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11
Cadie
I’m standing with other dancers backstage, waiting to find out which part I landed. I know I’m part of the dance troupe, but I don’t know if I’ll be in the background somewhere. I have a good feeling about it, though. Or maybe that good feeling is just that I’ve been spending a lot of time with Ram. It’s been several weeks since we first had sex. He called me the next morning and we ended up talking on the phone for hours. I’ve seen him every night. We surf and have sex and spend time getting to know each another. I’m getting better—at surfing, that is, I was always pretty good at the sex thing. Being with him has been the perfect distraction—at least it started out as a distraction. I’d desperately wanted to get my mind off of Evan, but then it turned into more …
I don’t know what all of this means for him. I know what it means for me. I’m falling for him. I can’t help it. He’s not the kind of guy a girl can just walk away from and never look back. I’m not saying I’m in love or anything. We’re not even dating. But spending time with him and having the best sex of my life makes me happy. That happiness has transferred into other aspects of my life and now I feel ready for this part in the dance—whichever part I get.
My name is called. It’s my turn to audition for the lead roll. The spotlight blinds me. I can feel the eyes of the other dancers weighing me down, judging, speculating, willing me to fail. But as soon as the music starts, the world disappears and I rise. I’m an ocean breeze; I’m a dolphin gliding through the water; I’m light itself. Everything Ram has taught me about surfing, I use in this dance. I’m free.
As soon as the dance is over, the real world comes back in a rush and again I’m heavy and weighed down, but I know I’ve nailed this audition. I have no regrets, no nagging inner jabs telling me there’s something I could’ve done better. I left everything on the stage and now I’m just an empty husk.
My stomach rolls as the names of the dancers and their roles are called. I pick at my nails, roll my ankles, transfer my weight from foot to foot. And then my name is called, followed by one word: Penelope. I got it. I got the lead. I fight back the roar of laughter and happy squeals that hit me like a tsunami. I did it. I really did it!
Of all the people I could call and share my good news, my first thought is Ram. It’s concerning. But I’m too excited to read more into it. I’ll worry about that later. Right now I just want to celebrate with someone who believes in me. If it weren’t for his encouragement, I don’t think I would’ve believed in myself enough to even audition for this particular part in the dance. I would’ve sat back and let someone else have it and told myself I was meant to be somewhere in the background. It’s the best of the best and I didn’t think I was worthy. Ram did, though. He made me believe it too, and now here I am.
I text Ram and wait for him to respond. While I wait, I look at his Instagram pictures. There are a few of us surfing together. I try not to think too much about the fact that he has me mixed up in his photos since he has his other students on there as well, but it feels good to see it. I’m not someone he’s trying to keep secret, at least. We look good together. Everything about us fits so well. His blond hair complements my auburn waves. Our bodies are evenly matched with both of us having athletic builds. We look like companion dolls. My Barbie to his Ken.
The voice over my shoulder startles me. I put down the phone as if being caught watching something inappropriate. I turn and see a beautiful woman standing there. Short and compact with the perfect dancer’s body, cropped blond hair in a pixie cut. A pink little cupid’s bow for a mouth. She’s one of the girls who auditioned for the same part as me. She ended up getting the part of Penelope’s sister. We’ll be working together now.
My face lights up. “Hi, I’m Cadie,” I say, introducing myself. If we’re going to be spending a lot of time together, it’s best to make friends.
She gives me a friendly, yet assessing, smile. “Mara. Congratulations on making the cut. I didn’t see that coming.”
My smile falters a little, but I manage to keep it there. I don’t know if she intentionally meant that to be underhanded, but it sure as hell sounded like it. I decide to give her the benefit of the doubt, though. Last thing I want is to work closely with someone I hate. I need to make this work.
“Thank you,” I say graciously.
“I don’t mean to pry,” she says, though the tone of her voice tells me that’s exactly what she’s aiming for. “But I couldn’t help but see the photos of the guy you were looking at. Do you know him?”
Apprehensive, I nod my head. “His name is Ram.”
“Is that his name?” she says all innocence and smiles. “I’ve only known him as the Bed Shaker. Isn’t it wonderful what he does for women? I mean, no one has ever made me come the way he has. I can’t wait to see him again.”
My throat tightens. I struggle to swallow down the sickness rising up from my stomach. Ram has been with this little troll? Of course he has. She’s beautiful. That seems to be the only prerequisite for the women he sleeps with according to Gina. How can I work with this woman knowing she’s been with the man I’m sleeping with?
Mara acts like she doesn’t see my distress, but I know she does, and she takes that knife and twists it in. Her face goes slack with concern, her voice condescending. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m sorry. If it makes you feel better, he doesn’t respond to my personal messages, but he obviously does yours. Maybe you’re special?” She shrugs as if she doubts it, then walks away, bouncing on her toes as she does.
I’m going to be sick. I hold my stomach, afraid I’ll puke right here in front of everyone. My head is filled with images of Ram fucking that dumb bitch, and I’m pissed. I close my eyes, trying to block it out, but it makes it worse. How many people has he had sex with since me? Probably a lot. I should’ve known better, but somehow the thought never even occurred to me. How could I be so stupid? I can’t be with him anymore. I don’t know if I can take this job either.
Ram texts me back. I turn off my phone without even looking at it. I have to get away. I have to leave this place.
* * *
I get home and change into a pair of shorts and a tank top. The plan is to lounge around the apartment, binge-watch Stranger Things, and eat the carton of double fudge ice cream I bought on my way home. No thinking of Ram or that dumb bitch I’ll have to see every day when I go to work. What a fucking nightmare. Every time I see her, I’ll picture them together. It will drive me insane.
Hercules, aware of my current mood, won’t let me out of his sight. He stays at my heel as I grab a big serving spoon and plop down on the couch. No bowl for me. I plan to eat this entire lactose bomb out of the container. This might be the one and only perk of being an adult. There’s no one around to tell me I can’t, and no one to judge me for doing it.
I’ve settled into a comfy position on the couch. Hercules is cuddled up next to me. I’m on the third episode and things on the show are getting crazy and my brain has finally allowed me a moment’s peace. All I’m thinking about is the show.
Then the doorbell rings.
My heart leaps into my throat. Oh God, what if that’s Ram? I don’t want to see him or talk to him. Please go away.
I stand up and watch the door, thankful that I locked it. He must’ve seen my car, so he knows I’m home. I just hope he gets the hint and goes away.
The doorbell rings again. I take a steadying breath. Fuck. A few seconds later, I open it.
“Evan?” I say, surprised and a little disappointed. Though I was sure I didn’t want to see Ram, I guess a little part of me did. “What the fuck do you want?”
