and it wouldn’t compare to his soft lips brushing against my neck right now. I run my fingertips over his shoulder, and gently squeeze his neck as he guides me to the luxurious queen-size bed.

  ***

  We lie face to face after a brief sleep. Our bare feet now play a tender game of footsie beneath the cotton sheets. The morning sunrise floats into the room, over the queen-size bed, and reaches the cream damask wallcoverings. He brushes my messy hair from my face and slips it behind my ear, grinning with sleepy morning eyes which seem to glow with contentment.

  “Good morning,” he says with a croak in his throat.

  “Morning,” I beam.

  “I think I better take you home.”

  I moan. “Not yet.”

  He angles up onto his elbows, bends, and kisses my forehead. “Well, a little longer then… I’m going to grab a quick shower.”

  He slips his legs from the bed and stands like a Grecian god, grabbing one of the two white bathrobes from the door hook. He winks playfully, before making his way into the en-suite bathroom.

  Last night’s loving antics have taken their toll on me. It would be nice to get room service, but as soon as the hotel doesn’t even have skeleton staff yet, I’ll have to go in search myself. I grab the robe from the back of the door, and quietly sneak out onto the corridor.

  I’m nervous as I make my way through the huge empty foyer. It may have all been modernized, but the building itself has history, and the presence of its past freaks me out slightly. Even as my bare feet stride across the cold tiles, the sound they make resonates with an eerie thud.

  I glance at a plan of the building hung up behind the reception. The kitchens are situated through a door to the left of the desk, and down another long corridor. I plod along, tightening the belt on my robe, when the entrance door opens. In fear, I stumble several steps back, preparing my voice-box to call out for Grayson, as four men, all in business suits, stand only feet from me.

  I tug the seams of the towel fabric together over my chest. My lungs are ready to erupt a scream as a tall man in a dark blue jacket, with gray hair and stern features, takes a step closer to me.

  “And who the hell are you?” he demands in a low tone.

  “My guest, Father,” Grayson calls from the stairs.

  I turn to see Grayson dripping wet, with a cream towel wrapped around his waist. I’m mortified. He’s covering his dignity with only a towel. And I’m standing here fashioning sex hair, wearing one of the hotels guest robes. I purse my lips to the side, lowering my head to the floor.

  “Grayson,” he scowls. “This is not the damn playboy mansion.”

  Grayson stands at my side, pinching the edges of the towel tightly so he doesn’t reveal himself.

  “Father,” he grumbles. “This is Jen… Jen this is my father.”

  This isn’t a good first impression to make in front of one of the most powerful men in the States. I smile with shame emitting from my every hurried breath.

  “Grayson, I emailed you to explain I would be showing some of my close colleagues around the place,” Winston barks. “And here you are using the place as some hook up motel.” I see Grayson hang his head in anger. “Hold on a minute… is this the stripper you’ve been dating? Fiona told me about you,” he glares at me. “I’m sorry dear, we don’t rent rooms by the hour here.”

  “Dad!” Grayson yells.

  “I suggest you go and put some clothes on, then disappear.” Winston moves nearer to me. “You won’t be getting another dime out of my son.”

  Grayson grits his teeth as I head quickly toward the stairs. “Winston, go and fuck yourself!” he yells, rushing after me.

  I’ve never climbed stairs so fast. I’ve worked in the grimiest joint in Berkley. And all those perverts who watched me dance, couldn’t make me feel as dirty and rotten as what Winston Crane has just done.

  “Jen,” Grayson calls. “Wait,” he takes my arm. “Please don’t let what he said bother you,” he pleads. “You know that’s not what you are to me.”

  I sniff as tears coat my eyes. “Clearly everyone you know does.”

  “Jen… forget him,” he says in a firm tone. “He’s nothing but money.” I sigh and lower my head. “Look at me,” he places his hands on my face to lift. “I love you Jen, and I don’t care what you did in this world to survive.” His adam’s apple slides down his neck. “Don’t ever feel ashamed,” he says with big stern eyes on me.

  I can’t agree with him. My past is stained with disgraceful things that will stick with me forever. Grayson may be able to look beyond that. But it’s no good when I can’t do the same myself.

  Boiling Point

  As soon as Jen entered her house I let the fury loose, speeding through the streets in my Range Rover. I’m surprised I didn’t get pulled over. Right now, the mood I’m in, I’m thinking it would have been best if I had. My ignorant, asshole, dick of a Father, really does deserve to be put down for how he treated Jen. It’s been a long time coming, brewing up inside me for years. Hell, I don’t need him. I never have. As far as I’m concerned, he and I are through.

  I toss my keys across the kitchen island and crack open a new bottle of whisky. Henry enters as I slam down a glass and fill it half-way.

  “Sir,” he hovers, indecisively. “I take it your father found you?”

  “Oh yes.” I tip the entire contents of the glass down my neck. “He found me alright.”

  “I didn’t tell him where you were… and I did try to call you. But your cell was off.”

  “You’ve known Winston for many years now. Why has no one shot him yet?” I almost yell. “You know, to put everyone out of their misery.”

  “He hasn’t always been so superior,” he replies. “Once he was laidback; quite congenial before…”

  “He struck the big time,” I interrupt, pointing my glass in mid-air.

  “Well, money does have the tendency to poison things.”

  “Yeah.” I slam down my glass. “And it sure has rotted away at Winston’s core.” I stride toward my room.

  “Sir, you have a meeting at two with your father’s advertising company.”

  “Well, the asshole can deal with it himself.” I open my bedroom door. “I’m going for a run.”

  “Sir,” he frowns at me. “Are you sure you’re okay for that?”

  “What are you talking about?” I blow out. “Of course I’m okay for it.”

  “Sir, you’re sweating,” he dips his head.

 
I wipe my fingers across my forehead to feel the lukewarm beads on my clammy skin. I shrug it off. I’m pissed-off and don’t need his concern right now.

  “It’s summer, Henry.” I enter my room and slam the door, before he starts to sing my father’s praises again, or tells me I need a doctor.

  ***

  I jog by the fountain in the park, dodging baby buggies and kids playing in the warm sun. I have steam to let off, so pick up my pace while unzipping my short sleeve gray hoody. Every degrading word he said to Jen orbits within my skull. I’m not surprised the only female company he’s had since my mother, are the female escorts Riley fixes him up with. And the jerk has the nerve to speak to Jen that way. No wonder my mother left him. I shouldn’t be accepting of the way she has behaved over the years. Leaving me. Showing absolutely no maternal instinct toward me as a child, or throughout my illness. I mean, I barely know the woman. But it doesn’t surprise me that she can’t be around that pretentious ass.

  I reach the shade of the trees as my feet pound down on the concrete at speed. I glance down at my heart rate and blood pressure watch. Heart rate: 201 beats. Blood pressure: 81 over 48. Throughout my previous hospital visits and treatments, I’ve become quite knowledgeable on vital stats and how to interpret them. I know that this blood pressure reading is way too low. So I stop in the middle of the path to check again. I hover my finger over reset, but for some reason I can’t press because of a sudden weakness down my right arm. In a daze I zigzag to a nearby bench to sit down for a moment, arching over to breathe deeply.

  I open my water bottle when a buzzing begins to resonate in my ears. I shake my head and take a quick drink.

  “Excuse me.” Out of breath, I squint up to see a woman in a floral dress, grinning. “It’s Grayson Crane isn’t it?” she asks, excitedly.

  I hum and exhale. I need to get home and shower, not deal with silly little fame fanatics.

  “Can I get my photo with you?” she chirps.

  She doesn’t wait for my answer, just sits her ass down anyway. And now, I see another guy in a blue baseball cap, pointing his camera at me, filming.

  “Look, another time.”

  I stand up but my legs weaken. They feel stick thin, frail, and unable to hold my weight. I begin to jog with a stagger as the trees in bloom blur around me. I can’t catch my breath and suddenly find myself on the ground.

  “Mr. Crane… Mr. Crane,” a voice yells weakly within the whistling I hear. “Someone, call nine-one-one!”

  Fuck. I can’t allow this to happen, not in public dammit.

  I use the palms of my hands against the rough tarmac and manage to sit upright. I’m so hot, like there’s a steaming sauna inside my core. I glare down at my hazy hand to see bulbs of sweat forming on my near transparent skin. Screw this. I need to get my ass up, now.

  “Sir, please don’t move,” a man holds down my shoulders. “I’m a doctor.”

  I can feel them all around me, people in my airspace. But all I now see is a black and white static.

  “Sir, there is an ambulance on its way. I want you lay back and steady your breathing.” My shoulders are guided down until my head hits something soft.

  “I… I…”

  “Sir, save you energy and try to stay focused,” he says. “Don’t close your eyes, just listen to my voice.”

  I’m going. I can’t hold on any longer. The white noise has taking over. My head is heavy and I’m in a constant spiral. I’m…I’m sinking into the ground.

  “Sir… sir, stay with me!”

  Inevitable

  I can’t believe that she has left this out for me to see. I feel bad enough today. Like I’m some kind of bad infection that irritates everyone around me. Even though Grayson told me to forget about his dad, it’s impossible not to agree with him. I did work in a seedy strip club, and at first Grayson equaled money. So I do feel guilt. And now I’m looking at Flick’s grades for last semester, I’m appalled by my constant mistrust in her. She is a straight A student, and I’m shocked.

  “So” Flick appears over my shoulder with a childlike smile.

  I drop down into the chair at the kitchen table, and expel every bit of air from my lungs.

  “Well, don’t go overboard with your praise will you.”

  “Sorry, I’ve just had a really shitty morning.”

  “You and Grayson had a lovers tiff.” She opens the fridge and takes out a carton of orange. “What was it, another woman, or did you get mud in his flashy car?” she jokes.

  I want to tell her about my ordeal with Winston Crane. I want to tell her about Grayson’s struggle. I feel like I’ve got this massive load inside my heart, and I can’t tell a soul about it. Not yet anyhow.

  “How do you fancy going to catch a movie?” I ask to change the subject.

  “Sure… what?”

  “I don’t know… something funny and stupid.”

  “It’s been that bad that you’re willing to sacrifice your love of the arty farty?”

  “I’ll go get dressed.” I stand up. “And Flick, I’m proud of you.” I head toward the door.

  “Yeah, and you should be.”

  I fasten the button on my skinny black jeans, and pull my white vest over my waist. Fingering my hair into a messy bun, I slip on my gray flats. I’m not going to call Grayson tonight. I think he’ll be busy keeping his crotchety Dad happy. No, a movie, popcorn, and Flick’s company is good enough for me.

  “Jen,” Flick screams.

  “Give me a minute.”

  “Jen!” she screams again, and for a moment I stop breathing.

  I’ve heard that dreadful tone before, when Dad was slipping away from us, and I’ve not heard it again, until now. With a bleak feeling inside my chest, I dash downstairs to find Flick stood in front of the TV. I frown as she stays still with her back to me. Then I hear his name through the speaker, Grayson. I hurry around the couch to see the six o’clock news, and a video of him being taken into the back of an ambulance in the park. He’s unconscious, and the paramedics are hustling around him, frantic.

  “Oh god!” I race to the door and yank my jacket off the coat hook.

  I can’t breathe. There is a weight on my body and it’s crushing me. I keel over and gasp, as tears begin to stream down my face.

  “Jen.”

  “Oh god,” I cry. “I have to get to him.”

  “What’s wrong with him, Jen?”

  I don’t have to tell her. The anchorman on the TV is doing that right now for me.

  ‘Grayson Crane, the Son of billionaire oil tycoon, Winston Crane, who has been battling for some time with an aggressive blood cancer, in the form of acute myeloid leukemia. Has been rushed to Rose Springs hospital this afternoon for emergency treatment.’

  “Jeez Jen,” she shrieks. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me?” I can’t say a word to explain, my sobs are overpowering. “We’ll take Dad’s car,” she whips up her jacket from the couch.

  I growl in fury and pace away from her. Dad’s car is a complete write-off. It doesn’t even start up.

  In a frenzy Flick opens the front door to reveal Henry standing outside, holding up his fist, ready to knock. He exhales a damning sigh as I weep.

  “Jen, come on,” he gestures.

  “I’m not leaving her,” Flick yells.

  I have no energy left in me to argue with her. Henry looks at me for approval, but I just charge through the door with Flick in tow.

  ***

  Before Henry has even parked up his car outside Rose Springs, I have the door open. I’m not waiting for no one. I sprint through the bright revolving glass doors in a blind panic, because I have no idea where the hell I’m supposed to go.

  Henry catches up with me and takes the lead, pushing the button to the elevator on my left. The doors slide apart, and I become frustrated with an old lady tottering out, slowly. I grunt and shimmy by her walking frame.

  Henry presses number eight on the stainless steel pad. I read a sign inside indicating
the whereabouts of each department. Emergency oncology is on the top floor. I blow my hair from my wet face as Flick grips onto my arm. I have to shake her off. I don’t want to be touched, worried over, or consoled. I just need to see Grayson.

  The doors part and I swiftly squeeze out onto a dimly lit clinical corridor. A nurse approaches me with angry lines around her eyes.

  “Quiet please,” she hisses.

  “Grayson Crane,” I demand.

  “The far room,” she points.

  My legs rotate fast as I run down the glossy floor. I skid to a stop when Winston Crane emerges with his head held down. Oh god. His furious eyes narrow at the sight of me and I freeze up.

  “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “I brought her,” Henry announces.

  “Well, you had no damn right… take her back,” he orders.

  “You’re a dick aren’t you,” Flick says exactly what we all think.

  “If you don’t get the hell off me!” Grayson’s voice hollers through the powder blue door.

  I close my eyes, feeling an unsure relief because he’s still here. I go to pass by Winston, but he holds out his hands to stop me.

  “Let her through,” Henry barks.

  “She is not family, and she certainly will never be welcome,” his whisky breath hovers over me.

  “Grayson has never had a real family… sir!” Henry steps in, with his face reddening. “And if anyone shouldn’t be here, it is you. Jen go on,” he nods.

  I barge by Winston and stumble nervously through the door. I linger in worry as two nurses try to attach something to Grayson’s arm. He yells and fidgets like a child throwing a temper tantrum. His eyes finally find me and he mutes, yanking his arm free. He stares with a slow desolate blink, clearly embarrassed by me witnessing his meltdown.

  “Sir, it is very important you let us do this,” a short dark haired nurse appeals, while his eyes remain static on me. “Dr. Jenkins is on his way, and insists you need this.”

  My throat narrows as the realization of how dire this is hits me hard. The image of him with an oxygen tube up his nose, wearing a white hospital gown, and his skin as pale as snow, is heartbreaking.