“You are quite insane, Pilot Scamo.” She giggled, shaking her head.
They joked with each other on the way back to her apartment, then he walked her to her door. “Goodnight, Boheme Dali.”
He kissed her gently, and she smiled. “Goodnight, Pilot. Thank you for dinner, for driving me home, and—thank you.”
He stroked her cheek. “May I call you tomorrow?”
She nodded, and he kissed her one more time before he waved goodbye.
Boh went inside to find Grace asleep on the couch, Beelzebub curled on top of her head, awake, watching Boh with baleful eyes. “You’re just jealous I got to kiss a gorgeous man,” she whispered, draping a blanket over Grace’s sleeping form.
When she was in bed, all she could think about was Pilot’s kiss, his sweet smile, his touch, and she wished she were curled up next to him right now.
When she slept, she dreamed of dancing into his arms and never leaving that loving embrace. When she woke, she woke to a text message of two words.
Lightning bolt.
Chapter Seven
“I wasn’t being cheesy, I swear, but it just came to me. I was thinking about meeting you, and then when I got home, some hokey rom-com movie was on cable. That one with the guy with the floppy hair, says fuck a lot.”
Boh giggled. “Four Weddings and a Funeral?”
“That’s the one.” Pilot sipped his coffee. “Well, right at the very end, there’s that meeting between the sick-kick guy and the posh woman, and there’s this frisson. He even says it ‘Gosh, thunderbolt city.’ Are you laughing at my English accent?”
“No, no.” Boh stuck her tongue in her cheek. Had she only known this man for 24 hours? Plot flicked a crumb of her bagel at her and she grinned. “So, carry on.”
“Heard of Faraday cages?”
Boh screwed up her face. “Should I have?”
“Ah, the youth of today. Anyway, ignoramus, a Faraday cage is a kind of enclosure which will shield things, a human, anything from electricity. Say you got hit by lightning in your car—wouldn’t hurt you because the car itself is a Faraday cage.”
“Okay, I get that, Bill Nye, but what does it have to do with me, and our project?”
Pilot looked pleased with himself. “I’m glad you asked, Miss Sassy.” He pulled out a sheet of paper on which he’d drawn something that resembled a birdcage. Inside of it, he’d drawn a figure, a ballerina, Boh, capturing her perfectly in mid-flight, her long limbs angled and graceful, mirroring the lightning bolts that were hitting the cage.
“Wow.”
“You like it? The idea?”
“I like the idea and the sketch. How the hell did you catch my likeness so well?”
Pilot grinned. “It’s a useful skill to have. But, seriously, what do you think? A series of movement and power. I’m not saying we do the entire shoot in a Faraday cage; I see it as a progression, maybe you in the cage at first, even hiding from the element until later in the series when you’re almost battling with it. I’m rambling.”
“You are, a little, but I think it’s a great start.” She looked back at the sketch. She loved the visual of it. “Would you do it as a modern piece or retro? Because I’m think this would look great as sepia-toned thing … God, listen to me. You’re the photographer.”
Pilot leaned forward. “Listen, this is a collaboration, Boh. We work together. Besides … you can order me around any time you like.”
“Ha, don’t say that,” she laughed, blushing. Pilot traced a line with his fingertip across her palm and smiled at her.
“Will you be late for class?”
She shook her head. “I’m not scheduled until nine. I’m glad you called.”
“Are you free for dinner later?”
She made a face. “That I don’t know. Kristof is still running Vlad and me ragged and his usual trick is to keep us late on weeknights. Yesterday, I was lucky. May I let you know later?”
“Of course. Look, I have meetings in Manhattan all day so any time you have free to talk about the project, I’d appreciate it, but I also know you have to have downtime, so I won’t be offended if you cry off.”
Boh secretly thought that she would love to spend her downtime with Pilot, but she also knew she had to be mature about this. The last thing she wanted him to think was that she was a star-struck schoolgirl with a crush. He was studying her as if trying to read her mind.
“This has all happened quickly, and Boh, I want you to know—” he faltered and looked away, “I kissed you.”
“Yes.”
“That wasn’t very professional of me, and I’m aware you might think it’s something I always do with my subjects. You can believe me or not, but I don’t. I haven’t. I’ve never been a player, despite what my ex-wife might say. If any of this makes you uncomfortable, I want you to tell me.”
He was letting her down, obviously regretting kissing her. Boh swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded.
“I appreciate that.” She could feel her cheeks burning. Here, in front of her, was a world-famous photographer, and when she’d searched him on the Internet, she’d been disbelieving that the man who had kissed her and joked around with her could be so very out of her league. “I do have to focus on the performance,” she said quietly, but managed to smile at him, “as well as our project.”
“I would never put your job in jeopardy, Boh, I promise.” He smiled at her. “Boh … I’m twice your age, divorced, and a wreck. You deserve more.”
Boh wondered that the atmosphere between them had changed so suddenly from fun-loving to serious. “Pilot, I’m not someone who craves other people’s company, in fact, I actively seek out situations where I can be alone. But I like spending time with you.”
Pilot smiled. “Same here. Friends?”
“Friends.”
Pilot walked Boh back to the ballet company and then bid her goodbye. As he walked back to the car, he shook his head. He’d stayed awake all night thinking about her and the usual doubts about his self-worth had come flooding in. He’d tried to argue that he shouldn’t ignore the kind of chemistry that had been instantly there between them, but neither could he bring Boh into his shitty life at the moment. Once he was free of Eugenie, maybe.
So he’d given Boh an out.
Damn it.
His phone buzzed, and he saw it was his mother calling. “Hey, Mom.”
“Hey, cutie. How are you? I haven’t heard from you for a few days.”
Pilot smiled to himself. Since his divorce, Blair Scamo had been more attentive than usual, worried that her son would fall into one of the depressive moods he was prone to. Blair had disliked Eugenie from the beginning, but she also respected her son’s decisions and had been polite and kind to Eugenie throughout the marriage. She’d also seen Pilot at his most broken, when Eugenie’s cruelty had taken his pride, his confidence, and on more than one occasion, his health.
“I’m …” He was about to tell her that he was good, but he knew it would be a lie. Eugenie’s latest visit had put a strain on him that he was finding hard to get past. He sighed. “Genie came to see me the other day. She wants a baby.”
“Oh, for the love of God.” He could hear his mother’s anger. “I’ve said it before, Pilot. You need to ghost her, cut her out entirely.”
He was silent for a moment, and when Blair spoke again, her tone was softer. “Sometimes I forget the man I raised. You’re too good, Pilot, and I know that sounds strange. You were a victim of domestic abuse, Pilot—”
“Don’t say that, Mom, please.” Pilot winced at his mother’s words.
“Don’t be a macho man. There’s no shame in admitting that, Pilot. It happens to the strongest people, the very strongest. The strong and the good. It’s time, my boy.”
The trouble was—Pilot was embarrassed. Humiliated on more than one occasion by Genie in public, physically and emotionally attacked in private. Subconsciously, he touched the half-moon scar at the corner of his right eye. A broken champa
gne bottle that time. It could have ended his career, and he had no doubt that was exactly what Genie had wanted—to hurt him in the worst way.
He knew what he had to do. A new apartment, try to keep the details out of the press. He should keep the one in his present building as a decoy. It was a start.
That was the other reason he had backed away from Boh. Eugenie’s jealousy knew no limits and if she found out he was seeing someone else—someone so much younger and, in Pilot’s opinion, far more beautiful and sweet—he couldn’t bear the thought of Boh getting caught up in the ferocity of Genie’s rage.
God, what a fucking mess of a life. He could feel the black cloud descending on him. He stopped and got his bearings. What was next? What was he on his way to do?
He checked his schedule on his phone and turned down Broadway, making his way to his studio.
Work. Work was what would push the pain away, although he wished with all his being that when he reached his studio, Boh would be there to hold him in her arms.
Chapter Eight
“Where the fuck have you been?”
Kristof’s rage filled the studio, and, humiliated, Boh put her bag down before she answered him, trying to keep her voice steady. “I wasn’t scheduled until nine, Kristof, and it’s ten of now.”
She saw Serena smirk. Kristof’s dark eyes burrowed into hers. “So we’re adding illiterate to tardy now?” He stormed outside of the studio and Boh saw him rip the class schedules from the corkboard on the wall outside the studio. Her heart sank. Clearly, there had been another late schedule change. Kristof came in and shoved the piece of paper at her. Sure enough, under her name was “Mendelev, Studio 6, 8 a.m.”
“I didn’t see this. When I left last night, it was still—”
“I don’t want your fucking excuses, Boh. Get changed into the white leotard.”
Ah. He often made them change into different clothes to better see the lines of their bodies when they danced. She grabbed her bag and headed out of the door.
“No. Get changed—here.”
Boh stopped, shocked. A murmur went around the class. What the hell? Kristof’s eyes gleamed with malice. “Do it. Clearly, you don’t mind stripping down for Pilot Scamo, so, so shy?”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“You’re fucking him. We all know about it. So, come on. Get changed and let us all see what he sees.”
Serena gave a chuckle and Boh shot her a fierce glare. “Who I see in my private time is my business, but you’re wrong. Pilot Scamo and I are just friends and I have no intention of stripping off just because you’re in one of your petty tempers, Kristof.”
Boh heard the gasp from some of her cohort, and she was shocked at her own response to the man. She saw anger ripple across his face. “Strip or get out,” he said steadily. “And someone else will dance the lead in the workshop.”
Bastard. She would not let him take what she had worked so hard for. Pulling her arms into her sweatshirt, she yanked the bottom of it down to cover her ass and stripped off her pants and underwear. Kristof watched her in amusement as she deftly changed into her leotard without exposing any intimate parts.
“There, that wasn’t so hard, was it? Now, first positions.”
Boh was still angry at the end of the class, and they all walked back to the changing rooms, she hooked her finger in the back of Serena’s top and yanked her back. “Keep your filthy little rumors to yourself, bitch.”
Serena extracted herself from Boh’s grip and gave her the finger. “We’re all pretty sick of this precious little virgin routine, Dali. No one believes it. So fuck you and your skeevy photographer.”
Boh, incensed, lunged for the other girl, but Grace and Fernanda pulled her back. “Fuck off, Serena,” Grace said, and, snickering, Serena walked away. “Ignore her, Boh, she’s just being—”
“A little cu—”
“Boh! This isn’t like you. Come on.” Grace hauled her away, down to the cafeteria. When they were seated, Boh sighed and folded her arms on the table, resting her head on them.
“Sorry, Gracie,” she said, “I’m a grouch today.”
Gracie studied her. “You were already gone when I left the apartment this morning. Where did you go?”
Boh could feel her face burn. “I had a breakfast meeting with Pilot Scamo.”
Grace smiled. “You like him.”
“I do, but this is a working relationship.” He’d made that clear, she thought sadly. She tried to smile at Grace. “But he’s going to be working with all of us, and so I would hate for any rumors to get back to him, embarrass him. Untrue rumors.”
“You’re sweet, but I think Scamo can look after himself. He is a phenomenal photographer.” Grace was flicking through some of Pilot’s images on her phone. She smiled at her friend. “If anyone can capture you, Boh, it’s him. I can’t wait to see what he does.”
“With all of us,” Boh corrected but couldn’t help the little smile that escaped from her. Grace laughed and squeezed her arm.
“You know what, Boh? If you have a crush, that’s okay. You can date who you want. You should date, at your age. How come you never have?”
Boh felt the usual dread seep into her chest, the fear that always followed when someone questioned her solitary life. But before she could answer her, their attention was caught by the elderly woman walking slowly into the room, her gaze wheeling around, her expression one of confusion. Grace and Boh were up immediately to go to her side.
“Madam Vasquez? Are you okay?”
The elderly woman smiled at them both. “June, Sally, how lovely to see you.”
Grace and Boh exchanged a glance. Eleonor Vasquez was a former prima ballerina, one of the world’s greatest, with one of the longest careers of a dancer ever, her career mercifully unhampered by serious injury. What ended her career eventually was the scandal of her lifelong love affair with Celine Peletier becoming public in an age when homosexuality and lesbian relationship were still taboo.
Vasquez, a firebrand from Argentina, had made a public statement about her love for the Frenchwoman. “My dancing career was my passion,” she told reporters, “but my love Celine is my life.”
The two women had been together for over 50 years now, but time had caught up with Eleonor a decade ago. Dementia. The ballet company, loyal to her to the last, allowed her to live with Celine in one of the company’s apartments next to the studios, and even allowed her to “teach” still. A few of the dancers would give the extra time to be taught by this living legend, Boh and Grace among them. They didn’t mind being whoever she wanted them to be for that hour.
Serena and some of the others wouldn’t give that time, dismissing the elderly woman as a “demented fool.” But the love Eleonor and Celine shared was an inspiration to most of the troupe, and their support, Boh knew, meant the world to Celine Peletier.
She and Grace walked Eleonor back to her apartment now, where they were met by an exasperated looking Celine. “You wandered off again?”
Eleonor beamed at her lover. “How lovely to see you, Petal,” she said, using her pet names for Celine. Celine rolled her eyes and steered Eleonor into the apartment. She smiled gratefully at Boh and Grace. “Thank you, girls. Now, my little white swan, let’s get you to bed.”
Grace closed the door quietly and the two women walked slowly back down to the studios.
“Puts any little annoyance into perspective, doesn’t it?”
Boh nodded. “It does.” She recalled the way Eleonor and Celine looked at each other and her heart ached. To have so much love and to risk losing your partner to the relentless horror of dementia … she couldn’t imagine. Their love made her crush on Pilot seem even more ridiculous. He was a grownup and she was just a kid … no matter if their attraction had been so palpable it was insane.
“What’s on your mind?” Grace asked her, but Boh just nodded.
“Nothing. Let’s go dance.”
Serena snorted the ivory white line
from the table and wiped her nostrils, grinning at Kristof as she laid back on top of him. “That was a particularly cruel trick you played on little Miss Perfect this morning, but I have to say, I enjoyed it.”
She straddled his naked form and reached for his cock, stroking it, trying to get him hard again. He was smoking a joint, watching her carefully. She knew this look in his eyes; it was spite. His cock remained limp, and she gave up, rolling onto the side of his bed and getting up.
“Where are you going?”
“To pee.”
She went into the bathroom and sat down on the toilet. Sex with Kristof had been thrilling at the start. The first day she had arrived at the company, already an established member of another rival company, he had singled her out, asked her to stay after the final class of the day.
He’d fucked her in his office, bending her over his desk and thrusting hard. Since then, two years ago, they’d continued to screw each other but Serena had been disappointed that it had gotten her no further than soloist. She’d begged Kristof to make her principal after the former lead had moved on, and she had thought she was close to it. But then Kristof had seen Boheme Dali dance and promoted her to principal instead.
He’d pacified a furious Serena with even more sex, and as many appetite-suppressing drugs and cocaine as she could handle, but still, it rankled. Serena knew Boh was the superior dancer—hell, Serena secretly loved to watch the other girl dance—but her upbringing meant she expected nothing to be denied to her. So she made Boh’s life a misery.
And she knew something about Boheme that no one else did. Crashing a party at Boh and Grace’s apartment, she’d seen a handwritten letter addressed to Boh and had pocketed it on a whim. She hadn’t imagined the contents of that letter would be so salacious, so useful. Boh’s daddy was a bad, bad man. Boh’s pure virginal act was just that, an act, even if she was the victim of her pedophile father. Serena had kept Boh’s secret, not out of charity, but she was waiting for the opportune moment to drop it on her.
Maybe that moment was coming sooner than later, Serena pondered now as she washed her hands. She toyed with telling Kristof about the letter but decided against it. Her erstwhile lover was already too damn preoccupied with Boh as it was. She looked in the mirror, seeing her strawberry blonde hair was messy and was sticking to the sweat on her forehead. She splashed water on her face and smoothed down her hair. As she walked back in the bed, Kristof was scribbling in his notebook, working out choreography, she knew.
The Virgin’s Dance_Older Man Younger Woman Romance Page 4
