All I could think about was my stalker. Where did he go? Was he really a stalker? And, most important of all, who was he?~~~After changing clothes, I strode onto the dance floor. There was something about the studio that took me to a very special place. Playing my warm up music, I did my stretches. It felt good, easing the stiffness after sitting in class all day. Loosened, I was ready to practice my dance recital.I took a few minutes to relax, compose myself, and let the music stir my spirit. I wanted it deep in my soul; I needed to feel what I was dancing. I began to sway with the music and soon I was gliding across the floor, my arms and hands moving in the most delicate way, the cheesecloth gown flapping around my body.The music flowed powerfully over me and I crossed the floor in leaps and bounds. Harmonious and rapturous chords guided my movement as I became an instrument in its chorus. This was what I loved, being a part of the whole, gliding and floating, enjoying the freedom. You wanted me to write a story for the magazine, I pitched it to my boss and she liked it as a feature about attractions in Seattle, so I’ll do it. But when it comes to my *personal* decisions—just leave it alone.’ They both simmered in silence for several heartbeats. Aidan’s tenseness was palpable, as was the fact that Jean had obviously not said all he intended to say. ‘Alright, I’m sorry I brought it up,’ he said finally, laying a brotherly hand on Aidan’s shoulder. ‘I think I’m becoming a mother hen in my old age.’ Aidan snorted his skepticism of that point as he watched Jean eye a blonde in a crimson bustier and black mini skirt. ‘Don’t worry about it,’ he replied and they sat in companionable silence for long minutes. ‘It’s like a delicious game of roulette, you know,’ Jean said after a while. He was still watching the blonde but his face took on a speculative expression. ‘When I opened that first club in Paris…that was the biggest gamble of my life. No one thought I would last.
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