Anybody

“Come out with us tonight, Penelope!” Marissa frowned at her roommate. “We haven’t had a girl’s night since New Year’s!”

“And there’s a reason for that,” the other ballerina said as she adjusted her brown hair for the opening act.

“Come on,” Shannon implored. “We hardly have any time to go out with just us three. You always end up going home with some other guy.”

That was certainly true. The three girls shared a dressing room in the Chicago Dance Conservatory and an apartment uptown. After a night out, it was rare Penelope was back in her own bed. This evening’s earlier performance would give the girls the night off from 9 o’clock on.

“Besides,” Marissa giggled. “The Blackhawks are in the audience. They’re bound to want to party.”

“That we do,” a loud voice came from the doorway.

All three girls whipped around. Standing just outside the room were multiple hockey players and, Penelope couldn’t help but frown, Jenn.

“Shannon, Marissa,” the other ballerina nodded. A scowl formed on her face. “Penelope.”

“Jenn,” Penelope nodded. “How’d you get stuck with VIP duty tonight?”

Their dance director and ballet master, Daniel Hunt, would often elect one of the more talented corps dancers to give a tour to that night’s special guests.

“I was ready on time,” she said curtly. “Unlike some people.”

“I need to see Meyers and Nelson. NOW!” a booming voice came from down the hall.

Jenn and Penelope jumped. That was his voice.

“What could Hunt want with them tonight?” Shannon questioned as the two girls scurried out of the room.

Marissa shrugged. “No clue. They were both in company class today, so it couldn’t be that.”

Penelope and Jenn skirted around the hockey players and followed their teacher’s voice. They found their fast talking instructor at the end of the hallway.

“Jenn, why didn’t you tell me that you’ve had a fever? You’re to lay down in your dressing room until the curtain goes up,” he said pointing to a door behind him. “Don’t let me catch you acting like you’re perfectly healthy again. Penelope, finish the tour with our VIPs. But be ready to go on.” He turned on his heel and walked away.

“What?” she muttered to herself. “I don’t have time to be stuck babysitting.”

She frowned and retreated back to her dressing room to find her roommates chatting with the group of hockey players.

“Where’s what’s-her-name?” one of the asked.

“Jenn,” Penelope said as she slid behind a curtain to put on her costume. “She’s had a change of plans. I’m giving you guys a tour now.” She stepped out from behind the curtain. “Do the laces, Shan?”

Shannon stood up and laced the back of her friend’s costume. “That’s good.”

Penelope snorted. “Yeah, spending my hour before show time walking around and talking, just what I want to do. No offense.”

“None taken,” another hockey player spoke up. “I’m Jon Toews. That’s Patrick Kane, Marion Hossa, Adam Burish, and-,”

“Patrick Sharp,” the final player said standing up. “And you should come out with us after your show.”

“What makes you think you can convince me?” she countered.

“I have that… talent,” he shrugged.

“Okay, sure, we’ll have to see about that,” Penelope said observing the man in front of her.

He was tall, muscular- a definite hockey player. He was, to say the least, attractive and most definitely Penelope’s type.

“We most definitely will,” he agreed.

Penelope pursed her lips. “Follow me then. I’ll show you guys down to the shoe room.”

*****

Penelope led the players down a flight of stairs while making small talk.

“So why exactly are a bunch of hockey players attending a performance of the CDC?” she wondered aloud.

“Publicity,” Jonathan, whom she had learned was the captain, explained. “Shows the team supports the arts.”

“I see,” Penelope nodded. “And do you?”

“We kind of have to say we do,” Kane said.

“I wasn’t asking what you have to do,” she said stopping at the bottom of the stairs and looking up at the men following her. “I was asking whether you do or don’t. I don’t give a flying fuck about the facades you have to put up for the public.”

“Oh,” Hossa smiled. “I like this one.”

“What? Never heard a woman say something like that?” Penelope asked as she continued down a long corridor. “Get used to it, boys. It’s 2010, not 1910.”