Page 6 of The Unraveling

Laughter fills the room. She drifts over in my direction and my heart starts to pound. I never get stage fright when I dance, but the second someone puts a microphone in front of my face, I tend to start bumbling.

“But we also have an elegant, gorgeous, absolute swan of a ballerina as well. Jocelyn Banks!”

More applause, but less, because unlike David, I am not standing and hamming it up with a little bow and curtsy.

“And I don’t know where you’re from, love, from where do you hail?”

The diamond-encrusted microphone lands in front of my lips.

I hate admitting where I’m from.

“Louisiana.”

“Ooh, New Orleans? I absolutely love New Orleans.”

There are a few cheers. I am not from New Orleans, but in order to avoid having to explain how many bad neighborhoods you’d have to drive through to get to the one I’m from, I say, “I bet New Orleans loves you, too.”

This does the trick. Not-Velma-Kelly does a flattered little frown and places a hand over her cleavage-covered heart. “Aw, what a sweetheart.” She looks at me. “Even if you are American. Ha!”

She cackles loudly and drifts back to her spot on the stage.

“We’re going to bring these two lovely specimens up onstage tonight to perform a sexy little dance for you all—would you like that?”

I’m torn. Part of me is mortified at the idea of stepping up in front of all these people and dancing something unrehearsed.

But another part of me is itching to be in front of an audience. To stretch my limbs and do what I’m great at. Watching the dancers in The Nutcracker tonight made me go almost out of my skin.

The crowd urges us on.

Jordan puts a hand on my waist. It’s meant as a reminder that I can do whatever I want. I slip out of his light grasp, the limelight-addicted half of me winning out.

I slam the last of my champagne and slink up to the stage and take David’s outstretched hand.

He whispers into my ear. “We got this, babe. Just let loose a little.”

I nod, feeling high on the spontaneity and frozen with the uncertainty. It’s not like we’re jazz dancers and can whip out a routine. I remember David doing something like this at a major donor’s Christmas party. He threw another ballerina in the air, caught her gracefully, and then spun her around. Everyone went wild. But that was five seconds.

I take a deep breath. It would be more embarrassing to walk away now.

I kick off my high heels, left only with stockinged feet. There’s more cheering. That one was for the foot crowd, I guess.

The room darkens and the spotlight tightens in on the two of us as we take up position. “Little Red Rooster” by Howlin’ Wolf starts up. I feel the muscles twitch in my cheeks as I almost want to smile at the sound of the first few beats of music I recognize. David turns to face me, winking. Erik Note, an award-winning choreographer, did a piece to this for a gala a couple of years ago. David and I were first cast.

Nerves and energy race around my bones like ribbons, my blood rushing hot, my muscles strong and well trained. I can tell they have not forgotten.

It’s like riding a bike. Except I’m pretty sure I have forgotten how to ride a bike.

Ballet I could never forget.

I slowly start to raise my leg to the side, going higher and higher to the beat of the music, glad I’m wearing a nice thong beneath my dress, as it is definitely showing through my sheer stockings.

Once my toe is above my head, David takes hold of my pointed foot and I pivot my body to face him. He lowers with control down to one knee so I can slide my leg across his shoulder. I bend my knee to secure my balance and he slowly stands, me straddled across his shoulder. His hips move to the beat and my arms sensually move through the lyrics as if moving through muddy water.

And from there we’re off.

I stretch and bend like a willow in the wind; his movements are tight and sure. When I step into his hand’s grasp, it is as stable as a marble stair, and when I drape over his outstretched arm, I am as fluid as velvet in a Renaissance painting.

My body is out of practice, but the basics are there. I’ve been dancing since I was a child, my bones and my muscles formed around dance. My hamstrings are tighter than usual and I’m sure David is working a little harder than usual to lift me, but it doesn’t show. I know it doesn’t.

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