Thursday, July 12, 2007
Inhale. Count to five. Exhale. Inhale. Count to five. Exhale.
He did this a handful of times before giving himself the mental push to knock on the door two feet in front of him. It had been years since he’d felt nervous butterflies to this degree.
He knocked, and slowly counted to ten. He kept his gaze low; a moment passed and the door swung open. He looked up: she smiled.
“Hey,” she sighed.
“Hey.”
She invited him in and without hesitation, wrapped her arms around him. He breathed her in; her scent intoxicated him in the familiarity of the moment. The embraced lingered.
“Sorry,” he half-whispered, sheepishly. “Habit.” She brushed it off. He then noticed the boxes stacked throughout the foyer where they stood as well as in the hallway at the top of the stairs. He couldn’t believe how much things had changed between them in the last three years… She was moving tomorrow.
“So, do you think you can handle taking everything that’s upstairs?” she asked, her voice hinted with guilt. “I’m sorry to have to ask you to help with all of this, but--”
“I’m fine with the twisted déjà vu – I’m only unpacking the studio stuff anyway – I’ll put all the boxes where they need to go, Kev and Kris promised to have the house practically ready when you come back from Tuscany.”
“Thank you.” Her voice was soft; there was suddenly an old tension between them. The guilt, the scared wounds…definitely déjà vu. Why did he think this was going to be easy?
Three years ago he helped her pack her things and move out the home they had shared for three years prior. She was the love of his life. They’d separated, grown up, moved on. He was mature enough to agree to help her move yet again because she was about to start a new chapter towards the rest of her life. He knew her better than anyone else. He knew her best.
“You have your key, right? To pick up all of it on Sunday?”
“Yep,” he answered, jingling his key ring.
“I’ll need it when we come back to hand over to the realtor, but…” She handed him a new set of keys. “Those are to the new house. The security system won’t be installed for a few days.”
“Got it…”
Inhale. Count to five. Exhale.
“I have something for you actually,” he stammered. “Can we sit for a minute?”
“Sure.” She lead him downstairs to the basement. “The furniture in office and the bedroom aren’t getting broken down ‘til tomorrow,” she explained.
They took a seat on the small couch in the home office. He handed her a small gift box – a Tiffany gift box – wrapped with a bow. Her eyes questioned him.
“I was planning to give it to when we’d gone to The Keys - during that getaway trip we took in '04 - but we…” He didn’t need to finish; she remembered the trip vividly. “Open it.”
Inside the box was a two and half karat, cushion cut, Tiffany Legacy engagement ring. Her dream ring. He’d remembered. Her breath caught in her throat; she could not cry.
“Nick, I’m getting married in two days,” she choked. “What the hell are you saying?”
“I've held onto this ring for long enough. I can’t do it anymore.”
This story isn’t a fairytale.
Chapter 1
Friday, January 12, 2001
Chilly temperatures and overcast weather were typical of the Los Angeles area in January. Forty-five degrees in the early afternoon was not so typical; it was essentially freezing according to any Southern California native. Personally, I had never been so cold in my life and I was stuck in bumper-to-bumper traffic on my way to The Valley from Pasadena.
“Why did I decide to come through downtown?” I sighed.
I fished my cell phone out of my purse. I quickly dialed a number; I hated being late. The line rang twice before Chuck picked up.
“CC, where are you?” He sounded stressed.
“I’m on the 110 – stuck in gridlock. I’m 15 minutes away, but traffic is not moving anytime soon. How many other girls are they bringing in?”
“Fatima brought in three of her girls for Flii to look at, but CC, you gotta get here pronto!”
“Alright, alright, Chuck. I will be as soon as I can.”
Chuck Maldonado was BLOC Agency’s newest – and youngest – represented choreographers and one of my oldest friends. Actually… he was my first and ex-boyfriend. He and I had been dancing at the same dance company since my freshman year of high school. I was 15 when we started dating. He was 17. He always called me "CC", and I hated it. I had ended our relationship six months ago – after I had graduated a year early – but Chuck has never been known to recover quickly from expected circumstances. Dancing was my life; so when Chuck called me up last week with a potential job offer on a major headlining tour, there was no way I would pass it up.
Traffic finally started to pick up a bit and I was able to merge onto the I-5. Thank the Lord! I thought.
Chuck was never the best boyfriend, but he believed in my craft. I had to at least give him credit for that.
***
Within twenty minutes, I all but sprinted into Millennium Dance Complex. I hurried down a long hallway. From a distance, I noticed Chuck leaning against a wall outside a practice room.
“Hey!” I called. I caught up to him and he quickly took me into his arms for a hug. He squeezed tight.
“You look great,” Chuck said, giving me a once over. I laughed. “Stop trying to flirt with me, Charlie.” He hated “Charlie” as much as I hated “CC”.
“What’s going on? How are we doing this?” I asked him. I knew that since I was being asked to audition in a pretty emergent fashion, I probably wouldn’t be going through a standard audition routine.
“Tima, Flii, and a few of the guys from Backstreet are in there,” Chuck explained. I nodded, but I didn’t want peak in and come off unprofessional. “The other girls left already. I’ll go tell them you’re here,” he continued. “They have the résumé and headshot you faxed me, but they’ll probably want to talk to you for a bit before we go through the routine.” I adjusted the dance bag I had over my shoulder; I had brought a few different pairs of shoes just in case.
“I’m down for whatever they need to see. Landing this tour would be unbelievable, you know? Definitely a big help with paying the rent and everything… I moved out of my parents’ in August.” Chuck’s eyes went wide (he was clueless about the move), but all he said was, “I’ll be back in a sec.”
No more than thirty seconds went by before Chuck came back; I felt a slight twinge of butterflies. I walked into the studio and was warmly greeted by Fatima and Flii. I shook their hands.
“Sorry I’m a little late,” I explained. “Traffic was unbearable.”
“I’m glad you could come in on short notice,” Flii said. “This is AJ, Nick, and Kevin, by the way. Three-fifths of the Backstreet fellas.”
“Chanel Dominguez,” I said, introducing myself. All three of them were incredibly handsome in their own manner. Kevin had an unexplained mystery about him; I could tell AJ was trouble by the smirk on his face and the glimmer in his deep brown eyes alone. Then there was Nick. I gave him a quick once over: he was playful…and slightly dangerous.
Famita explained that although she’d been the chorographer for the Backstreet Boys previous tours, Flii was steering the ship this time around.
“Chuck was telling us that you danced together in high school?”
“Yeah, at McCoy-Rigby Conservatory. I started dancing there when I was twelve and Chuck and I met there my freshman year of high school. I just resigned from dancing with them in August.”
“Why was that?” Fatima asked.
“Well, last year I decided that I wanted to graduate high school a year early and this past June, I did. I got my own place in August and needed a change of pace; I guess you could say I’m a free agent now.” Fatima eyed my résumé.
“You’re seventeen?”
“I’m turning eighteen on the 21st…opening night is the 22nd, right? I remember Chuck saying the 22nd. If there’s a problem I completely understand. I’m sorry if I’ve wasted your time.”
My face was flushed; I knew I was rambling. I felt a hand on mine.
“I’m sure there’s no problem,” Kevin assured me.
I blushed.
“I’m sorry. I’m incredibly grateful for the opportunity… Things have been a little rough lately.”
Fatima gave me an understanding smile.
“Let’s see what you’ve got then!”
“Not a problem.” The butterflies were fading quickly. “Who needs the dance partner?”
“That would be me,” AJ answered in a low voice. He stood up and walked around the table. I extended my hand.
“AJ, right?”
“Alex.”
Nick and Kevin exchanged glances and laughed.
“What?”
“Nothing,” they smirked.
“Ignore them,” AJ interjected. “C’mon Flii! Let’s go man!”
Flii started the music and quickly explained the vibe of the number before he started showing me the routine. AJ stepped in a few minutes later; I was still picking it up. He squeezed my hand. My confidence was high.
“Think you’re up for this?”
“Are you kidding? This is what I’ve been waiting for.”
***
An hour and a half later, I was sweaty and riding a high that I hadn’t felt in months. As I reached into my bag for a towel, I felt a familiar grip on my shoulder.
“You were amazing, CC,” Chuck whispered in my ear.
“Thanks.”
Flii, Nick, Kevin, and AJ were making their way out. Flii called my name from across the room.
“Take ten and come meet us in Fatima’s office.”
“I’ll show her where it is!” Chuck answered for me. Flii nodded, thinking nothing of it, and the studio door shut behind him. A familiar annoyance reared its ugly head: awkward silence hung in the air. Chuck wrapped his arms around me; I felt stuffy.
“Watching you dance made me remember why I was so crazy about you. I miss you, CC.” I sighed.
“Chuck…”
Damn it.
“Chuck, it’s over. If you can’t wrap your head around that then maybe we should take a step back. I told you we could try being friends. You can't expect to say a few sweet words and have everything be like it used to.”
“I know I messed up, babe, but---”
“No. Charlie, no. I don't love you anymore.” I pulled away. “Fatima is waiting to talk to me.”
I turned to leave; Chuck grabbed my arm and twisted it. Hard. He shoved me up against a mirror and kissed me forcefully. I screamed. He kept squeezing me, as if he was coaxing me to enjoy myself. Fear built up in the pit of my stomach - he was too strong to fight.
“Get off me! Stop it!”
I felt my balance give forward as Chuck was hurled off me with another set of hands. Nick’s fist went straight for Chuck’s ribs.