I pulled out my cell phone right away and texted a message to Uncle Theo as I had every night after a show. I frowned at the phone when he didn’t immediately reply. Since he’d lost nearly all his hearing, I’d taught him how to text and email before I left so we could communicate while I was gone. He’d been a trooper at using the “silly gadgets” up until recently. He hadn’t responded to either my texts or my emails in three days now. A day or two was normal—sometimes he simply forgot. But three days? There are many possible reasons. Maybe the battery died and he forgot to charge it. Maybe he knows you’re coming home soon and is done with the “damn buttons.” Maybe he’s just too busy with Mira. This last one was more like my Uncle Theo.
“Beautiful as always, cara mia,” Alberto said to me in strong English heavy with an Italian accent as he stood in the doorway to my dressing room, distracting me from my phone. He’d already changed out of his costume into street clothes. With dark curls hanging to his shoulders, eyes like onyx sparkling with life and a perfect dancer’s physique, he was a sight to behold, even in jeans and a tight white T-shirt. He knew it, too.
“Grazie,” I said with a wide grin. “You were amazing, too, as always.”
“Of course I was. You come to Alonzo’s to celebrate, no?” he asked.
“Wouldn’t miss it. I need a little more time than you to look beautiful, though,” I said as I wiped a trickle of sweat off the back of my neck. “And I still need to change.”
“Bah! You should wear that,” he said, flipping a hand at my skimpy costume. “So sexy.”
I laughed as I pushed him out the door. Alberto was nothing but a tease. After all, he truly had eyes for only one person—Bruno, the sound technician.
Alone in my tiny dressing room with the sounds beyond the door quieting as everyone headed out, I pulled off my golden leotard and the scrap of shimmery material that passed for a skirt. I left my tights on and slipped into a white lacey smock and faded red cowboy boots. My chest tightened and my eyes burned as I folded my costume with deliberation and tucked it into my duffle bag. I’d never again wear it. I’d never again be in a dressing room like this, overhead lights flashing as the theater owner gave a final warning he was about to lock up. I’d only used this particular room a couple of times, but it represented all of those in the last month as I’d made my way across Italy with this dance company. Not exactly what my dream had been, but pretty damn close. As close as I’d ever get.
This is it, I thought as I slipped on my collection of bracelets and rings. My final farewell to any hopes of a dance career.
My eyes followed my hand as it caressed the old, abused vanity before looking up into the lighted mirror. With a sigh, I pulled off the band keeping my wild curls in a tight bun. They sprang from my head in every which way, celebrating their freedom. I smoothed my hands over the light brown spirals, trying to control them, but as always, they refused to cooperate. The best I could do was what looked like a curly lion’s mane. I dabbed at smudged mascara under my green eyes, rubbed some of the excess make-up off my cheeks and decided I was as good as I’d get.
The overhead lights fell dark for the last time when I opened the dressing room door. The rear exit stood open at the end of the hall, and the streetlamp spilled dim light down the corridor, the scuffed wooden floor dully reflecting its glow. I inhaled slowly, cherishing the musty smell of an old theater mixed with the rancid odor of dancers’ sweat and the sweet fragrance of roses. I silently said my goodbyes as my feet carried me outside.
“Thank you, Uncle Theo,” I whispered as I left the theater for the last time. Only because of him did I even have this opportunity. I couldn’t wait to tell him all about it.
A large, muscular body flew at me, swept me into his arms and twirled me around as though we were still on stage. Laughter bubbled out of my chest.
“You ready to celebrate, cara mia?” Alberto asked as he set me down.
“Celebrate that you’re finally getting rid of me?” I teased.
He clapped his hand over his heart, and his face fell into an exaggerated expression of pain. “Oh, Leni, you do not know how I will miss you and your mane.”
He swatted playfully at the bottom of my curls. He had no idea how I would miss the way he said my name, drawing out both syllables, “laaaay-neee,” like only an Italian could do.
“But you won’t miss my heels on your toes or my arm in your face?” I said in mock disbelief.
He took my hand and danced me down the cobbled street toward the plaza at the center of town. “You are a stunning dancer, cara mia. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.” He spun me under his arm, my duffle bag smacking against my butt the whole time. “Of course, you have become much better since becoming my partner. But everyone does.”
He winked at me before dropping me into a dip. My bag slid off my shoulder and a hand darted beneath me to catch it. Alberto swung me up and around, bringing me face-to-face with the most unbelievably stunning vision I’d seen my whole time in Italy. Which was saying a lot. His eyes—blue, I thought, though the light from the corner post wasn’t enough to be sure—enraptured me. He held my bag out with a small smile that hinted at dimples.
“Grazie,” I said breathlessly as I wrapped my hand around the strap of my bag. He gave me a nod almost deep enough to be a bow, his shaggy blond hair falling in his face. Then, without a word, he turned and walked away. My mouth fell open. “How rude.”
“Must be American,” Alberto said. I punched him in the arm.
“Who goes out of their way to catch a falling object and then can’t even say ‘you’re welcome’?” I asked absent-mindedly as I stared after the retreating body that rivaled Alberto’s. No, scratch that. It totally beat out Alberto’s even on his best day.
“What an ass,” Alberto muttered.
“Rude, yes, but I don’t know if I’d go that far.”
“No, I mean what an ass that man has.” He let out a low whistle.
I laughed and admired the view as well. “I can agree with that.”
“He’s going to Alonzo’s. Lucky us.”
Alberto held out his arm, I looped mine into it, and we sauntered toward the club, the heels of my boots clacking on the cobblestones. Discotheque music pounded from inside, drowning out the noise of my steps and even the fountain as we crossed the center of the plaza. Bruno waited for us outside. He flicked his cigarette to the ground and took my other arm. We made a scene as the three of us squeezed through the door, and then the party swallowed us whole.
We drank and danced and drank some more. Since I couldn’t take it on the plane tomorrow, I opened the bottle of wine my fellow dancers had given me, took a swig and passed it around. It never found its way back to me. Almost all of the fifteen dancers and five crewmembers had come, including Bruno and Alberto, who was also the director.
I found this funny, in a drunken kind of way. Up until tonight, Alberto and Bruno had pretty much been the only ones to provide any kind of friendship. The rest of the dance company had grown from hating me to barely tolerating me to finally accepting me, on a temporary basis, anyway. I was American, I didn’t speak Italian well enough, I was too short, too round, too pretty but not pretty enough, and definitely didn’t dance at their level. In other words, I wasn’t one of them. Tonight, however, they acted as though they might actually miss me.
Dancing with them at the disco was much different than our dances on stage. Maybe this difference was what had finally brought them all around to me in the last week. Throughout the tour, we’d traveled every night, crossing the countryside to get to the next town in the wee hours of morning, grabbed some sleep, performed, then boarded the train again. But for this leg, this village had been our home base, centrally located between the six towns we’d visited this week. We’d taken bus trips to the dance theaters for our performances, returning each night early enough to let loose for a little while at Alonzo’s. And that meant dancing how we wanted to, and I was much better at modern freestyle than the structured ballroom numbers Alberto had us doing on stage. The other dancers finally saw how I could move.