Page 12 of Count Down

“You’ve got to live your life. Your father won’t be around forever.”

She looks at me. I look into her eyes, waiting for her reaction. How does she feel about the thought that her father won’t always be here?

“I know.” She looks away from me. “It’s just easier said than done.”

“It always is.” I’m relieved to see that she didn’t respond too much to the thought of her father not always being around. It’s not like she gave me permission to kill her father. But I wonder how much better off she’d be without him.

“I was hoping to stay in the company longer,” she says. “I want to keep performing and take every chance I can get to choreograph. I love that even more than dancing. I get to make all the decisions I want to make when I’m choreographing. And I get to see them on the stage. I was hoping to stay in the company and get to work with all the guest choreographers, too.”

She’s so animated when she talks about wanting to choreograph. Watching her shift from despair to excitement is as contagious as it is confusing.

“I don’t really know what I’ll do,” she says. “But I know what I want to do.” She turns to me and bites her lip, “And if nothing else, I guess I could at least be the choreographer of my life.”

“I guess that makes sense.” I laugh along with her.

For the second time tonight, I hear someone clear their throat, “Ahem.”

We both look back down the alleyway and see Archie walking toward us.

I turn to look at Gina and she’s glaring at Archie. He seems surprised and slows his pace. “Gina, what are you—“

“None of your goddamned business, Archie. Just leave me the fuck alone!” Gina walks past him and turns the corner toward the theater entrance without looking back at either of us.

Archie stares after her and then looks back at me. I shrug at him. He looks like he’s about to say something to me, then he changes his mind and shuffles off after Gina.

If that’s the kind of thing she’s planning to choreograph, I’d like to see some more.

I walk back toward the theater as well. I’ve got one last thing to do before I leave.

Passing through the lobby, I can hear Gina and Archie arguing in another hallway. She’s still standing her ground and it brings a smile to my face. I get back to the dinner. It looks like dessert is being served now.

Instead of sitting down, I walk over to the silent auction. I write down $1,000 onFour private pilates lessons - provided by Gina Nicoletti.

12

GINA

Two daysafter the fundraiser -- two days after I found out I wasn’t going to make soloist -- my father has set up a meeting for me to talk with someone from his office. He doesn’t even have the decency to let me process things before giving me a big shove in the direction of becoming a lawyer. He must have already had it scheduled.

I begrudgingly accept the meeting. I don’t know what else to do. I feel lost. I ended things with Archie at the fundraiser and I plan to keep it that way. He’s tried to text me, but I’m not going to respond.

The truth is, I have no idea what I’m doing with my life. I don’t think this meeting is going to give me any clarity, but I know that it can’t make me any more confused than I already am.

I walk to the coffee shop to meet with Klein. Some woman that works as a lawyer at my father’s office. At least he knew enough not to send a man to try to convince me to become a lawyer.

Inside the coffee shop, I look around for Klein. All my father said was that she had straight black hair.

“Gina!”

I look in the direction of the call and I see a young woman, several years older than me but still in her twenties. Her hair is indeed straight, with bangs and a shoulder-length bob. She’s dressed conservatively in a skirt and blazer, but still looks very feminine.

I join her at the tall table where she smiles at me and shakes my hand. “Klein McKenna.”

I was expecting a much older woman for some reason. Maybe because my dad is so much older, I just pictured that everyone he works with is around his age. I sit with her at the table, feeling very underdressed. I intentionally didn’t dress up for this meeting. They say “dress for the job you want,” right? Well, I intentionally didn’t dress like a lawyer. I’m dressed as a choreographer. Leggings and a sweater, with my hair in a messy bun. We must look strange sharing the same table.

“Gina.” I reply.

“I recognize you from the photo on your father’s desk. I already ordered, but go ahead and get something.”