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“Moms have lives too!” Chloe cried.
Leo piped up out of his stupor. “Moms have lives too! Moms have—how many lives you think you got, Mama?”
Chloe gri
“Shall I make a bumper sticker with that on it, Chlo-bo?” Roxie snapped back and got out of the car, giving her door a good slam.
“Oh, cut the shit already!” Chloe yelled back and then clamped her hand over her mouth, cringing when Leo hopped out of the car.
Leo’s eyes got wide. “Aunt Chloe said shit. I thought we couldn’t say shit.”
Of course he could say that perfectly.
“We can’t, Leo. Aunt Chloe just let it slip on accident.” Roxie’s eyes narrowed on Chloe.
“It sounded like she could say it. Why we can’t say shit?” Leo looked between his mom and aunt, confused.
“Just stop already,” Roxie said.
“I’m sorry, Leo. I’ve gotta watch my mouth,” Chloe said and mouthed ’sorry’ to Roxie, but her shit-eating grin wasn’t convincing.
The next morning at ten, Roxie was just finishing up on a loan at work when her cell phone rang. She checked to see the time of her next appointment and picked up the phone.
“BB Credit Union, this is Roxie. How can I help you?”
“I … must have the wrong number. Wait, did you say this was Roxie?”
“Oh sorry, habit … yes, this is Roxie.” Roxie tucked her cell under her ear and rolled her eyes at herself. Of course, her work phone started ringing then, just to nail the point home that she was an idiot.
“This is Anthony Douglas, Beckham Woods’ choreographer. How’s it goin’?”
“Uh, I’m good. How about you?”
“Great. Listen, you really impressed us with your audition yesterday.”
Anthony sounded so sincere, Roxie had to sit up a little straighter in her rolling chair.
“Thank you.”
“I was seeing here that you’ve been dancing practically your whole life, but on your resume, I’m not seeing a lot to show for that. However, I would have never known by the way you dance. Were you just being modest? Do you teach in a studio or something like that?”
“I’ve taken a lot of classes and dance every chance I get, but no, I don’t teach anywhere. I have a boring 9 to 5 job.” Roxie laughed awkwardly.
“Well, that would normally scare me off, but I’ve never seen someone catch on so quickly to my routine OR someone who seemed so completely comfortable on stage. You’ve got quite a gift, girl.”
Anthony sounded like a friend she’d like to keep. Too bad he was going to hate her soon.
“Thank you so much.” She bit her lip hard to see if this was really happening. Ouch. It was.
“Beckham specifically asked that you be invited on his tour. He saw you yesterday and you knock-”
“What? He was there? I … didn’t see him.”
“Oh yeah, he was there. We couldn’t take our eyes off you, hon. He thinks you’re perfect for this and so do I. In fact, I’m already envisioning featuring you with Beckham on a few of his slower tunes. He’s 6’2” … you’re 5’9”, 5’10”? Perfect proportionally to work next to him.”
She knew that.
“The thing is-” she started.
“I’d like to fly you out by October 12th, so you’re ready to begin rehearsal the next morning. We’ll be in L.A. until December 20th and then off for about a week and a half before Christmas and just before the New Year. We’ll start back up with a final week of rehearsals on the 2nd and our first performance will be the 5th. I can fax over the schedule, if you’d like … or email, whichever you’d prefer.” He finally stopped to take a breath and Roxie put her head in her hands. “Make sure you’re conditioned between now and then. Even if you’re dancing a lot now, it’ll be a grueling schedule. Do you have any questions for me?” he asked.
“See, the thing is, I have…” The words seemed to lodge in her throat. She coughed and then a lunatic took over her brain. “Can you email the schedule and all the details?”
“Absolutely. I’ll do that right now. Anything else?”
“No, not that I can think of,” she lied.
“I’ll email the contract and terms of the salary along with the schedule.”
“S-sounds good,” she stuttered.
She hung up the phone and looked around at her co-workers, answering phones and working with customers, and thought about how her whole life could change. Two minutes later, she opened up her email. The first page she saw took all the air right out of her body.
Actually it was just one line: $1,000 per show for 120 shows, $500 per rehearsal, and a $100 per diem each day on the tour.
She tapped the numbers quickly into her calculator and put her fist against her mouth to stay quiet when the amount came up: $184,500.
Everything blurred and all the sound in the credit union was swallowed up. Roxie was worthless the rest of the day. Her mind had already landed on the figure that was more than she could even wrap her mind around. Really, even if it had been half of that, she would have been heavily swayed. With a little boy to raise and no wi
Ian looked at his two girls snuggled up on the plush rug in the living room, sound asleep. Their little one was the perfect mini replica of her mama. They both took his breath away. As always, when he looked at Sparrow and their daughter, Journey, his heart picked up and lit into a cadence he’d based many songs on—his muses, both of them.
His fingers latched onto his hair and he pulled until he realized what he was doing. Sparrow told him all the time that his hair would fall out if he kept it up. He didn’t want to be old and bald for his gorgeous wife. If his hair was going—which, truthfully, it didn’t seem to be in any danger of quite yet—he wanted it to be from Sparrow yanking on it when he was deep inside her.
He ran his hand across his face instead, trying to quell the anxiety that had been in his chest since he’d spoken to Do
Ian spent the first week after hearing the news devastated about Do
What Ian hadn’t known until today, was that Do
He couldn’t be upset with Do
Sparrow’s eyes opened and shifted to his. She stayed completely still, so she wouldn’t wake up Journey.
“You okay?” she mouthed. “Do
He nodded and swallowed hard. “I saw him,” he whispered. He shook his head and bit the inside of his cheek, looking away.
Sparrow carefully moved Journey’s arm and leg off of her and stood up. She looked at the mantle, making sure the monitor was on. She walked toward him and took his hand, leading him to their bedroom.
Ian pushed the door behind him but didn’t close it all the way. They’d be able to hear the little one crawling when she woke up. She was nearly seven months, but Journey had inherited her mom’s long legs and her—as Sparrow put it—‘complete lack of gracefulness’. Sparrow couldn’t help it if occasionally her feet got ahead of her. And even if nothing stood in her way, Journey seemed able to make a racket when she went mobile.