10:26
Nothing to it but to do it.
The slogan from Ivan’s first campaign played through his mind. Hands moving on auto, he straightened his shirt, the worse for paint, then reached for the tie he was not wearing. He looked down at his hand, shook his head, and grinned.
When he’d been coming up, eye on getting out of the figurative gutter, a button-down and a tie had been aspirational, dressing for the job he wanted. A teen in a tie, he’d taken shit for it, guys like Ben and especially Ben calling him bougie and ‘fancy’ and shit like that, but he’d known then a good quality shirt, a tie, polished shoes, and a tailored jacket was the armor of the elite. Armor that made them untouchable.
Untouchable was the goal. And the prize.
Nothing to it but to do it. Cheezy but effective. The slogan and the sentiment behind it, the suggestion that everything would shake out if he just put his head down and did the work, got him to where he was today.
And he was stalling.
Looking at the women on the banquettes he repeated “Nothing to it but to do it,” under his breath, straightened his illusory tie, and looked right and left to meet his friends’ gazes.
“Touch.” He pitched his voice to carry.
“Yeah?” Patti asked from his left.
“Yeah,” Ben echoed from the right, not a question but a declaration. At least Ivan knew Ben got it. The others might have to learn.
“Touch.” He shook his head. Amended. “Connection. It’s what these dancers offer. A connection. Physical. Emotional. A touch for a tip.” To their credit none of his friends interrupted or asked why he knew what he knew. It helped him push through the lump forming in his throat. “And they need a lot of tips. Which means they allow a lot of touching.”
Patti lifted her hand to rest her fist on her breast. “I’m not sure I feel comfortable with that.”
There was hesitance in her tone that matched the instinctive recoiling Ivan felt in his gut as he considered what they might have to do to pass this test. They might go into this with the best intentions but the women on those banquettes might push for more. More touch. More tips.
The question of exactly what this test wanted as its result clenched his stomach into a knot. He swallowed, hard. “Me neither.”
Sass scurried across the floor and up Patti’s leg then hooked its claws in her sweater and climbed up to perch on her shoulder. It patted her cheek with a paw and sang, “Don’t worry, Mama!”
Patti looked down at the mouse with a soft smile. “I’ll try. Any advice, Sass?”
Ivan found himself hanging on the answer. There were far too many fairy tales in which wise animals lead the way for the hero of the story and more than once in their joint adventures Sass had seemed to do exactly that to not hope the mouse might provide a key to this challenge.
Sass patted Patti’s cheek again then turned on Patti’s shoulder to stare right at Ivan and sang loudly, “Dance!”
Ivan lifted his brows at the mouse. “Dance?”
Sass planted its paws on its hips and shook its mousey ass. Despite the seriousness of his thoughts and the burden of the history weighing on him, he smiled.
Ben leaped back, landing on the square in front of Patti and craning to peer dramatically at the mouse. “Dance?”
“Dance!” Sass sang and shook its butt more, the action vigorous enough it almost fell from Patti’s shoulder. Patti reached up and pressed her fingers down on Sass’s foot, securing the mouse.
Sass leaned in and sang right into Patti’s face. “Dance!”:
Patti looked at Ben then at Ivan. “Guess we dance?”
This time when Sass sang out “Dance!” Ben echoed the mouse in a similarly energetic fashion. If Ivan didn’t have to see his best friend plant his hands on his hips and shake his ass any time soon he’d be down for that.
“Dance!” Abe piped from the left.
“Dance!” Dan called over from the right.
Ivan looked at Ben. Ben looked at Ivan. They both looked at Sass on Patti’s shoulder and in unison chanted, “Dance!”
Ivan followed this with a “Nothing to it but to do it!”. To which Patti, Abe, and Ben called back, “Dance!”
Ivan hopped forward in an L pattern. Once. Twice. In no time he was at the edge of the dance floor facing the women and the banquettes and the smell of popcorn and burned coffee and stale cigarette smoke. He breathed shallow; dodging the miasma of memory.
Directly in front of him a woman with black hair cropped to brush the edge of her jaw, a pink lily stark against the strands tucked near her left ear echoing the bright pink of her dress, stared at Ivan with eyes black as a crow’s. An impressionist painting of emotion smeared the dark depths. Hope. Resignation. A certainty of pain. And acceptance. Of whatever Ivan asked of her.
A bolus of acid rose up his throat, a burning bitter surge washing the backs of his teeth. He swallowed, lifted his hand to straighten the tie he wasn’t wearing, then dragged his fingers along the line of his goatee before holding his hand out to her.
No words were exchanged. None were needed.
The straps of her dress drooped off her shoulder and threatened to slide down her arms, the promise of an accidental slip revealing more than Ivan wanted. She lifted a languid hand and pushed the fabric back up her arm then leaned around the girl next to her to push a card into a meter, marking her time spoken for. She tucked the card into the tiny purse at her waist, then rose with liquid grace and placed her hand in Ivan’s. Smiled a weary smile. Ivan echoed it and gently clasped her fingers.
She stepped onto the tile next to his, turned to him, and raised her free hand to lay it on his shoulder. She had to tilt her head back to meet Ivan’s gaze. He had to crane his neck to hold her bright one.
“I’m Ivan.”
Her eyes widened slightly. “Carrie.”
Her tone was smoky, whether the residual of too much cigarette smoke and long nights or just the natural timber of her voice. The sound of it played over his skin, pulling a strand of pain along beneath the skin. He liked it. He didn’t. He was conflicted and yet also a calm comfort settled his tense muscles.
Drawing a deep breath, he settled his mind and focused on her. Carrie. He had to think of her as Carrie and not just the faded bruise of history rising from memory.
“Carrie.” He pushed a smile, digging into his political instincts to make it warm and inviting. “Would you like to dance?”
A slight frown marred her forehead before she smoothed it and offered him an open-lipped smile that added nuance to her smokey, “Yes.”
Ivan felt more than heard or saw Ben come up a few squares from where Carrie stood. The movement of Ben’s arm, hand held out to the blonde in a shiny patent body stocking who rose from the banquette with a squeak of pleather against pleather, registered in Ivan’s peripheral as he held Carrie’s gaze. Movement to his left side suggested Patti and Abe had approached other dancers though, again, Ivan couldn’t confirm as he kept his attention steady of Carrie.
Sometimes when she was particularly tired and therefore not so circumspect in her words Ivan’s mom would let slip how the men looked at her but never saw her and how alone, even within their arms, it would leave her feeling.
Those internalized lessons whispered from his memory, dictating he give Carrie the connection of his gaze. He didn’t want to break the moment to explain the sudden understanding to the others. He could only hope they read it in the way he held Carrie in his regard.
“I’m not much of a dancer,” Abe’s voice piped from behind Ivan.
It occurred to Ivan that Abe might be adjusting for the fact that as a ‘plebe’ they couldn’t move backwards or sideways on the floor, meaning once they hit the edge they had no ability to traverse further unless they declared themselves another piece. Smart kid!
“Would it be okay to just talk?”
An indistinct murmur of female voice carried then Abe said, “I don’t need privacy. I like popcorn?”
Another indistinct murmur was followed by the rustle of Abe’s cassock brushing wood, the sound different enough from the drag of cloth on stone to be distinct, suggesting they’d stepped off the floor and were moving towards the snack area with their partner.
Ivan curled the hand he held against his chest. Carrie languidly followed the motion, the way she moved into his pull speaking of implicit consent. When she swayed towards him, suggesting she’d press her chest against his, Ivan shook his head and took a step back.
Instantly he realized his mistake as the tile melted beneath his heel before flowing in and licking over the top of his boot. Then his foot was free.
He spared the barest look back over the dance floor, his eyes registering Kim kneeling with her hands pressed to the tiles on her side of the floor. She lifted her chin in Carrie’s direction and mouthed something Ivan took as encouragement. That was all he needed to focus his entire attention on Carrie once more.
“You are very attractive.”
Ivan started at her opening. “Thank you.”
His tone was hesitant. That didn’t seem to deter her. “Attractive and seeking a dancer.” Her smile was soft, welcoming, promising a receptive ear and open heart. Oh. She was good. “There has to be a great story behind it.”
Ivan’s first instinct was to pour his heart out to her. Good indeed. He reflected her soft smile back. “How is your day going?”
A very small frown creased her brow before she smoothed it. “My day?”
“Yes. I want to hear about your day.”
She shrugged. “If that’s your kink.”
Ivan pressed his lips together for a mikro then pushed another practiced smile. “For the sake of this conversation let’s say it is.”
She leaned back slightly to run her gaze over his face. Whatever she read in there must have settled whatever opinion she’d formed of him.
Or maybe not or if she did it was not an opinion based on him but what she expected him to be because instead of accepting the impression he was hoping to make of wanting to be different, be there, she slid her hand from his shoulder down over his abs making a beeline for his belt buckle. Quick as he was he wasn’t quick enough to stop her from scrabbling at the fastener, clearly intending to loosen his belt. He clamped his hand down on hers just as she started to worm her finger under his waistband.
“No.”
“No?” She dug her fingers a bit deeper while holding his gaze with a stare that was equal parts resignation and determination.
He curled his fingers under hers and pulled her hand away from his waistband and placed it back on his shoulder. “No. That’s not what I’m here for.”
“What are you here for?” she snapped. Then like she realized she’d let her emotions slip free of her control, she relaxed her features and gave him a closed-mouthed smile.
Ivan considered for a mikro as he stared down into her face. What Kim had said to Siobhan in the garden drifted through his mind. “I’m here to listen.”
Her brow furrowed on a frown which she immediately smoothed. “What do you want to hear?”
“About you. Let’s start with your day.”
Her features softened, her eyes grew dreamy. “I can’t remember any of it before you.”
Ivan lifted his brows. “Really?”
“No. But there was nothing special about it. Nothing like what you did, I’m sure. Wouldn’t you like to tell me about your day? Your boss did something that made you angry, maybe? Or your wife slash girlfriend slash mother nagged you and it made you angry?”
“That’s a lot of angry.”
Her lip quirked. “It is.”
“You get a lot of that around here?”
“Why all the questions? Are you a reporter?”
“Worse. Politician.”
Ivan grinned and took a step back on the floor, leading her onto it. His foot stuck again but then was instantly released. Another step back, Carrie following. Then they were slowly swaying as she gave him a mock scowl. “One of those. You gonna promise to save me?”
“Do you want to be saved?”
She shook her head slightly as the line of her mouth tightened then softened. “No.”
“Then no.”
Carrie leaned back slightly to stare intently into Ivan’s eyes. “I don’t understand you.”
“Do you want to?”
“Of course.” Her glib answer came a bit too fast.
Ivan raised his brows. “Really?”
This time she hesitated. “No.”
There was no doubt in Ivan’s mind that was the absolute truth. He rewarded it with a smile.
Usually his smiles relaxed people. They were his universal key, the thing that always opened people to talking to him. His mom had always said a good smile was worth major coin. It wasn’t so much he’d internalized that message, though who knows maybe he had, as it was just a truth he’d come to accept when a genuine smile had opened doors and hearts to him.
There wasn’t the biggest difference between a dance hall and the halls of government despite how much the denizens of the second would want to distance themselves from that truth.
Carrie on the other hand stiffened, her features going rigid as she took in what he thought was one of his more welcoming smiles. Oof. This girl was going to make him work for it.
He supposed she deserved that much. If this was really supposed to be reversal of position, which he was coming to think it was, then it made sense he was going to need to put in the work to get his proverbial tip.
Maybe it was time for the smolder. Only as he started to dig for the charm he realized that was the completely wrong play here. She gave people the equivalent of the smolder on the daily. The smolder was not going to be what opened the lock on her heart.
Instead he took a slow breath and met her gaze. “Tell me about your day.”
Her gaze searched his then she gave a sigh. Her form relaxed, not melting into him but rather just kinda wilting.
“I broke a heel on the way out of my place. Got a run in my hose when I hauled ass down the street without my shoes. Didn’t have a spare pair. So, I’m bare legged, have a major case of chub rub, and my thighs are chafed.”
As soon as the words were out of her mouth she stiffened. Her eyes went wide and her gaze skittered around the room like someone was watching and punishment was on the way.
Ivan squeezed her hand, pulling her attention back to him. When she looked up at him her eyes were still wide and there was a wildness in the irises standing out stark against the whites.
It was pretty damned clear she did not mean to reveal that much. The grin Ivan gave her was natural, not so much meant to sooth as just an expression of the amusement engendered by her words.
“Did it get better after that?”
Again her gaze searched his and then she relaxed even further. This time when her form pressed to his Ivan let her lie, willing her to gain comfort from his strength.
Settling her cheek against his chest she murmured. “Same old, same old.” She turned her head up so she could meet his gaze. “Then there’s you.”
“Is that better or worse?”
Her brow creased. “I haven’t decided.”
As My Heart Will Go On soared to another crescendo, Ivan lead Carrie slowly around the dance floor. If his feet stuck he didn’t notice, assuming Kim was releasing the floor’s grip but not giving any major thought to it. He trusted she had him from across the floor just as he hoped Carrie trusted Ivan to lead her in the dance and the conversation.
Eventually in the short silence as the song looped back and started again Carrie murmured into Ivan’s chest, “What do you want to hear?”
He pressed his cheek against the top of her head and breathed deep. “What do you want to tell me?”
“Nothing?”
“Okay.”
“You aren’t right.”
“I’m not?”
He felt her draw a huge breath then her sigh vibrated across the cloth of his shirt. He felt the ripple against his skin. “Men like to talk.”
“We do?”
She nodded against his chest. “You do.”
“Do you not like to talk?”
There was a long pause and then she sighed. “I don’t know.”
The corner of Ivan’s mouth quirked. “How about we play a game?”
She lifted her head to look at him, suspicion in her slightly narrowed eyes. “What kind of game?”
Ivan considered. He’d tossed out the suggestion on a whim but now that he reflected on it he thought maybe his brain was on to something. She didn’t want to tell him anything about herself. Well, beyond her chub rub. He tamped down the grin at the thought. But, yeah, he was fairly certain the object here was to get her to talk about herself. Or open up with him. The chub rub was a start but it didn’t feel like it was enough.
So. A game. A little college fun. Though he’d never been he knew people in college played these little games in bars and at parties to figure out what connections they had to each other.
“How about two truths and a lie?”
Again she turned her head up to look at him. “What?”
Seemed like she had as much experience as he did with casual college fun.
“Tell me two true things and one false. If I fail to guess the lie I will give you this.” He raised a hand with a coin trapped between his index and middle fingers. Her eyes widened on the coin before she turned back to look at his face.
“I’ve done more for less.”
Ivan’s stomach clenched at the truth in her words. He’d give her that one.
There was a long silence then she murmured into his shirt, “My name isn’t Carrie.”
Another long pause. Ivan let the silence stretch, content to wait her out.
“I don’t like broccoli.”
Ivan turned his head to hide his smile.
“This is the best I can hope for?”
Ivan had to strain to hear the last as she’d pressed the words into his shirt front. When they registered on his ears he gave them a moment to lie then he shook his head.
“I know you think that is a lie ,but you don’t really believe it is. All three were truths.”
She reared back as far as the clasp of Ivan’s arms allowed. He loosened his grasp so she could step back fully, breaking their physical connection though he felt the emotional one they were weaving stretch to accommodate the physical distance she created.
Her eyes were wide and her chest rose and fell slightly as she panted for breath through slack lips. Her gaze darted around the room, settled on Ivan, rested on Ben dancing with his partner a few short steps away, then flitted over to where Dan was doing a box-step in a diamond pattern with a brunette with waist-length hair wearing a pair of bright pink hot pants with black fish-net stockings meeting them where they cut off high on her thigh.
Eventually Carrie, who was not Carrie, returned her wounded gaze to Ivan. She pressed her lips shut and shook her head in sharp denial.
Ivan lifted his hand, holding it steady as he slowly reached out to her and took the hand she held slack at her side. Very carefully he lifted it back to his shoulder and slid his other arm around her waist, drawing her into his chest. She came slowly, a slight resistance in her stiffened limbs but then with a resigned look she relaxed fully against him and pressed her cheek to his chest.
Immediately Ivan felt their connection snap back into place, forming an invisible band around them and holding them firm in an insubstantial cocoon that brought them together while forming a barrier protecting them from the world of the dance hall.
“I do believe it’s a lie,” she said very quietly against his chest.
Ivan just hummed and a moment later she whispered so he had to strain to hear. “I do.”
Ivan made a non-committal sound and she relaxed further against him while he shuffled them in a slow, circular pattern slowly across the floor towards the opposite side from the banquette.
When they were at the halfway point, she stiffened against him and her feet locked. She looked up, her eyes widening as she saw their position. Before she could do something to draw them back towards the banquettes, Ivan carefully closed his fingers around her hand against his shoulder and curled her tighter against him with the arm around his waist. She looked up, her mouth open like she was going to say something, probably a protest. He spoke before she could get the word out.
“Now that we’ve established you think this is all you can hope for, tell me your wildest dream.” She frowned. He kept going. “A thing you really do wish could be a truth.”
She stiffened. Spat out, “My hopes aren’t coins to be spent to engage you.”
As soon as the words were out she went completely still, her expression stark. She’d said too much. Her actions said that was what was careening through her mind. Rather than let her get caught up in the spiral of that thought, Ivan grinned and tapped her waist with his hand. “Feel better?”
She flushed. Her eyes went wide. “No.” Then she frowned and pursed her lips. It wasn’t a seductive look. It was a real one. “Maybe?”
“So,” Ivan pushed. “What is a wish you are too afraid to hope for?”
Ivan took advantage of the distraction his question caused and spun them once, twice, three times until they were one row of tiles from the side of the floor across from the banquettes. His foot nudged the strip of wood separating dance floor from verge.
“I would like to own a flower shop.”
She stopped. Her eyes widened. Like she hadn’t meant to say that. But once it was out she visibly relaxed. She hadn’t meant to say it but it was a truth. A real truth. Not broccoli or chub rub. A wish that was a truth that was a wish that she didn’t think could be true.
She lifted her hand from Ivan’s waist and touched the lily in her hair.
“I would like to own a flower shop.” This time there was the force of certainty in her tone. And the smile she turned up to Ivan was raw with its honesty.
Ivan smiled down at her, warmth unfurling from within him and lifting the corners of his mouth. “That is a good dream.”
She lifted limpid eyes to him, tears glistening in the dark depths. “Thank you.”
Before Ivan could form a reply she stepped free of his arms. Between one mikro and the next she faded from his sight. Ivan stared at the tile where she’d stood, then shifted his gaze back across the width of the dance floor.
One down. Too many to go.
Enter The Woods 