It was the grace of his feet on the hardwood floor, his toes touching mine. Right away I said to myself, “Ruella, girl, you better watch out.” You know what I mean? It was just a demi-plié, an improvisation, not even the real thing, the danced dance. Which is why I hate improvs. Whatever suspicions I had during the triplet sequence with Jesse were confirmed in the improvisation. Without choreography, you have to rely on your instincts or memory. That’s what gave me away. Jesse, too, I bet. Our instincts were magnets drawing us together. Left to ourselves, we dancers don’t skitter about, we prance and prowl like cats. Dangerous cats. There’s that sudden rush of movement, feeling, too, and it’s gone too quickly. And when I felt Jesse lift me in an arabesque I did not expect but needed, I relaxed in his arms. I trusted him because no one had touched me about my waist as he did except my brother Phillip. I wasn’t afraid. I knew he could take the weight. So Ruella, girl, why not twirl up your legs and let your heart follow one more time? It’s the same count and you remember the moves only too well. And-a one-two-three-four-five-six-seven-eight!

What woman in her right mind would have expected Jesse or any man to call as soon as he did? Not me. I didn’t give him my vital statistics on purpose. He wouldn’t have heard me, anyway. By the time he got around to hinting he’d call, I had to run and catch my train. What girl wouldn’t? It was long after rush hour, but the trains were crowded just the same, especially going uptown. And a good thing, too. I could stop thinking about him and that dance we did. Improvisation, sure. But we were saying something. Look out, Alvin Ailey! And just wait till those Taylor Johnson auditions. Hmmm. Truth is, I was tired, too. It was a long, hot ride, even in October. The three flights up to my apartment hadn’t disappeared, and no elevator was installed overnight, so when I got in I just fell out. And you know what? I didn’t even get to my yoga before that man was back in my mind again, with my legs going limp and fluttery all at once like I’m about to go on stage. I had noticed his eyes first, those lashes longer than mine, and roast-beef thighs that bent so easily into grand plié, his tights wrinkling at the knee. Sure he was watching me watch him. I wasn’t a bit embarrassed. Then he started to sweat and the sweat greased that roast beef so slick, he looked delicious. I remembered my diet and looked the other way. I wasn’t going to get involved.