Ripped (24 page)

I finished the performance the way I always did—naked, with my helmet held over my crotch. No one ever saw anything I didn’t want them to see, but there was always the chance that maybe, just maybe the helmet would slip and expose what every woman in the club was chanting for.

The crowd were on fire, screaming for more, and usually I would go off-stage, pull on some tiny shorts, and then come back out for a sexy-as-hell hip-hop routine, but not tonight. I needed to get out of there and get home. Racing to the tiny change room behind the stage, I pulled on my street clothes and hung up the costume with all the others.

“Hey, man, you okay?” Captain asked. “You not going back out tonight?”

I didn’t have time to explain. What could I say?
My girlfriend who I loved more than life itself had just found out that I was a stripper and now she’d probably never speak to me again?
“I’m fine.” I grabbed up my bag. “Gotta go.”

The train ride home would take too long, so I hailed a cab. I’d dreaded this day, even though I knew it would come sooner or later. I’d formulated explanations in my mind and in my head, in those made-up scenarios, Jaz had understood that I had to dance and that this was the only type of dancing I was any good at. She would forgive me from keeping it a secret and I would tell her how it meant nothing, and that a lot of what happened on stage was smoke and mirrors. Girls didn’t really put their hands on us; we held their hands so our own fingers were what made contact. I would demonstrate, and she would laugh and eventually forgive me. She had to.

Barreling through the door of the apartment, I knew instantly she wasn’t there. The room was in darkness, but more than that, it felt empty. It felt like no love and no warmth lived there. It was just an empty room.

“Jaz?” I called as I flicked on the light, even though I knew there’d be no response. I could see the entire apartment from the door, but I still ran around like a madman in the hope that she would magically appear if I willed it hard enough.

I couldn’t have beaten her home so the only place she could be was Tiffany’s.

I called Jaz’s phone; it went straight to voicemail. I tried again and again but every time it clicked over to the same happy Jaz voice telling me she was probably dancing and to leave a message.

I needed a minute, so I sat in the comfy chair and thought about what to say. I may only have one chance to save our relationship so it had to be good.

Puffing out a deep breath for courage, I dialed again and waited for the beep.

“Hi Jaz, let me start by saying I love you and I’m sorry. I know you were there tonight, I saw you leave, and I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you, but I knew you would never understand why I was doing it. Please come home so we can talk about it. Or call me. Just … let me know you’re okay. I love you, baby.”

There was so much more I needed to say but I wanted to do it in person, face to face, not over the phone. Lying back on the bed, I kept the phone held tight in my hand and waited for it to ring.

It never did.

C
ARTER WAS
a laidback dude, but he was perceptive. He noticed that Jaz didn’t come down the stairs to go to the theater in the morning, and he noticed that I looked like shit.

“Lady troubles, my friend?”

“She’s gone,” I mumbled, still gripping the phone so tight I had red indentations in my palm.

“So go get her back, man.” He stepped out from behind the counter and gave me a hug. “She’s a good one; don’t blow it.”

She wasn’t a good one—she was the best one, the only one.

Knowing Jaz’s work ethic, I knew there was nothing that would keep her from the theater. Whether she was sick with the flu or injured, she had always gone to class at the conservatory and I was sure that even if her heart was broken, or she was so angry with me that she never wanted to see me again, she would be there pouring every emotion into her dance.

As soon as I arrived, I felt an uneasy chill in the air. Was I imagining it? Did everyone already know what had happened? Not wanting to draw any more attention to myself than I already had, I quietly walked around the outer wall and slid into my usual row of seats. Tiffany, Becca, and the other girls in the chorus were on stage, laughing and joking around, but as Tiffany turned in my direction, the smile left her face and her body tensed. If looks could kill, I would have dropped dead on the spot as her stare speared straight through me. Okay, so this was bad. If Tiffany was that angry then it had to be a direct reflection of how hurt Jaz was.

Not knowing what to do, I gave her a wry smile and mouthed
‘Where’s Jaz?’

She shook her head, the disdain never leaving her eyes, then strode off stage left.

So, that went well. Was she going to get Jaz, or just to warn her that I was here so she could prepare herself for the confrontation that was sure to ensue?

It felt like an hour that I sat there, not knowing if I should stay put or try to sneak my way backstage to find Jaz before she finally stepped through the wings and onto the stage. My heart broke at the sight of her, and I hung my head in shame for being the cause of her pain. If I looked like shit from not sleeping, then she looked worse. Her eyes were puffy and red-rimmed, her hair pulled back with at best a finger-comb to tame it. Her usually straight as a board posture was slumped, shoulders rounded, eyes downcast.

“Ah, there’s my little dove,” Pierre said with an exaggerated pout as he met Jaz center-stage. “Are we feeling better? We are ready?” He pulled her into an embrace and my blood boiled, but there was nothing I could do. I didn’t even know if we were still together at this point, so to race up there and beat the crap out of him probably wasn’t the best move. Besides, Jaz wasn’t pulling away—she was hugging him back as her shoulders shook with a new flood of tears. Pierre cupped her cheeks in his hands and brushed away the dampness with his thumbs. “You must dance.” He touched his fist to his chest. “Take all the pain from here and use it.”

His words were like a punch in the guts, knocking the wind from me and making my own eyes blur with tears. I had caused that pain. I was the reason she was standing there in front of everyone, sobbing so hard her body shook. It was me and no one else who had hurt Jaz so badly that she needed comforting from the person who made her skin crawl.

She took a few deep breaths and pulled her shoulders back, straightened her spine and raised her chin. “I’m ready.”

Everyone left the stage and made their way to the seats across the aisle from me. I tried to catch Tiffany’s eye so I could call her over and sound her out on my chances of even talking to Jaz, let alone reconciling, but she ignored my attempts, deliberately turning her head as she passed my row of seats. I wished the others had. Tiffany may not have wanted to look at me, but every other girl who passed made a point of glaring at me disapprovingly. All except Louisa—she practically purred as she looked me up and down, undressing me with her gaze and seductively licking her lips. It was too much. I may have seen it a million times at the club from other girls, but that was different; I was in character there and it was expected.

The stage lights dimmed and a spotlight that shone from above, found Jaz, standing in arabesque, perfectly balanced and poised. She looked like an angel, adorned in a white dress with silver beading. Her golden hair, although messier than I’d ever seen it, still shone as the white light cast an aura around her.

I hadn’t seen this piece performed before, and I realized it must be the pivotal solo for Jaz that she had learnt only a few days ago. I’d missed so many of her rehearsals lately. Between working at the record store during the day and racing to get to the restaurant or club at night, our time together had been reduced to a rushed dinner together or a few hours in the evening when Jaz was already in bed.

The music was beautiful, delicate and enchanting. With just the slightest wave of strings it pulled you in, and I physically felt myself being drawn forward in my chair. Jaz hadn’t moved yet, her position grounded and unwavering even though she sniffed back the tears that welled in her eyes.

And then she began to dance, the music flowing through her from core to fingertips. She expressed every sound and every emotion that I was feeling. I couldn’t tear my eyes away. She had always been captivating but the heartbreak I had caused was coursing through her and she danced it. Every tear that had been shed, every feeling of betrayal I could see as she leapt higher than I’d ever seen her leap, the anger powering her to greater heights where she then touched down without a whisper of sound.

My vision blurred as my breath hitched in my throat, and for the first time since the night before when our world had crashed down and disintegrated into rubble, the tears flowed and I let them roll down my cheeks and collect on my top lip before landing in my lap. This exquisite interpretation was how Jaz danced when her heart was breaking, but she should have been dancing like this when her heart was filled with love. I had crushed her and she had risen above the pain, using her emotions to fuel her.