For my new Invisible Friends, Twirl is the story of a star-crossed ballerina named Vivi and her handsome cowboy named Wade, who have stumbled into a international ballet scandal and a old Texas legend that might possibly lead to riches! To catch up in the archives, go to the Never Ending Stories Tab at the top of this site.  For the previous edition, go here.

“Dearest Vivi,” the letter began:

When Susanna told me what your father did, I nearly lost my mind.  How are you?  Did he hurt you or anything? I wish your mother had done something about it.  Maybe you can talk to her.

In case Susanna didn’t tell you, Margaret’s in jail now.  Our sheriff buddy says she’ll post bail in a few days, but at least we know where she is for a little while.  I’ll go through these letters with my grandfather’s help.  Between the two of us, we should be able to find something.

Darling, I know it’s only been a day or two, but I miss you.  Knowing you won’t be walking through these dancehall doors… well, not even Hilda’s pie can cure how I feel.  I know I’m not very good with words, but I hope you know how much you mean to me.

I’m coming to see you.

Love,

Wade

Vivi’s heart swelled as she clutched the piece of paper to her chest.  With tears in her eyes, she flipped on the laptop.  As soon as the Internet had connected to the hotel’s free wi-fi, she began to type.

Dear Wade,

Susanna’s dad gave me this laptop so we could still talk to each other.  I’m so depressed about all this.  Remember when we met Mrs. Angelson in the parking lot?  Well, she sold us out.  My dad knows about you, which is one reason we came to Houston in the middle of the night.

Something is weird about the two of them.  They’re real chummy, and everyone at the academy whispers when I’m around.  The director nearly had a heart attack when I said their names.  Could you ask the sheriff to dig into it?  Maybe he can find something…

I hate this.  Not only can I not see you, but we can’t find the next clue.  I know it’s driving you as nuts as it’s making me.  And with Margaret in jail, it would be the perfect time to search!

I miss you so bad I physically ache.  I feel so alone, so trapped.  If only you pulled up in your truck so we could drive away where no one could bother us!  I can’t wait to see you.  It’s all I can do not to cry.

Until we’re twirling again.

Love,

Vivi.

Shutting the laptop lid, she slid it under her pillow.  And then she cried herself to sleep.

***

“And one, two, three, four, turn, leap–no, no, no!”  Mrs. Angelson bellowed, marching toward Vivi across the private studio floor.  “Extend that leg through the leap and bend at the waist, not at the hip!  Don’t flop over like a dead fish, curl like a drooping flower!  Beauty, Vivi, you show beauty!”

Dropping flat on her toe shoes, Vivi glared at her.  “What the hell are you doing with my father?”

“Excuse me?” Mrs. Angelson’s voice was dangerously soft.

“Ya’ll are acting all buddy buddy,” Vivi accused, putting her hands on her hips.  Her leotard stuck to her stomach and back with sweat.  “What’s the deal?”

Mrs. Angelson arched a perfectly plucked eyebrow.  “Vivi, your father and I were colleagues back in the day,” she informed her.  “You know this already.  We danced together a few times, worked in the same performances.”

“Like the Lover’s Dance?” Vivi challenged.  “Did you ever do that?”

“As a matter of fact, we did,” Mrs. Angelson admitted.  Her smirk spread to a sneer.  “In fact, as you will.  But better.”

“What are you talking about?” Vivi snarled.  “The Lover’s Dance is a duet, basically.  I’m doing a solo performance.”

“That’s what you think.” Mrs. Angelson smiled.

“What are you talking about?” Vivi yelled.

The door swung open and Damien poked his head in.  “Mrs. Angelson?  You wanted to see me?”

“Ah, Damien,” Mrs. Angelson purred.  “Right on time.”

“I was practicing the jump we were working on and I think I’ve figured out”– he paused, finally noticing Vivi.  “What’s she doing here?”

“Nice to see you too,” Vivi snapped.

“Vivi, shut up,” Damien replied in a cross tone.  “You know I didn’t mean it like that.  I just thought this was a private tutorial.”

“It is,” Mrs. Angelson said, a broad smile across her face.  “For both of you.  You see, you’re working together.”

“Another routine this late?” Damien asked, his forehead wrinkling.  “The competition is less than two weeks.  Are you sure that’s wise?”

Mrs. Angelson’s eyes sparkled.  “Damien, Vivi.  Both in the center.  Each do your routine.  Five, six, seven, eight!”

The music blared, and Vivi and Damien both burst into their first pose.  As she moved through the routine, Vivi noticed Damien’s moves complimented hers.  When she leaped, he leaped.  When she pirouetted, he fell to a knee.  It was almost as if…

Suddenly, Damien and Vivi were eye to eye, hip to hip.

“Yes,” Mrs. Angelson droned, a wild burning look in her eyes.  “Now grab her waist.  Vivi, bend and throw your head around.  Closer.  Tighter.  Now lift her, sliding her down.  Vivi, keep your left leg bent and the right one straight.  Pretty arms, you must have pretty arms!  Now dip…lean your faces in closer, forehead to forehead.  Now Vivi, take the right foot and do a fan from the top of his head to his toes–gorgeous.  Now for the triple mid-air flying turn.”

With every move, a knot in Vivi’s stomach tightened more and more until she could hardly breathe.  She could hardly believe what her body was doing.  The routine she had thought was so dull was now passionate, edgy.  With Damien grinding against her as they moved through the intimate performance, she knew this dance was not as bad as the Lover’s Dance her father had made famous.

It was worse.

This dance made the Lover’s Dance look like a chaste kiss on the cheek.  Compared to that, this dance was a full blown NC-17 movie sex scene.

After the final counts, Vivi and Damien staggered apart, both avoiding eye contact.  Vivi wrapped her arms around herself, shaking her head.

“I’m not doing that.”

“You must do that,” Mrs. Angelson hissed.  “That’s what you’ve both been working toward for weeks.”

“I’m not doing it,” Vivi repeated, raising her chin.  “That dance…that dance is….”

“Scary,” Damien muttered, his face pale.  For once, all his bravado had drained out of him.  His usual sneer had been replaced by wide-eyed panic.  “My parents are going to flip.  I’ve got a little sister…she can’t see that.”

“It’s sick,” Vivi snarled.  “I mean that one part where I go down and he…you can’t put that on a stage!”

“We can, and we will.”

Vivi groaned, not even bothering to turn.  “What, now?”

Damien’s pale skin faded to porcelion as he stumbled back toward the door.  “Oh my God.  You’re Vladimir Markov.”

Vivi’s father puffed out his chest, preening as he stroked his thick black goatee.  “Yes.  And you are Damien, yes?”

Damien nodded, his mouth flopped open.  “Sir, it’s an honor.  I mean, I know Vivi’s last name was Markov but I never knew…wow.”  Mrs. Angelson and Vivi’s dad looked ridiculously pleased, giving each other giddy grins.  Vivi closed her fists at her side, her eyes narrowing.

“Are you spying on me now?” Vivi snapped, tapping her toe shoe against the floor.  “Don’t you have something more important to do?”

“Vivi, my only task in life right now is to make sure you win this competition,” her father informed her, his eyebrows waging a war on his forehead as they crowded together.  “You will do this dance, and you will do it right.  Understood?”

Vivi rolled her eyes.  “I understand.”  Hurrying across the room, she jerked off her toe shoes and pulled on her slippers.  “I’ve got to get to my next class.”

“Good,” her father said approvingly.  “Practice.  Practice to win.”

“Whatever.”  Vivi slid her dance bag over her shoulder and hurried out the door. Her eyes stung with unshed tears of frustration and her cheeks burned.  Every inch of her body screamed for a hot shower to wash away the memories of the dance and the feeling of Damien’s palm against her lower back.  She thought of twirling across the wooden dance floor with Wade, slow dancing in the studio parking lot, waltzing in the beams of his truck lights…a single tear rolled down her cheek.

“Vivi!”  Damien called, running behind her.  “Vivi, wait!”

“What?” she snapped, whirling around.  She quickly wiped her face on her leotard sleeve and scowled, daring him to ask questions.  “What do you want?”

Panting, Damien bent over and spoke through gasps of air.  “I–need–to–talk–to—you.”

To be continued…

Stay tuned, Invisible Friends!  We have a fabulous Creative Woman of the Pond tomorrow!  And next week, whimsical fun from the Blond Duck!