“Well, see ya,” she calls out. It’s evident she’s hoping for a response.
Tawny blows a ring of smoke in reply while I simply ignore her. A sigh leaves her before she walks out the door.
After a few moments of silence, Tawny smugly says, “You weren’t kidding. You really are the bad guy.”
Hell to the fuck yes I am.
I just did Tiger a favor. She just doesn’t know it yet. Now, she can go home to her baby, safe as safe can be, because me, I would only send her castle crumbling to the ground.
Lily
“One, two, three. One, two, three. Heels should be touching with your toes turned out. Good, Jennifer. Now move your feet apart. Very good, Roberta. One, two, three. Open your arms wide but don’t stretch them back.”
The music wafts softly from the speakers as I walk around the small ballet studio, teaching my students the basics of ballet.
It’s here where I usually feel at peace, at home, but today, my five-year-old pupils have more coordination than I do. I leap into a jeté, determined to escape the memories that have plagued me since I got sucked into heaven and hell.
The music ends, alerting me the hour-long class has come to an end already. I spaced, which has never happened before. Regardless of the shit that’s happened in my life—and believe me, there has been some major shit—I have always been able to focus the moment I stepped into this room. This is my happy place.
But clearly, today is different, and that’s thanks to…him.
Ugh, fuck…him.
“All right, class. You all did so well. I’ll see you next week.”
“Yes, Ms. Hope.” My students run to their gym bags, chatting animatedly amongst each other, while I open the door. Parents rush in, eager to see their children. Melanie Arnolds, a soccer mom with too much time and money on her hands, makes a beeline for me, which is no surprise, as she does this every week. Although, I much prefer her to her sleazeball husband, Derrick.
She’s a parent who hovers, but she’s a parent who also pays my bills, so I await the inquisition with a smile. “Lillian,” she calls out with a wave of her hand, jingling her Tiffany bracelets. “Can I speak to you for a second?”
I have no idea why she’s phrased it as a question since I have no say in the matter. But I only broaden my smile. “Of course, Melanie. And please, call me Lily.” I’ve only told her this for the past three months because only one person gets to call me that name. Maybe one day it’ll sink in. However, today is not that day.
She gestures with her eyes that she wants to speak in private, so I humor her, and we walk to the back of the room. When we’re huddled in the corner, she tugs at her pearl earring. “I know I sound like a nag, but I really think Brenda would excel in a different class.”
I open my mouth, but soon close it when Melanie reveals she’s not done.
“She knows all the routines by heart. She practices every day. I know you aren’t allowed to play favorites, but she is clearly your best student.” She winks mischievously as if we’re in some secret club.
We’re not.
And this is the reason I have a closed-door policy. No parent is permitted inside my studio because of the Melanie Arnolds of this world. They believe their child is a ballet prodigy when, in reality, they’re as graceful as a one-legged fish.
But putting my professional face on, I smile gently. “Brenda is exceptional, and I can see she is practicing, but I can’t move her to the next level until she sits her exams. I know it may seem unfair, but I don’t make the rules.”
“But this is your class,” she presses, pursing her Botox-infused lips.
“I realize that, but Ms. Everland is the director of this academy, and if I were to bend the rules, then I would get into serious trouble. Not to mention the fact that Brenda isn’t ready.”
Melanie flinches, her face stuck on resting bitch mode. “She is better than kids twice her age. I don’t understand why you’re hesitating.”
“I only want what’s best for Brenda. Please trust me. I will talk to Ms. Everland, but—” I don’t have a chance to finish my sentence—which would have been “but it won’t make a difference”—before I’m interrupted.
Melanie claps her hands together, her bright yellow nails resembling talons, as she clearly thinks she’s won me over. “Oh, Lillian! You won’t regret it.”
I already do.
When she peers around the room and turns her back, I arch a brow, wondering what in the hell she’s doing. I watch in confusion as she reaches into her Chanel clutch and produces a bundle of crisp hundred-dollar bills. That confusion soon transforms into utter offense.
“Here, take this. Spoil yourself.” Is she really trying to…bribe me? Bribe me so her five-year-old daughter can move up a grade? This would be comical if she wasn’t serious.
I step back two feet, shaking my head discreetly. “No, I couldn’t.”
“I insist.” She attempts to shove it into my hand, but I clench it tight, seconds away from slapping the filler from her cheeks.
“Thank you, Melanie, but no.” She looks at me as though I’ve just spoken a foreign word, which, in her world, I probably have, and that word is no.
“Are you sure? This is pocket money for me,” she states flippantly, insulting me further.
Her “pocket money” would pay my rent for a month, but I’ll be damned if I tell her that. But I don’t need to. She knows. All these moms and dads know what I am. It’s what draws a distinct line between us.
The rich and the poor.
And the fact I’m being persuaded to take this large wad of cash from a mom whose designer pantsuit costs more than my truck hints to where I sit on the social ladder. I teach this class, dealing with pretentious parents, and at night, I take off my clothes because I do what I have to in order to survive.
If this were a fairy tale, I would have graduated high school and gone to Juilliard or SAB, living out my dream of becoming a world-renowned ballerina. But life very rarely goes as planned. I was a naïve kid with adolescent dreams. And something big made me grow the fuck up and left me with this…this life of a stranger.
Blinking back my tears, I sigh in relief when Brenda attempts to dance over. She ends up bumping into a barre.
“Hi, Brenda,” I say exceptionally loud, alerting Melanie that her daughter is about to witness her mother bribing her teacher. Melanie thankfully gets the hint and shoves the money back into her clutch.
Before Melanie has a chance to corner me any further, I step to the side and pat Brenda on the head. “You did so good today. I’m really proud of you. I’ll see you next week.” She smiles her toothless grin while I excuse myself and say farewell to the remaining parents and students.
When they’re all gone, I lock the door, walk over to the iPod, and select “Smells like Teen Spirit” by Nirvana. The thrashy guitars cut through the once tranquil ballet studio, bringing me alive. I move my body to the upbeat tempo, and when the chorus kicks in, I let loose.
All my frustrations seep from me as I sweat away my pain. My body aches as I leap high, landing on my toes. I turn and turn, around and around, until the room spins away before me. But that doesn’t stop me. It only encourages me to continue.