Page 39 of The Virgin's Dance
She heard Kristof stir in the next room and call out for her. She almost felt sorry for him. She looked down at the money again.
Five hundred thousand dollars.
The price of a human life.
Chapter Eighteen
Boh’s heart sank. She saw Elliott limp into the studio with a resigned look on his face. “Oh, no, El, what happened?”
“Some jerk rode their bike into me this morning, didn’t stop.”
Boh went over to him. “Is it sprained?”
“I hope to God that’s all it is,” Elliott said, lowering himself to the floor. He peeled back his leg warmer and they both groaned. Blood was soaking through his legging. “Goddamn it. Maybe it’s just a flesh wound. I’ve danced with worse.”
But when Kristof looked at it, he sent Elliott to the hospital. “I want my dancer perfect,” he said in annoyance. “Pray, Elliott, that it is only a flesh wound.”
But it wasn’t. The news came back that Elliott had fractured a metatarsal. He wouldn’t be able to dance in the showcase, only a day away now.
“Fuck!” Kristof screamed, making the others silent. Even Jeremy, cocksure that he now would fill in for the injured Elliott inThe Lesson, the show-stopping finale of the showcase.
For a few minutes, they all sat in silence. Nell had come to help them discuss what should be done—the tickets had been sold, the audience would expect what was advertised, she said.
“Or better,” Kristof said finally, looking between Boh and Nell. “I’ll dance Elliott’s part.”
There was a stunned hush. Nell was the first to recover. “Kristof … this showcase was supposed to be for the students.”
“The student I have trained, religiously, exhaustively was careless enough to get himself injured. I don’t trust anyone else to dance with Boh.” He waved his hand at Nell. “Make it happen.”
Nell looked at Boh who grimaced but shrugged. It was Kristof’s showcase; he could dance the whole thing himself if he wanted. Nell sighed and left the room.
“Boh.” Kristof clicked his fingers at her, annoying her, but she got up anyway and assumed first position.
After an afternoon of Kristof’s increasingly irritable behavior, she couldn’t wait to get home to Pilot. When she opened the door, though, she heard voices. She dumped her bag in the hallway and walked into the living room. Pilot was there, and to Boh’s delight, Romana grinned at her, as another older woman she didn’t recognize stood up behind Pilot’s sister. Romana hugged Boh hard and then whispered in her ear. “It’s our mom. Don’t worry, but she’s about to grill you.”
Oh, goodie.As Romana released her, Boh smiled shyly at the older woman. “Hello, Mrs. Scamo … I mean, Professor Scamo. I’m very glad to meet you.”
Blair Scamo smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes and Boh felt her heart sink. Clearly, this meeting was going to be a test of her love for Pilot. Boh’s eyes slid to her lover. Pilot moved to Boh’s side. “Mom, I think we need to let Boh process this. We—and by that, I mean, you—didn’t give her any notice. So, before you launch intoPersonality Test 101, can we at least have a drink?”
Blair Scamo glared at her son for a moment, then laughed. “Sorry, Boh. Let’s start again. Hi, I’m Blair, Pilot and Romana’s mother.”
“Boheme Dali, Pilot’s … friend.” She blushed furiously.
Pilot burst out laughing and Romana rolled her eyes, nudging Boh. “Girl, we just saw thecompletecollection of Pilot’s photos of you. We don’t have secrets. Mom knows you two are doing it.”
“Anyone ever tell you you’re annoying?” Pilot asked his sister, who grinned widely. He kissed Boh’s temple. “Babe, why don’t you and I go fix some drinks and recover while these two harpies settle in?”
Grateful for the get-out, Boh followed Pilot into the kitchen. “I didn’t know they were coming, I swear, and they turned up about five minutes before you. I didn’t have time to text you.”
“Don’t worry about it. Hello,” she said, pulling his face down to her for a kiss. He chuckled and pressed his lips to hers.
“Hello, baby. How was your day?”
Boh sighed and rolled her eyes. “A mess. Elliott got injured, badly. Broke a metatarsal.”
She grinned at Pilot’s blank expression. “Bone in the foot, doofus. Not so good for a ballet dancer.”
“Ah. Hey, that sucks. What about—”
