Ironically, for someone named after the jolly emotion, Joy is quite sad. But justifiably, she hasn't really had much reason to squeal in happiness these days. Stuck in a job she hates with responsibilities so paramount she feels asphyxiated on a goo...
"Wear these things all day. I have never seen you in flats."
His warm palm slid down my calf before grasping my ankles and propping them both on his lap.
I smiled a little with a carefree shrug. "Guess it's just a woman thing."
I watched him unbuckle the straps of my black wedges, slipping them one by one off my small, tired feet. I would have put up some resistance, should have, at least, tried to tell him he didn't have to, but I liked the feel of his hands on my skin too much to put effort into an ingenuine protest.
When he began to kneed, I moaned. He chuckled at the look of extacy I couldn't be bothered to hide.
"Well that can't be true. My sister complains twentyfour/ seven and she's paid to wear them."
"You have siblings?"
"Mhm," he hummed.
He put his thumb into the arch of my foot and pressed with just the right amount of pressure. I was left blinking away stars.
"I have three. My sister, Caree, is a model. She mostly spends her time in Europe: London, Paris, Milan, Athens, Sicily. I rarely see her these days."
"That sounds incredible, travelling the world." I replied dreamily, staring up at the muted lights in the jet's curved ceiling.
He scoffed, "It sounds like a dream, but I know better."
"Why would you say that? Doesn't she enjoy it? Seeing new places? Meeting new people? New cultures, new experiences, new stories to tell?"
He remained focused at the task at hand, with adorable brows puckered in deep concentration.
"We were in London one summer, when she was approached by a modelling agent with Dolce and Gabana. She was sixteen then." His fingers trailed from my heel to my calf and back again. "She's been doing it ever since. After a decade it's bound to get old."
"Has she told you that?"
"No. She doesn't have to."
I squinted at that, "Then how do you know? If she hasn't said this herself, then isn't all this just a baseless assumption?"
He smiled real bright, "She should hear you now. She'd fall in love."
I blushed.
"I was raised by three women. Three incredibly strong women. My mother, grandmother and great-grandmother." His eyes flickered up to take in my reaction. "My great-grandmother was a farmer, my grandmother a nurse and my mother the same. You can only imagine the look on my grandma's face when her only granddaughter told her she was going to be a model. She nearly cried." He laughed to himself, within the depth of his memories. "My great-grandmother, Mama we call her, smacked her over the back of the head and asked her what she was bawling for."
I found myself chucking along with him. "Mama said she should save all her tears for her funeral. Afterall it was good, honest work, and it wasn't as if she was going to be out killing and robbing. So my mother let her and they have tried to be supportive ever since. But I know Caree believes she's let them down. At sixteen, the rest of us had plans. I already knew which college I was going to and so did my brothers. She was still undecided. I think that's why she jumped at the first opportunity she got."
I blamed it all on the dark magic in his hands. Voodoo maybe? Obeah? His fingers had found the soft skin between my toes and with every rub, I lost a bit of my sanity and self-control. That was the only explanation for what I said next.
"I know a little bit about that." A part of me had found some inexplicable camaraderie with this faceless Caree. She was like me in so many ways, yet so very different.
"How so?"
"I never wanted to be a teacher," I confessed, "At sixteen I wanted to be a Rockette?"
"A Rockette?" He echoed.
"Yeah. The Rockettes are the most famous precision dance company in America." I clarified with a sigh, tilting my head back until it hung off the edge of the armrest. "When I was around Odette's age, I saw them in a parade on Thanksgiving Day. They were a group of the most phenomenal women I had ever seen, with legs for days."
His fingertips traced the route up my limb, past my shin, to the flared hem of my dress to settle on my knees.
"My parents were extremely supportive but that wasn't much of a surprise. They've been my number one cheerleaders from my conception. My Mom sent me to all the classes: jazz, ballet, tap. But I was never very good at ballet. I have never been very graceful or elegant and I struggled to memorize the names of all the moves. To this day, French still kicks my äss."
"Le français est une belle langue."
I flew up from my reclined position, "Fücking really? You know French?"
"Un peu." He made a small space between his index finger and thumb. "I'm fluent in German and Italian. I only know a bit of French."
My jaw went slack. "That's insane."
He shook his head with a smile. "I'm glad you think so. One grandfather was Italian and the other German. My mother made sure we knew our roots. Becoming schooled in our heritage wasn't an option. Even more so because she was deprived of her own for so long." He murmured that last part with an air of profound sadness, "But that is a story for another time. Tell me more about you. Why'd you quit?"
For a time, my mind got quiet as I grappled to compose a vivid thought. I was no longer here, with him. I was twelve years old, in front of my mirror, endlessly practicing a pirouette I fought to master much less pronounce. I was fifteen, onstage with a group of ten other girls I considered my friends, at the time. Then seventeen, standing on pointe on the studio floors for the last time, with a bun in the oven and a dream in the dust.
"Life happened," I sqeezed my eyes shut, and when I reopened them the nostalgic scene was replaced with the present, "Plus, I am too short anyway."
I tried for a shrug and ended up with a stiff jolt. I risked a look his way and wished I hadn't. His eyes were pinned to my dainty feet, nestled in his lap. They flickered to my strewn shoes on the patterned carpet and back again.
When he finally raised his head, it was with a solemn stare. And I just knew, he saw me. Really saw me.
I did not find comfort in my vulnerability, only rediscovered the fear I had fought so hard to disguise. I did not want to feel exposed, like cells under a microscope. I refused to be that girl. Not today.
I redirected the attack of his gaze the only way I knew how. I kissed him.
●●●
It's about time we rocked the boat, don't yah think?
Fück it, let's kick the bïtch over 😈
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