I spun and landed in a heap on the floor. But my head kept spinning away from me, away from my shivering legs. I drew my knees together and held myself in tight. I remained on the floor until he left the room without even looking back.

I telephoned home, long-distance. My mother’s voice was as gray as her hair now. I asked if she had really wanted a girl. She said no, she hadn’t wanted a girl.

“Then why did you give me your name?”

“Jesse’s in the Bible. It’s a man’s name. My name isn’t your name. Don’t blame your troubles on me.”

“But our names are the same.”

“I’m Jessica. You’re Jesse. You’re a man. Act like one.”

Before I said good-bye, I asked her to wish me luck for the audition. After a pause, she wished me luck. I eased the phone back to the receiver. I did my exercises alone.

The next morning, I called Ruella as promised and we met for lunch. We then went to her place to plan our audition piece. We took the Broadway #1 local uptown. The train was late. Usually you could count on the local coming every five minutes or so on a good day. The express trains sometimes took longer. I wanted to get going quickly, so I moved to the express side of the tracks at 14th Street. When nothing came, I turned back to the local side. Ruella followed my every move. I planned to go back to her place for a few minutes, gather the few clothes I had left there, the leotards and tights, and return home for good. The closeness between us was grating. I needed her more than was good for either of us. I didn’t say anything, just smiled at her, and she smiled back. A small crowd had gathered by the tracks. Soon the train screeched in, caroom-boom-clack, caroom. An express, finally. Only one of the two doors opened. We piled inside and found seats near an air vent or a heater, you never could tell which.