1.
There was something about her, but Ray wasn't sure what it was. He watched the numbers on the gas pump count up and tried not to be obvious, but he couldn't stop himself from listening.
"I'll be there in a few," she said, "I'm putting two dollars in my gas tank. I hope that'll get me to the next check."
Her bearing was erect but her movements were still fluid. Her skin was pale but her eyes, like her hair, were dark. She seemed a little taller than most women, and she was thin but the muscles in her legs defined long, clear lines. She wore a sweatshirt and shorts—odd attire for early October.
Ray stepped between the pumps and took the nozzle out of her hand. She stepped back in surprise and looked up at him.
"I'll fill your tank for you, if you'll tell me your name." Ray said. He held his credit card up so she could see. Her hair was pulled back into a tight bun. Her neck was long and graceful, her facial features were refined and perfectly symmetric.
She stepped back and, with her arms crossed under her breasts, she studied him up and down. He didn't look threatening. His sandy hair was a little messed by the breeze. He wore a dark suit; his tie was loosened and his collar was open. "Probably not thirty yet," she thought to herself. She glanced around him at the dark blue sedan he had been fueling, then accepted the business card that he offered.
"Ray Ellison—Sanford, Casals and Levine PA," it said. She tried to hand the card back to him, but he said, "Keep it, please."
She had something to gain and probably not much to lose, so she relaxed and said, "I'm Melissa White," then added self-consciously, "Friends call me Mel."
Ray ran his credit card, then inserted the nozzle into her old Dodge and latched it on. "What do you do?" he asked.
"That wasn't part of the deal." Mel said. His face must have fallen visibly, so she gave in, "I'm a principal dancer for Franklin Ballet." She watched his expression for signs of recognition and found none. It wasn't that she expected it, but she always felt good when people recognized her name.
Ray caught his breath. "She's a ballerina," he thought, "I guess that explains the look."
"Do you have dinner plans?" Ray asked. The afternoon was fading to evening, and he needed to eat. He couldn't expect her to accept his invitation, but if he could face Mel across the table then it would make dinner so much better.
Mel laughed. "I've eaten. We have a show tonight; seven o'clock at the Performing Arts Center. Why don't you come?" She had no expectation that he would go to the show.
The gas pump shut itself off and Mel backed away while he put the nozzle back in the pump. To Mel's surprise he said, "I'll do that."
Ray knew almost nothing about ballet and even less about dancers, but he suddenly wanted to learn. He stopped at home to change clothes and ate at the diner across the street from his condo, where he formulated an ill-conceived plan over a plate of pasta. He stopped at a flower shop on his way to the theater and bought a bouquet of red and yellow roses and a card to go with them then wrote, "I'd like to get to know you better. Text me. Ray."
He walked around the theater looking for some way to get the flowers to Mel. The stage door was ajar, but guarded by a gruff-looking hand. He held the bouquet up and asked, "Is there some way to get this to Melissa White?"
The stage hand laughed, "Not a chance."
A lean and sinuous blond woman dressed in a leotard and tights pushed the door open when she heard Mel's name. She looked at Ray then said, "Mel said she met someone on her way here. Are you the guy that bought her a tank of gas?"
"I am." Ray said.
She extended her hand and offered, "I can take those to her."
Ray settled into a balcony seat with the Don Quixote program on his lap. He watched the seats slowly fill with people until his phone buzzed in his pocket. Mel texted, "Are you in the house?"
"In the balcony," Ray replied, unsure of what she meant. "I'd like to talk to you again."
"I have a thing in the lobby after the show," Mel said. "If you wait for me there then we can talk."
According to the program, Mel danced the role of Mercedes. That was meaningless to Ray until she entered the stage on the arm of a matador. The rest of the cast stepped back into the scenery, then her red dress flew around her legs as she danced among the men. Her movements were subtle and erotic at times, spectacular and athletic at others.
Ray tried to find the woman from the gas station in the fiery dancer on stage. He succeeded when she lifted her chin, and her dark eyes flashed in the stage light. She had the same pale skin but her dark hair was decorated with a comb, and she had curls glued to her cheeks. In Ray's mind, Mel floated above the stage as if she were somehow immune from gravity.
He waited in the lobby after the show where groups of kids—mostly young girls—talked and chased each other, and he tried to fight off the feeling that he was hopelessly over his head.
It was the children who announced Mel's arrival. She came from a side door, still dressed as Mercedes and still on the arm of her matador. The kids bounced and jostled around them. She grinned and tried to calm the kids down, then looked up to find Ray waiting.
"You made it!" she said. "I'm surprised." She turned to the matador and pulled him forward, "This is my partner, Julio." Disappointment must have been plain on Ray's face, and she hurried to clarify, "My dance partner, not my, you know... partner," and that made Julio laugh.
Mel knelt among the children and left Ray standing with Julio. Ray was fascinated; her red lips parted in a bright smile and her eyes sparkled for the kids as she told them the story of Kitri and Don Quixote. Ray hardly took his eyes off from Mel when he asked Julio, "Does she do this all the time?"
