Chaos Choreography
Page 32
Six
“I’ve found that the difference between an opportunity and an obstacle often comes down to how many knives you have hidden in your clothing.”
—Alice Healy
The roof of the Be-Well Motel
WE HAD CHOSEN THIS MOTEL partially because it was cheap and partially because it had a large, flat roof that was accessible from the upper rooms, if you didn’t mind climbing straight up the side of the building. (Technically, that meant the roof wasn’t accessible, since most people don’t view “climbing straight up the side of the building” as an option. Most people are silly.)
The roof was wide, flat, empty, and surprisingly free of broken glass and other debris, again because most people don’t want to climb up the side of the building. I beat Dominic there by an easy eight feet, and was sitting down with my forehead pressed against my knees by the time I heard him climb over the edge.
There was a pause before Dominic asked, “Is there a reason you’re demonstrating your flexibility right now?”
“Yup,” I said, climbing to my feet and smiling at him. “If I’m going to brace you, I want you to know you’ve been braced.”
“I have danced with you before,” he protested.
“Oh, believe me, I remember.” He’d followed me to one of my last ballroom competitions, knocked my partner unconscious, stuffed him into a closet, and joined me on the floor, resulting in my faking an injury and getting myself disqualified. Good times.
But the past was past, and these were good times. I dug my iPod out of my bag, attached the speakers, and hit “play.” Jesca Hoop began to play. Dominic looked at me. I raised a hand and beckoned him forward.
“C’mere, Batman,” I said. “Let me show you how bracing I can be.”
He laughed nervously as he walked over and put one hand on my hip, pulling me into an amateur’s idea of a proper frame. “I assure you, I don’t need a demonstration.”
“Oh, but you do.” I moved his hand until he was cupping the top of my ass, pulling myself so close to him that there wasn’t room for air between us. “The Argentine tango is about connection. Intimacy. It’s a seduction.”
“You’ve already seduced me,” he protested.
“Not like this,” I said, and began to move.
Dominic’s Covenant training had included basic ballroom dance for some reason: probably because they had weird ideas about fitting into European high society when necessary. He knew the steps of the tango. He could even execute them, in a boring, workmanlike way. I twisted my hips, our proximity forcing his to move in tandem with mine.
“Feel the music, feel your partner,” I said. “I am the only thing that matters.”
He looked at me, eyes dark and heavy-lidded, and I shivered. “I’ve known that for a long time.”
The urge to stop dancing, shove him to the rooftop, and get naked was strong. Only the knowledge that even without broken glass, the roof would be filthy, stopped me. I kicked to one side, then the other, before raising my right leg and bracing it against his shoulder, essentially doing a split while still on my feet.
Startled, Dominic took a step backward, dragging me with him. I grinned.
“See? We’re one creature with two bodies, and it’s your job to make sure the connection doesn’t break. Hold me up. Support me. Feel the tension in my muscles, and use it to follow.”
We danced silently for a few minutes, Dominic trying to match me. The song changed, but I’d chosen Jesca because her beats were usually regular without being overwhelming. There was nothing on the album I couldn’t tango to, and Dominic could at least hear the rhythm.
His cheeks were red when I spun out and back, pressing myself against his chest. “I feel oddly inappropriate doing this,” he said.
“I’m your wife.”
“Valerie Pryor isn’t married,” he said. “The way you hold yourself, the way you move . . . I know I’m dancing with you. I feel like I’m also dancing with her.”
“Just hold on to that feeling,” I said, running my foot up the length of his leg. “When you watch the show, remember that it’s not your wife dancing like this with other men. It’s Valerie.”
“As long as you’ll remember that when the show ends, you’re coming home to me.” He pulled me abruptly closer and kissed me.
The song changed. I barely noticed.
When we finally pulled back from each other, we didn’t resume our dance. Instead, we stood there, cheeks red, and looked at each other. Dominic spoke first.
“I’ve found that the difference between an opportunity and an obstacle often comes down to how many knives you have hidden in your clothing.”
—Alice Healy
The roof of the Be-Well Motel
WE HAD CHOSEN THIS MOTEL partially because it was cheap and partially because it had a large, flat roof that was accessible from the upper rooms, if you didn’t mind climbing straight up the side of the building. (Technically, that meant the roof wasn’t accessible, since most people don’t view “climbing straight up the side of the building” as an option. Most people are silly.)
The roof was wide, flat, empty, and surprisingly free of broken glass and other debris, again because most people don’t want to climb up the side of the building. I beat Dominic there by an easy eight feet, and was sitting down with my forehead pressed against my knees by the time I heard him climb over the edge.
There was a pause before Dominic asked, “Is there a reason you’re demonstrating your flexibility right now?”
“Yup,” I said, climbing to my feet and smiling at him. “If I’m going to brace you, I want you to know you’ve been braced.”
“I have danced with you before,” he protested.
“Oh, believe me, I remember.” He’d followed me to one of my last ballroom competitions, knocked my partner unconscious, stuffed him into a closet, and joined me on the floor, resulting in my faking an injury and getting myself disqualified. Good times.
But the past was past, and these were good times. I dug my iPod out of my bag, attached the speakers, and hit “play.” Jesca Hoop began to play. Dominic looked at me. I raised a hand and beckoned him forward.
“C’mere, Batman,” I said. “Let me show you how bracing I can be.”
He laughed nervously as he walked over and put one hand on my hip, pulling me into an amateur’s idea of a proper frame. “I assure you, I don’t need a demonstration.”
“Oh, but you do.” I moved his hand until he was cupping the top of my ass, pulling myself so close to him that there wasn’t room for air between us. “The Argentine tango is about connection. Intimacy. It’s a seduction.”
“You’ve already seduced me,” he protested.
“Not like this,” I said, and began to move.
Dominic’s Covenant training had included basic ballroom dance for some reason: probably because they had weird ideas about fitting into European high society when necessary. He knew the steps of the tango. He could even execute them, in a boring, workmanlike way. I twisted my hips, our proximity forcing his to move in tandem with mine.
“Feel the music, feel your partner,” I said. “I am the only thing that matters.”
He looked at me, eyes dark and heavy-lidded, and I shivered. “I’ve known that for a long time.”
The urge to stop dancing, shove him to the rooftop, and get naked was strong. Only the knowledge that even without broken glass, the roof would be filthy, stopped me. I kicked to one side, then the other, before raising my right leg and bracing it against his shoulder, essentially doing a split while still on my feet.
Startled, Dominic took a step backward, dragging me with him. I grinned.
“See? We’re one creature with two bodies, and it’s your job to make sure the connection doesn’t break. Hold me up. Support me. Feel the tension in my muscles, and use it to follow.”
We danced silently for a few minutes, Dominic trying to match me. The song changed, but I’d chosen Jesca because her beats were usually regular without being overwhelming. There was nothing on the album I couldn’t tango to, and Dominic could at least hear the rhythm.
His cheeks were red when I spun out and back, pressing myself against his chest. “I feel oddly inappropriate doing this,” he said.
“I’m your wife.”
“Valerie Pryor isn’t married,” he said. “The way you hold yourself, the way you move . . . I know I’m dancing with you. I feel like I’m also dancing with her.”
“Just hold on to that feeling,” I said, running my foot up the length of his leg. “When you watch the show, remember that it’s not your wife dancing like this with other men. It’s Valerie.”
“As long as you’ll remember that when the show ends, you’re coming home to me.” He pulled me abruptly closer and kissed me.
The song changed. I barely noticed.
When we finally pulled back from each other, we didn’t resume our dance. Instead, we stood there, cheeks red, and looked at each other. Dominic spoke first.
