Page 17 of The New Couple in 5B

My dreams. They’re slowly fading. It’s not much of a surprise. I’ve always known that I am a good dancer but not a great one. My beauty is an asset, but my bust is too big, my legs too thick.

My last role was as a burlesque dancer, part of the chorus in a small off-Broadway play; it got good reviews, had a solid run, but it has closed. I have a few auditions this week—a dancing part in a commercial and another chorus spot in a much bigger play—but my ankle is sore and I’m not getting any younger.

Back at home, they think I’m a star. But the truth is that I’m just one of a million young dancers not quite good enough to be the very best. Because here, that’s what youmustbe to be anything at all.

I was in despair when my last show closed, part of me feeling—knowing—that this was the end, my last chance to be seen, discovered. But then on that last night I sawhimin the audience. A familiar face but someone who’s always just been on the edge of life.

I’ve never met anyone like him; his olive skin and his deep dark eyes, his exotic accent, and mysterious gaze. That night he was waiting for me backstage.

You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen, he said as I approached him.

That’s all we want to hear, those of us reaching for the stars and falling, falling, falling instead.

And Paul, it should be said, was not there. He was on deadline, couldn’t get away. Even though he must have known I needed the support that night.

But the page always comes first.

Don’t leave me. Please stay, the jazz singer begs now.

I should go.

I will go home to the husband who loves me, who provides for me and who truthfully has been in the audience of nearly every performance, cheering the loudest and looking at me with eyes full of adoration.

I am about to go home when he turns, and his gaze hooks me. His smile, easy and knowing, is like a rope around me, tugging me across the floor to him.

“You are stunning,” he whispers when I’m beside him.

Not an hour ago I was in the arms of my husband, and now I let this stranger put my fingers to his lips.

My mother had a word for girls like me.

You’re always looking for something just out of reach, Willa. But everything you need is right here.She was right; Iamalways looking for something. I am not sure what. But I know I haven’t found it yet. Maybe tonight.

“Let’s paint the town,” he says. His voice is hypnotic. His arm snakes around my waist.

“Yes,” I say, hearing the city night calling. “Let’s.”

five

Max is waiting for me on the street outside the theater on Lafayette.

A light drizzle falls, coating the sidewalk, cars, umbrellas, in a glassy sheen. My head is pounding from the cut on my forehead, and I’m still reeling from the basement encounter, the romantic gesture from my husband.

Max leans against the building holding his umbrella in one hand, staring at his phone in the other. He pockets his cell as I approach, face brightening. I’m washed with a kind of relief—for the safety and comfort of his enduring friendship.

“Hey, you’re late,” he says, taking me into a warm embrace. “I was starting to worry.”

Max is my date for all of Chad’s opening night performances. He’s the calming influence I always need. When Chad goes on stage, I’m more nervous for him than he is for himself, which is not helpful and something I keep from him.

“Busy day,” I say, trying for a smile.

He gives me a frown but doesn’t push, stows his umbrella. We go to the will-call window and grab our front-row tickets, and then bypass the crowd gathering outside.

The warmth and light of the theater, the murmur of the crowd, is a welcome contrast to the wet, chilly night outside. There’s that buzz of excitement that always precedes a performance. The energy of anticipation; it’s electric.

“So,” Max says as we take our seats, shift off our coats. “I have some good news.”

I feel a little jolt of excitement. “Oh?”