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Gwen just laughs. “You say that with your words, but there’s a whole other language being spoken when the two of you are together.” She holds her fingers in the shape of a heart, and I throw a pillow from the couch at her, knocking her hands apart.
“He looks like he wants to devour you.” Tahira laughs. “It’s gross and yet I can’t look away.”
“You can both go away now.”
I hear the ding of my parents calling and mute it. I’ve been avoiding them for a couple of days now, already too tense to deal with them. It dings three times in a row and I roll my eyes. I get ready to leave for the day, packing my leotards in the duffel and my costumes in the garment bag. My lessons with Jackal have paused since we’ve been out at the house so often; I wonder if he intends to keep up with them at some point.
The girls are doing laundry and cleaning the bathrooms as I leave.
“Chop your leg off,” Tahira yells, the customary “good luck” wish before someone dances cracking her up. She says it even when I’m not dancing. I’ve told her it doesn’t work that way, but she doesn’t listen.
Our first show of the week ends in a standing ovation. It’s when I’m taking my final bow that I see them, second row, right in the middle.
The mothers are in town. That’s what I get for not answering their calls.
My sweat feels cold against my skin.It’s okay, I tell myself. I’ll talk them into staying at the apartment. It’ll be fine.
I walk offstage and skitter off to my dressing room, shutting the door behind me and exhaling as I turn on the light.
“You were flawless tonight,” Jackal says. I almost jump out of my skin at the sound of his voice.
I lean back against the door and catch my breath. “What are you doing in here? I thought we agreed we wouldn’t be seen together.”
“And we’re not.” He smiles. “I just wanted to—”
“I need your help,” I whisper.
He moves in close, pulling my waist to his and reaching around to grab my backside.
“Not that,” I mutter, pushing his arms off. “You need to get out of here unless you want to meet my mothers.”
His eyes widen just as there is a knock on the door.
“Either hide or come up with a quick exit,” I tell him.
“One minute. Phoenix, I’m worried I won’t have a chance to see you before we’re in the Red. I have a new—”
The knocking gets more aggressive and he looks up to the ceiling then nods and motions for me to open the door.
Mama B and Moma stand there, already slightly put out. “What took you so...long?”
They’re both wearing black dresses, Mama B’s is on the conservative side, while Moma’s has the sequins and low-cut neckline. I smile fondly at them even though I’m annoyed. Mama B’s voice fades when she notices Jackal behind me.
“What have we here?” she asks.
Jackal’s face settles into a pleasant, friendly, clean slate. Their eyes appraise him, not with hearts in their eyes like most women, but with suspicion and no small amount of dollar signs.
He holds out his hand. Moma takes it first and shakes it heartily.
“I never miss a chance to see Ms. Moyo’s performance,” he says. Then he directs his attention to me. “You were exceptional tonight.”
“Thank you.” I don’t know where to look. I’ve never felt more awkward.
“So sweaty,” Mama B’s nose crinkles up.
She touches a finger to my shoulder and then holds it up to the light to examine how much sweat it’s picked up.
“You really should get to your shower, Phoenix,” she says, pointing to the bathroom behind me. She then holds out her hand to Jackal. “Bisa Moyo, nice to make your acquaintance. This is my wife, Sylvia,” she says. “I do believe you’re the first End Man we’ve ever met, isn’t that right, Sylvia?”
