Robbie Williams and Nicole Kidman are singing ‘Something Stupid’ on her CD player. Corrine likes hearing the classics redone, and it’s got to be said that Nicole Kidman’s lead in the song gives it a bit of a different tune. Not that she was a worthy replacement for Ol’ Blue Eyes, but then, who was?
Corrine grimaces as she does her bends, keeping track in her head. Plié, plié, demi-plié, grand plié, cambré. She’s still hurting from yesterday, moreso now than this morning, thanks to her interview.
She’d arrived fifteen minutes early to prepare. The Arts Director had liked her references, her style, and her short demonstration. She hadn’t toed-in once on her turns, but she’d been slightly off with her arm position in second at the barre. The AD seemed to buy the lie that she’d been away at her family’s farm over the weekend, and had cut her arm open on a nail in the barn. There was even a brief discussion about the AD’s horses, but Corrine didn’t have the heart to tell her she hated horses. They were beautiful creatures, to be sure, but they didn’t seem to like her nervous nature. Which was quite all right with Corrine, as she didn’t like their easily excitable nature.
There had been a lot of strange looks in her direction at the metro stop, as she’d been twirling in happiness. She was employed again, which had the obvious benefits, but now she was employed doing something she loved. She’d gotten the chance to meet some of the girls. They were green, yes, but with some shaping up, they’d be wonderful. So, now, two days a week—at least until September—she’d be helping these girls hone their skills.
She’d stopped into Cereality for breakfast. There was certainly some appeal to a restaurant that served nothing but cold cereal and had Cartoon Network on all the time. She’d caught the episode of Foster’s Home for Imaginary Friends that she’d missed last week.
On her return home she’d called Angela, since it had been a while. Her sister was doing well. Her husband Dave was with yet another contracting company, and the kids were out of school for the summer. Corrine’s brother Louis had just returned from England after two years with his partner, Jack. They were looking at adopting a child from Brazil.
The CD player changed to Miles Davis Prelude to a Kiss, and it made Corrine think of Caleb. She’d told Angela about him, and her sister had been her usual nosy self.
“What an interesting name, Caleb. Where’s he from?” she’d asked.
“Metropolis?” Corrine had responded, trying to dissuade this line of questioning.
“Oh, you know what I mean! Where’s his _family_ from?”
“Hell,” Corrine had answered without thinking. There was a silence on the other end. “…Sinki, I think.”
“Oh, Scandinavian,” Angela said, thinking it a joke. She wouldn’t get the _real_ joke, of course, but it was okay to let her believe it. “Dave and I visited his aunt there a few years back, do you remember? Finland’s an awful place, the food is so bland.”
“Yes,” she said, laughing to herself. “But he’s mostly Russian, I think.”
“Alcoholics, a lot of them. Not very business-saavy, either. What does he do?”
“He manages a Metro Java.”
“Never heard of them,” the disdain was rising in Angela’s voice.
“It’s a chain here in Metropolis.” She waited a beat, then added. “He’s also a… crime consultant.”
“Oh, wow, a cop.”
“No, not really.”
“But an investigator.”
“Sort of.”
“I still don’t understand why you stay in that crazy city. The weather here is so much nicer, and we’re not too far from Miami, you remember.”
Corrine didn’t like that her sister was still trying to convince her to move, but it was better than talking about Caleb. She didn’t like lying to Angela, but if the elder girl had pushed anymore, she might have had to.
She sighed. It was getting towards evening. She wanted to call Caleb and get some laundry done, and then perhaps she’d go downtown for some writing tablets. It had been a good day.
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