Chapter Eight Allegra
Eight
Allegra
I stand in front of the mirror in my bathroom, examining myself in a way I don’t normally allow. I’m not here to paint my face with stage makeup, I’m not studying my body for flaws that need fixing. I look at myself as a stranger might.
My long dirty-blond hair is down, freshly washed after my shower.
It spends so much of its time up in a bun, I often forget that it’s thick and shiny, that I can let it air dry and wear it naturally, without having to spend a ton of time styling it.
After a second of running my fingers through the damp strands, I pick up my phone.
Me: I like my hair. I wish I had more occasions to wear it down, but I like that it’s long and shiny.
Cord: That wasn’t so hard was it?
Cord: And I agree, your hair is gorgeous.
It’s a simple sentence via text message, and yet, it sends a ripple of butterflies soaring through my stomach.
Me: Thanks.
Cord: Hope you had a good day.
Me: You too. Good night.
Cord: Night, Slippers.
The next day I wait until I’ve stepped out of the shower after a long day of class and rehearsal.
We have performances starting in just two weeks, which means everyone is cranky and rehearsals are running longer than normal.
I’m tired and sore, but I still take a few minutes in front of the mirror, studying my reflection and doing my best to only think of the positives.
Me: I have a good nose. It’s not too big, and not too small.
Cord: Your nose is adorable.
Cord: Hope you had a great day.
Me: It was long, but good. Hope you had a great day too.
Cord: Good night, Slippers.
Me: Good night, Cord.
The following night, I text him as I’m heating up dinner after another grueling day. It hurts just to stand, my legs worked to the point where they’ve almost gone numb. I don’t need to study myself in the mirror because I noticed something during class today.
Me: I like that my legs are visibly toned, that you can see the hard work I’ve put in reflected in my body.
Cord: Not going to lie, your legs are fucking gorgeous.
The microwave beeps, but it takes a minute before I can tear my eyes away from the screen of my phone. I take my plate of grilled chicken and vegetables to the table.
Cord: I know it’s last minute, but do you have plans tonight?
Me: I’m just sitting down to a gourmet dinner.
I snap a photo of my meal and send it to him.
Cord: I hate to tear you away from that culinary masterpiece, but any chance you’d want to go see a show with me tonight?
My heart skips a beat. I didn’t know it could actually do that, but I feel the flutter in my chest.
Me: What kind of show?
Cord: An entertaining one
I should say no. Obviously. I have rehearsal tomorrow and a show to prepare for. Not to mention my upcoming audition. I need to be at the top of my game for the next few weeks.
Cord: I think it could actually help with our lessons, if that convinces you.
Me: Fine. I’m in. Send me the info.
I was already convinced, but if there’s any way to write this off as a necessary excursion, I’ll take it.
I hurry through dinner so I have time for a quick shower, though I don’t have much time for hair and makeup. Which is fine. If we’re going to a show, we’re just going to be sitting in the dark anyway.
When I rush from the subway, he’s waiting for me outside the theater, dressed in dark jeans and a blue button-up with the sleeves rolled up. I breathe a sigh of relief that I didn’t dress too casually in my jeans and form-fitting sweater.
“Slippers.” He grins as I approach.
I roll my eyes at the ridiculous nickname, though I can’t fight back a smile, and take in the unassuming brick building behind him. It reminds me of the Six Pact theater and I don’t think that bodes well for the rest of my evening. “So what are we seeing?”
“It’s a surprise.” He offers me his arm and leads me through the front doors.
The interior space is small and intimate.
Like at Six Pact, there aren’t rows of seats, but tiny café tables and spindly chairs circling the performance area.
A host leads us to one, dropping off menus before he departs.
When our server comes by, I order a sparkling water.
Cord has been perusing the cocktail offerings on the menu, but he asks for the same.
Once our drinks have been delivered, Cord leans his elbows on the small table, leaving only inches of space separating us. “How was rehearsal today?”
“Good, I think.” I take a sip of water and wait for him to fill the silence. When he doesn’t, I continue. “I don’t have a main role in this one, so the pressure isn’t too terribly high, but I am dancing an important part.”
“What show are you doing?”
“Swan Lake. Have you ever seen it?”
Cord makes a face. “A long time ago. My sister used to be pretty into ballet.”
I grin. “Your sister seems like a wise and very cool person.”
He sits back in his seat though his eyes never leave my face. “She is. We’re twins, actually.”
“Oh god. Poor thing.” I snort. “Her, obviously, not you.”
“Haha.” His tone is dry, but a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.
As the lights in the room begin to dim, I realize that this is kind of fun. Aside from my sister, I don’t tease anyone else much. I have no interest in Cord himself, clearly, but I can’t lie and say this whole thing has been terrible so far.
A single spotlight comes up on the stage.
A woman has her back to us, one leg up on a black chair.
She’s wearing a top hat, long white gloves, and a gorgeous red silk dress.
The music starts and it’s low and sultry.
The woman spins around, dangling her hand toward the audience.
She begins to remove her glove, the movements small, almost effortless.
And yet, looking around the room, it’s easy to see that this woman has the crowd in a trance.
We’re all fixated on this almost mundane motion, waiting for her to show us more.
And she shows us more. By the end of her number, she’s down to her panties and a pair of tasseled pasties.
I lean over to Cord as she sashays offstage. “So, this is the lesson, right?”
He shrugs. “I already had tickets for the show, so I would’ve come either way. But I think you can see how it’s relevant.”
“I mean, it’s easy to be sexy when you’re taking off your clothes.” Which is not something I plan on doing in front of David, at auditions or any other time.
He shakes his head, directing his attention back to the stage where the next performer is getting set in place. “It’s not about that, Slippers.”
I refocus on the performers and try to think about what he means by that.
Obviously there’s more to being sexy than just being naked, and being naked doesn’t automatically equal sexy.
So I home in on those smaller details, the little movements that embody sex appeal.
The shrug of a shoulder, a coy smile, a peek of a tease.
By the end of the show, I understand the bigger picture—that it’s the smallest movements and the confidence that matter most.
I still have no idea how to get my body to mimic those movements, but I think I’m starting to understand.
Cord walks me to the subway station after the show. It’s only a few blocks, but I find myself veering closer to him the farther we go. My arm brushes his shirt and a shiver races through me. He deposits me at the top of the stairs, leaning in to give me a quick hug.
His chin is covered in a thin layer of stubble, which scratches my cheek as he pulls away. “I’ll see you tomorrow night, Slippers.” He waves as I head down the stairs, totally nonchalant as if he won’t be replaying that hug over and over in his mind. Not that I will either, of course.
When I get to the bottom of the stairs, I look back to find him watching me walk away and I put a little extra sway in my steps.
“What has you smiling like an absolute goober?” Lucy asks, plopping down next to me on the studio floor the next morning as I stretch my aching legs.
We’re on a break in between class and rehearsal, the company enjoying the brief respite and filling the room with exhausted chatter. But even the long day isn’t enough to dampen my excitement. Cord just texted me the details for our lesson tonight, and I’m borderline giddy about seeing him again.
But I squash that thought as soon as it comes. Cord is just a tutor, a means to an end. Yes, he’s one of the hottest men I’ve ever seen in real life, and one who is proving to be thoughtful and kind as well. But he’s also just doing his job. This is nothing more than a business arrangement.
I realize Lucy is still waiting for me to answer her question, a knowing smile on her face. “Nothing much. Just getting excited about the audition.”
She straightens her legs out in front of her and reaches for her toes, her lithe body folding perfectly in half. “Excited for the audition, or excited for this very special prep work you’re doing for said audition?”
“Can’t it be both?” I fiddle with my phone, searching the address Cord had sent me. “Shit.” The expletive escapes me and even though I’m a grown adult, I check my surroundings to make sure none of the directors heard me.
“What’s wrong?” Lucy sits up, eyes worried.
“Our next lesson is going to be at a salsa club.” I meet Lucy’s eyes, my own just as worried. “I don’t know how to salsa.”
“Maybe the whole point of the lesson is for you to learn.”
It’s a reasonable argument, but it doesn’t stop the itch of fear scratching under my skin. The last thing I need is to look even more incompetent and clueless in front of Cord.