“What if you’re pushing away success right now just because you’re afraid of it?” I sound like some kind of life coach–which isn’t me, but it just seems too clear that’s what he’s doing. I’ve been working with a therapist for months now–I guess she’s starting to rub off on me.
Flynn stops on the sidewalk outside and loops an arm behind my back. He draws me up against him. Our breaths mingle in the cold air. “You make me want to believe,” he murmurs and kisses me.
“I believe anything’s possible when I’m with you,” I whisper back.
Nadia
I’m in love. I want to be a burlesque dancer. They are everything.
I watch the way the women hold their own on the stage. They dominate. They are sexual-
but empowered. Beautiful and demanding of our attention.
This is exactly what I need. This energy. Taking back my sexuality. Giving it on my terms.
I want to be up on that stage deciding exactly how much skin I show. Giving access to my body on my own terms.
Owning the audience.
We sit at a table sipping soda water with lime and dropping dollar bills in the dancers’ buckets when they sweep through the audience requesting tips.
Flynn drapes a casual arm across the back of my chair and keeps glancing over, like he’s more interested in what I think than the actual show. For a guy who doesn’t do commitment or girlfriends, he’s so damn attentive.
He always seems to have his finger on my pulse, knowing what I need. When I’m starting to freak out and when I’m having fun.
Flynn
I study Nadia’s profile as we sit at a table at Rue’s to watch the show. I’ve seen the show before–or many variations of it. I used to work at Rue’s taking the cover charge at the door a few nights a week.
Watching Nadia take it in is far more entertaining. The dancers are on stage doing a group dance. Tonight they are a troupe of five women and one drag queen, but it varies week to week. They have individual pieces and a few group pieces. Their art involves lip sync, dance, strip tease and performance art. They’re not super polished, but it doesn’t matter–it’s their raw presence that makes the crowd love them. That and the sexual nature of the show.
Nadia clearly loves everything she sees. Her expression is rapt and full of light. She radiates pleasure and life.
I’m in love.
Wow. First time for everything, right?
I mean, this has to be love. The way I feel with Nadia is like nothing I’ve experienced before. She makes me feel like a different person. A better version of myself.
I don’t want to drink or smoke around her.
I want to write songs.
Now she has me thinking I might even man up and put some effort into making the band into more.
After driving back to Rue’s neighborhood, we stopped in at a pizza joint to fill our bellies then came in here to get a table. I ordered a Coke and Nadia’s drinking Sprite. She said she shouldn’t drink because she’s on anti-anxiety meds. I don’t have any urge to touch alcohol or weed around her.
I feel the need to stay sober around Nadia. It’s not just because I feel protective but also just because I don’t want to miss anything. Not a single nuance or word she utters. I want to absorb it all. She is light and unicorns. And yes, sometimes puddles, but I would take a thousand rain showers and mud puddles and punches in the jaw for a night like this.
The dance ends, and she cheers, looking at me to see if I’m as enthusiastic as she is. “I love it,” she tells me. “I want to join them.”
“What?” I lean forward to make sure I heard that right.
“I want to join them. I want to be a burlesque dancer.”
I absorb that. It makes sense. The dancers own and control their own sexuality. They’re on stage. They’re in charge. In control. After what Nadia’s been through, it makes sense that she’d crave that sense of ownership and control over her body and how it is viewed.
“Awesome,” I say, determined to make sure it happens. Even if it means talking her through a dozen panic attacks to get her there, I will make sure she gets on that stage if she wants to.
“Do you think I could?”
“I’m sure you could,” I say. I’ll help make it happen if she needs me, but I have little doubt she could arrange it all on her own. All she needs is a little encouragement and a nudge. “Talk to Danica. Maybe they have classes or something.”
She nods. “When I show her my costume ideas I will ask her.”
“Perfect,” I agree.
I can’t imagine it wouldn’t work out–so long as Nadia doesn’t have a panic attack on stage. But I would be with her to make sure it didn’t happen.
As I contemplate all the untapped potential lurking within Nadia, I suddenly understand what she meant about me blocking my own success.
If I believe she can do anything she wants to–and I do–why wouldn’t I believe the same of myself? I haven’t done much with my life, but it doesn’t mean I can’t. Nadia sees potential in me, which is more than I see in myself.
“Let’s go back to your place.” Nadia’s lips at my ear. She’s turned on by the show. I love it. I didn’t expect her to want to return to my place, but I’m down. I’m more than down. I’m freaking ready.