The Firefighter and the Virgin Princess (4 page)

Dear god, she was
stagnating here
. Lily could no longer deny
that her career had stalled and this made her hope, viciously, for
bad things to happen to others. She used to be restless, always on
the move and motivated, always knew where she was headed. But her
view of the future became less assured the higher she went, the
competition getting tougher as the field narrowed. Now it felt as
if she'd reached a plateau and life was moving on without her.
Couldn't seem to put a foot forward anymore without turning in a
circle. If she wasn't careful, this discontent would get heavy and
pull her down.

The sweaty-handed fireman, however, moved
and breathed and lived with determination. That was what had made
him seem so "real", so vital, so full of energy. He knew where he
was going, no doubt. She wanted some of that. She'd missed feeling
that way.

"There is absolutely nothing but bone to get
hold of on that girl anymore," Peter added, wiping his forehead on
a towel, still talking about Bulimic Stacey. "I can lift her one
handed and forget she's up there."

"That's too bad. She has so much
talent."

"We all have talent or we wouldn't be here.
People handle it in different ways. A dancer has to look after
themselves, look after their instrument, you know? It's her choice
to eat and throw up. No one's making her do it, are they?"

Ouch,
the lack of sympathy in their world was tough, ruthless. Not
just for others, but for themselves.

Lily thought of how hard she was pushing
herself, even through injury. Meanwhile, Stacey Glasson threw up
everything she ate and everyone knew it, except those who didn't
care to know and so turned a deliberate blind eye.

Maybe Peter was right and sometimes it was
better to fly under the director's radar. There was certainly
enough pressure even without his attention and the jealousy of
others.

Even so, she longed for that notice. In her
desperately shy way, she longed for it and dreaded it at the same
time.

And here she was, stuck in place. Somehow
she had to get herself moving again. Maybe it was time to try
something different.

Chapter Three

"Hey, Joey! Some girly's here looking for
you."

Soda can halfway to his
mouth, he stopped. For some reason the idea that it might be Donna
flashed through his mind.
Oh, shit.
He didn't feel like talking to her.

It was as if every man in the room suddenly
inhaled and held their breath. Did someone just mute the TV? It was
suspiciously quiet for once.

Mike nudged him so hard he
spilled coke on his t-shirt. Good thing it was dark blue.
"
Joseph
! What are
you waitin' for? Move it, dope!"

He twisted around reluctantly to look over
the back of the old couch.

And there was Princess Blue Eyes standing in
the doorway, stained coat over one arm. He had never moved so fast,
even when the alarm sounded for a call out. The half empty soda can
dropped to the floor and he tripped over it, then over his own
feet.

Someone chuckled. Someone
else whistled the tune, "
If I only had a
brain
..."

"Lieutenant Rossini," she said. "I changed
my mind about the coat."

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand,
he tried to get his pulse in order. Why was he so at a loss? He was
usually the outgoing one in the family, not the sort to get
tongue-tied.

Play it cool,
Joseph
.

"You found me," he said, as nonchalantly as
possible.

"Well, you did tell me where I could." She
looked around the roomful of sprawling firefighters. "I see you're
busy," she said drily. "Don't let me keep you."

Aware of every eye watching them, he
gestured for her to walk out with him into the engine bay where
they could have some privacy. "I'm glad you came by."

She held out her arm with the soiled coat
laid over it. "I wouldn't have bothered, but my grandmother gave
this to me shortly before she died. So it's special, you see."

"No problem." He took it swiftly, inhaled a
deep breath of her perfume and smiled. "I'll get it cleaned, like I
said. Where shall I bring it to you?"

She'd been staring at his hands, but now she
eyed the rest of him cautiously, up and down. Finally she said,
"I'll pick it up here."

"Okay. Can I even know your name?"

The blue eyes shone bright, widened.
"Why?"

He propped one shoulder against his locker,
hugging her coat in both arms. "So I can ask you on a date." May as
well leap in with both feet. If he fell on his ass it wouldn't be
the first time.

She blinked. "It's Lily, actually. Lily
Keene. But I can't go on a date."

"Oh, right. You've got a boyfriend. Or
you're married, even though you don't wear a ring."

"No." She looked confused. Her gaze had once
again tracked lingeringly over his hands, then his arms and
shoulders. "I mean, I don't...date. Men."

"You're a lesbian."

"No." Her eyebrows flew sky high. "Not the
last time I checked."

"You got a terminal disease."

"No. I'm a dancer."

He waited. There had to be more, right?
Apparently not. That was her reason. Just that. "I didn't come here
for anything else," she added hastily. "I merely brought the coat.
Like you said I should. No other reason."

"Why do you keep looking at my hands? Afraid
I'll try to touch you with them and get you all..." he grinned,
"...dirty?"

Her lips quivered. She put her own hands
behind her back. He noted that she stood very straight, heels
together and toes turned outward. "I have to go."

"Wait a minute. I get off
shift tomorrow. Let me take you to dinner tomorrow night."
Joe, you are one crazy son-of-a-bitch. You know
she's not your type.
His pride had decided
that was a more palatable idea than "
out
of your league
".

"I told you I can't. I dance tomorrow night.
I dance every night. In the theater."

"Which theater?"

"NYBT," she replied scornfully, as if he
should have realized. As if there was only one theater in New York.
"I have to go now." The tone of voice suggested she expected him to
try and stop her again.

He didn't.

With a toss of her dark ponytail, she turned
and walked away through the open bay doors, disappearing into the
dusk. One of these days, he was definitely going to grab that hair
and pull her back. A jolt of arousal made his pulse quicken
again.

He lifted her coat to his face and took
another deep inhale. Man, he wanted to lick that fragrance off her
skin. If she ever let him close enough.

"Who was that?" his brother called out when
he went back into the TV room.

"She's got...er, she's a dancer," he
muttered.

But the TV was up too loud and Mike, who was
focused on the Giant's game, couldn't hear. "What answer?"

He grabbed a fresh soda and leapt over the
back of the couch to flop amid the tattered cushions.

What the fuck was this NYBT place where she
danced? He'd bet his nuts it wasn't a strip club.

* * * *

Saturday she danced the matinee and the
evening performance. It was grueling, but they were short of
dancers due to a flu outbreak. Three girls were down from the
corps, in addition to Pregnant Carrie.

Lily heard the other girls
talking a lot about the dancer who'd wandered off on a new path so
suddenly. Oddly, Carrie had gone from an average dancer known
mostly by what her body
couldn't
do, to what it could, and had. Lily had seen her
that morning in the corridor, when she came in to pick up her
paycheck. Smiling and laughing, Pregnant Carrie looked like a new
person. The mantle of sadness and struggle was gone, a weight
lifted. She'd found another purpose for her life and didn't need to
keep measuring her failures.

Lily had thought she ought
to stop and say something, but she chickened out. It felt awkward.
What could she say?
Congratulations
? Wouldn't it sound
false to suggest she was happy for someone who'd given up on the
one thing they all strove toward? Besides, she didn't know Carrie
as a person, only as a dancer. And now she was no longer that. To
be honest, she felt quite awed by Carrie's shining new confidence
and bravery, so she had slipped through a door into an empty studio
to avoid having to say anything at all.

"What's up?" one of the girls asked Lily,
seeing her resting between acts with her foot on a chair and an
icepack over it.

"Oh, it's fine. It's just a sprain." She
could only wear the icepack for a short time, because then she had
to give her foot a chance to warm up properly before her next
entrance. No way was she going to tell anyone how much it truly
hurt. Other dancers would flock around like seagulls eyeing a
wounded crab on the beach. Just as she herself would, much to her
shame.

After the last performance she wrapped up in
a scarf and an old coat and left the theater by the stage door. As
usual she was one of the last out and paused at the top of the
steps to light her cigarette.

"Hey, nicotine is bad for you, Lily
Keene."

She squinted through a cloud of grey smoke
and saw the square-handed fireman standing there, bouncing on his
heels as if to keep them from getting numb. He wore a hat pulled
down over his ears, but no gloves. Just kept blowing on his fingers
to keep them warm.

She came slowly down the steps. "What are
you doing here?" Was he a stalker? She'd heard about dancers with
stalker fans, but always assumed she was so unnoticeable that it
wouldn't ever be a problem for her.

"Oh, I was just passing. Coincidence,
huh?"

"Just passing? At midnight?"

"Okay, you got me. I tracked you down.
NYBT." He pointed at the theater sign, grinning proudly, boyishly.
His face was too honest to tell a lie even for a moment. He
couldn't even try to pull it off. The boys she knew from the ballet
would have made up an elaborate excuse for being there— no more
believable, but gaudy, lavish and entertaining. Instead, he
explained with a shrug, "I wanted to see you, didn't I? And that
was the only goddamn clue you left me."

Lily felt her heart beating in her toes. How
long had he been standing there, waiting for her? No one had ever
waited for Lily in her life. Schedules were set and she fitted into
them, quietly, without fuss.

"Since you said no to dinner, and it is
kinda late now, why don't I take you to breakfast?"

She stared. "I have to go
home and sleep."
And sew ribbons on shoes.
And be depressed again about getting passed over for roles. And
deeply ponder the ridiculousness of my Oompa Loompa life

"It's Sunday," he pointed out. "You can
sleep in, can't you?"

He was right. Sunday was the one day she
didn't have class in the morning, only rehearsal in the
afternoon.

At that moment her stomach growled and he
looked surprised, then laughed. "Was that a yes?"

Lily stamped out her cigarette. "You look
cold."

"It's November, after midnight and I lost my
gloves. And any minute now it's gonna start snowing. So yeah, I'm
freezing my balls off here. The least you could do is come with me
to get a hot chocolate."

He was right. What else could she do?

Finally she took a step forward.

* * * *

He knew a 24-hour diner. It was within a few
blocks of the theater, but apparently she'd never been there
before.

"I guess you people don't eat, do you?"

She sat across the table,
the scarf still wrapped around her throat, her gaze nervously
inspecting the menu. "By
you
people
, I assume you mean dancers.
Actually we do eat, but we have no teeth and regurgitate to feed
our young. What do
you people
do?" She paused, looking up from the menu. "What
are you staring at?"

He kept staring at her, because he couldn't
really believe she'd given in and come with him. "You. I like
looking at pretty things."

She wrinkled her nose. "Is
that how
you people
talk?"

"Nah. Just me. I tend to say whatever I'm
thinking up here." He tapped his forehead with a teaspoon. "Ignore
me. Most girls do. After they've kneed me in the balls."

"I'm sure."

There was silence for a moment while she
studied the menu. Joe fidgeted, dropping the spoon with a clatter.
He wished he had something smart to say. "So how long you been in
the city, Lily Keene?"

She closed the menu with a snap. "I came
here to train when I was eleven."

"That's a Boston accent, right?"

"I wasn't aware I had one.
But...yes...that's where I was born. And where I lived. Before I
was accepted into the New York School of Ballet." She spoke very
properly, in clipped, impatient sentences, and her gaze traveled
around the room as if it tried to avoid him.

"Eleven, huh? That's pretty young to decide
what you want to do with your life."

"Is it? I never wanted to do anything else."
She sighed, looking at the napkin dispenser. "I don't expect you to
understand."

"Why not?"

"Because you're not a dancer. You're an
outsider. You would never fit in my world and so you can never
understand it."

"I'm fitting in now, aren't I?"

Apparently the crooked salt and pepper pots
had been annoying her, for she took great pains to straighten them
neatly beside the napkin dispenser and to wipe a finger smudge off
the chrome holder. She finally looked at him again and scowled. "I
hope you don't think this is a date."