The Maintence Man

I threw my extra bed sheet over the puddle on my kitchen floor, stepping on top of it to slide it around with my grubby old sneakers. The slosh of the water made me sick. Of course such stupid bullshit had to happen the day I started at the American Ballet Theatre. I'd used up all the old towels I'd inherited from my mother to press over the faucet in a desperate attempt to stem the tide of cold water that threatened to flood my new apartment. I bit a fingernail as water seeped out from under the sodden pile of threadbare fabric and trickled into the kitchen sink, praying to a God I wasn't even sure I believed in anymore that the maintenance man would be there before I had to leave. I could not be late.

Pain lanced up my finger into my hand and I winced, blood oozing out from my torn quick. I cursed myself and bent over to gather up the soaked sheet, water dripping everywhere as I carried it to the musty bathroom and tossed it in the shower. Shredded melamine cleaning sponges dotted the dingy shower walls and floor. I had scrubbed the tiny stall until my back cramped, failing to turn the gray walls back to white. Now, I had to go dance with aching back and arm muscles. I'd been in New York City less than a week and it was eating me alive.

I stepped over an unpacked cardboard box of hairstyling products and appliances, closing the door behind me. I couldn't give in to the panic creeping into my thoughts. I wasn't late yet. The maintenance man still had time to get there and fix my sink before I had to leave.

I didn't have a "living room", just a kitchen with enough space to cram a small futon couch and a television. If only I had a television. Or a futon couch. My shoes squeaked against the peeling linoleum floor as I paced around my small apartment, sucking on my injured finger. The taste of iron made me cringe.

I grabbed a cheap restaurant napkin off the table and blotted at my eyes, tears threatening to ruin my carefully applied make up. I'd given up almost everything to be a part of such a prestigious company. I'd never get another chance like that again. No leaky kitchen sink was going to hold me back from my dreams.

A heavy knock on the door made me jump. I wrapped the napkin around my bleeding finger and hurried to open it.

"Thank God you're here," I said to a broad chest, dark hair peeking out of the unbuttoned collar of a sleeveless mechanic's suit.

I looked up into a pair of beautiful blue eyes and my breath caught in my throat. A thick, salt-and-pepper beard covered the maintenance man's face, making it difficult to determine his expression. He stared down at me, dark, wavy hair spilling over his shoulders. The few strands of white mixed in only made him sexier.

"You the one with the leaky sink?" His deep baritone made my knees weak.

Yes, Daddy.

I swallowed hard, dropping my gaze and stepping aside. "Yeah. I'm so glad you're here. I'm in a real hurry."

He stepped inside my apartment, still outrageously expensive despite its obvious shabbiness. I offered up two prayers of gratitude, one for the maintenance man's timely arrival and the other for both my bedroom and bathroom doors being closed. I'd only moved in two days ago and both rooms were a whirlwind of cardboard boxes, clothes, and cleaning supplies.

The maintenance man set a tool box on my flimsy table with a thud, wobbly legs swaying beneath its weight as he approached my sink. I hurried over and grabbed the table before the stupid thing collapsed. It wasn't actually a table. It was my brother's old computer desk that I'd scrounged out of my mother's attic before I moved.

He squatted, thick leg muscles flexing as he pulled open the cabinet doors and reached inside. Something squeaked and he stood up, adjusting the waist of his suit.

I let go of the "table" and backed away, gripping an elbow and raising a hand to my mouth to chew on a different fingernail. God, he was sexy. He was sexy and I didn't know how to deal with it. I'd had only one boyfriend in my nineteen years, and while I did love him with all my heart, the slender dancer didn't exactly radiate masculinity.

The maintenance man pulled the soaked towels I'd used to stem the spray of cold water away from the faucet and set them in the sink, tugging on the stainless steel kitchen fixture.

He shook his head and cursed under his breath before turning to me, his cold gaze intense. "Easy fix. The faucet's just loose."

My cheeks flushed hot and I lowered my hand to grip my other elbow. "Oh. Well, I'm glad it's easy to fix."

His eyes lingered on mine a moment and my heart quickened to an anxious beat. He had to be over six feet tall and his bare arms were corded with hard muscle and covered with dark hair. He must've cut the sleeves off himself. Loose threads brushed against his broad shoulders.

I dropped my gaze to my worn out sneakers. He was so sexy, but so intimidating. Something wild, something

hungry,

existed behind his brilliant blue glare.

He stepped back to his toolbox, the metal latches crashing against the side with a clatter. I had to remind myself to breathe as he pulled out a wrench, pausing to grip the edge of the table to keep it from wobbling before he turned back to the faucet.

I slid my phone out of my back pocket to check the time. A bolt of panic spiked through me. I had to leave in fifteen minutes.

"Um, do you think it would be okay if I left? I really am in a hurry. First day and everything." I cringed at my shaky voice.

He squatted in front of the kitchen sink, head bowed so he could see what he was doing. "Already done. Just had to tighten the nut."

"Oh. Well, thank you."

He tucked the wrench into a chest pocket and reached back underneath the sink, another metallic squeak filling the air. "No problem."

His muscles flexed beneath his bunched up pant legs as he shut the cabinet door and stood, stepping back toward his toolbox. "Let me take a look at your desk. Don't want it to fall apart on you."

"Don't worry about it. That thing is about a thousand years old. When I get paid, hopefully I'll be able to actually get a table," I babbled.

He grabbed a screwdriver and lifted the toolbox by the lid, supporting the bottom with his other hand as he lowered it to the floor. "It'll only take me a moment. I bet the screws are just loose."

I chewed another fingernail down to the quick as he flipped the desk and knelt, his hairy chest exposed by his loose, partially buttoned jumpsuit. Desire bloomed from my loins and I turned away, confused. The maintenance man was kind of scary. I shouldn't have been attracted to him.

It took him less than five minutes to tighten the leg screws. He flipped the desk upright and put away his wrench and screwdriver before locking up his toolbox. Our eyes met and I stared down at the worn out linoleum floor, faded green swirls all that remained of an unknown pattern. I suspected floral.

He stood. "You new in town?"

"Yeah."

"Live here alone?"

I startled, looking up in time to see his mouth twitch beneath his shaggy beard. Was he trying to scare me or was he just teasing? Lying would've been stupid because the building wasn't huge. There were only about a hundred tenants. He'd figure it out soon enough.

I nodded. "I'm actually a dancer with the American Ballet Theatre. Today's my first day and I really do have to leave."

To my surprise, his eyes stayed on mine. Most men proceeded to ogle my body when I told them I was a dancer.

"You must be good." He turned away, heading for the door.

I shrugged. "I try my best."

He pulled the door open, but stopped to give me one last intense stare. "Good luck. I'd tell you to break a leg, but that doesn't sound right."

I smiled. "You're right. We actually say, 'merde'."

He raised his eyebrows. "Merde?"

My cheeks flushed hot and I fiddled with my long, loose sleeves. "It's French for 'shit'."

He shook his head, a deep chuckle booming from his chest. "What?"

"If wishing people good luck actually brings bad luck, then shouldn't wishing somebody bad luck bring good?" That sounded way better in my head. He made me so nervous. "It makes sense if you think about it."

He smiled. "Then I'll just stick with 'break a leg'."

"Thank you."

"My name's Hank by the way."

"Natalie."

With a wink, he stepped out into the dingy hallway and pulled the door closed.

###

The following weeks blurred together into a hot, humid fever dream as the American Ballet Theatre prepared to perform Coppelia. My fellow corps de ballet dancers were friendly enough, but I wasn't naive enough to think of them as my friends. Each of us was patiently waiting for a chance to prove ourselves and I would've been a fool to think the world of ballet was anything but cutthroat.

My stomach rumbled after one especially difficult practice and resigned myself to stopping at a store on my way home to stock up on eggs and whatever fresh produce I could afford. I'd expected New York City to be expensive when I'd moved there, but the cost of everything was quickly draining my bank account faster than I ever imagined.

I held my breath when I swiped my card, the cashier chewing her gum like a cow while she looked me up and down, her heavy make-up making her resemble a mannequin more than a living, breathing human being. When "APPROVED" flashed on the card reader machine, I offered up my thanks to the void.

I hurried home, a gentle rain falling on my bare head as I slipped inside the apartment building, the heavy chemical scent of floor wax filling my nostrils. Envelopes poked out of my mailbox and I knew I couldn't avoid my phone bill anymore. My sneakers squished and squeaked against the bright, polished speckled gray tile floor as I approached.

When I opened the mailbox, flyers and restaurants flooded out onto the floor along with a few menacing envelopes. I bent down to pick everything up with a sigh and the bottom of my paper grocery bag split open, my $1.79 cans of beans falling to the floor with metallic thunks and rolling around the lobby. Tears sprang into my eyes as I scrambled to clean everything up, but I blinked them away. I was tougher than that.

Heavy footfalls echoed around the corner, growing louder and louder until Hank the maintenance man appeared, tall and foreboding in his dark mechanic suit and piercing blue gaze. He stopped a can of beans from rolling into the elevator doors with his black work boot. Our eyes met while I knelt on the floor, mail tucked under one arm and a can of kidney beans in each hand.

He didn't smile or say a word, his eyes searching my face. For what, I couldn't say. Nor could I explain the hot flush creeping up my neck into my cheeks. He was so handsome, but there was something off about him I just couldn't place my finger on.

I swallowed hard and returned my attention to my groceries. At least my eggs hadn't broken.

Hank pulled up the waist of his mechanic suit before squatting to pick up the can, his long, salt and pepper hair falling over shoulders. He ran his fingers through it when he stood and all my stupid flyers and menus slipped from my armpit, falling to the floor with a rustle of paper.

I hissed through my teeth, wishing that I could just evaporate on the spot.

"Let me help you." Hank approached, reaching into a pocket and pulling out a blue plastic grocery bag and putting the can into it before holding it out to me. "You want these papers? I'll throw 'em out for you."

"Oh." I licked my lips, trembling beneath his gaze. "Thanks, that would be so helpful. But I need the envelopes."

He nodded, pulling at the waist of his one-piece suit all over again before squatting to gather up the loose papers. I loaded up my beans, bunch of bananas, and bag of mandarin oranges into the plastic bag, hoping it wouldn't tear and I'd have to relive that horror all over again.

I held onto my dozen eggs and the bag didn't tear when I stood, Hank rising and holding my gaze at the same time. A wave of goosebumps over my flesh made me shiver despite the summer heat.

"You like Chinese food?" He held up a menu from a place called "The Tasty Garden", a pink panda gnawing on black bamboo shoots on the front. "This place is awesome. I like the Mu Shu Pork."

He didn't budge and in the corner of my mind, I realized that he had me pinned in a corner. If he didn't move on his own, I was going to have to ask him.

My heart pounded in my chest as I forced a smile. "How are the egg rolls? I love it when they have little shrimps in them."

He held out the menu and the envelopes. "The egg rolls are great."

I tucked my eggs under my arm, reaching to accept them even though I couldn't afford to eat out. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." He didn't budge, staring at me while he rolled all my papers and tucked them into his pocket. "You leave pretty early in the morning. I didn't know ballerinas kept such long hours."

I took a step back, his towering presence intimidating. "Yeah, we're getting ready to put on Coppelia. It's an exhausting amount of work, but it's a dream come true to dance for a company like the ABT."

He didn't move and despite my nervousness, I couldn't help but notice his statuesque physique and regal posture. He carried himself like a man with authority; his demeanor demanded submission and I couldn't help but give to him. "What's Coppelia?"

"It's about a man who falls in love with a doll."

His eyes crinkled around the edges, but he didn't smile. "Are you the doll?"

My gaze fell to my wet sneakers, the soles peeling away from the top of the gray material, and shifted my weight from foot to foot. "Oh, no, I'm just in the corps de ballet. Kind of like a back-up dancer."

"Hmm."

He still hadn't moved and I began to panic. For some strange reason, I just couldn't make my mouth form the words, "excuse me".

"Does the doll love the man back?"

"No. It's kind of silly honestly. A mad scientist made the doll and a young man sees it sitting motionless on a balcony and falls in love with it because it's so beautiful. His fiance is heartbroken. She and her friends break into the mad scientist's home to find out more about the mysterious woman, and discover she's just a doll. The scientist throws the girls out, but sees the young man hanging out behind the window. He invites the young man inside, because he wants to steal his soul and put into the doll so she can come to life. The fiance hid instead of leaving. She saves him and they get married at the end," I babbled, my voice trailing off at the end.

Hank raised his eyebrows. "It's kind of like a fairy tail. Only she saves him. I like it. Is there a movie version? I'd like to see it."

I smiled at the thought of such a man enjoying Coppelia. "You can look up all kinds of performances on YouTube. It's a pretty popular ballet."

"I'll have to watch it. I like fairy tales."

"Me too."

His eyes crinkled around the edges as he studied my face for an agonizing moment before giving me a polite nod. "Have a good day. Enjoy your beans."

"You too, Hank. Enjoy your day, I mean." God, I was so stupid.

He turned and walked off without so much as a glance over his shoulder.

I sighed and slumped against the wall of silver mailboxes, exhausted and confused as my clit ached and wetness dampened my underwear.

###

I closed my eyes and leaned against the cold mirror paneling in the dim elevator as it lowered me to the ground floor of the building. Rehearsals had gotten so intense as we drew closer and closer to the opening night of the performance. Tempers down at the theater were short and nerves were frayed, but I couldn't pretend like I didn't love every second of it. I was born to dance.

The elevator slowed to a halt and I opened my eyes as the doors opened with a rattle. The hulking form of Hank stood on a ladder just outside the door as he changed a bulb in the ceiling light over the elevator landing. The building lobby was empty, the weak light of dawn spilling in through the crystal clear glass windows and door.

He paused, arms raised over his head, and stared down at me, intense gleam in his eyes. "You're up early, Miss Natalie."

I swallowed, the hair standing up on the back of my neck. "Gotta get down to the theater. Being there helps me get into the right frame of mind faster."

He lowered his arms to the top rung and leaned on his elbows, his expression shrouded by his full beard. "What kind of frame of mind do you need to be in?"

I clutched the straps of my backpack, trying to muster up the courage to slip past him. Somewhere, in the most primal part of my brain, a primitive instinct screamed for me to flee from the hungry beast, but I couldn't force myself to move beneath that cold gaze.

I forced a smile. "Oh, it's kind of silly. You don't want to listen to me talk about dancing."

"I'm listening."

I shifted my weight between my feet, anxious to get away, but afraid of what he might do. "When I'm dancing, I can get myself to a place where my mind gets quiet and my body moves through the routine on instinct. It's like the music and muscle memory is directing my movements. It's incredible. The best feeling I've ever felt."

His eyes narrowed and he ran his fingers through his wild, thick hair, tossing it over his shoulders as he studied me and I couldn't help but think of the big, bad wolf. "I used to swim competitively when I was a much younger man. I think I've felt the feeling you are describing. It's like your body takes over and your mind is just along for the ride. It's amazing, but I have felt better things."

A question tingled on my lips, but I was afraid of his answer, so I swallowed it.

We stood there, Hank watching me in his dark mechanic's suit, strange, hypnotic eyes glued to mine while I stood there, trembling. What was wrong with me? Based on the thick cords of muscle in his arms, I couldn't help but assume Hank had been able to maintain his swimmer's physique.

The elevator doors began to close, but Hank put his hand against one of them, pushing them open. "I looked up Coppaliea on YouTube. It was nice. I liked that she had to save him. It's kind of like a reverse fairy tale."

"It's definitely one of my favorites." A very small part of me was flattered and I hated myself for it. As scary and intimidating as he was, I couldn't deny that I found Hank very attractive.

"Which one is your favorite?"

"Giselle. It's be a dream come true if I could perform that on stage." I said.

"I'll have to watch that one." He climbed down from the ladder to stand in the elevator doorway. "I watched Sleeping Beauty, Swan Lake, and The Nutcracker, too, even though that one's a Christmas story. You'd be a great princess, white swan, and Clara."

I smiled despite the fear that pressed me against the back mirror panel. "How do you know? You've never seen me dance."

His eyes narrowed and he grinned; sly and pleased with himself. The wolf had Red Riding Hood right where he wanted her. "I can tell. You're very graceful. Poised. Innocent."

I clutched at my backpack, horrified, but mesmerized by the predator about to tear me apart.

The doors rattled and Hank glanced upward. "Looks like somebody upstairs needs a lift. You're going to have to come on out of there."

Panic gripped me as he stopped the doors from closing. I stared down at my feet as I took a few tentative steps forward, praying he would get out of the way.

When he didn't, I stopped, my eyes darting up to the smirk on his handsome face. "Please excuse me, Hank."

I held my breath, seconds more like hours as he stared down at me; rugged, cold, and terrifying. Finally, he stepped aside and I exhaled, eager to escape.

But as I hurried past, he reached out, running his knuckles over my cheek. I froze at the tickle of his rough hand on my face, heart pounding in my chest.