Note: I don't know why I'm doing this. I don't know where it's going. I'm sorry for being this way.

The lights of the stage loved her daughter almost as much as they'd loved her when she was young. Younger, as Anna would say.

"Are we old at thirty-nine?" she'd asked the night before, still glowing and wrapped in Eileen's sinfully soft purple sheets. Was her lover right? Was she old at thirty-nine? She wanted to believe she wasn't but her title of Premier Maître de ballet instead of prima ballerina belied reality.

Her daughter's fouettes weren't as flawless as hers still were but Erza's strength hadn't ever been her solo work. She reached for stars Eileen would never be able to touch. Her daughter had carved a place for herself in a very difficult world and filled Eileen's heart with pride. Erza didn't need to be her famous mother. She was in a class all her own – well, almost all her own. Unlike Erza, Eileen had never been fond of the pas de deux.

The music swelled and then drifted into decrescendo. When Erza's feet returned to the floor of the stage in a finale, she glanced up toward the balcony. Even though her daughter could not see her, Eileen stood with the rest of the theater in ovation. She applauded until her palms hurt. Erza's breaths came fast and when she bowed, her partner took her hand a moment before it was necessary to lead her off stage. He always did that. Eileen would have to dig deep to recall a time when Anna's son hadn't been taking her hand.

Before the thick velvet curtains pulled shut Eileen blinked and remembered when their hands were smaller. Clumsier. Maybe Anna was right. Maybe they weren't exactly old now but she could definitely remember a time when she'd been young. Before she had her own troupe. Before she'd been an internationally recognized dancer and master of her craft. Before all that she was just a young woman desperate to be out from under the thumb of a marriage she'd never wanted.

Eighteen years previous…

The eyes of the manager raked over her body critically. His mouth twisted into something ugly and he sucked on his teeth when he pointed at her torso with the tip of his pen.

"Explain that," he commanded, leaning back in his noisy office chair. Eileen bristled but didn't betray her personal pride.

"It's a scar," she snapped. "What else?"

"You got a kid or something?"

Eileen sneered. Were all men really so stupid? She reached for the dress she'd left hanging over the back of the one chair opposite his desk and pulled it over her naked body.

"Besides the fact that the scar is obviously in the wrong spot to be childbirth related, I don't see how that's any of your business."

"It's all my business, Red," he said with a shrug. Eileen seethed. She hated that nickname. "You got a kid? I'll find out eventually. Kids are problems."

"My personal life is left at the door –" Eileen's eyes flit to the man's dirty nameplate on the edge of his desk. She knew his name but it made her feel empowered to pretend she needed the reminder. "Mister Porla. I would never –"

"They all say that," he interrupted with a lazy drawl. "Girls with rug rats – mothers – are all the same. They get in here for the interview, tell me it's handled, and then before you know it the brat's sick or home alone or whatever." Jose Porla, the self-important owner of Cheetah's, grinned. Eileen half expected his mouth to be full of gold teeth. Something tacky like that would suit him perfectly. "For you, though, Red, I might be convinced. Kid or not, I can be swayed."

He pushed away from his desk and folded his arms behind his head. With a jut of his chin downward, Eileen knew what she'd need to do to earn employment at his club. Despite everything inside of her absolutely salivating at the thought of ripping the man's spine out right through his mouth, Eileen floundered. She needed work. Her stash of money was almost gone and within the space of a month she'd be out of house and home – not to mention she'd loose the incredibly generous babysitter that made it possible for her to seek work at all.

"Use it or lose it, Red," Jose crashed through her indecision. "I've got a whole line of girls behind you who wouldn't think twice."

Eileen snatched her coat and spun on her stilettos. She said nothing to the man currently cackling from behind his desk and stalked her way back down the dank hallway to the front doors. The tinting that had been shoddily affixed to the glass was scratched and pocked. Sunlight peeked through the imperfections but flooded the small club entirely when she yanked the door open.

Once free of the club's particular brand of sleaze, Eileen sucked in a lungful of winter air. Despite direct sunlight, the city was still covered in dirty snow. She loved Crocus. Returning had felt a lot like coming home but the illusion didn't last. The city hadn't changed but she had. Eileen had a daughter now and couldn't stomach the thought of paying Erza's way through life with the kind of cash that flowed through Cheetah's. No. She wasn't there yet. She'd wait tables first. She'd rent a room for a day and take out a Backpage ad before putting her mouth anywhere near a dick like the one attached to Jose Porla.

Eileen left Cheetah's behind and decided to take the long way home. Of course, when a person didn't have a car, every way home was the long way home. Eileen's toes were damn near frozen and she shivered in spite of her coat. She'd left home appropriately dressed but changed into interview specific attire in a public bathroom near the train station. Not that it would matter to anyone – she'd long suspected her babysitter was aware of her dwindling cash flow – but Eileen decided to change back into her other clothes before facing her two year old. She did have her pride, if nothing else.

When the sun dipped behind the tall buildings, a dusting of snow began to fall from the sky. Eileen slowed her pace even though the cold bit at her bare legs. She stopped in front of a row of glass windows and saw a young woman staring back at her she barely recognized. When had her face ever been so gaunt and haggard? Her hair was damp with snow and her fingers clutched at a worn peacoat. Perhaps she should go back and beg Jose Porla for the opportunity to suck his dick and line his pockets with his cut of her tips. Maybe then she could –

Movement beyond the glass caught her attention. A woman with spun gold hair glided across the floor before performing a nearly perfect grand jete. Eileen's heart clenched. She missed ballet. She missed the barre and the floors and her shoes and the feel of a room spinning around her. Her eyes slid shut and she couldn't believe she'd actually thought pole dancing would ever be enough for her. It would break her heart.

When Eileen opened her eyes again she found the blonde dancer was no longer alone. The woman swooped down to scoop a small boy up and into her arms with a smile. Oh. Was the child hers?

A gust of freezing wind lifted the hem of Eileen's dress and peacoat. She felt the chill in her bones. The door of the small dance studio suddenly swung open and crashed against the bench beside it. Eileen jumped and clutched at the flaps of her coat.

"Hey!" the blonde woman called from the doorway. "Hey can you help me pull this closed? Please?"

"Yeah, sure," Eileen breathed. Her coat lacked proper buttons – the act of tearing them off had been a parting gift from her husband – but she clenched her jaw against the cold and helped the dancer pull the door shut. Once they were both inside, the woman slid a latch into place.

"I'm so sorry to bother you," she said with a sigh. "I always forget this door likes to blow open. I keep bugging my husband to fix it but –" The woman glanced around the studio with an awkward laugh. "This property isn't exactly at the top of his priority list."

Eileen's eyes scanned over the room. The studio was definitely old and in need of repairs but its homeliness poked at places in her heart she'd never thought she'd be free enough to care about again.

"This is a lovely old studio," she blurted. "Are you a dancer?"

"Oh –" The other woman laughed and took a seat on one of the benches that lined the street facing windows. "Not really." She began to pick at the binding of her shoes and slid them off her feet. "I mean, yeah. I guess if you want to call the corps de ballet a real dancer."

"I'd call it real dancing," Eileen said wistfully. The woman set aside her shoes and fished a package of crackers from her bag. She handed them the boy who smiled widely up at Eileen. "How old is your son?"

"He's almost three. I'm Anna, by the way." She held a hand out to Eileen who took it briefly. "Are you a dancer?"

"I used to be," Eileen said quietly, daring to eye herself in the mirrors mounted on the opposite wall. "I don't know if that's really a viable dream anymore."

"Why not?"

"Well –" Eileen's eyes fell to the little boy again. "I have a small daughter about your son's age and I need to work more than I need to dance."

"The city troupe, Crocus Ballet, is having open auditions in a week. I'm on rotation in the corps but I think it's just because I'm a legacy. My mom was a prima ballerina. I'm nowhere near her level."

Eileen tried to snuff out the warmth growing in her chest. She didn't need these false hopes. She needed a job.

"I don't imagine the pay is enough for me to live on." Eileen sighed. "And I haven't danced at all in two years. It's been at least three since I took it seriously."

"I admit the pay isn't great but in the corps you won't be dancing all the time anyway. I bet we could get you another side gig, easy!" Anna's sunny smile made Eileen think maybe the concept was plausible.

"I don't know…"

"You said you have a daughter, right? She's close to my boy in age?"

"Yeah –" Eileen half wanted to back away and leave the studio. This Anna woman was a lot to take in.

"Bring her here tomorrow. They can distract each other and I'll run you through the audition program."

"You'd do that?"

"Sure." Anna shrugged and stuffed her shoes into her bag. She held open a small coat for her son and helped guide his arms into the sleeves.

"Why?"

"Because I want to." Eileen must've made a face because Anna laughed. "You seem nice and I don't have any friends. I'd love the company and, well –" Anna pointed at Eileen's feet. "Those stilettos give you away. You've got dancer's feet. I can tell. I might not be as talented as my mother and sister but I've got a good eye."

Eileen glanced down at her feet. She was suddenly embarrassed at her state of appearance.

"So you'll come tomorrow, then?" Anna cut into her thoughts with another bright smile.

"Uh, yeah. Yeah I can do that. I don't have anywhere else to be."

"Great!"

Eileen turned to go but stopped short of the door. "You never asked me for my name."

"I figured you'd tell me eventually."

"It's Eileen."

Anna pulled on a much more appropriate winter coat and shouldered her bag. "Well, Eileen, I'll see you and your girl here tomorrow morning, okay?"

"Yeah." Eileen managed a cautious smile. "We'll be here."

The cold began its assault on her legs and feet as soon as she was back outside. Anna had locked the studio door behind her and shut out the lights as she and her son disappeared through an interior door. Eileen didn't notice that she'd never changed out of her heels and into her regular clothes until she was home and felt the warmth of her daughter wrapping her arms around her legs.