Free Dancergirl by Carol M. Tanzman Page B

Auditioners—Ring Bell, and lock the front door. I make thebathroom rounds to replace toilet paper, soap and tissues. Then I’m free.
    With a flick of a switch, the lights dim in Studio A. There’s nothing like warming up in a room with a beautiful oak floor and soft, dreamy lighting. I stretch, do a barre and practice some turns I think Quentin might include.
    The wall clock reads 6:55. Still time. I slip my Clash CD into the player. I’d presented the solo before we went to Baltimore; now I have to work on the suggestions Eva and the class gave.
    It’s heaven to have so much space. A couple of leaps fill the hole in the middle I didn’t know what to do with. That leaves the end, which everyone agreed is flat.
    I re-cue the music and dance straight through to get the flow, and then keep going. As the music hits its final note, muffled clapping catches my attention.
    My scream bounces wildly around the bare room. In the mirror, a man’s reflection stares at mine. Cisco! He stands in Studio A’s doorway, wearing a black motorcycle jacket. Leather-gloved hands stop midclap.
    “Didn’t mean to scare you,” he says.
    “How long have you been here?” My voice wavers.
    “Saw most of it. A little rough at the end but the middle rocks. Good music choice.”
    He steps into the room. I back away.
    Cisco frowns. “What’s this?”
    “How did you get in? I locked the front door.”
    “I rang the bell but no one answered. Saw the lights on so I tried the back door. It’s unlocked, you know.”
    How long has it been like that? Hours, days, weeks? Anyone could come in, hide in the locker room, attack a Fairy Tale kid, Lynette or me….
    Cisco pulls off his gloves. “Seen Eva?”
    “Not since class last week.”
    He leans against the barre. “Me, neither.”
    “Don’t you guys live together?”
    “We had a fight.”
    I pop my disc from the CD player. “What did you do? Cheat on her?”
    The vein in Cisco’s neck pulses and his face tightens. “You’ve got quite a mouth.”
    “Sorry. I didn’t mean…”
    “I think you did.”
    “Really—I’m sorry. You just surprised me. I thought I was alone.”
    “That’s what happens when you forget to lock all your doors. Never know who’s watching, dancergirl. ”
    The phone at the front desk shrieks.
    “I’ve got to get that.” I rush past him. At the desk, my voice croaks: “Moving Arts Dance Studio. Alicia speaking.”
    From the corner of my eye, I watch Cisco leave the same way he came in. The unlocked back exit.
    “Sorry—didn’t catch that.”
    I answer the question, then move down the hall. The dead bolt makes a popping sound as I slide the small metal bar across the edge of the door to lock it.
    Never know who’s watching.
    The dread I’ve managed to smother comes back so hard I’m afraid I’m going to be sick. Before I reach the bathroom, a sharp bang startles me. Now what? I sneak to the front window, peek through the shade.
    “Samantha!” I let her, along with a blast of frigid air, into the studio.
    “Where were you? I rang the bell a bunch of times.”
    “Sorry, I was in the back.”
    “It’s friggin’ cold out there.”
    I don’t want to be alone. I follow her into the dressing room. “So. Samantha. Are you nervous?”
    She hits me with a suspicious look. “What do you want, LoserGirl?”
    “Just being friendly.”
    Samantha does that arrogant toss of silky hair she’s so good at. Before she can respond, however, the doorbell rings. I let in another dancer, then another. The studio fills with worried students, harried teachers. Everyone asks questions.
    “Which studio am I scheduled for?”
    “What time are the jazz auditions?”
    “Do I get to try again if I mess up?”
    Lynette finally shows up to organize the chaos, so I’m off the hook. But not for long.
    Quentin arrives. He wears a floor-length fur coat that a dozen animals have sacrificed their lives for, but I have to admit he’s the only one who looks even halfway