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“Time’s up,” Marco says, opening the door.
I can’t decide if I’m relieved or frustrated.
“I have another thirty minutes,” Dante says, and from the clock over his head, I can see he’s right.
“Got company,” is all Marco says, and then Dante curses under his breath.
It makes no sense.
But almost everything in this place makes little to no sense.
I take the interruption as a sign from God that this has gone too far. That it’s time to move on, move away from my Tuesday distraction of Dante Romano, and stick to my plan.
To remember the plan.
“It was nice to see you, Mr. Romano. Have a great night,” I say, bending to pick up my shoes and ignoring the sharp intake of air from his side of the room as I realize my ass is pointed in his direction.
Then, standing quickly, I’m out the door, Marco escorting me to the backstage dressing room. I have two more hours on my shift, and I need to get ready to dance on stage.
But first . . .
“Hey, Marco? If Mr. Romano requests me again, can you tell him I’m unavailable? I know that I techni—”
“Something happen?” he asks, his face moving to look at me with concern, those sunglasses going to the top of his head so he can read my face better, I'm sure.
See? I told you. Marco is the best.
“Not really. I mean. Maybe?” I say, slowing my steps as we approach the door. “He asked me out.”
Marco’s eyes widen as a smile comes to his lips like he finds it entertaining.
“He asked you out?”
I slap his arm.
“Yes! Isn’t that weird? He wants to take me to dinner.”
“You spend hours chatting with him every time he’s here, Lilah.” I frown, not understanding if he’s telling me I should have said yes. “I mean, you made the right call. He's a client and you shouldn't just go out with a client. Not safe. But he’s a decent guy, as far as the men here go.”
I think Marco is a good judge of character overall.
“Decent guy like, I should go on a date with him?”
“It’s too complicated to boil it down to that and you know it as well as I do. Just saying. He’s not a creep. He doesn’t come here ever. Came for a meeting, saw you dancing, requested a private.” Marco confirms the story I was told. “Shocked me, to be honest.”
“Hmm,” I say, not sure what to do with this new info.
“Anyway. Next time he requests, I’ll tell him you’re unavailable. Now go. You’re on in five,” Marco says, tipping his chin toward the door.
And then I move on with my day. But the gnawing in my gut won't stop me from wondering if I made the wrong choice.
Four
A note from Libby Turner, found on top of her box of journals.
Delilah,
I hope you never find this letter.
