22
Erik
I spent the three days after the night Nicole spent with me finding a replacement for the late Madame Quincy. Surprisingly, nobody worried about her disappearance. I overheard a little gossip about her quitting in a rage and going to Italy to find herself. Eventually I found a new, politer choreographer who started immediately. Tuesday evening, I convinced myself it was appropriate to call my angel. I squeezed the receiver in my left hand against my ear so hard that any tighter it would break as it rung. After God knows how many rings, she answered, "Erik?"
My back finally relaxed. "Hello, Nicole."
I could feel her smiling. "Hey. Rehearsal just ended. I'm, uh, heading to my car. We did really well. Worked on a couple of scenes, mostly. They're learning their lines surprisingly fast. It's amazing.
"Good, good," I said.
"Yeah. I—" She stopped abruptly. "Could, you, uh, excuse me for a sec?"
"Of course," I murmured.
She must have put me on speaker because I heard her loud and clear exclaim, "Dante! Holy fuck, it's Dante!"
A quieter, perhaps distant male voice, said, "What's up, Bobbye Hall?"
"Damn it, Dante, it's pronounced Nikki Lasalle-Jones," she giggled.
Another, more distant voice said, "Ah, I see he found you."
"I came to ask you a favor, Nikki. Can I take you to Joe's?"
"Sure!" Nicole's voice replied. Who was this boy?
"Okay, well, you're gonna have to let go of me in order for me to drive there."
She groaned. "Just excuse me for a second." Something beeped and she said to me, "Still there?"
"Yes," I replied.
"Okay. Uh, my old buddy Dante showed up and asked me a favor…so I gotta go. You can, uh, call me back tomorrow afternoon if you have the time."
My hand tightened its grip on the receiver. "I might," I breathed.
"Okay, bye," she said.
As she hung up, I muttered, "I love you."
Days ago she told me the same, but now I wondered if it was in the heat of the moment.