Page 51 of A Lucky Shot

Click. “I was.”

Her fingers hesitated over whatever playlist she was on, then hit play, nodding her head and mouthing along to the lyrics. After a few more beats, she lifted her arms overhead, letting her hips roll like liquid thunder. She docked the phone and strutted across the floor in half-time to the music.

“Nice choice,” he said, grinning, and switched to his digital camera. Now there was no limit to the number of shots he could take.

“It’s my feel-good anthem. Helps me get in the mood.”

“In the mood, hmm?” Click, click, click.

She huffed a giggle. “Stop it.”

“Why would I do that, when watching you blush is so much more fun?”

She knew her angles, that was for sure, playing with the beat and giving him a perfect profile. He dropped to one knee, waiting until she circled past the lights and snapped a series of shots in rapid succession.

The sun dipped behind the skyline, the last of the reflections disappearing from buildings around them, but the lights inside the studio space dazzled off the windows and floors in matte black. An older R&B song he didn’t recognize faded in, and her movements slowed to match the new rhythm.

She moved around the space like she owned it. It was fun. For him, at least. Or maybe engrossing was more like it. Directing her around the space. Getting what he wanted from her, shining through the camera. Seeing the real her again. The woman he watched on set, graceful and confident. Hell, she’d been graceful and confident in his bed. That didn’t always translate in front of a camera. And she moved so confidently here. The music, the lights, which room to pick, and he finally clued in. She’d spent time here. Lots of it.

“You dance.”

“Used to.”

Click, click, click. He’d be able to put together a stop-motion film at the end of this. “What kind of dance?”

Her eyes lit up. “Musical theatre. Ballet. Modern. Even competed in salsa for a few years.” She paused. “I almost went to school in California on a dance scholarship.”

Click, click, click. “Why didn’t you?”

“Because when I got my acceptance letter, they said I needed to lose thirty pounds before the fall semester, and ten more by Christmas.”

Josh lowered his camera.

“I tried. I really did, but I was so miserable,” she continued. “I kept fainting during rehearsals because I wouldn’t eat all day and obsessed over every calorie I put in my mouth. I got help before it got out of control. A lot of my friends didn’t.”

Why it was a hang-up, he’d never understand. Sizeism and fat phobia ran rampant in the arts. And why? So the Nutcracker performance could have one more sugar plum fairy with an eating disorder? And fuck the artistic directors who said it ruined the look.

“That’s super shitty,” he said, instead of going on a rant she’d probably heard before from more articulate people.

She slid her hand up the window frame, the last of the evening light washing her features. “Dance had always been my plan, but not after … after that.” She shrugged. “I was a skinny kid my whole life. In middle school, all my friends were praying for boobs, and I was praying to get six inches taller. Then puberty hit me like a Mack truck, and I got all this,” she said, motioning to her thighs and tits and every other curve.

Click, click, click. “What’s your religion?”

“I was raised Catholic, but I’m agnostic?”

“I’m lighting a candle tonight and sending a prayer of thanks to the Virgin Mary for blessing you with that body.”

She rewarded him with her musical laugh and kicked back in time to the music, smiling again.

Good. Mission accomplished. And for once, he could stare at her as long as he wanted, even if it was through a camera lens.

“Anyway, I had always sewn all my costumes for dance, so design and wardrobe seemed natural. I love it, and I’m good at it.”

She was better than good. She was the best designer he’d ever worked with. Click, click, click. “Ever consider teaching?”

“Kids aren’t really my jam,” she said, then added quickly, “I mean, I love my nieces, and they’re fine in small doses, but I’m happy being the fun auntie. And since I got injured a few years ago, I wouldn’t have been able to dance professionally, anyway.”

“What happened?” As much as he loved directing her movements, she didn’t need it here, and he stood back, watching her glide up the staircase in the studio’s corner.

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