Page 11 of Dancing in Lake Mistletoe

“I brought cookies,” Norah announces, pulling a tin from her bag. She opens the lid to reveal perfectly frosted sugar cookies shaped like jack-o’-lanterns and black cats.

“Oh, yes, please,” Willa says, reaching for one.

Norah extends the container to me. “I just thought we needed a snack to keep us going.”

I take one, and she goes over to share with the girls.

After our cookie break, we dive back into the goody bags, and Norah turns the conversation to me. “So, tell us about yourself, Mindi.”

“What do you want to know?” I ask.

“Are you married, single? Do you live in a skyscraper? Do people in New York really walk everywhere?”

“Let’s see. I’m not married. I’m recently single. I dated a fellow dancer, Michael, for several years, but he broke up with me a couple of weeks before I came out here. I don’t live in a skyscraper. You’d have to be independently wealthy to afford that. And unfortunately, I live on peanuts, so it’s a rent-controlled sixth-floor walk-up apartment that I share with five other dancers. And, yes, we walk a lot, but we also have taxis and the subway.”

“Six-story walk-up? Like, you don’t have an elevator?” Hannah asks, her eyes wide.

“That’s correct.”

“Jeez, and I feel guilty because we don’t have one for our third-floor guests,” Willa says.

“No wonder you’re in such good shape. I’d be dead,” Norah says.

Hannah gives Norah a look. “Sure, the steps in her apartment are why the professional ballerina is in shape.”

“Six flooooors!” Norah stresses.

“Okay, so it probably doesn’t hurt,” Hannah relents.

“I thought professional dancers would make bank. Like musicians or actors,” Norah says.

I scoff. “Yeah, principal dancers maybe, but the corps de ballet barely scrape by. You know, paying our dues and all.”

“How long does it take to become a principal?” Hannah asks.

I shrug. “It varies, depending on your skill level and the company’s interest or need for a new principal, but usually seven and a half years. Unless you’re a freak of nature, like Aran Bell,who made it by age twenty-one. The truth is, most won’t make it at all.”

“Really? Then what?” Norah asks.

“You retire at thirty or thirty-five and probably end up teaching.”

“Ah, like football players or wrestlers,” she says as she nods.

I laugh as I reach for another bag. “Um, guys, there aren’t any more bags. I think we’re done,” I announce.

The end of the table is filled with rows of neatly packed goody bags, each one tied with a ribbon and topped with a sticker. Cobie and Josie clap their hands, thrilled with our handiwork.

“Wonderful.” Trixie stands to fetch two large baskets.

Hannah and Norah help her load the bags inside.

“Now, we’re all set for the trick-or-treaters,” Trixie says.

“We did it!” Josie shouts, her face glowing with pride.

“Yes, we did,” Trixie says, high-fiving both girls. “Now, go with Trudy so she can wash the icing off your faces while we clean up and get the movie ready.”

“Sticky fingers everywhere,” Trudy says with a sigh as she chases the two out of the room.

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