He was there in the front row, in the last seat on the left. He was looking at me and smiling, mouthing, “Congratulations.”
“And last but not least, our leading lady of the night and a new principle dancer here at NYCB—Aubrey Everhart!” The director said into the mic, and the audience cheered loudly.
“Miss Everhart?” She nudged me, whispering, “Miss Everhart, you need to take your final bow and leave the stage…”
I didn’t move. I continued staring at Andrew.
“Miss Everhart?” She whispered, more harshly now. “Take a bow and get backstage…Now…”
I walked away from her and headed straight toward Andrew—taking my time down the stage’s side steps. I stood in front of him, looking directly into his eyes—ignoring the confused murmurs of the crowd.
The director said a few more words, Mr. Ashcroft gave his regards, and the curtains closed without me.
As the audience gave one final applause and started to file out of the room, I finally found my voice.
“I thought you said you weren’t coming…” I whispered. “Did you come here just to see my show or are you staying a little bit longer?”
“I’m staying a little bit longer.”
“Does that mean permanently?”
“No.” He wiped away my tears. “It means I’ll stay here until you realize how terrible this city is—until you’re ready to leave.”
“I signed a contract for three years.”
“Every contract is negotiable.” He smiled and pulled me into his arms. “And if you don’t apologize for ruining the closing credits tonight, they just might risk breaching it and fire you…”
“Where will you work?” I asked. “Are you going to practice law? Can you practice law?”
He kissed my lips. “I’ll be teaching at NYU.”
“What?” My heart immediately felt for the future students. “Why?”
“What do you mean, why?”
“You’re a terrible teacher, Andrew…All of the interns at GBH hated you.”
“I don’t give a f**k.”
“I’m serious…” I was actually worried. “I think you should reconsider. Teaching isn’t for everyone, so—”
“First of all,” he said, cutting me off and tightening his grip around me. “I am a good f**king teacher. It just depends on the subject matter…” He trailed his finger across my lips. “I can recall teaching you how to do something very well…”
I blushed.
“Second of all, last time I checked, all of the interns at GBH were quite unteachable and they were dumb as stones—all except one.”
“The one that was a f**king liar?”
“Yes,” he said. “That one.”
“I heard she broke all your rules.” I brought my hand up to his face. “I heard she ended your one dinner, one night, and no repeats streak… ”
“I’m pretty sure that she didn’t.”
“Is that so?” I narrowed my eyes at him. “Is it still going on? Is that still your personal motto?”
“To a certain extent,” he said, pressing his lips against mine. “Since I still like the sound of it, and will only be dating her from here on out, I’ll just replace the word ‘one’ with ‘more’…”
Epilogue
Six Years later…
New York, New York
Andrew
I stood in front of a classroom at New York University—counting down the seconds, asking myself why I’d ever agreed to this.
“Are there any questions?” I looked at my watch.
Several hands flew into the air.
“I’m only answering three of them.” I pointed to a young woman in the front row. “Yes, you. What is it?”
“Um…” She blushed. “Good morning, Professor Hamilton. My name is—”
“I don’t care what your name is. What is your question?”
“Um, it’s been about two weeks since the semester started and you have yet to give us a syllabus…”
I ignored her and pointed to a jock in the back row. “Yes?”
“You also haven’t told us what books we need to buy…”
“Does anyone in this classroom know the definition of the word, question?” I picked the last student, a redhead sitting by the window. “Yes?”
“Is it true that we’re required to take turns bringing you coffee every day?”
I looked at the coffee mug on my desk, at the sign-in sheet that listed which student had brought it today.
“It’s not a requirement,” I said, picking up the cup. “But if you miss your day to bring me my coffee, I’ll make sure everyone in this class regrets it.”
They groaned collectively and shook their heads. A few of them still had their hands raised, but I was officially done for the day.
“Read pages 153 - 260 from the printout by next class. I expect you to know the ins and outs of each case. Class dismissed.” I walked out, saying nothing further.
Slipping into my car, I noticed a new email on my phone.
Subject: Bathroom.
Thank you for sending me that very inappropriate note with my flowers today. Everyone in my cohort now knows that you and I have yet to f**k in our brand new bathroom.
Why are you so ridiculous?
—Aubrey.
Subject: Re: Bathroom.
You’re very welcome for the flowers. I’m hoping that you liked them.
And that wasn’t a “note” that I sent you. It’s a demand that’s about to be addressed within the next few hours.
Why do you deny that you love it?
—Andrew.
I could picture her rolling her eyes at my last message, so I revved up my car and sped back toward our home.
Even though I’d spent the last six years here, I was still building my tolerance for the things I once hated, things that now bothered me less and less, but I still had a long way to go.
Some memories can never be replaced…
Aubrey was completely captivated and entranced by this city, though. Whenever she wasn’t incessantly touring with the ballet company, she was insisting that we try every restaurant, theater, and tourist attraction possible—trying to make me fall in love with everything again.
I parked in front of our brownstone—a newly purchased brick building in Brooklyn, and walked up the steps.
“Aubrey?” I said as I opened the door. “Are you in here?”
“Yes.” She called from a distance. “And I’m not in the bathroom.”
“You will be eventually.” I walked down the hallway, stopping when I saw her hanging another frame in her office.
The walls were covered in pictures of her standing at center stage, a different picture for every night she’d opened a show.
“Do I need to have another room built for you and your photos?” I asked. “You’re running out of space.”
“No, I think this is the last one.”
“Are you still retiring at the end of the month?” I stepped behind her and kissed her neck. “Or have you changed your mind yet?”
“I’m not changing my mind.” She turned around to face me. “I think it’s time for me to focus on something new.”
“Becoming the female version of Mr. Ashcroft when you teach?”
“I won’t be that bad,” she said. “But I do need a break like you said, I think…”
I nodded. I’d been extremely supportive throughout her professional career—traveling with her out of the country to see some of the shows, hiring a personal massage therapist who was at her beck and call, and documenting all of her achievements from the newspapers.
But I’d recently noted a change—a shift, in her attitude: Although she was happy when she went to rehearsals, even happier when telling me about new things the company was trying, she seemed to be more interested in a life outside of the company, so I suggested that she take a short break.
I was still trying to figure out how she’d interpreted my suggested “break” as a “retirement.”
“I loved dancing in Russia.” She smiled, pointing to the picture. “Do you remember that?”
“I do remember that...” I said, continuing my assault of her neck, slipping my hand under her shirt.
She murmured as I rubbed my thumb around her nipple, as I gently bit her skin. But then she stepped away. “I actually need you to go fax my revised contract to the company…I have to let them know officially by five o’clock.”
“After the bathroom.” I clasped her hand. “We have four hours.”
She rolled her eyes, but she gave in, taking my lead into the bathroom.
I turned on the water and pulled her dress over her head. “If you’re hell bent on retiring from performing and simply teaching, we’ll have more time to spend together.”
“More time for you to convince me to leave New York?”
“We really don’t have a reason to stay,” I said, threading my fingers through her hair. “If you’re going to teach, you can commute.”
“And if I don’t teach? If I decide to continue dancing instead?”
“I’ll buy season tickets.” I cupped her face in my hands, raising my eyebrow. “I never asked you to retire, Aubrey…I just think you need a break. You haven’t taken a week off in more than six years…”
“I am going to take a break…”
“Is it going to last longer than two days?”
“A lot longer…”
“Two weeks?”
“It’ll be at least nine months…”
“What?” I backed up, shocked. We’d stopped using protection once we moved in together, but she’d still taken birth control. "What are you saying, Aubrey?"
"I’m saying you’re going to be a father," she said, nearly whispering. “And I think that’s a good enough reason for us to stay…”
I was silent for several seconds, pressing my palm against her flat stomach.
“Are you okay?” she asked. “Is this not something that you wanted? I wanted to tell you this morning, but you were in a rush, so—”
I cut her off with a deep kiss and pulled her close, rubbing my hands against her bare back. “I’m more than okay…” I looked into her eyes. “It is something I wanted…”
She murmured, “I love you,” against my lips and I said it back.
Breathless, she leaned against the shower door. “Can you go fax my letter now? It would really be nice if, for once, I wasn’t late doing something because you have no self-control and were too busy f**king me.”
“I’ll definitely fax your letter…” I drew her lip into my mouth and squeezed her ass. “After the bathroom.”
**End of Episode 3**
