by Joey Bush
I had two classes to teach in the morning, one at eight and one at ten. The eight o’clock one was mainly for older people, still looking to get back in shape. Some of the ladies were overlap from the day before; however, others were different, simply preferring Sundays over Saturdays. “Non-religious,” they told me off-handedly when I asked them why they preferred the day. I shrugged, always, at these women who seemed to have their lives perfectly planned and orchestrated. They had never made a mistake or a false move. Even their plies and releves were precise—if a little hesitant. They had broken their hips before; they weren’t going to do it again.
I rushed around the house, then, realizing I had daydreamed much of the morning away. I had to be at the dance studio a bit early to prepare. I grabbed a coffee mug, noting that I could make another pot at the studio. (A coffee addict with two coffee pots; I had to have my fix.) I kissed Boomer on the top of his head and raced out the door into the stunning sounds of the city streets. I loved the feeling of being—well—busy.
I was beginning to really love Wicker Park; the old buildings, the way everyone looked—utterly bohemian, but too rich to have the hobo-ish edge. I wound through them all as they wandered off to find brunch somewhere. My dance studio was on the corner, and I unlocked it in a hurry, my heart allowing me to run, to find energy in areas of my body I had never known existed.
The door was already unlocked. Surprised, I pushed it open, allowing the bell to jangle. Deep in the office stood Melanie, my assistant. I hadn’t seen her in days. She looked ragged, grey. I held open my arms. “Hi, Mel. How is Carson?” I asked her, rushing toward her and hugging her. She smelled a little damp, like a baby; she emitted scents of ground baby food and hand sanitizer. I pulled back, looking at her face. She was still beautiful. She was twenty-eight years old, and already, she often said, had “reached the prime of her life and left it behind.” I always told her this wasn’t true, of course; that twenty-eight was not old at all. But she always shook her head back and forth sadly and talked about how attractive her baby’s doctor was. Never did she talk about her husband. This made me sad; that perhaps marriage was the ultimate killer of every relationship. I had always heard this. But here it was, in the flesh.
“How are you, Mel?” I asked her.
Melanie shrugged, her long arms flowing around her. She had been a dancer in college, as well; at Loyola. She wasn’t good, she often told me. But her grace, her femininity, made me think that wasn’t true—that she was far better than she thought. I had looked it up once. There was a photo of her on the cover of an old, online pamphlet; the year 2006, when she had been 19 years old. She had been, of course, the Prima. The Prima ballerina of Loyola. But she had dropped out at twenty-one, without graduating. I had never asked her about it, knowing that sometimes the past was best left where it was.
Mel began speaking, ruffling a few papers before her. “I’m fine, you know. Carson’s doing a lot better. He’s with his daddy. I wanted to come in and see what you needed done. Any paperwork? I know how much you hate paperwork.”
I shook my head, smiling. I wanted to tell her about Drew so badly. I rushed to the back of the office and began pouring coffee grounds into a filter. “First thing’s first, Mel,” I called. “Coffee.”
“Oh, god. Please,” Mel said, sighing. She was rifling through papers once more. I realized I hadn’t looked through those documents all week, as I had been so preoccupied with dance thoughts and routines. “It feels so nice to be out of the house,” Mel continued. I laughed. “Listen, Molly,” Mel said to me, sort of sighing, down-turning her face as she spoke. “I was going through some of the bank account information for this place—“
I eyed her, shaking my head vehemently. “What do you mean, Mel?” I wanted to keep things upbeat. I didn’t want Mel to remind me—again—that I was very close to losing this goddamned place. The coffee began choking in the pot as the water descended through the machine. I clapped my hands in front of my face, ready to make something up. “Oh. That’s right. I had to move some funds around—the bank people said it would take a few days.” I looked at the clock. “And today’s Sunday, so I guess it won’t happen till—tomorrow, at least.” I shrugged, looking at her with large eyes. I remembered that every time I had wanted something when I was little, every time I had tried to get away with something, I had simply utilized these great, orb eyes. They had stopped working after college, for some reason; when a sense of despair had come over me.
Mel nodded her head, grinning. “I thought it was just something like that. I wanted to ask, though, you know. Can never be too careful.” She placed the papers back on the desk and reached toward the coffee mugs, tapping toward me. “We’re going to have a good day today. I can run part of the lesson, if you need a break?”
I nodded at her. “Why don’t you warm them up?” I asked her. I gestured toward the door, where a few over-fifty women had wandered in, each carrying a small bag where they kept their shoes, water bottles, and Balance bars. “Hello, ladies!” I called.
They waved back. They thought of me as such a simple creature, someone so beneath them. I burned with the knowledge that until yesterday, when I had met lonely Drew at that small, out-of-the-way café, I had believed that I was nothing. “Are you ladies enjoying your weekend?” I asked them, feeling deep concentration, deep happiness. I was going on a date that day. I was going on a date; I had infinite power in the possibility of this situation. I grinned into my mug, watching as Mel positioned herself before the women as they wandered in, stretching herself before the show. She turned toward me, laughing a bit, feeling silly. After all; she had been a woman working only for her baby, only for her husband for a number of days. Here, at Molly Says Dance, she was free.
“All right, ladies! Let’s begin in first position!”
And the day began.
CHAPTER FIVE
After the two classes, Mel and I trading off responsibilities, (I always enjoyed watching her dance, thinking of her as a younger version of “me”), we joined together for a final mug of coffee—with a bit of Baileys mixed in—in the back office. I waved at the younger girls from the second class as they left. They worked so hard, and I admired them; their everyday trek to my studio, the way they laced up their shoes, day-in, day-out, ever-so-perfectly every time.
“They’re cute, right?” Mel asked me then, sipping from her Baileys drink. “I remember being that age, asking my mom for more and more ballet lessons.” She chortled. “All that money they threw at my career.”
I waved my hand over my face. “You’re doing good work. You’re keeping dance alive in the hearts and minds of people in Chicago—young people who have a million other things to care about. You’re making them care about this. It’s amazing.”
Mel nodded. She brightened for a moment. “Say. We’re having lunch back at the house; I have a lasagna in the slow cooker. Do you want to come back with me? You know you’re always welcome, and Jim would love to see you. Carson would, as well.” She winked at me.
I had to tell her, then. I looked at the clock, noting I had only an hour until Drew was meant to pick me up outside my apartment. “Actually, Mel,” I whispered, hearing as the last jangle rose from the bell, signaling the last girl exiting the studio, “I have a date.” I closed my eyes at the words. They were so strange, spoken out loud.
Mel reared back, her hand over her mouth. She had only known me to have one date—ever. And that, of course, had not worked out well, leaving me stranded at the side of the road somewhere south of greater Chicago. But that was neither here nor there. “Who is he? Where did you meet him? Tell me everything!” she cackled, sitting down in the desk chair and leaning toward me.
I leaned against the desk. “Well. I met him, purely by accident, at that little coffee shop I like so much—across the street?”
Mel nodded. “They have great sandwiches.”
“Right. Anyway,” I went on. “He was just there—sort of joking with me. Being handsome all over
the place. And he sat there, next to me, and ate. I, of course, could hardly eat. I was too nervous.” I took a sip of my coffee. “He just moved to the city from New York. Said he wants to open up a bookstore. I don’t know anything other than that.” I paused, watching as Mel’s eyes widened. “And then he walked me home. And he kissed me. He wanted to come inside—but I said no.”
Mel nodded approvingly. “Classy lady,” she said, raising her left eyebrow.
“Right,” I said. The clock was ticking fast. “I just. I can’t believe this is happening. He’s so handsome. Like. Too handsome,” I giggled. “But maybe a little crazy. He called me at five in the morning today, asking if I could go to the Cubs game. I’ve never been—never had an inkling to go before.” I shrugged.
“But for him, you’d do anything,” Mel said, winking.
“He hasn’t done anything wrong yet,” I murmured, looking out at the sun on the streets. I clutched my mug for a moment, not saying anything. “I better get ready, actually. He’s supposed to meet me at my apartment in—oh gosh.” I looked at the clock. The time had escalated quickly, giving me nearly no time to get ready. I knew there was a shower in the back of the studio; but I had told Drew that he could pick me up at my apartment! I looked around wildly, my heart beating like a drum.
“What is it?” Mel asked me, her eyebrows furrowed. A picture of her baby was positioned behind her, and the baby had the exact same look on his face. It nearly made me double over with laughter. I tried to have composure.
“You know. I think I have to tell him I’m going to meet him there. I don’t have time to go home; I have clothes here, after all.” Mel had told me to stop leaving my clothes at the studio, that it was probably giving me a sense of homelessness. But I was thankful that they were there, today.
Mel nodded. “Can I call him? Act like your assistant? I mean. I suppose that’s what I actually am,” Mel said, shrugging. Her eyes brimmed with light.
I nodded, stripping off my clothes in a hurry. The shower was directly behind the office, next to the toilet. I was shaking out of my yoga pants when she picked up my phone. “Here, I’ll call him from your phone. Watch,” she whispered, winking at me.
Mel dialed the number that I had recently saved, after his earlier phone call. She hummed as we both listened to it ring. I stood, naked, my hands over my chest. I could feel my pulse quicken. It was so strange to be naked and contacting the man you liked. It was jarring, exciting.
Mel descended into a deeper, more serious voice as she began speaking to him. “Yes, hello. Have I reached a Drew?”
She paused, nodded her head. Her eyes parsed over to me, nearly laughing. “Yes. I am Molly Atwood’s assistant. I have her on the other line. Can you please hold?” She nodded to the phone. “Thank you.”
She paused for a moment, bobbing her head back and forth, before handing the phone to me. I was quivering. “Hello. Drew,” I said, announcing myself to him.
“Well, well. I didn’t realize you were so important.”
“Well, if you play your cards right, I’ll take that last sentence as a compliment,” I said, raising my left eyebrow toward Mel. Mel snickered. “Listen, Drew. Some things ran late. I’m closer to the stadium than normal, so I thought I’d just meet you there. Sound kosher to you?”
Drew paused, trying to size me up. “Sounds good, Molly. I’ll head over early and get us situated. You like Chicago dogs?”
My heart glimmered. I nearly spouted a very girlish, “Oh yes!” But I composed myself. “I will be very hungry, yes. After this hard day, all I want is a dog and a beer.”
“Old Style?” he asked me. My heart rumbled.
“What else?” I loved the way our voices sounded together; I loved his laugh.
We said pleasant goodbyes, and I hung up the phone swiftly, nearly cutting him off. My body was shivering. I started jumping up and down. “Yes! Yes!” I called. “I sounded so important, so cool!”
“You did, Molly,” Mel said to me, winking. “You did.”
She clapped her hands together and ushered me back to the shower, where I took a quick one—hardly giving myself time to daydream under the water stream, to think about the day ahead. I shrugged on a pretty dress and a nice fall jacket for what was sure to be a chilly evening ahead. I twirled in the studio, gazing at myself in every direction. Satisfied, I rushed out the door, allowing my long blonde hair to wave behind me.
CHAPTER SIX
Cubs stadium, situated in the messy haze of Wrigleyville, was crowded for game day. I rushed from the train to the sidewalk, seeing the great stadium before me. I felt like I was rushing headlong into my destiny; Drew. And I couldn’t focus on anything else. I bumped my elbow into people; I scrambled around great lines waiting to get into bars, pubs. They all wore Cubs gear and I realized, with a sudden lurch in my stomach, that I hadn’t dressed up for the game. What would he think of me?
But I didn’t have time. I pushed my way to the front, to the ticket line, wondering how I would ever get in. I called him automatically, bringing the phone to my ear and hearing his deep, nearly-arrogant, confident voice on the other line. “Great, you’re here. I left the ticket for you at the ticket stands. Just give them my name.”
He hung up, clearly busy with something else. I was wide-eyed, like a child left alone in the rain. I waited in the line, pushing my purse from my left side to my right. I was behind an old man, a diehard Cubs fan. I wanted to tell him about my grandfather for some reason, but stopped myself. I began playing with my hands, picking at my nails. The old man’s wrinkled, crinkled wife turned around to look at me. “You’ll need to stop picking your nails like that if you ever want to land a husband.” And then she took her ticket from the stand and was gone.
Shocked, my eyes wide, I took the final step toward the ticket man. “Hello—“ I began.
“Don’t worry about her. Comes here every game and insults my heritage. What can I do for you?” This was the man on the other side of the ticket booth.
I smiled at him, ruffling my hair. “Oh, yes. Thank you. I couldn’t believe—anyway.” I paused, putting my hand on the counter. I could hear the hustle of the people behind me, waiting for me. I had to compose myself. “I’m actually looking for a ticket, held for me by a Drew—“ I paused, realizing that I had no idea what his last name was. “Shit.” I looked down at my chomped nails. “I don’t know his last name.”
The man in the ticket booth began to laugh at me. “Girl, you’re having a rough day. Okay. Let me see. A fellow—about six foot four or so—handsome as hell—left a ticket under the name Drew Thompson. Do you think that’s him?”
I waved my hand over my eyes. “He certainly is handsome. I’m sure it’s him.”
The man smiled at me, revealing a single crooked tooth. “It better be. Or I’ll regret helping you.” He was kidding, of course. I felt his warmth emanating through my stomach. He handed me the ticket, and I was so grateful, I wanted to kiss the glass between us. “Enjoy the game!” he called.
“Thank you!” I called back, scurrying like mad to get into the stadium. After a few security checks, I found myself running through the lower section, where people flitted here and there, off to find their seats. I had no idea where Drew would be. I slowed to a halt, tapping my feet on the stone ground. Where the hell would this guy be? Frustrated, I arced my neck this way, then that, searching for him in the enormous sea.
And then; a whistle. I heard a whistle to the left. My head darted that way, spinning my entire body with it. My dress flung around my knees. Before me, there by section B, stood Drew. He was dressed perfectly—like it was Easter Sunday. His suit held fine touches of the bright blue and red of the Cubs. And his tie was a perfect homage to the team. I walked toward him, brimming with happiness. I had found him.
He leaned toward me, kissing me on the cheek. “Hey. Glad to have found you.”
“I—How did you know where to find me?”
“I actually have been to this stadium more times than
I can count, just—long ago,” Drew explained, turning away, expecting me to follow. We wound our way to the concession stand to the side of the great field. From there, I could see the green stretch out and the players begin their warm ups. I sighed, breathing in such beautiful air.
“Nothing like a day at the ball park,” Drew laughed, eyeing my exhilaration. He turned toward the concessions person and ordered us two Chicago Dogs and two Old Styles. He handed me the messy dog, covered with relish, sport peppers and a hint of celery salt. There were several other vegetables too.
I grinned up at him, gesturing toward the dog. “One of my favorite things about Chicago,” I chortled. “How did you live in New York without this sucker?”
Drew laughed, guiding us further down the stands. He kept going, going. I could feel the harsh stone beneath my feet, making my knees quake. I had lost a good deal of my dancer’s strength, I knew.
“Wow. Are we sitting actually on the field—with the players?” I asked him, laughing.
Drew didn’t answer. He turned us left, into the very front row, directly down the first base line. My heart leapt in my chest, thinking that this—this right here, this seat, this Chicago Dog, this Old Style beer—was my grandfather’s dream. If he could see me now. “Wow,” I breathed, sitting down next to him. “This is incredible.”
“About as good as it gets, I’d say,” Drew nodded, looking out over the field. His blue eyes flitted over the players, over the rest of the stands. “I can’t believe you’ve never been here before.”
