Page 18 of Mr. Kelly

Now, I stretch in bed as the harsh light from the sun drops me back into reality. I’m alone and the man isn’t mine. I take a long shower, delaying what may be the writing on the wall. The adrenaline is gone, and he’ll remember that he loves his wife. Things could get awkward. He could give me over to Andrea until this blows over, or I could be out of a place to stay. The bank returned my funds. I may need to buy a ticket back to Atlanta and try again later.

I put on yoga clothes, then finally leave my room. The house is quiet, but I know he’s here. He stands in the kitchen, looking at his phone, with a cup of tea to his right. He’s fully dressed in a button-up and pants as if he has business in the club, but his still damp hair is dark and falling forward. He looks so damn good. What’s worse is now I have the memory of what it’s like to be with him.

He looks up and gives me a tentative smile. His mouth says, “Good morning,” but I can see the contrition in his ocean eyes.

Now that his head is clear, his eyebrows aren’t as relaxed, and his shoulders are slightly bunched. He feels guilty. I knew it was a possibility, but I selfishly wanted to know how it would be between us. I wave because I don’t have much to say. His expression says it all.

“River,” he starts with a sigh. He’s not saying my name the way he said it last night.

Erratic knocking, followed by excessive doorbell ringing, stops whatever he was about to say. It’s okay. I don’t want to hear it. It’ll hurt too much.

“Your wife.”

I point to the door and leave him to deal with that nightmare. I cannot be rejected and deal with the lunatic all at the same time. The studio is beautiful and, of course, better than any I paid to dance in back home. I push that out of my mind and try to focus on the poses. The room must be soundproof because I can barely hear The Kellys' voices. I still feel wound up when I am done, so I go to the bar and work on some of the ballet techniques I used to study.

My body loosens, and since I’m avoiding them, I use the stereo in the studio to play a song from one of the routines I’d learned. I love dance, but I didn’t have the passion necessary to live for dance. I learned in my early twenties that it wouldn’t be a career for me.

I haven’t practiced ballet in at least two years, but the routine comes back to me. I’m halfway through the song when I find my stride, and by the end, I’m happy I remembered the rest. My body is loose and some of the tension finally eases.

Clapping comes from the corner of the room, but I know it’s not applause. It’s the condescending kind that causes some of my muscles to bunch back up. I know who’s there before I even turn around.

“Pathetic. Sloppy. Laughable,” Helena taunts me. “You’re such a low-budget wannabe that you wouldn’t even cut it as the made-for-television version of me.” She holds up a hand. “And I’ve seen some terrible versions.”

“I have no desire to be you,” I say as neutrally as I can. “I haven’t studied ballet in years. It’s just exercise to me.”

Her face scrunches, offended that I don’t share the same love for her craft. She may be looking at me like I’m beneath her,but I’m not the one whose face is red from probably groveling. Looking around her shoulder, I expect Theodore to come remove her like he always does.

“He’s not coming. In fact, don’t expect to see him ever again. He’s giving me time to get rid of you.” Helena holds her head high like I haven’t seen her at her craziest. “We’re staying together because he’ll choose me every time.”

I want to argue with her, but I saw the look on his face before she arrived. Plus, I came to him because my life was in danger, not to get his attention romantically. I’ve had all I’ll probably ever have of him, and there is no point in fighting with his wife of six years, so I wait for her to finish speaking.

She drops a bag at my feet. “Fifteen thousand dollars. This is enough to get you out of our lives. Go pay the thug for your boyfriend and use the rest to get the hell out. The time for mooching is over. Get out!”

I step around her and walk out of the studio. The penthouse is quiet and Theodore is not anywhere I can see. It hurts that it’s ending like this. I would have accepted an amicable goodbye, but Helena doesn’t know how to do that. I power walk to the room because I refuse to cry, especially not in front of her, as I pack up my things. It doesn’t take me a long time to pack because I didn’t have much when I arrived.

She’s standing at my door when I sling the bag over my shoulders. “You forgot the money. I grab the bag and leave without a word. Maybe I did have it right the first time. Maybe he does sleep with other women when his wife is driving him crazy, then goes back to the source. I don’t know. The only thing I know is that I want to put a lot of distance between me and the Kellys. I wasn’t made for this kind of drama. He’s not in the club either, and I stop in the ladies’ bathroom to check the money. She wasn’t joking. Fifteen grand just to get rid of me. I leave ten in the bag and bury the rest at the bottom of my luggage.Looking in the mirror, I make sure I look normal and take a deep breath, like when I went outside the night before all hell broke loose. I glance at the bag in my hand. I have the money this time.

If I’m lucky, I’ll be able to hand it over and go home. That’s the plan, no matter how much I don’t like it. I use the burner to send one last text. I haven’t met Surly, but I don’t trust him or his words either.

The little guy is in my face the moment I step outside. He’s bruised and bandaged up to the point that I wonder about his intelligence.

“Here. Give your boss this money and leave me the hell alone. I don’t know where Mario is and I don’t care.”

He shrugs in a cheap version of the outfits Andrea and Theodore wear and touches my elbow.

“Give it to him yourself. I’m just the errand boy.”

He guides me to his SUV and sighs when I hesitate. “I’m taking you straight to him. I don’t feel the need to hit on you like Von.”

“Where are we going?”

“To his establishment a few blocks over. Now, stop talking.”

I can’t place his accent, but he sounds like he’s from a different country. His hair is combed out of his face and his brown mustache seems out of place, but I’m not the one to tell him that. My stomach is in knots as he drives.

“We pull in front of a restaurant I’ve seen plenty of times but never want to visit. There was something dirty about its appearance and I see that I’m right. The awnings look like they’re about to fall off and the outside needs to be cleaned. The musty smell of the inside ensures that I would have walked out if I’d ever suffered the bad judgment of coming to eat.

Surly doesn’t look like I expected. He’s tall and in shape with bright red hair. He licks his pink lips once he sees me.

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