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As the piece ended with Jaz crouched down on the stage, her character broken, her shoulders shook. The small audience applauded loudly and rose to their feet, and I joined them. Whether she wanted me there or not I felt privileged to have witnessed such brilliance.

Jaz stood gracefully and took her bow with a small smile gracing her lips. Her eyes scanned the audience and found me, immediately welling with salty tears again before she raced from the stage back the way she’d come.

Tiff jumped up and sidestepped through the seats to the end of the row.

“Let me go after her,” I told Tiffany, meeting her in the center of the aisle. “I have to talk to her.”

Her arms crossed over her chest as she did her best to block my path. “No fucking way. You’ve done enough damage. Leave her alone; she doesn’t want to talk to you.”

“I need to hear that from Jaz. I can’t believe after finally finding each other again that it’s over.”

She shook her head. “If you’re going to see her then I’m coming, too.”

“No, you’re not. This is between us.” I pleaded with my eyes. “I have to fix this, Tiff.”

She threw her hands to the side in surrender. “She’ll be in the first dressing room on the left. But so help me if you hurt her again …”

Jaz was in the first dressing room, sitting at the makeup mirror, dabbing at her swollen eyes. The moment I entered the room, her gaze met mine through the reflection and her image blurred.

“That was amazing, Jaz,” I croaked as I tentatively entered farther into the room. “Absolutely mesmerizing.”

Inch by painstakingly slow inch I crossed the room, fearful with every step that she would demand that I leave, or worse, tell me it was over.

When I placed my hand gently on her shoulder I allowed myself to breathe, then squatted down beside her. “I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you, Jaz.”

After running these lines in my head a hundred times as I lay on the bed the night before, I now had no idea what to say.

“How could you?” she blurted out. “All those women touching you while you take your clothes off for them …” She shook her head. “I can’t even begin to understand why you would do it.”

There was a two-seater gray couch in the corner. I took her hand and led her over to it. It was cozy and we had to sit close but she pressed into the arm as much as she could, as if touching me would burn her.

“I started a few years ago as a waiter at first, but I wanted to dance.”

“You wanted to dance there?” she said incredulously.

“I wanted to dance anywhere, and nowhere else wanted me.” I knew I was doing a terrible job of explaining but pressed on. “I crave the spotlight like anyone else who was born to perform, but this is the only type of performance anyone wants to see from me. Without this, there would be no dance in my life.”

“There are other types of dancing, Bax. I mean …” She waved her arm, searching for answers. “You could do theater restaurants for goodness sake.”

“Really?” I cocked my head. Theater restaurant had always been considered a bit of a joke. “I don’t think singing ‘Sit Down You’re Rocking the Boat’ while wearing a bowtie is really my style.”

“And taking all your clothes off is?”

“It’s just a part I’m playing. It’s dancing, it’s an act. When I’m on stage, it’s not really me; I’m portraying a character. You must get it—you’re playing a part in
When the Ship Comes In
. It’s the same thing. I play the part of a soldier—”

“Who takes all his clothes off,” she finished. “It’s not the same thing. That was you up there. Every ripple, every body roll—it was you they were touching and it was you they were seeing … and I can’t unsee that.” Her hands flew to her face. “I wish I could unsee every hand reaching to touch you. I wish I could unhear every cheer for you to take more clothes off, and I wish I could erase from my memory the look on your face as you lapped it up.” Her elbow rested on the arm of the couch. Her head sat heavily in her palm. “I can’t be with someone who sells his body for a living.”

“Hey, wait a minute.” I sat upright. “I don’t sell my body any more than you do. I’m dancing, for fuck’s sake. I’m not having sex.”

“Really? Because apparently the guys who work there will do anything or anyone.”

She was being totally unreasonable. “This is crazy talk, Jaz. No one’s having sex for money at the club, but even if they were it has nothing to do with me.” I took a risk and reached for her hand. She let me hold it but didn’t hold mine back. “I do my act, I get paid, and I come home to you. That’s it.” I squeezed her hand and waited for a response. There wasn’t any. I wasn’t getting through. “My whole belief system was shattered when I failed at the one thing I thought I was good at. No one wanted to even give me a chance in the chorus. You know, I look at the guys in your show and I think ‘Aren’t I better than that?’ I must’ve been delusional all those years in Boston, being told I had great things in my future, because I got here and I had nothing. But this is validation that I’m not nothing—that I’m not just a guy who washes dishes until his hands are red and pruned.”

There was only a nod in response.

“And I’m damn good at it, I might add. I’m the star attraction. People come to the club just to see me dance.”

She laughed. I didn’t know if it was an ‘I’m starting to understand’ laugh, or an ‘I’m losing it’ laugh.

“You don’t get it, Bax, and it’s so damn frustrating.” She turned, her face red with fury. “You’re a phenomenal dancer. You could be on any stage on Broadway playing to a full house every night. But they don’t come to see you dance—they don’t care how good a dancer you are.” She rose from the seat so quickly it took me by surprise. “They come to see your dick. And that’s one thing I want nothing more to do with.”

V
IOLET HUES
danced across the sky as I waited for Jaz outside the stage door like a fan waiting for a glimpse of their favorite star after a performance. I’d hedged my bets, and from this vantage point I could see the front entrance, but I didn’t think she’d come out that way. We had always left from the front-of-house, so I guessed she would come this way to avoid me, should I be hanging around like some desperate loser waiting to see her. An ironic laugh burst from my lips into the empty laneway. I was a desperate loser waiting to see her—the only difference was I was doing it at this doorway and not the other one.

The cold air made my bones ache as a frost gathered on the cobblestones I’d been pacing for the last three hours. Jaz had stormed out of the dressing room after telling me in no uncertain terms that she wanted nothing more to do with me. I’d wanted to run after her; I never was very good at dropping things until I’d argued them from every possible angle and eventually gotten my way. But I knew she had more rehearsals to go back to and the last thing I wanted was to distract her any more than I already had. Every lift, every leap was a risk, and if your mind wasn’t completely on the game you ran the chance of landing incorrectly and causing permanent damage. Over the years at Boston Conservatory we’d seen a few dancers who were having a bad day, either hungover or just not concentrating, take one brilliant absentminded leap into the air and come crashing down awkwardly, tearing a ligament and ending their career before it had even started.

No, I’d done enough damage. Watching Jaz dance through her pain, the betrayal and heartbreak evident in every arm movement, in every bend of her body, I knew I had to leave her to focus on the task at hand.

A meowing from down by my feet called me out of my thoughts. A tiny tabby cat, not much bigger than my hand, was circling my ankles, using my worn-out Dr. Martens to scratch behind her ears. Stopping between my feet, she sat and raised her head, letting out another meow that was much louder than I’d expected from such a tiny cat.

“Hey, girl. I don’t have any food for you if that’s what you’re looking for.”

She squawked a response.

“I’m just an alley cat like you.” I took in my surroundings. “Lurking between the dumpsters, waiting for someone to come along who will love me.”

Another squawk in response made me chuckle.

“Is that what you’re doing? Waiting for someone to come along who will love you and take care of you?” Reaching down, I only bridged the gap by half before she was up on her hind legs, stretching her head up to meet my hand. “You look like a little tiger.” Her purr as I scratched behind her ears was so affectionate. All she wanted was someone to care for her—that was all any of us wanted. “Is that good, Tiger?”

Crunching footsteps on the cobblestones spooked little Tiger, and she dashed across the laneway to hide beneath a dumpster.

“Don’t encourage her,” an annoyed voice said as a bag was hurled into the dumpster where Tiger hid. I recognized the guy; I’d bought enough coffees from the café next door to the theater, but today the guy, dressed in his black pants, top, and apron, wasn’t wearing his friendly ‘customer service’ smile.