He was dreaming. There was simply no other explanation.
Samuel let go of her arm, uncertain anymore of what was reality. Had he heard her correctly?
“I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s fine. I know it’s weird. I’m her teacher.”
“No,” he barked, then realized he sounded harsh. He softened his tone. “No. I’d like that.”
He couldn’t imagine what he could do with her, what sort of event would match the delicate wonder of just looking at her.
“I’m in a show tomorrow night, nothing big, just community dance theater.” She blushed, her cheeks shifting to a shade he knew he would attempt to capture later that day. “I can have a ticket ready for you at the box office. Maybe afterward?”
Samuel felt overwhelmed, as if the very ideas she put forth were too large for him to contain. Watching her dance on stage, then seeing her alone? He could only nod, his throat too tight to even speak.
She glanced down at Cassandra, who still lay on her back on the floor, gazing up at the ceiling. “Do you have someone for her?” she asked, concern creasing her brown.
“I do,” he forced out. “My neighbor. She watches her.”
Aurora met his eyes, and he thought his heart might seize. “Good. It’s the Blue Theater. Downtown.”
“I’ll look it up,” he said, amazed that his voice worked at all. “I’ll be there.”
“Curtain is at seven-thirty,” she said. “It’s small. Camille at the box office will watch for you and get you your ticket.”
She took a couple running steps and leaped over Cassandra, making the girl burst into giggles.
“Again!” his daughter called out.
Aurora complied, spiriting up and over Cassandra again, arms out, hands in perfect postures.
Samuel could not choose which image to do next. His mind was full. The two girls, jumping together. Aurora, gracefully leaping over his daughter.
Or her face, turned to him, telling him to come watch her dance.
He needed more sketchbooks.
Samuel parked in the garage near the theater, straightening his tie as he strode out into the cool air. Fall was just beginning to nip into a chill, but it wasn’t enough for a jacket yet. The sky darkened behind the buildings, striating into red and orange. Above him, the Tower of the Americas loomed, its revolving restaurant turning slowly as the diners gazed upon the city.
Drawing was so slow compared to the snap of a camera. For a fleeting moment he envied the speed, how any scene could be captured instantly rather than requiring hours of labored lines and crosshatch. But nothing felt the same as looking upon your work and knowing that your hands had made permanent something that previous had only existed in your heart.
Samuel crossed the street to enter the door of the tiny theater. He had never been to it before. He did not often venture downtown with its expensive parking and nightlife skewed toward those without small children.
He had a date.
The box office was no more than a closet door cut in half to reveal a woman he assumed was Camille. She waved when he entered. “Aurora said you’d be early.” She passed him a half-sheet of paper that served as the playbill. “There’s no assigned seats inside. Sit where you like.”
Samuel glanced down at the page in his hands. On the front was a stylized image of a woman dancing. From her uplifted hand the title of the performance, “The Caged Bird Free,” floated across a perfect amount of white space. Aurora’s name, as well as a choreographer and director, were listed in the bottom corner.
“This is a very nice design,” Samuel said.
Camille picked up another copy from her stack. “Jackie was so great. Too bad she had to go and have a baby.” She turned and retrieved a printout from behind her to show him. “Now we’re stuck with this until we hire someone new.”
Samuel had to suppress a smile as he saw the clip art cover of a show that would begin in a few weeks. “Freelancer?” he asked.
“Worse. Somebody’s sister.” Camille tossed the page behind her. “And all the theaters downtown are affected. The whole network used Jackie.” She leaned forward. “I’m going to list the job again tomorrow, see if I can drum up any takers.”
Samuel stared at the image. “I’m a graphic artist. I work — I worked — for the newspaper.”
Camille sat up a little straighter. “Well, shoot me an email tomorrow.” She passed him a business card. “We all have to approve you. But compared to that crap,” she pointed her thumb at the paper she’d tossed behind her, “I imagine you’re a dream. Plus, you know Aurora. That’s huge.”
Another couple entered the space and approached Camille. Samuel stepped away.
“Just through those curtains, honey,” she said, gesturing toward the wide swath of black fabric hanging along the wall. One section was held back with a gold tie. “Enjoy.”
Samuel pocketed the card. He wouldn’t even assign any energy to that yet. He wanted to reserve it all for Aurora. Jobs were an ordinary thing. A woman like her required all his hope.