Page 82 of The Way We Dance

Giselle

Ididn't spend the whole month in my apartment.

Occasionally, I made my way to the rooftop and watched the city go by. Thanks to the elevator and my fancy wheelchair, getting up there was easy. The space was designed for entertainment and enjoyment from the tenants, so it was a safe place for me to relax and think about things.

My mother had moved in with me temporarily and took the guest room without complaints. Then she asked me if she could take over my classes at Brisé. She hated kids and told me often, even some of the evenings when she got home from teaching my kids.

Yet, she went back everyday and saw to it that they could practice for their recital. I was handling the books from home and networking with the receptionist over the phone on the accounts and backend of things.

We had costumes to order and bills to pay. These were things that I wasn't very good at but was learning a lot with my mother taking over the actual teaching for a while. I even made a few contacts that were going to help me organize the business side of things better.

Since my mother was helping keep it alive, I had decided I didn't want to let Brisé go. In fact, I wanted to expand and get more help there with me. The value of another teacher to help was proving to be invaluable. I would be able to add one or two more classes and on top of it, I wanted to use ballet to help other athletes the way I had Ty.

I might not have been able to use his name and time with me as a launching pad for that area, but Mr. Peyton assured me he had plenty of other players that needed the same type of help. So once a week, I would have a class for athletes and it would curb the enjoyment I found in using ballet for another platform.

“Darling,” my mother called as she entered the apartment. Living with her here was no different than when we lived in New York. We fell right into the same routines we used to have, only I did those things in a wheelchair.

“In here,” I called from the dining room.

The chef my mother had hired was serving warm plates on the table with something for the strict menu my mother ate from. I just ate what she ate, I was never too fussy with my meal choices.

She waltzed into the dining room and took her seat, dressed in her usual perfect pantsuit and her hair done up to perfection. After each day, and unlike me, she took the time to change in my office after classes. She hired a driver to take her around the park so she did not have to walk home—both for safety and to prevent perspiration. She wasn't too keen on the September heat in Atlanta.

“How was your day,” she asked, placing a napkin on her lap.

“Good, actually. I got a lot of work done. Even ordered the costumes we picked out.”

“Excellent!” She clapped her hands and smiled brightly. Galena may not like kids, but some part of me felt like she was finding enjoyment from this experience. Just like when I was a kid, she enjoyed teaching someone how to dance.

“How is Sam?”

“Sam is as amazing as you told me he was. Absolute perfection.”

My pride for him wanted to burst. If only he knew he had just been beyond complimented by someone with the highest standards in the industry. “See why I wanted to help him? Keep him?”

“Absolutely and darling, I think he will stick it out. I really do.”

“I hope you are right,” I chewed a full bite before I spoke again, not risking chewing with my mouth open in front of my mom. “Now we need to just sell some tickets to our recital. I thought about sending flyers to the schools the kids attend, maybe we can get some of them to come?”

“Actually, I think that is an excellent idea. I also have a little plan of my own that may help as well.”

“What’s that?”

“Oh, it is a surprise.”

Oh no, Galena didn't do surprises.

“Are you coming to our studio rehearsal next week? It will be our only one before we move on to the next act.”

“Yes, I will be there. I want to see the kids so much.”

“Good. Now, tell me what else we need to do before the December show? It is only 8 weeks away darling!”

* * *

I was puttingweight on my leg and walking, though my limp was still present. I had been lucky the bullet didn’t hit bone or any arteries, so it was just my muscle that needed to heal.

On the day the kids were going to do their first act rehearsal, I climbed into my mother’s car service and rode with her to the other side of the park. She was more surprised than I was at how well I was walking. Far from dancing, but walking well enough to get around without assistance.

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