Hooked (Hooked #1)(8)

The door was already unlocked. Surprised, I pushed it open, allowing the bell to jangle. Deep in the office stood Melanie, my assistant. I hadn’t seen her in days. She looked ragged, grey. I held open my arms. “Hi, Mel. How is Carson?” I asked her, rushing toward her and hugging her. She smelled a little damp, like a baby; she emitted scents of ground baby food and hand sanitizer. I pulled back, looking at her face. She was still beautiful. She was twenty-eight years old, and already, she often said, had “reached the prime of her life and left it behind.” I always told her this wasn’t true, of course; that twenty-eight was not old at all. But she always shook her head back and forth sadly and talked about how attractive her baby’s doctor was. Never did she talk about her husband. This made me sad; that perhaps marriage was the ultimate killer of every relationship. I had always heard this. But here it was, in the flesh.

“How are you, Mel?” I asked her.

Melanie shrugged, her long arms flowing around her. She had been a dancer in college, as well; at Loyola. She wasn’t good, she often told me. But her grace, her femininity, made me think that wasn’t true—that she was far better than she thought. I had looked it up once. There was a photo of her on the cover of an old, online pamphlet; the year 2006, when she had been 19 years old. She had been, of course, the Prima. The Prima ballerina of Loyola. But she had dropped out at twenty-one, without graduating. I had never asked her about it, knowing that sometimes the past was best left where it was.

Mel began speaking, ruffling a few papers before her. “I’m fine, you know. Carson’s doing a lot better. He’s with his daddy. I wanted to come in and see what you needed done. Any paperwork? I know how much you hate paperwork.”

I shook my head, smiling. I wanted to tell her about Drew so badly. I rushed to the back of the office and began pouring coffee grounds into a filter. “First thing’s first, Mel,” I called. “Coffee.”

“Oh, god. Please,” Mel said, sighing. She was rifling through papers once more. I realized I hadn’t looked through those documents all week, as I had been so preoccupied with dance thoughts and routines. “It feels so nice to be out of the house,” Mel continued. I laughed. “Listen, Molly,” Mel said to me, sort of sighing, down-turning her face as she spoke. “I was going through some of the bank account information for this place—“

I eyed her, shaking my head vehemently. “What do you mean, Mel?” I wanted to keep things upbeat. I didn’t want Mel to remind me—again—that I was very close to losing this goddamned place. The coffee began choking in the pot as the water descended through the machine. I clapped my hands in front of my face, ready to make something up. “Oh. That’s right. I had to move some funds around—the bank people said it would take a few days.” I looked at the clock. “And today’s Sunday, so I guess it won’t happen till—tomorrow, at least.” I shrugged, looking at her with large eyes. I remembered that every time I had wanted something when I was little, every time I had tried to get away with something, I had simply utilized these great, orb eyes. They had stopped working after college, for some reason; when a sense of despair had come over me.


Mel nodded her head, grinning. “I thought it was just something like that. I wanted to ask, though, you know. Can never be too careful.” She placed the papers back on the desk and reached toward the coffee mugs, tapping toward me. “We’re going to have a good day today. I can run part of the lesson, if you need a break?”

I nodded at her. “Why don’t you warm them up?” I asked her. I gestured toward the door, where a few over-fifty women had wandered in, each carrying a small bag where they kept their shoes, water bottles, and Balance bars. “Hello, ladies!” I called.

They waved back. They thought of me as such a simple creature, someone so beneath them. I burned with the knowledge that until yesterday, when I had met lonely Drew at that small, out-of-the-way café, I had believed that I was nothing. “Are you ladies enjoying your weekend?” I asked them, feeling deep concentration, deep happiness. I was going on a date that day. I was going on a date; I had infinite power in the possibility of this situation. I grinned into my mug, watching as Mel positioned herself before the women as they wandered in, stretching herself before the show. She turned toward me, laughing a bit, feeling silly. After all; she had been a woman working only for her baby, only for her husband for a number of days. Here, at Molly Says Dance, she was free.

“All right, ladies! Let’s begin in first position!”

And the day began.



CHAPTER FIVE

After the two classes, Mel and I trading off responsibilities, (I always enjoyed watching her dance, thinking of her as a younger version of “me”), we joined together for a final mug of coffee—with a bit of Baileys mixed in—in the back office. I waved at the younger girls from the second class as they left. They worked so hard, and I admired them; their everyday trek to my studio, the way they laced up their shoes, day-in, day-out, ever-so-perfectly every time.

“They’re cute, right?” Mel asked me then, sipping from her Baileys drink. “I remember being that age, asking my mom for more and more ballet lessons.” She chortled. “All that money they threw at my career.”

I waved my hand over my face. “You’re doing good work. You’re keeping dance alive in the hearts and minds of people in Chicago—young people who have a million other things to care about. You’re making them care about this. It’s amazing.”