Chapter 14
Daisy
“You’re spicy today,” Tuth admired, watching me pour a third drink before dinner. “Who is this Daisy?”
“Want some?” I offered, feeling the effects of the alcohol already.
“Actually, I can’t stay tonight. Will you be good on your own? I didn’t think Max was going to be here.”
“He’s staying in the city,” I confirmed. “I’ll be fine. I think I’ll have a quiet dinner and then do some dancing here. Max is always asking me to use the studio he had designed for me.”
“It is really nice,” Tuth relented. “Even if it was created by an asshat. Maybe slow down on the drinks, though, k? If you fall or something, Max will blame me and I don’t need that in my life.”
I set the glass down on the bar and sighed. “I’m sorry, I just... haven’t been sleeping well.”
It’d been a week since I’d gone to the Tennant. A week since I danced on the very stage my late parents and grandparents did. I danced for a strange man that simultaneously infuriated me and intrigued me. I couldn’t get his shadowy figure and distorted voice out of my mind. At night, he invaded my sleep. I dreamed of him dancing with me, a man encased in darkness. He moved seamlessly with me, in a way as I’d never done before with someone. Each morning when I woke, images of the mysterious shadow figure lingered from my dreams.
“Do you want me to schedule something? Maybe get you on some sleeping medication?”
I shook off their offer. “I’ll be okay. I think some alone time will do me good. I’ll take a hot bath tonight. Maybe add some perfumes and bubbles.” I forced a smile. Tuth didn’t believe me, but dropped it. I hadn’t told them about the stranger, or what I’d done in the opera house. I’d made sure to give them that day off.
But why? Had I known, somewhere deep in my soul, that I would want my visit to be a secret?
Tuth left shortly after I assured them I was finished drinking for the evening. I had a light dinner outside, facing the other side of the lake. That light on the dock near Neal’s home taunted me as it flicked on the moment the sun set. It too, was green, like the one on my dock. Paired with Neal telling me their neighbor called himself Gatsby? I couldn’t stand to look at it. I pushed my chair back and left my dinner unfinished.
Too many things were happening at once. Max with his mistress, my doppelg?nger. Neal with their neighbor, Gatsby, the man whose name haunted me. And now, the stranger in the dark opera house. I resented each of them for so carelessly living out their rich lives and not caring how it affected everyone else. Yes, I came from wealth, but we were never like these men. These men were cruel and callous. Everyone was just pawns in their games. I could never treat someone like they were nothing .
My phone’s chirp pulled me from my dark, half-drunken thoughts.
Unknown: Penny for your thoughts?
I read the message and my head shot up in alarm. Was I being watched? Quickly, I replied.
Daisy: Who is this?
Unknown: Who do you want it to be?
I set my phone down after reading the message. Someone was messing with my head. It could be anyone. I didn’t have any friends other than Tuth and Neal. I picked up the phone.
Daisy: Have we met before?
Unknown: Of course we have.
I didn’t know how to reply.
Unknown: When will you dance for me again, Daisy?
Ah, so there it is. The faceless opera owner.
Daisy: You haven’t invited me back.
Unknown: I am a very busy man. Why don’t you record yourself for me. Tonight.
Daisy: I’m at home. Although something tells me you know that.
Unknown: I know a lot of things about you, Daisy. Why do you think I dressed you in green?
I raised an eyebrow at the glowing green light across the lake. Could it be—could they be the same man? If so, it wasn’t a coincidence. Someone wanted my attention.
No, it was too specific to be connected. No one knew of my love for... him. I swallowed, shoving down all the emotions that came with thinking of my first and only true love. The man across the lake was just a fan of F. Scott Fitzgerald, like me and a billion others. The man talking to me now, though...
Unknown: Word has it, your fiancé had a studio custom built inside your home. Perfect place to record.
Daisy: Oh, so you know of him? And still you text me... aren’t you worried I’m showing him these messages right now?
Unknown: Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t Max Stanton at the Cutler Hotel with your lookalike as we speak?
That bastard. Both of them. Max, for the adultery; Unknown for calling me out about it.
Daisy: You think you’re funny.
Unknown: No, I think you’re beautiful. Daisy, dance for me.
Daisy: What do I get in return?
Unknown: Go up to your studio right now, and I’ll send you a photo of myself.
I stood, my heart hammering, leaving my dinner half eaten, and rushed up the stairs to the third floor. The moment I flicked the lights on, revealing the brand new studio, my phone pinged.
Image received.
My breath caught as I stared at his marvelous tattooed abs, counting each hard line half-hidden by ink. Momentarily distracted, I looked up, wondering how he'd known I'd made it up here.
Unknown: Are you going to dance in that?
Daisy: Do you have any requests?
Unknown: You look good in green.
I left the room, going to my closet. Max had filled the racks with every color leotard, tutu, and tights he could order, the same for shoes. I went for the outfit untouched by Max, the green that had been gifted to me by the very man requesting an outfit change. I switched from my sundress and sandals to the leotard, tights, and pointe shoes. The very moment I returned to the studio, I received another image on my phone.
This photo was of hands. They were large, tattooed, and his wrists and arms were covered by an emerald green suit jacket. I wasn’t sure why a photo of hands was so attractive, but my heart was racing when I set my phone down. I licked my lips nervously and went to the stereo, switching it on.
Before, I’d performed to classical music. This time, I wanted to show him the real me. We were in my home, after all. The place I should feel the safest. He seemed to read my mind, because my phone dinged.
Unknown: Show me your soul.
I scrolled through my music until I found the perfect song. It wasn’t something a ballerina would traditionally ever dance to, but I’d crafted a dance to fit how it made me feel. The first notes hit, and I closed my eyes as I abandoned my phone to walk deeper into the room.
Kesha sang; I moved. Each word was a knife to my heart, piercing long and slow and coming up just as slow, only to stab me again. I shoved my toes to the ground just as hard, relishing in the physical pain that matched my heart.
The chorus hit, and my arms flew open as I spun. In my head, the man in the shadows was my Gatsby. The man who was taken from me before we got to live. The man who was accused of something so heinous—the very thought of it forced me to my knees. I dropped and rolled to my feet. I couldn’t stop moving. If I did, I’d lose my composure, and whoever this man was, I couldn’t let him know just how broken I was.
I danced harder than I’d had in months for those four minutes, and when ‘The Harold Song’ ended and Kesha stopped singing, I collapsed into sobs, a foot from the phone. Suddenly, the lights went out and I was shrouded in darkness. It was almost as if he were giving me privacy to cry.
I sobbed loudly and openly, finally allowing myself the space to grieve that I’d pushed back for years. I crawled to the wall and clutched my knees. I snatched my phone to shoot him a nasty text when my phone began to ring. It was him. I hesitated a moment, but then answered.
“Daisy,” the disguised voice from before spoke .
“Are you happy, bastard? You broke me, and for what? So my fellow dancers can get their shot at dancing at your theater? You’re pathetic.”
“I am,” he replied solemnly. “I didn’t ask you to dance tonight for them. I wanted you to dance for yourself.”
“And when am I going to dance for you then?” I shot back, wiping my tears forcefully away from my itchy cheeks.
“Now.” His tone changed. “I just sent you an image. Open it.”
I blinked the wetness from my eyes and pulled my phone back, opening the text. I let out an audible gasp as I stared at his... magnificent... pierced...
“Dance for me, Daisy. Use your fingers and show me what my words, my voice, the unknown, does to you. You look beautiful in emerald, but I’d love to see you flushed.”
My breathing was ragged as I stared into the distance, out the large windows. Where was he watching from?
Did I dare?
“Dance for me, Daisy.”
Hypnotized by his words, my hand drifted down between my legs... and I began a different dance.