“Did you handle ol’ boy for Jay?” Meco asked.
Lo bobbed his head. “Yep, cooked his ass to death.”
Devyn shook his head and placed the glass on the table. “You’re wicked as fuck. You need help.”
Lo chuckled. “If I need help, you need to be right next to me, you kidnapper.”
Meco snickered. “Right, ol’ desperate ass.”
Devyn cut his eyes at Meco. “Desperate? You were about to have a baby with a bitch that accused you of rape. Surrogate-hiring-ass nigga.”
Lo cackled so hard he held his stomach.
Meco tried to hide his smile, but he failed terribly. “Aye, if that shit didn’t happen, I wouldn’t have my girl or my baby. So, fuck what you talking about. I’d hire her again and again.”
Devyn stood. “You right. My niece would’ve never been born if you didn’t make that move. So, you won in the end. I’m about to go to the crib. I’ll holla at y’all.”
Devyn shook hands with Meco and Lo before he made his exit.
“How you gon’ handle ol’ boy? You wanna scare him or put him in the dirt?”
Lo shook his head. “We can catch him slippin’ and scare his ass. Ain't no need to murk him right now.”
Meco nodded. “A’ight, cool.”
Sneaky Link
Bria was focused as she taped her toes and applied some padding. It was the night of her performance and the only thing on her mind was nailing her solo. After almost twenty years of dancing, Bria still got jitters before performing. A perfectionist at heart, she wanted everything to be done with excellence. Bria grabbed her pointed shoes and laced them up. Afterward, she stood and checked her appearance in the mirror. Her hair was pulled into a tight bun with her makeup applied naturally. Bria’s ears were adorned with small diamond studs.
Looking at her phone, she wished she saw a notification from Lo but there was nothing. Per usual, he had shown no interest in her, and it pushed her farther away from the reality of them being a lovable couple. However, she did see a notification from Dough.
Dough: I’m here, baby. Waiting for you to dance for me.
Bria beamed knowing that there was someone here for her that appreciated her talent. Dough didn’t make every performance, but he made enough to alert her that he cared.
“Bria, you're up next.”
She nodded at the producer of the show and left the dressing room. Tonight, she was performing The SleepingBeauty. It was an act she had done numerous times before, but each time brought out something different in her.
The other dancers lined along the wall as the orchestra began playing. There was something about classical music that Bria appreciated. The rich compositions and melodic notes held so much grace which was the music she preferred to dance to. Inhaling a deep breath, she noticed the producer give her the cue to start. Straightening her spine, she tippy toed onto the stage while feeling the warmth from the beaming spotlights. Her woes and worries evaporated as she swayed to the music. Nothing fazed her when she was on stage. Her mind took over her body, moving in such a graceful way. Performing a relevé followed by a jeté, Bria was in her zone.
She danced with confidence. She moved with such great precision. Her ability was one of the reasons she had been deemed one of the best ballerinas of the twenty-first century. Despite her being as accomplished as she was, she still held insecurities inside her heart. Like jumping on the points of her feet. That move made her nervous after practicing it so many times. She did it but not to the best of her ability.
Just that one imperfection deemed it a bad performance in Bria’s head. She was her toughest critic. Her number one enemy at times. She chased perfection to the point where one small flaw would break her performances. Bria was harsh on herself. Her mother always told her to give herself grace but Bria couldn’t. No matter how hard she rehearsed and worked, she still wanted to flawlessly execute her acts.
Bria had been in her head so deeply that she didn’t realize her performance was over. Smiling from ear to ear, she sauntered off the stage. People congratulated her on her way to the dressing room. Taking a seat, she collected herself as the other dancers filed into the room. She took off her shoes and she rubbed her feet through her white tights.
“Good job, Bria. Even with your small mishap, you still did a great job.”
Bria looked at Katie, who was another prominent ballet dancer as well. She had known her ever since they worked together on Giselle. There had been subtle animosity between them. It was so small that Bria couldn’t call Katie out on her condescending ways or microaggression. Being one of the few Black women in the industry, Bria had to deal with so many odds that it used to discourage her. People possessed this idea of what a ballerina was supposed to look like. It didn’t include a Black girl with skin the shade of coffee with a five-foot-ten frame and muscular build. Unfortunately, they only wanted the Caucasian girls who were petite and dainty.
“Thanks,” Bria chirped. “Hey, when is your next solo?”
Katie opened her mouth to reply but was derailed when Bria retorted, “Exactly. You can’t even tell me your last solo.”
“Actually, it was six months ago.”
Bria covered her mouth and chuckled. “Oh, wow. Six whole months. Next time you have one, please invite me so I can critique you.”
