Hooked (4 page)

“Great.
Great.
The game starts at three. I’ll pick you up at your
apartment; we can take the train?” Drew asked.

I agreed without thinking, hearing the eagerness in
his voice. I shook my head back and forth, feeling the excitement begin to
build in my stomach, pulsing through my veins, through my arms, through my
legs. I felt like I could run ten miles then, in that moment, with all the
energy and joie de vivre that coursed through me. I had a date.
That day.
With the most handsome man I had ever seen. He had
actually called me back, without diverting down the normal path of forgetting,
of meeting someone else.
Amazing.
Incredible.

I rolled from my bed, noting that the sun was just
now lurching from its stance over the lake. The greyness of the morning was
safe, like a shade. I padded to the kitchen, following the path of little
Boomer, and made a cup of coffee. I hummed as I poured a bit of extra sugar in
the top. Normally, I drank it black; but something about the day warranted a
little sugar.

I was quite nervous, really, about the whole thing;
about going to my first baseball game, about what we would talk about together
during those long, long innings. I didn’t know a lick about baseball. My
grandfather, a baseball player himself, hadn’t given me the time of day as a
child. I remembered him sitting by the television, watching as the balls flew
through the air, as the men ran from base to base. It all seemed very grand,
but I had never really understood what was going on. Any questions I had were
shushed. But I had loved him, my grandfather. He had seemed like the essence of
a man. I had based every man I had met against him, especially after he died
during my high school years.
A Cubs fan, huh?
Drew
seemed already to match up with my grandfather.

I had two classes to teach in the morning, one at
eight and one at ten. The eight o’clock one was mainly for older people, still
looking to get back in shape. Some of the ladies were overlap from the day
before; however, others were different, simply preferring Sundays
over
Saturdays. “Non-religious,” they told me off-handedly
when I asked them why they preferred the day. I shrugged, always, at these
women who seemed to have their lives perfectly planned and orchestrated. They
had never made a mistake or a false move. Even their plies and
releves
were precise—if a little hesitant. They had broken
their hips before; they weren’t going to do it again.

I rushed around the house, then, realizing I had
daydreamed much of the morning away. I had to be at the dance studio a bit
early to prepare. I grabbed a coffee mug, noting that I could make another pot
at the studio. (A coffee addict with two coffee pots; I had to have my fix.) I
kissed Boomer on the top of his head and raced out the door into the stunning
sounds of the city streets. I loved the feeling of being—well—busy.

I was beginning to really love Wicker Park; the old
buildings, the way everyone looked—utterly bohemian, but too rich to have the
hobo-
ish
edge. I wound through them all as they
wandered off to find brunch somewhere. My dance studio was on the corner, and I
unlocked it in a hurry, my heart allowing me to run, to find energy in areas of
my body I had never known existed.

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.”

Mel nodded. She brightened for a moment. “Say. We’re
having lunch back at the house; I have
a lasagna
in
the slow cooker. Do you want to come back with me? You know you’re always
welcome, and Jim would love to see you. Carson would, as well.” She winked at
me.

I had to tell her, then. I looked at the clock,
noting I had only an hour until Drew was meant to pick me up outside my
apartment. “Actually, Mel,” I whispered, hearing as the last jangle rose from
the bell, signaling the last girl exiting the studio, “I have a date.” I closed
my eyes at the words. They were so strange, spoken out loud.

Mel reared back, her hand over her mouth. She had
only known me to have one date—ever. And that, of course, had not worked out
well, leaving me stranded at the side of the road somewhere south of greater
Chicago. But that was neither here nor there. “Who is he? Where did you meet
him? Tell me everything!” she cackled, sitting down in the desk chair and
leaning toward me.

I leaned against the desk. “Well. I met him, purely
by accident, at that little coffee shop I like so much—across the street?”

Mel nodded. “They have great sandwiches.”

“Right.
Anyway,” I went on. “He was just there—sort of joking with me.
Being handsome all over the place.
And he sat there, next to
me, and ate. I, of course, could hardly eat. I was too nervous.” I took a sip
of my coffee. “He just moved to the city from New York. Said he wants to open
up a bookstore. I don’t know anything other than that.” I paused, watching as
Mel’s eyes widened. “And then he walked me home. And he kissed me. He wanted to
come inside—but I said no.”

Mel nodded approvingly. “Classy lady,” she said,
raising her left eyebrow.

“Right,” I said. The clock was ticking fast. “I
just. I can’t believe this is happening. He’s so handsome. Like. Too handsome,”
I giggled.
“But maybe a little crazy.
He called me at
five in the morning today, asking if I could go to the Cubs game. I’ve never
been—never had
an inkling
to go before.” I shrugged.

“But for him, you’d do anything,” Mel said, winking.

“He hasn’t done anything wrong yet,” I murmured,
looking out at the sun on the streets. I clutched my mug for a moment, not
saying anything. “I better get ready, actually. He’s supposed to meet me at my
apartment in—oh gosh.” I looked at the clock. The time had escalated quickly,
giving me nearly no time to get ready. I knew there was a shower in the back of
the studio; but I had told Drew that he could pick me up at my apartment! I
looked around wildly, my heart beating like a drum.

“What is it?” Mel asked me, her eyebrows furrowed. A
picture of her baby was positioned behind her, and the baby had the exact same
look on his face. It nearly made me double over with laughter. I tried to have
composure.

“You know. I think I have to tell him I’m going to
meet him there. I don’t have time to go home; I have clothes here, after all.”
Mel had told me to stop leaving my clothes at the studio, that it was probably
giving me a sense of homelessness. But I was thankful that they were there,
today.

Mel nodded. “Can I call him? Act like your
assistant? I mean. I suppose that’s what I actually am,” Mel said, shrugging.
Her eyes brimmed with light.

I nodded, stripping off my clothes in a hurry. The
shower was directly behind the office, next to the toilet. I was shaking out of
my yoga pants when she picked up my phone. “Here, I’ll call him from your
phone. Watch,” she whispered, winking at me.

Mel dialed the number that I had recently saved,
after his earlier phone call. She hummed as we both listened to it ring. I
stood, naked, my hands over my chest. I could feel my pulse quicken. It was so
strange to be naked and contacting the man you liked. It was jarring, exciting.

Mel descended into a deeper, more serious voice as
she began speaking to him.
“Yes, hello.
Have I reached
a Drew?”

She paused, nodded her head. Her eyes parsed over to
me, nearly laughing. “Yes. I am Molly Atwood’s assistant. I have her on the
other line. Can you please hold?” She nodded to the phone. “Thank you.”