Dani’s face was wreathed in ecstatic smiles, but she didn’t say a word. She glanced at Miles, waiting for him to speak first.
“Not bad,” was what he said, with a smile of his own.
For Miles this was the equivalent of a ticker tape parade. Sara felt a rush of relief, more for Dani’s sake than her own. Miles rose from his chair and nodded at them. “Keep working hard, and you may have something. Sara, I’d like you to stop by my office this afternoon if you don’t mind. Say two o’clock?”
“Of course,” she said automatically, although a clutch of apprehension made her knees weak. What did Miles want to see her about? Was it good news or bad? He was a busy man—he didn’t make appointments with dancers unless he had something of significance to talk about.
“Relax,” Emilio said an hour later, when Dani had dismissed them with profuse thanks and compliments. He was walking her to the Director’s office before leaving to grab a late lunch. “You danced beautifully today. Whatever it is, it’s not bad news.”
Except that it was.
She perched on the very edge of the chair in front of Miles’ desk, her hands fisted in her lap.
“You’re still doing excellent work, Sara. What I saw today proves that. But I think it’s time for us to talk about transitioning you out of full-time performing. Of course that won’t happen overnight,” he continued, while Sara wondered if he could hear the thud of her heart as it fell out of her chest and onto the floor. “You’ll probably dance a full schedule next year. But as you know, I’m committed to making sure that as my dancers age they’re not left adrift. I saw too much of that when I was a young performer. I want to make sure I do everything I can to help our older dancers, whether it’s finding them new roles within the company, or elsewhere in the dance world. It’s never too soon to start thinking about that.”
He paused, obviously expecting her to say something.
“Of course,” she managed, past a lump in her throat that felt like a golf ball.
“We’re near the close of the season, and I wanted to plant the seed so you have time to think and plan over the summer.”
He paused again, but this time all she could manage was a nod.
He nodded back, apparently satisfied. “You really did excellent work today. You’re an integral part of this company, and I can’t tell you how grateful I am that you stayed with us all these years, even though I know you’ve had offers from other companies. And I hope that even after you’re no longer dancing, you’ll be working with us in some way. I myself think you’d be a marvelous teacher, but of course that will be your decision to make.”
He rose to his feet and she rose, too.
“Thanks for stopping by, Sara. I know this isn’t an easy discussion to have, with your director or with yourself. But I firmly believe it’s better to face down the future than close your eyes and pretend it will never come.”
Another nod, and then she was free to go.
As she walked down the hall towards the elevator, she felt weirdly disconnected from her body. Gone was the euphoria of the morning, replaced by a numbness that was worse than pain.
The elevator doors opened, and Jeannette, a dancer who’d been with the company even longer than she had, was in there. She took one look at Sara’s face and grabbed her in a quick bear hug. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
She tried to swallow past the lump. “Mr. Thackeray called me in for The Talk.”
“Oh, honey.”
There was no need to say anything more. Every dancer in the company knew what The Talk meant.
Jeanette squeezed tight for a moment and then released her. “It’s not the end, you know. He gave me The Talk last year, and I’m still dancing.”
Jeanette did still perform, although not as much as she used to. She’d also started teaching the youngest children at the NYBT school, a job she really seemed to love.
“To tell you the truth,” she went on, “I’m not sure I’d be engaged now if it wasn’t for The Talk. It forced me to think about the future, and what I wanted to do next. Speaking of which, you’re coming to my bachelorette party, right? It’s Sunday night, after the matinee. We’ll be celebrating the end of the season and my impending nuptials.”
“I wouldn’t miss it,” Sara said, and Jeanette gave her one more quick hug as the doors opened on her floor.
Sara took a deep breath as she continued down to street level, and then wished she hadn’t. The elevator was permeated with the scent of ballet—rosin and hairspray and perspiration.
Jeanette was proof that there was life after performing. She should feel comforted by her example.
Instead, she felt miserable. Jeanette seemed more than content with her new life, but it wasn’t the life Sara wanted.
She wanted to dance. But no one danced forever. Jeanette had settled for teaching and marriage, both wonderful things…and both things that Sara wasn’t ready for, and had never desired.
But this wasn’t the end. Only the beginning of the end. For a while longer, she could close her eyes and pretend that nothing had changed.
And she would dance her ass off for as long as they’d let her.
* * *
“That’s bullshit,” Emilio said indignantly, when she told him. They were walking home after the evening’s performance, even though her feet would have preferred a taxi. But her mind needed the walk, and Emilio had insisted on going with her.
“No, it’s not. You’re sweet, but we both know I’m—”
“Just as incredible on stage as you ever were. I swear, you should have taken the offer from that Canadian company a few years ago. They would have made you a principal.”
“I’d rather be a soloist here than a principal anywhere else.”
“So you’ve always said. And this is how Miles repays you?”
Sara shrugged. “He means to be kind. And he does more for retiring dancers than any director in the world. You know that.”
Emilio sighed as they passed the pub on the corner. “I know he’d like us all to believe that he—hey! It’s Nick.”
He stopped walking to peer through the pub’s window.
Sara followed his gaze and saw that he was right. And then her heart plummeted for the second time that day.
He was sitting at the bar beside a lovely blond woman, who had her hand on his arm as she laughed at something he’d said.
“Let’s go in and say hello,” Emilio said, grabbing her hand and heading for the door.
“Are you kidding? He’s obviously here on a date.” She tried to pull away, but Emilio succeeded in dragging her inside.
“Nick! Hey, Nick!”
Great. Just when she thought this day couldn’t get any worse.
Nick looked up, and when he caught sight of them he broke into a grin and waved them over. “How was the performance tonight? You did have a show, right?”
“It wasn’t bad. Sara was transcendent, as usual.”
The woman with Nick, who’d been regarding them with a polite smile, looked at her with sudden interest.
“You’re Sara?” she asked.
“Um, yes,” she said, even as Nick glanced at his date with what looked like sudden trepidation. “Have we met?”
The other woman was grinning. “Only in spirit. Nick murmured your name at an inopportune moment.”
It was hard to tell in the low light of the bar, but she could have sworn Nick was blushing. “It’s way more innocent than Sandy makes it sound. I’d just met her, and your names are sort of similar, so…”
Emilio was grinning. “I want to hear more about the inopportune moment.”
Sandy laughed. “Unfortunately, it wasn’t as inopportune as I’d hoped. We were just dancing. But after that little slip—not the first of the night, I might add—I knew that we’d never go further than dancing. It’s nice to meet you, Sara.” She held out her hand.
Sara felt better than she had in hours as she shook Sandy’s hand. She was sure it had been an innocent
mistake, just like Nick said, but the fact that he’d said her name when dancing with another woman sent a rush of warmth through her body.
Sandy excused herself a few minutes later, and Emilio turned to Nick as if he’d been waiting for the opportunity. “There’s a guest company performing tomorrow, so we’ve got the night off. We’re planning to celebrate by going out to dinner. Would you like to join us?”
Sara bit her lip. Why hadn’t Emilio checked with her before issuing this invitation? She was supposed to meet Harry downtown after his gig, which meant she wouldn’t be able to make a night of it uptown.
“Yeah, that would be great,” Nick said. “What time?”
“Seven o’clock?”
“Perfect. I’ll knock on your door at seven,” he said, looking at her.
“Um, sure. I won’t be able to stay too late, though. I’m meeting Harry downtown around eleven.”
There was a short pause. “Of course. No problem.”
Sandy came back from the restroom not long after, and Sara and Emilio said good night and continued their walk home. Once they reached her apartment, she turned to her friend with folded arms. “Okay, what? I can tell you’re filled to the brim with things to say.”
“That man is crazy about you.”
“Oh, please.”
“Even Sandy knows it, and she just met him. I’m telling you, he’s about one drink and a Nina Simone song away from writing you love poetry.”
“Cute.”
“If you break up with the asshole tonight, you’ll be free to pursue that gorgeous hunk of man meat with no distractions.”
“Nick lives in Washington. Harry lives in New York.”
“I’d rather spend one week with Nick than ten years with Harry Blake.”
“Just one of the many ways in which we’re different.”
“You let Nick rub your feet,” Emilio reminded her, and she felt a prickle of sensation as she remembered the gentle touch of those strong hands.
“I admit he’s gorgeous. I’ll even admit that I’m attracted to him. But I just had The Talk with Miles today, and the last thing I need is a reminder of how temporary everything in my life is. Nick’s only here for a few months. Harry and I at least have the potential for something lasting.”
She was expecting more snark, and was taken by surprise when Emilio grabbed her in a fierce hug. “I’m not temporary. You know that, right?”
“I know,” she said, pressing her cheek to his chest as she hugged him back.
“You’ve had a bitch of a day and I’m sorry for giving you a hard time.”
“It’s okay. You harass because you care.”
“And you’re not mad at me for inviting Nick to dinner?”
She thought about it. “I guess not. He is my neighbor, and you’re right about him being a nice guy. I like him.”
Emilio pulled back and kissed her on both cheeks. “All right, then. See you in class tomorrow.”
And tomorrow night, she was going out to dinner with Nick. Of course Emilio would be there too, and she was meeting Harry afterwards.
But it was hard to stifle the little flutter of anticipation that went through her as climbed the stairs to her apartment.
Chapter Four
She’s dating someone, Nick reminded himself for the hundredth time as he knocked on Sara’s door. And even if she were available, he wasn’t. He was only in New York for a few months, and in that time he needed to focus on the election—and his brother. A romantic relationship was the last thing he should be thinking about right now.
Then Sara opened the door, and he found himself thinking about it.
She was wearing a white top with floaty little sleeves that showed off her incredible arms, and black Capri pants that showed off her mile-long legs. She was also wearing hot pink platform sandals that made her only a few inches shorter than him.
The perfect kissing distance.
Nick was usually pretty good with women. He was in politics, after all—he could handle himself in any social situation. He was charming, he was suave, and he was good with words. He could joke, he could tease, he could compliment.
At the moment, however, it was hard to believe that he had such an arsenal of woman-slaying power at his disposal.
He meant to say something funny and mildly flirtatious. What he came up with instead was, “Hey.”
She smiled at him. “Hey yourself,” she said as her friend came to stand beside her. “Hey, man,” Emilio said, and then the three of them were heading down to street level.
He could have made a pithy comment about all the stairs, but he was walking behind Sara and all he could think about was her hair, which she’d worn down tonight. It was long and silky and hung down to the small of her back.
Then they were outside, and Nick took a deep breath of the soft night air. The sidewalks were full of people enjoying the June evening, walking and chatting and window shopping.
“How do you feel about Japanese? Would that be all right with you?” Sara asked him.
“Dancers eat about two ounces of food a day, and you can get really tiny portions at the place down the block,” Emilio explained. “Sara eats there a lot. I have to say, their sushi is pretty awesome. And their teriyaki steak.”
“That sounds great,” Nick said.
The restaurant was only half a block from the apartment building. When they got there Nick started to open the door for the three of them, but Emilio glanced at his watch. “You know, I hate to bail on you guys, but I have to get up pretty early tomorrow. Plus I had a late lunch, so I’m not really hungry. I think I’ll just head home.”
Sara frowned. “You’ve got to be kidding. Going out to dinner was your idea, remember?”
Emilio grinned at her. “I know, but I really should get some sleep tonight. Besides, I don’t want to be de trop.”
Sara glared at him. “You’re not de trop. This isn’t a date, Emilio. I’m already dating someone, remember?”
Nick felt a twinge of possessiveness as she said the words, but he suppressed it. It was good that the subject of Sara’s non-single status had come up. He needed a reminder to enjoy her company as a neighbor and prospective friend without thinking things he shouldn’t be thinking.
Emilio patted him on the back. “Don’t worry about the asshole. They’re not serious.”
“Emilio!”
“See you tomorrow, love. Have a nice night, you two.”
“I’m going to kill him,” Sara muttered, looking after her friend as he sauntered down the sidewalk. Then she glanced back at Nick. “I’m so sorry about that. He’s not exactly Harry’s biggest fan. I hope you’re not, um, offended or anything.”
“Because he called Harry an asshole?”
“Yes.”
He considered telling Sara it was true, but that wasn’t his place. Sara was the one dating him. If she was as smart as she seemed, she’d figure it out on her own.
So he just shook his head. “If you’re not offended, I’m not offended. But I am hungry. Are you still up for dinner?”
She smiled up at him, and the twinge of possessiveness came back. “Absolutely.”
He held the door open for her, and they went inside.
There was a mirror hanging on the wall behind the hostess station, and he caught a glimpse of himself and Sara reflected in the glass.
That couple looks good together, he thought in the instant before he realized it was them.
He glanced down at Sara, who was talking to the hostess. She laughed at something the other woman said, a rich, throaty chuckle that gave him a warm tingle behind his breastbone.
The urge to touch her—to put an arm around her waist or stroke her hair, to make some kind of intimate, territorial gesture—was so strong and seemed so instinctive that he had to make a conscious effort not to do it.
He followed Sara and the hostess to their table.
The restaurant was cool and dark and intimate, with lacquered tables and cushioned chairs and lig
hts behind rice paper screens. There were plants and flowers everywhere, their scents mingling with the odors of delicious food.
“Nice place,” he said as they sat down.
Sara smiled at him across the table. “I hope you like the food.” She paused. “I know I said this before, but I really am sorry about Emilio. For what he said about Harry, and for the whole, um, matchmaking thing. He’s a wonderful person, but he can be a little…”
“Over the top?”
“That’s one way to put it. Sometimes he plays into his own stereotype a little.”
“How do you mean?”
She propped her chin in her hand, looking thoughtful. “Well…I think sometimes we use other peoples’ expectations as a kind of…I don’t know, safety net. Like a costume we can put on when we want to, because people are already looking for us to be that way. Emilio’s a gay ballet dancer, so people expect him to be outrageous and flamboyant. Sometimes he resents that stereotype, and sometimes I think he uses it. Having a reputation for outrageousness gives him the freedom to be outrageous. To say whatever he’s thinking. You know?”
He looked at her. “That’s pretty insightful.”
She blushed a little, and it occurred to him that she wasn’t used to getting compliments.
If she were dating him instead of Harry, she’d be used to getting compliments.
The waiter brought a teapot and two fragile-looking cups, and even though he would have preferred a cold beer or a Scotch on the rocks he was so charmed by watching Sara pour out the tea that he didn’t order anything else. She held the pot gracefully, one slender, fine-boned hand under the spout as she tipped it slightly to let the steaming liquid spill out in an aromatic stream. She set the pot back down, and when she lifted her cup he lifted his, too.
“To new neighbors,” he heard himself say, although he’d never proposed a toast with hot tea before.
They clinked their cups carefully and sipped. It was actually pretty good.
“So what’s your stereotype, then?” he asked as Sara set her cup down.
“What do you mean?”
“You said we all use them. As costumes. So what’s yours?”
Into Your Arms (A Contemporary Romance Novel) Page 5
