Dance With Me

by Heidi Cullinan

  It was a measure of his desperation that he tried. But though his heart hammered at the top of his throat all the way through the sequence of rings, in the end his call went to Ed's voicemail. Feeling ridiculous, Laurie faltered through a message saying what he'd already told Ed, that his tickets were at the Will Call booth, and hung up.

  Now what?

  You could always dance by yourself.

  The thought arrested Laurie. Dance by himself. Not rehearse—that wasn't the problem. Dancing, though. Dancing for fun. Free-form. An improv, the way it was when he danced with Ed. Could that possibly work?

  He didn't know, but he found himself abruptly eager to try.

  Laurie turned back and stuck his head in the doorway of Vicky's office again.

  “Sorry,” he said, “But I wondered—is there a room upstairs free just now? The regular aerobics room, maybe? Not the gym?”

  Vicky paused, thinking. “The aerobics room is in use, but 3B is clear. Will that do?”

  Laurie would make sure it did. “Yes. Thank you.” He nodded to her again, and this time added one to the young man as well. “I won't be very long.”

  After a quick trip out to his car to grab his iPod and dig a portable speaker out of his trunk, he headed to 3B, heart pounding a little fast. The room was stale and stuffy and bordering on too small, but after Laurie pushed the boxes of yoga equipment to the side, he had adequate space. Probably. Well, it didn't matter really, did it? This was just a lark. Likely it wouldn't even work.

  The dismissals didn't hold, though. He was eager for this in a way that, if anyone else were watching, would make him self-conscious. But that was just the point, wasn't it? No one was here. He almost laughed. Good God, how the mighty have fallen. He who had once performed at the Met was now worried someone might see him cutting loose in a storeroom.

  But he felt very serious, each action weighted as he set the player up in the ledge by the window. He was more meticulous now than he had ever felt preparing for a performance. He took a moment to center himself. He did a few stretches. He made himself feel the space of the room, absorb the energy of it, let its boundaries, its weight, its feel become part of him.

  He put on his favorite playlist, took a centering breath, and let himself go.

  It was clumsy at first. He hadn't danced like this in a while, not by himself, not for himself. This was something he'd done a great deal of when he was very young, so young the memory was washed to sepia with age. Eventually instruction had burned improv out of him. Even now he couldn't quite shake the background notation of what he was doing: this was a slide. That was a leap. An arabesque but tweaked into something that would have cost him points in a competition but onstage would have been considered brilliant. But eventually even this faded too, and he lost himself and simply danced.

  He didn't compose, didn't demonstrate, and didn't perform. He just let the music move him across the room as it would, let it slide under his skin and into his blood, letting it take his body. No movement was given to please a judge or dazzle an audience. He did not think. He did not plan. He simply moved. And in that movement, he found an ease he hadn't known he needed, a peace he had forgotten he should even seek. The soulless movement of the morning, the sadness of the past, the fear of the future fell away, leaving only the dance. Leaving him whole and strong and sure.

  And then, like a slow tide, he felt the yearning come in. It mixed with memory, of the feel of Ed's hands on his body as he taught him to dance, the smell of him that had lingered in Laurie's bed and in the taste of his kiss. It was a terrifying want, and it should have slowed him down, but Laurie was an artist, so he used the terror as fuel instead, pushing it into the dance, exposing himself in movement in a way he would never let himself let go in life. He let his longing for Ed fill him, let it put an edge on every turn and a sharp ache in every extension of his arms. Thinking of the possible encounter to come this evening, Laurie let go, let himself imagine. Let himself want.

  When it was spent, he stopped. He was dripping with sweat and breathing hard, his chest burning, his arms and legs aching. But he felt renewed all the way to his core, and he wasn't listless anymore. Smiling, he snapped off the music and wiped his face with the hem of his shirt as he leaned back against the wall.

  He was reaching for the bottle of water he'd set beside the player when a movement on the other side of the room startled him. The door, which had been cracked just a hair open, slammed quickly shut. But before it did, Laurie thought he caught a flash of bright green.

  Self-consciousness tried to rise, but it gained no real purchase. The dance had done its job. He felt good. He felt released, but he felt energized too. He thought of the performance ahead, and he didn't so much as flinch.

  He thought of the night with Ed to come, and his blood hummed.

  Draining the bottle of water, Laurie wiped his lips and pushed away from the wall.

  It was time to dance.

  Ed had gone to the State to see a show two years ago, but other than that, he really hadn't gone to the theaters in downtown Minneapolis for much. The State was a nice place, and the seats were comfortable. It was elegant and ornate, the walls all gilded and scrolled, and the lights dripped with little bits of crystal. It had made him feel underdressed the last time, though, and he'd forgotten that part until tonight.

  Worst part was, he'd dressed up. It wasn't like Ed didn't own nice clothes. He worked in an office, for crying out loud. And thanks to that afternoon's cleaning spree, he'd remembered just how many nice clothes he had, and he'd come in a suit coat his mom had rushed out for one-hour cleaning after rescuing it from the bottom of the closet. But Ed was not naturally a dress-up kind of guy, and this place had been built, it was clear, for those who didn't know anything but dressing up. And it reminded him that Laurie was that kind of guy.

  What he didn't understand, and what plagued his thoughts as he settled into his seat and waited for the show to start, was why suddenly he cared about that. It had been the haunting thought of Laurie seeing his place which had stirred him to clean when no one and nothing else had been able to do so. Because Laurie mattered. What Laurie thought mattered. What Laurie did mattered, which was why he was here, but it was weirding Ed out a little. A month and a half ago, he was baiting Laurie on a regular basis and had a hard time remembering his name. Now he was acting like a besotted lover. Which he supposed he was. Or wanted to be. Or something.

  Ed slouched in his seat and rubbed his forehead, shutting his eyes as the confusion swam inside him. How the fuck did he get here? They hadn't even had sex, except for that drunken bit he couldn't remember. They'd had that just that one kiss. Well, two kisses.

  But they'd danced. And as Ed sat there marinating in longing and confusion, he admitted it was the dancing that had done him in.

  Ed swore and shifted in his seat. Goddamn, but this was the biggest fucking cock-tease ever, and the worst part was he couldn't figure out which one of them was doing the teasing.

  Thinking of cocks made him wonder if he'd get to taste Laurie's tonight.

  He hoped to hell he got to see him in tights again, at least.

  “Put your feet down, Maurer, and let me get to my damn seat.”

  Ed sat up abruptly, blinking at the familiar face glaring playfully down at him. “Duon?” He blinked again as he saw Vicky and several other kids from the center behind Duon. “What the hell! What are you guys doing here?”

  “We're here to mow the lawn. What the hell you think we're here to do?” Duon nudged Ed's feet again. “Seriously man. We had to park a fucking mile away. Let me sit my ass down.”

  Ed stood, letting the crew pass. There were ten kids total, plus Vicky; Vicky moved through and placed herself in the center of them. Duon sat next to Ed.

  “Laurie gave us tickets,” Vicky explained to Ed's continued confusion. “Just this afternoon.”

  Ed nodded, still slightly bewildered as he sat down. To Duon he said, “Didn't think you'd come to the ballet.”
>
  “Same to you,” Duon shot back. He settled into his seat and looked around. He looked like he was fighting to keep from being impressed. And losing. “Man. I feel like I'm in a queen's palace or something.”

  “Yeah,” Ed agreed. That was about all the eloquence he had. But it actually eased him a little to sit there with Duon, who was as fish-out-of-water as he was.

  The house lights flickered and dimmed, and Ed settled in to watch the show.

  It wasn't bad. Ed vaguely knew the story, but it was mystery enough that he got caught up in the show. Yeah, the kids were definitely amateur, but they were cute. It made him feel good to see all the families and aunts and uncles and grandparents in the audience—because, honestly, outside of him and a few other anomalies, it was clear that everyone was here for a kid—and made him think of his own youth, of his mom coming to all his games and his dad teaching him to throw. It made him yearn, just a little, in a way he'd never expected to, for a family of his own. He'd never really decided for or against kids, but he wasn't doing it without a partner, so he figured he should start there before he made the call.

  He wondered what it would be like to have kids with Laurie.

  Beside him, Duon shifted, and Ed glanced at him as surreptitiously as he could. Duon's expression was softer than it usually was. It remained that way even when the curtain came down for intermission. They left to file into the hallway with the others. After a visit to the restroom, they ended up holding up the same part of the wall, as Vicky took the few who had brought money to buy some refreshments.

  “So all those kids been taking dance,” Duon observed at last, “since they was little.” He snorted. “Hell. Some of them still are little. Shit, man.”

  “My sister took for a few years,” Ed offered, “but she had to quit because it was too expensive. The weekly fees weren't so bad, but the shoes and the costumes and the performance fees—well.”

  They stood together and watched the crowd go by.

  “I wonder what that's like,” Duon said after a while.

  “To take dance?” Ed asked.

  “To have family that would pay that kind of money out on you for something you wanted. That could pay. Even for a few years.”

  It was a bald confession for anyone, but from Duon it was almost alarming. Ed felt he should say something, but he didn't know what there was to say. Before he could come up with anything, the lights flickered, and they had to make their way back to their seats again. Ed searched a little longer for something wise or at least pithy to offer the boy, but Duon had buried himself in his program, signaling that he was done talking. Giving up, Ed picked up his own and did the same, though more absently, as he waited for the show to start back up again.

  When it did, he saw Laurie.

  At first, Ed didn't recognize him. He came out on the arm of a ballerina who was wearing a seriously intense tutu, but Laurie had his hair slicked back and something around his eyes—liner, but glitter too. He wore all silver, and his costume was much simpler than his partner's, but he glistened in the stage lights. And oh, yeah, he was wearing tights. His muscular legs were defined by the smooth white silk, and the bulge in his crotch was like a magnet to Ed's eye. God.

  God.

  And then Laurie was gone again. Ed sat through parade after parade of other people's kids dancing to all different kinds of music in a rainbow array of costumes, and each time they came out, he was disappointed they weren't Laurie. But just when he was about to give up hope, there Laurie was with the tutu lady again. He mostly, to Ed's disappointment, propped her up while she did all manner of tricky dances. It was nice, but he wanted to see Laurie move. He supposed this was it, and he tried to enjoy it to its fullest, but mostly he just felt disappointed.

  But then the tutu lady left, and Laurie remained. And he danced.

  He was beautiful.

  Ed couldn't describe what Laurie was doing—he barely understood. Leaping. Arcing. He'd move his arms, and slide his leg up his other leg, and he'd kick and leap again. Ed didn't know what it was. He just knew it was...beautiful. It was like watching light. It was like... God, he kept stuttering over it, and it made him stare all the harder, trying to figure it out. It was like Laurie was finding something inside Ed and pulling it out. And it wasn't all, or even much, that it was Laurie and that Ed was attracted to him. It was a lot more than that. He'd have been moved by this even if he'd never met the man. As Laurie leaped and turned and kicked kind of all at once, and the audience gasped in wonder, something in Ed opened like a lotus, and he knew.

  It was that Laurie was beautiful. It was that Laurie was male, and he was beautiful, and when he danced, he made male beauty come alive. Watching him dance was moving Ed because he'd never really seen anybody do that, and he hadn't known it was something he yearned for until he saw it. Laurie wasn't just good. Laurie was a fucking artist. As far as Ed was concerned, he was a legend.

  And I've kissed him. A soft, startled thrill rushed through Ed, the kind he hadn't had since he was twelve.

  I've kissed him, and I might just kiss him again.

  Soon.

  And then, without warning, Laurie fell.

  It was a brief stumble, just a turn that didn't quite pan out, and he was back on his feet almost instantly, but even Ed could tell it had been a mistake. The crowd erupted in whispers, and onstage, Laurie's expression went glassy as he tried to hide his mortification. But the spell was broken now, the grace gone. The rest of the dance seemed jerky and stiff, and when it was time for Laurie to exit, he all but bolted into the wings.

  Beside Ed, Duon whispered, “Shit.”

  Ed ached for Laurie, and his absence left Ed feeling bereft. The tutu chick was back, and yeah, she was fine, but who cared? How could anybody care about anybody else dancing after watching Laurie? Ed wanted to see him dance again. And he wanted to dance with Laurie again too. He wanted to feel that beauty in his arms. He wanted... He wanted....

  Beside him, Duon stirred, and Ed looked down at his hands.

  The show was dragging now, but it was because Ed wanted to get to the part where he went backstage to tell Laurie how much he'd liked his dance, to reassure him he'd done well. When the lights finally came up and everyone came out, Laurie wasn't with them. Eventually the dancers all disappeared behind the curtain again, and the house lights came up in full as the audience rose.

  Vicky was beaming. “What a show! Did you guys like it?”

  The kids murmured varying degrees of interest. Most of the guys pretended to be bored, which gave the girls great outlet to tease them and try to get them to admit it was cool. Duon remained quiet, as did Ed.

  “We need to head out,” Vicky said as the crowd began to move toward the door. “You want to come with us, Ed? We're going back for sundaes at the center before I take everybody home.”

  Ed cleared his throat. “Ah—no. I'm—” He glanced at the stage door, and the rest got cut off by a sudden rush of nerves.

  Vicky grinned. “Tell Laurie hi. Tell him he did great. Don't let him focus on that little flub, either. Come on, guys. Stick together, and nobody wander off.”

  Ed stepped back to let them pass. Then, trembling a little, he headed for the stage.

  He felt out of place again now that the magic of the performance had been spent, and by the time he was on the stairs, ducking little girls in angel costumes and dressed as snowflakes, wrapped in the din of parents and children greeting one another, it just felt so surreal, and not in a good way anymore. He wished the center kids were with him, because at least they'd feel out of place together.

  A stagehand in a headset gave him a narrow look, like he wanted to expel Ed for daring to be where he shouldn't. Ed stammered that he was looking for Laurie, that he was expecting Ed. He felt like an idiot, but he kept trying to climb back into the spell Laurie had cast on the stage, trying to recapture that feeling he'd felt then. He followed the stagehand down the hall, nodding thanks as he saw the door. He dodged mothers and grandmothers and
giggling teenage girls—weren't there any males in this show?—and then he was at the door, watching his own hand knock. He felt almost sick with nerves, and he might as well have been standing there buck naked for as exposed as he felt. And then the door opened, and there Laurie was.

  He was still in his costume, still glinting and glistening, his eyes still lined and his face spackled with glitter. His hair was mussed, like he'd been shoving his hand in it. He looked like a fairy prince, more surreal up close than he'd been on the stage.

  He was still wearing the tights.

  Laurie smiled weakly, and the glitter twinkled in the dim light of the hall. He was upset, Ed could tell.

  “You did great,” he said.

  Laurie's smile disappeared. “I was awful.” He sighed and shoved his hand into his hair. Then he composed himself and forced another smile. “Would you like to come in?”

  Ed did. He watched Laurie shut the door, watched him turn around, looking nervous and trying to hide it. Ed tried to find the words to reassure him, tried to find the way to erase that look from Laurie's face, to get his hands to stop worrying each other, to get him to glow again. But he couldn't think of anything to say, couldn't imagine how in the world he could ever gather together the chaos inside him and put it into mere words. Couldn't think of how he could ever explain what watching Laurie onstage had done to him.

  So he didn't say anything at all. He just reached out, slid a hand behind Laurie's neck, and kissed him.

  When the kiss began, Laurie's eyes were still open.

  If he'd seen it coming or had even half expected it, he might have closed his eyes and sank into it right away. But it was the last thing he'd figured Ed would do, so he just stood there for a few heavy seconds, stunned. He stared into Ed's face, so close to his own it was out of focus. He stared at Ed's eyes, at thick, dark lashes gently closed. He felt the movement of his mouth, his tongue stealing inside. But he saw Ed's face, soft, tender, lost inside the kiss, and it undid him.

  Shutting his eyes at last, Laurie slid his hand to the back of Ed's neck, mirroring the grasp against his own, and then he tilted his head slightly to the side and deepened the kiss. He dove deep into that spice, into the wet softness of him, taking in deep draughts of Ed, woodsy and sharp, and he sucked in air through his nose as he came up for air before sliding in again. The terror and then the thrill and the ultimate shame of the performance warred with the yearning he'd had for so long for Ed. Now it was real, now it was here in his mouth, here in Ed.