Chapter 2

When she was six Maura's mother had enrolled her in ballet and tap lessons at a small studio that overlooked Columbus Square just down from their Central Park West address. Maura was an excellent dancer and fell in love with the feeling of freedom that came from being on stage, but petite in stature, she knew by age 13 that her dream of being a Prima Ballerina wouldn't happen.

She continued on with her classes and training, earning a spot in the chorus for the annual production of The Nutcracker by the New York City Ballet for several years. It was thrilling since it was as close to professional work as she would ever get and had helped her make many connections that she treasured as she got older. It was on the way home from one of the many rehearsals required for the show that her love of dance took on a new level.

It was a seasonably warm day for early November which allowed the street performers scattered about Columbus Square to stay out longer to earn their living. They happened to still be putting on a show as she walked to her penthouse apartment after rehearsal. Her eyes were caught by a group of young men performing a style of dance that the teenager had never seen before.

A crowd had gathered to watch the small group strut and pose in time to music, something by Donna Summer, Maura noted. Some of the men even performed modified ballet and jazz moves that spoke of classical training. Maura was captivated and instantly wanted become fluid in this new, modern style.

"What type of dance is that?" she asked boy who looked to be about her age that seemed to know one of the dancers. She had watched them converse for a moment while another boy changed the 8 track tape.

"It doesn't," the sandy haired boy replied. "Willie calls it Vogue or something like that. I think that name's stupid."

"Where can you learn this 'Vogue' style of dance?" Maura asked, her eyes drifting back to the performers as they began a new routine to another song.

"You can't, really," the boy replied with a shrug, "unless you're part of a house or on the scene."

"The scene?" Maura asked confused.

"Homo. Gay. The ballroom scene," the boy turned and gave her a once over. "I doubt an uptown girl like you would have the slightest idea of what happens outside of your penthouse."

Flustered, Maura turned to leave.

"Wait, wait!" The boy hurried after her. "I'm sorry. I guess I'm not used to someone like you caring about something like this," he motioned to the dancers.

"I'm always interested in learning new things." Maura replied.

"Well there's a show tonight, I could take you if you like," he offered. "That's if you can sneak out."

"That won't be a problem," Maura sighed, "my parents hardly notice my comings and goings."

"Great! Meet here at 10p. The show doesn't start till midnight so that will give us time to get there."

"Ok. My name's Maura." She offered her hand.

"Tommy," the boy smiled.

Maura smiled as she danced, the song playing reminding her of the first of many nights spent with Tommy, sneaking to the gay clubs and ball rooms to watch and learn. She loved being about surrounded by people who only looked to her as fun dance partner and not a potential one night stand. Tommy had been her guide into a world that was hidden from everyone but was in plain view every day if you knew how and where to look.

It was another reason why she loved to come to clubs, many times by herself, because you could be alone yet surrounded by people. She was a very solitary person, despite her posh upbringing and high social standing and hated being the center of attention in social gatherings. Maura chose her companions very carefully, with only a handful of people being counted as her true friends. For the rest, she would overwhelm them with her vast knowledge of seemingly random facts until they lost interest.

Yes you could say Maura could be quite socially awkward at times, unless you saw her on the dance floor.

Jane Rizzoli took a sip from her Vodka Martini and scanned the room. She had lost the captivating woman in the skin tight jeans quickly in the crowd. After circling the club several times, she decided to take up a spot on the far side of the dance floor near the DJ booth. It was as good a place as any to hope to catch a glimpse of the mystery woman.

"Find what you're looking for yet?" One of the bar backs asked as he cleaned off a nearby table.

"Excuse me?" Jane replied, startled.

"Out there," the young man flashed a smile and waved his hand. "This is my third trip over to this area to clean and you've been here the entire time watching the floor. I'm guessing you're looking for someone. Maybe I can help you find them?"

"I doubt it," Jane took a sip of her drink and added, "I'm not quite sure who I'm looking for."

"I think you know," he smiled. "What do they look like?"

Jane gave a brief description of her person of interest. After a moment the young man began to laugh.

"Well tonight is your lucky night," he began, "I happen to know exactly where that young lady can be found." He pointed to the dance floor that seemed to fill to capacity as "Get Down Tonight" started to blast out of speaker near Jane.

"Where?" She shouted. Did it suddenly get louder in here she thought.

"The center of the floor. The girl's name is Maura. Maura Isles."

"What?" Jane leaned in. Was it the music or adrenaline that was making it suddenly hard for her to hear?

"Maura Isles, she's a friend of mine. Been trying to get into 54 for months. I finally got her in tonight." He held out his hand and grinned, "My name's Barry."

"Nice to meet you, I'm…"

"Oh I know who you are," Barry winked. "Now go. Maura's waiting."

Draining her drink, Jane headed into the crowd. People always assumed that because she was model that Jane was the very definition of grace. That she floated down the street or around the dance floor like she did on the runway.

Life couldn't be more opposite of the fantasy that fashion had created. Jane was quite clumsy and if there had been such a thing as anti-rhythm, she would have owned the patent on it. The fact was that Jane Rizzoli hated to dance.

She had just walked through the gates of hell with "Night Fever" as her funeral march.