Sinful Desires Vol. 4(4)

“I'm so sorry, Piper.”

“For what? You warned me about him,” I said when I found my voice.

“If I'd known he'd try something like that, I wouldn't have let up until you dumped him.”

“You know me,” I said. “It wouldn't have done any good. I would've kept it up, just to prove you wrong.”

“True,” she admitted.

“And before you start in on Brock again, there's more.”

“You're joking.”

“Oh, no. That was just the start of my crazy night.”

By the time I was done, Anastascia was unusually quiet. I waited for a few minutes, and then couldn't take it anymore.

“So?”

“So what?”

I scowled at the phone. “So what am I supposed to do?”

“Shh,” Anastascia shushed me. “I'm trying to figure out if I should redecorate the guest room. You like taupe, right?”





Chapter 3

Anastascia did indeed redecorate her guest room, but she'd decided on a dusky rose color instead of taupe. She'd said I should help choose since I was going to be her roommate, but I'd insisted that the arrangements were just temporary and that she do it herself while I was tying things up in Vegas. She'd pressed the issue until I told her that if I was going to move back and try this whole dance thing, I wanted to make a completely fresh start, including living on my own. It was just something I had to do. After that, she'd moved on to other topics related to my arrival.

It had taken a couple weeks for me to get things in order since I hadn't wanted to leave Rosa in the lurch. I didn't care quite so much about a two-week notice at The Diamond Club, but since I'd been waiting for Rosa to find a new roommate, I picked up as many extra shifts as possible so I'd have at least some money while I looked for a job in Philly. The kind of jobs a high school graduate with experience stripping and waiting tables could get weren't exactly the kind you could find online and send in a resumé for. Anastascia loaned me the money for my ticket, but I hadn't wanted to borrow any more off of her while I was waiting to get a job.

I arrived in Philadelphia on a Friday evening in mid-August and spent the weekend walking the streets and putting in applications despite Anastascia telling me to take it easy for at least a couple days since I started classes on Monday. The only concession I made was to come back early so we could have dinner together.

Now it was Monday morning and I was standing outside a small studio only a few blocks away from Anastascia's place. That had been another reason I hadn't argued too much about staying in her guest room until I found a place of my own. If I could get a job nearby, it would be perfect. There were plenty of cheaper apartments in Fishtown that, eventually, I'd be able to afford.

That was for later though. Right now, I needed to focus on dance. Technically, I wasn't starting a class today. I was observing three different level classes and then would be tested to see where I fit. If they wanted to, they could say that I didn't qualify at all, but I had enough faith in myself that I'd, at the very least, get in on the bottom level.

Concentration was the key.

As I entered the studio, I found myself in a tastefully decorated space. It was clearly the work of an interior designer and the budget had been vast, but it wasn't ostentatious. I introduced myself to the woman at the desk, endured her disapproving glare as she looked at my obviously worn clothes. Moments later, I let myself enjoy the way she pursed her lips when she had to wave me back toward the changing room.

As I walked into the changing room, I once again found myself wondering how Reed had managed to pull this off. This wasn't the kind of studio that everyone in Philadelphia knew of, because Madam Emilana was extremely particular about the students she accepted and she didn't advertise. There always had to be some sort of personal connection, a referral. Had he donated funds to the school on top of establishing the grant that would pay my tuition? Or was she one of his business contacts, the kind of high society person whose favor-for-favor exchange was generally in the hundred thousands to millions?

I pushed the thoughts out of my mind as I headed into the main studio area. The biggest downside to coming back here, I'd discovered, had been my thoughts constantly going to Reed. I told myself the reason was that I hadn't thanked him for the gift because that meant having to address what had happened the last time we'd seen each other.

I'd been wrong that night, and I knew it. This whole thing with Reed and Britni was a mess, but no matter how I felt about that, I knew, deep down, that Reed would never let any woman be taken advantage of. If he'd known what Brock had done, he wouldn't have let it go. Accusing him of not only being culpable, but also wanting to participate had been out of line.

I just didn't know how to tell him all of that.

“You must be Miss Black.”

A woman's sharp voice brought me back to myself. She was tall and slender, but muscled. With a graceful neck and perfect posture, I knew instantly she'd been a ballerina.

“I’m Janine Weathers, Madam Emilana's assistant.” She smoothed down her already-perfect bun. “I teach the remedial and intermediate levels. Madam Emilana teaches the advanced class as well as private sessions for those students who she believes have the talent to go further.”

I nodded. That was my goal then. Private lessons.

“Today, you will sit in on both of my classes and then in Madam Emilana's. Once those are completed, you will perform in front of us. We alone will determine your placement.” She glowered down at me. “Any questions?”

“Is there anything you want me to do with the classes?”

A muscle in her jaw clenched. “That won't be necessary. The point of you sitting in the classes today is so that when you place lower than you believe you should be, you'll have a reference point to see what we expect.”

I stared at her as she started toward the front of the studio.

“Don't mind her.”

I looked over as a girl in her mid-teens grinned at me. “Miss Janine is like that with everyone. She says it's a way to weed out the weak; that if you can't handle her being harsh privately, then you'll never make it out there.”

I smiled at the girl and headed for the bench against the sidewall while she went to the rail to stretch out. While I still wasn't fond of the attitude, I understood it now and could appreciate the sentiment behind it. Miss Janine was right about how hard it was out there. The competition for this particular field was intense. I didn't know what the specific stats were, but I did know that the number of girls who made it was well below half.

I studied each of the moves as Miss Janine put the girls through their paces. I had a basic routine in my head that I was going to do, but I'd purposefully left gaps so I could see what the students did first. I figured if I put in and nailed at least two or three things that each class was working on, the better shot I had at being placed higher.

I was relieved to see that the remedial class wasn't working on anything I didn't know. It had been a long time since I'd done real dancing, and while I'd been practicing the last couple weeks, I hadn't been sure where I'd compare to the other students. When the intermediates arrived, I saw that the majority of them were around my age. Most of them smiled at me as they walked past, and the ones who didn't, had expressions on their faces that said when they were here, they never smiled at anyone. I understood that too. Focus was important.

I could see the difference between the classes immediately. These were young women who were looking toward a possible career in dance, whether as an instructor or on stage. From what I saw, I believed I could hold my own with them, maybe even be better.

As they exited, I noticed a couple linger behind, watching the door. When a striking older woman with silver streaks in her dark hair entered the room, the students' reactions told me that this was Madam Emilana. She glanced at me once, nodded and then turned her attention back to the new young women who were stretching. They ranged in age from about fifteen to at least several years older than me, and even watching them at the bar was evidence that they were the advanced class. These were the ones who had a shot of making it. Some maybe only in local troupes, but they'd be doing what they loved.

I was completely entranced as the class worked. I hadn't truly acknowledged how much I missed this. When I'd first started stripping, I'd tried to keep my style and had been told that if guys wanted to see that, they'd go to a show. If anything kept me from being in the advanced class right away, it would be the rough edge I'd unintentionally gained while in Vegas.

When the class ended, some students filed back to the changing room while others left directly. Madam Emilana didn't acknowledge my presence until the last woman left, and then she walked over to me. I stood and held out my hand. Her grip was firm and her eye contact steady. She didn't look down at me or frown like the other two women had and I wondered if that was because of her personality or if she didn't know where I came from. I assumed the other two did.

“Miss Black.” Her voice had a hint of an accent I couldn't quite place. “Once Miss Janine joins us, we'll begin your audition.”

I nodded. “Thank you for the opportunity.”

“Of course.” She gave me a smile that said once work ended, the tough teacher went away too. “Any friend of the Stirling family is welcome here.”