Chapter Nine #2
The changing room is filled with high school girls just getting out of pointe class.
Their bubbly chatter reminded her of what it was like to be that age—life stretching ahead of you like an endless road, while the only things that mattered were right in front of you: grades, friends, and boys.
She envies them the simplicity of their worlds in that moment.
Even though she’d been filled with angst and doubts at their age, she at least had the illusion that things would make more sense when she was a grown-up.
No one told her that things just became more complicated and more difficult.
But then again, even if someone had warned her, she wouldn’t have believed them.
She’d been such a Good Girl in high school: honor student, captain of the field hockey team, editor-in-chief of the yearbook and school newspaper—anything to prove to her parents she was good and worthy.
She just accepted that she would be a lawyer, just like her parents, married by her late twenties, living on Philadelphia’s Main Line in a stone house with a creek in the backyard.
Now look at her: She’s a paralegal moonlighting as a burlesque dancer, living in sin with her boyfriend.
Of course, no one really thinks like that anymore.
But she has to admit, it stings a little that Julie has been with Jonathan half as long as Mallory’s been with Alec, and they’ve never even talked about getting engaged.
Mallory grasps the barre with both hands, her right leg extended on the smooth horizontal wood pole, arching her foot.
She raises her right arm up over her head, bent slightly at the elbow, her face turning slowly toward it as she arches her back and slides her leg forward, extending her body into a long stretch.
Now she’s able to think a little more calmly. She feels teamed up on by Julie and Allison, but she can’t tell if she’s just being sensitive. Maybe they mean well.
When she finishes her warm-up, she cues the music to the routine she’s choreographing for the Halloween show.
The theme is Dark Fairy Tales, and she’s working with the idea of Snow White and Rose Red.
Something about the juxtaposition of good and bad, sinner and saint.
The song she has in mind is the Hole song, “I Think That I Would Die,” because Courtney Love’s lyrics mention Rose White and Rose Red.
She runs through the working choreography, and then the music switches to another song on her playlist, “Glory Box” by Portishead.
Before she can reset the music to try her routine again, Alec walks in.
It’s not unusual for him to meet her at rehearsal, and sometimes he gives her valuable feedback.
But she hadn’t expected him today since her visit was so spontaneous.
But he’d messaged her just as she was leaving City Bakery, and she told him she needed some time at the studio.
He probably gleaned from the fact that brunch ended so quickly that something was wrong, so he’s there to check on her. She’s glad he’s there, but she doesn’t want to talk.
He sits in one of the metal folding chairs against the back wall.
She decides to forget about the show choreography and just go where Portishead takes her.
It’s hard to shake off the fairy-tale concept, and she thinks about Sleeping Beauty.
She gets on the floor, laying down and then slowly curling her spine upright, as if she’s just awakened from a centuries-long spell.
Slowly, she runs one hand from her ankle to her hip, then across her stomach.
She rolls onto her hands and knees, arching her back and then rising to stand in a single, slow, sensual movement.
Facing Alec, she lets her long hair fall forward, then sweeps it back with a toss of her head.
Mallory takes four slow, predatory steps toward him, rolling her shoulders, trailing her fingers down her neck, just grazing her collarbone, breasts, and waist without actually touching.
She exhales, barely parting her lips, then turns her back to him and faces the mirror.
She loses herself in dancing—that’s the appeal.
And she forgets now that Alec is there in the room.
Her movements are intimate, private, tuned in to her imaginary character’s awakening.
She caresses the air in front of her face and body like she’s stroking her own reflection.
Then she circles her hips slowly, before lowering into a crouch, then arches her back and languidly unfurls herself to stand.
She runs one hand through her hair, while the other follows the curve of her body.
She turns to face Alec and walks toward him slowly, licking her lower lip.
He stands from his seat and walks toward her, pulling her into his arms. She can feel how hard he is.
It’s a turn-on to know how much she’s aroused him, but if there’s any place she’d draw the line at fucking, it’s at a ballet studio. It would be practically sacrilegious.
“Was that dance just for me or is it for the club?” Alec says. “Because I have to admit I don’t want to think of other guys watching you with the thoughts I have.”
“Just for you.” She pulls back and kisses him lightly on the lips. “Let me get out of these sweaty clothes.”
“I like you sweaty,” he says.
“Well, I’m sure you can get me hot later.”
“You’re no fun,” he says, feigning disappointment. Or not feigning it. Sometimes, lately, it’s hard to tell.
Outside, the last licks of sweat on her body chill in the October air.
It’s one of those flawless Manhattan days, the kind that inspired old Nora Ephron movies.
Alec takes her hand, and she immediately feels calm.
She never gets tired of how it feels to have his big hand enclosing hers, their fingers laced together in that practiced way.
He puts his arm around her and asks, “How was brunch with Julie and Al?”
She shrugs.
“That’s it?”
“They were kind of giving me shit.”
“About what?”
“Nothing really. It’s stupid.” She doesn’t know how to tell him about Julie’s engagement without backing herself into a conversation she doesn’t want to have right now. There’s no reason to be mad at Alec just because Julie got engaged, she reminds herself.
Her phone rings, and she drops Alec’s hand to pull it out of her bag. The number is unfamiliar.
“Hello?”
“Moxie? It’s Violet.”
It takes her a moment to place the low voice, so out of context in her everyday life.
First she wonders how Violet got her number, then wonders why—a question answered when Violet says, “I have tickets to a private screening of the Jarod Marks movie tonight. I feel bad because if I hadn’t taken over the tip jar from you …
Well, anyway, I thought you might want to come. ”
Mallory immediately feels guilty for her cynical thoughts toward Violet last night. And maybe it’s time to make some new friends since her old ones don’t seem to understand her anymore. She asks Violet if there’s a ticket for Alec, and when she confirms there is, Mallory decides, why not?
“Sure. Sounds like fun.”