Page 4 of The Unraveling

The club is clearly on an intermission between acts, and there’s a deeply thrumming exotica beat coming out of every hidden speaker in the place.

I look across the dark room and see the group he points out. To my surprise, I recognize one of the women.

But I turn away, not wanting her to spot me. I accept a glass of champagne from David. I have two drinks now, and somehow it still doesn’t seem like enough.

My phone buzzes and I assume it’s Sylvie again. I pull it out and see it’s an unknown number. I ignore it and put it away.

The girl does see me and as soon as she does, she heads over to us.

“Arabella,” bursts David. “Meet Jocelyn Banks.”

“Jocelyn.” She leans in, and we do the obligatory double air kiss. She smells of booze but also like she just bathed in rose petals. “Yes, yes. I already know this gorgeous creature, David. This is who I was telling you about tonight! I was telling David, I said there’s a girl from New York that I’ve been watching at open classes for a few months who is just fantastic.” Her words are drenched in a strong, sexy Spanish accent. She smiles big. With her magazine-worthy, messy black hair, petite stature, and buttery olive skin, she’s like a green-eyed Penélope Cruz, especially in her role as Maria Elena in Vicky Cristina Barcelona.

“Oh my god! I should have put two and two together. I knew Jocelyn was in town somewhere. I guess I just didn’t think she’d be out impressing people with her prowess. Silly me!” David practically shouts. “Well, you two need to exchange numbers.” He turns to me. “Jocelyn, Arabella is a principal at the Royal National Ballet here. She danced in The Nutcracker tonight.”

“I was just there,” I say. “It was great.” I try to place her in the show. “Oh, you were the Snow Queen, weren’t you?”

She looks so different offstage with her voluminous hair.

“Yes, I was.”

“You were wonderful,” I say, feeling a stab of jealousy. I’m usually the one wrapping up a show and grabbing drinks nearby, feeling like a star among the normal people when I do.

“And you got out of the theater quick, too,” I notice. The Snow Queen is a gorgeous pas de deux before the snow scene where the girl’s ribbon came undone.

“Of course! I’m actually lucky I wasn’t the Sugarplum tonight so I didn’t have to stay until the end and I could get out quicker to hang with this guapo creature before he goes back to New York.” She smiles and kisses David.

“I swear, Arabella will be your best friend. She’s absolutely crazy, though!” David gives her a pinch.

I smile at Arabella. I’m taken aback a bit that she’s been talking about me, as we’ve never actually spoken. We’ve really only smiled politely at each other in the open ballet class that I’ve been taking twice a week over the past couple of months. I do it to stay in semi-shape, just in case the urge to dance again overtakes me.

Arabella is good. Very good. It’s not surprising she’s a principal. But she’s been watching me for months? Is that weird? It feels like she would have said something. I mean, it’s not like she seems to be very shy or anything.

I shake it off. I’m the one being weird. It’s a ballet class. We all watch each other.

I’ve been out of my world too long, and now the oddness of it is starting to sneak up on me.

“So great to meet you, Arabella. Yeah, let’s definitely go for drinks or something one day after class.”

“Of course, darling! Ah, one moment…” She then gives us all an apologetic look and holds up her phone, which is ringing. “Now, excuse me, I have to take this. My donor.”

David leans into me and whispers, “The donor shit is crazy here, by the way. If you do start dancing again, just be prepared for that.” He pulls back and then says, at a normal volume, “Not that it looks like you’ll be returning to the stage anytime soon. You look perfectly happy in this new role of yours.”

I squint at him. “New role?”

He shrugs. “Trophy girlfriend. He’s the talent, you’re the pretty little thing. I like it, no judgment. I think it suits you.”

He winks, and I do believe he means it, but that doesn’t mean it’s any less obnoxious.

I watch Arabella on the phone. She’s interesting. One of those people who just draws you in the second you meet. For better or worse. She seems to have a fire burning just beneath the surface.

I have a feeling Arabella could get me into all kinds of trouble.

My phone buzzes again. The same unknown number. They also left a voicemail. I ignore it again.

There’s a screech of feedback and a large, buxom woman in glimmering sequins takes the stage with a bedazzled microphone. She looks like a curvier version of Velma Kelly from Chicago. The bobbed black hair, the eternal smirk.

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the bewitching, beguiling, and besexing Josephine’s!”

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