Dirty Secrets (Get Dirty 4)
“I’m so very sorry, Allison. That sounds awful. Truly.”
I don’t try to temper the words with useless reassurances that she knows are untrue. I offer my true feeling of remorse that her dream was snatched from her.
She waves her hand, dismissing even the bare-boned words. “Like they say, the show must go on. I did months of physical therapy to make sure my ankle was strong and healthy again, but the real work was in here.”
She touches her fingertip to her temple, and I give her a questioning look. “Three months of inpatient treatment at an eating disorder clinic and then years of therapy after, but I came out healthy. Better than I’d been in years, maybe ever.”
A lightbulb goes off in my head, and I realize what brought her to Petals in the first place. It wasn’t just dance.
“Your medical bills. You’d said when you began that you were paying off medical bills. You took them on yourself.”
She nods, wounded but proud. “Of course. I didn’t feel like my parents should have to pay for all that after paying top-dollar for my ballet for so many years. Dancing here has given me a way to pay off the hospital faster than I would’ve been able to with a desk job.”
I nod, numbers whirling in my head, and though I know I could easily wipe her debt clean, I also know she would never allow it.
“But with a feature gig contract here plus your classes and private events at Encore, you should make considerable progress, right?”
She taps her nose and smiles as she points at me, grinning. “That’s the plan. Taking over the world next week.”
Her casual sass is enchanting, an uncommon behavior from most people when they sit alone with me. I’m accustomed to nerves or machismo, wolf tickets and bragging, fear and ego, and sometimes flat-out manipulative desire.
But Allie is none of those things. She’s simply herself, and I want to bask in her authenticity and soak up the wholesome goodness of her soul that some might dismiss because of her job but is so readily obvious to anyone who takes the time to actually speak with her. I also like that while she may be deeply unsure about the ethics of what I do, at least on the surface, she is relaxing around me, talking and sharing with ease as we chat like two regular people, though the reality is that only one of us is ‘normal’.
“What about your family? Do they know how you’re paying the medical bills?”
She rolls her eyes like an exasperated teenager who just got asked a stupid question.
“Yes, and of course, they hate it. Which I understand, because who wants their kid to grow up to be a stripper? I definitely think they expected something a bit classier from me after all those hours at a ballet barre, but all things considered, they don’t give me much of a hard time.”
The thought of her parents criticizing her at all frustrates me, but I can understand their conflict, both wanting her to fly and satisfy her obvious need for the stage, while at the same time wanting to protect her and keep her selfishly to themselves.
“Class is not in what one chooses to do for a living, Allie,” I reassure her, seeing the question hiding behind her eyes. After all, I’ve seen almost everything her body has to display. Many men would disrespect the woman inside at that point. But then again, I am not many men. “It is how you carry yourself, the way you stay true to your own compass. And you have done that beautifully, through both adversity and privilege, with a refined elegance that has shone through. In the end, you will shine like the star I’ve seen from the first moment we met.”
The silence that follows is deafening, her cheeks pink with pleasure as the words sink in. I give her the moment to truly hear them, hoping she can feel the genuineness of them.
A knock on the door surprises me, which is a dangerous thing. I am always aware and alert of my surroundings, but while I’ve talked with Allie, listening to her story, I’ve been immersed completely in her.
It could have been a threat, though they likely wouldn’t have knocked and would have to be ninjas to get past my outside security. Fortunately, it is merely our dinner delivery.
We move over to the casual seating area of my office, and I unpack the bag of food, setting each dish on the coffee table. Allie foregoes the couch in favor of sitting on the floor. I stare at her for a moment and then follow her lead.
I don’t know that I’ve ever sat on the floor to eat, not even as a child, unless it was at a Japanese restaurant. My family was always more formal, more about rules and expectations of propriety. But sitting here this way feels oddly intimate, and I find that I enjoy being this casual with Allie, sharing a meal in my office at Petals, a place I rarely relax.