Post by Abby Foster on Jun 25, 2010 11:20:35 GMT -5
This is Abby Foster just after her eighteenth birthday in her first year at Trinity Academy of Performing Arts.
The music was intoxicating. It was slow, sensuous, dwindling to a few trembling notes only to explode suddenly into a series of passionate and demanding strains. They filled the room, swirling and ebbing in every corner. The wails of the violins heightened to a frenzied pitch as the tango reached its most feverish point. And then just as suddenly as it had begun, it ended.
“Stop! Stop right there!” A brisk, frustrated voice sounded over the climax of the song and the music was snapped off. The heavy silence pulsated in the sudden absence of the exotic beat as a young man sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as if it were all he could do to contain is temper. “Abby, what are you doing? You’re all over the place!”
“I’m sorry, it’s just I’m not used to-“
“I don’t want apologies and I certainly don’t want excuses. Let’s do it again from the beginning. And don’t let me catch you sleeping.” Abby turned away from her tutor, wringing her hands and giving her shoulders a shake, trying to loosen up the tension that was threatening to paralyze her. Everyone at Trinity Academy knew that Franco Vargas was the best tango dancer, and when her teacher had assigned shy, mousy Abby the steamy routine it had seemed only natural to turn to him for extra help. Boy was she starting to regret it now.
Franco certainly was everything the rumors suggested. He was a genius; an extraordinarily talented and brilliant dancer, perfect in technique, delivery and form. His lines were excellent, his extensions to die for, and there had to be something said for that body too. Despite the awe that Franco created when he danced, the man was a nightmare to work with. Watching him march about the studio, delivering orders – many of which seemed to contradict one another – Abby couldn’t help but wonder if, despite his Argentinean background, he maybe had Nazis for ancestors.
Abby turned to face Franco as he pushed play on the CD player and the first cords rippled through the air. The couple began to circle each other slowly and as the melody sped up so did they, moving in a tighter and tighter circle. The music exploded with the same fervor as before and Abby spun neatly into Franco’s arms. His firm, immovable form reminded her of how her own posture should be and she swallowed nervously; another mistake. They held for a count of two and as the music pitched again they moved across the floor. Slow, slow, quick, quick, slow. Abby counted the steps in her head and held her breath as Franco moved to dip her, her body curving obediently to the cue.
“No, no, no!” Franco immediately released her and it was all the small girl could do to keep from falling on her backside. “Again!” He marched over to the player and hit the replay button. They circled each other once more; Abby swirled into his arms, then the steps, the dip… “Stop! Again.”
They circled each other, arms, steps, dip; “Do it again.” With each demand to repeat the performance and improve Abby was growing more and more frustrated. Every muscle in her body screamed; the towering high heels were killing her feet and sweat trickled down the back of her neck and between her shoulder blades. She was used to putting her all into her dance and working until she was sore, but this was an entirely new kind of challenge. It was the call for absolute perfection and under Franco’s stern gaze it left her exhausted; drained; bone-achingly weary. There was a moment where Abby thought her knees might just give way and she would have welcomed the hard wooden floor as the most comfortable bed.
“No, damn it Abby!”
“I don’t know what you want from me!” Abby burst finally, letting out her own strangled cry of exasperation as Franco punched at the stop button on the player.
“I want some emotion from you! Right now you’re like a robot; you’re just going through the motions. I want to see you dance this piece.”
“I’m doing my best.”
“Your best is garbage!”
Abby ground her teeth as they glared at each other from opposite ends of the floor. She was the first to look away and busied herself with pulling her hair free of its messy bun, tugging at the sweaty strands before sweeping it up again.
“Abby, I don’t think you understand this dance,” Franco began again once he had drawn in a few calming breaths. “Tango isn’t just about romance. This particular piece is about control, the struggle for power between two people who will do anything to defeat the other. It’s passionate, and alive. You have to feel the music and respond; when it hits you hit back.”
Looking up at Franco’s haughty face hitting didn’t seem such an inconceivable notion.
“It isn’t enough to just do the steps, that’ll get you a pass mark at best. You have to live in the moment and express those emotions. All that hunger, and jealousy and seduction, you have to feel it otherwise you’re audience won’t.”
Abby kept her eyes trained on the floor as Franco lectured her. The criticisms pricked and stung at her pride – these were all things that she knew and the fact that she had to be retold them again and again as if she were a novice was not only infuriating but degrading. She began to doubt her skill as a dancer, being used to taking to most forms easily and being complimented often. It wasn’t that Abby was egotistical, but the demands from her previous dance teachers seemed like sweet cajoling when compared to the hard attitudes of her college professors and know-it-all Franco Vargas.
Her muscles ached fiercely, trembling from the constant strain and little rest. The onslaught of Franco’s criticisms and diva comments ricocheted in her exhausted mind and Abby’s throat began to burn, her eyes smarting with held back tears. “I am trying,” she managed to whisper.
“Then try harder, ‘cause I’ll tell you right now your partner isn’t going to thank you if you keep dancing like that.”
Abby nodded quietly, swallowing with difficulty and then lifting her head as Franco turned the song back to the beginning. They began the dance again and she tried, God how she tried, but this attempt was possibly the most pathetic of them all. Her desperation to impress and gain his approval, to perform the way she knew she could, left the shy girl so frazzled that she could hardly remember the steps let alone count them and ‘feel the music’ as Franco kept saying. She was stiff in his arms, her sweaty brow furrowed with extreme concentration, and she nearly succeeded in pulling him down with her when they moved into the dip. Her hot-headed tutor gave up at last when Abby bumped into him for the second time, having completely lost all sense of direction after the copious twirls.
“Oh for Christ’s sake! That’s it, I can’t do this anymore.” Franco dropped her hands with evident disdain, turning his back on her to retrieve the CD from the player. “We can’t continue, I’m sorry, I just can’t work with someone who is so obviously disinterested.”
“Disinterested? You think I’m disinterested?! I am working as hard as I can and you-you’re-you’re just-” She spluttered over the furious words, her face flaming with indignation. Franco didn’t bother to turn around which only added further insult to injury, and Abby felt the hurt and anger swell in her chest. “This isn’t what I signed on for okay? This isn’t what I came here to do! I want to study ballet, I want to learn how to perform Coppelia[/b] and Romeo and Juliet[/b], not waste my time studying something that I’ll never perform!”
“Oh, get over yourself,” Franco shot back over his shoulder. “It’s not about what you want. It’s not even about what they want. It’s about what you need. You need versatility, Abby. You need to be able to apply yourself to as many styles as possible, and you can’t just be good at them, you have to be the best. There are thousands of good dancers out there, but only a hand full of them can perform with any real sort of competence because they have the heart. You're a good dancer Abby, you paint a pretty picture but it's not alive - you're lacking that openness.” He turned to face her, slotting the CD back into its travelling case. “If you only came to Trinity for better form then I seriously think you should reevaluate your decision. Maybe take a year off, travel a bit, do some other courses. Dance isn’t for everyone, and that’s okay. I’m sure you’ll find something else that better suits you.” He smiled thinly and scooped up his coat, waving an effeminate farewell before heading towards the studio door.
Abby was stunned. Give up? Was that really what he was suggesting? She had never considered abandoning dance. It seemed absurd and unreal. A future that didn’t involve the daily routine of stretching, practicing, improving, performing was certainly no future Abby wanted to be a part of. And that voice, his tone, that patronizing smile: ‘dance isn’t for everyone’, now he had really crossed a line. The criticisms had hurt, digging deep beneath her sensitive skin to score at her confidence that could be described as shaky at best.
Abby didn’t know who she was yet, like most students she went through an identity crisis from time to time. What kind of person was she really? What would happen after college? What would she do when she could no longer dance? These were the big questions that she struggled to answer every day. They were difficult and consuming, constantly nagging at her confidence just as her mother nagged at her dance career. Despite these frustrations, or perhaps because of them, Abby turned to her dance for comfort. Ballet and contemporary, these were the things that she lost herself in, and even if they were only temporary, even if in ten years she could no longer perform as she did now, they were still hers; her freedom. The suggestion that dance wasn’t for her was the final straw.
“Don’t you dare-don’t you dare patronize me Franco Vargas!” The volume of her voice surprised her and apparently it surprised Franco as well for he stopped in his tracks and looked back at her. Abby didn’t have time to think about what she was doing; her body seemed to have a mind of its own as she marched over to him, her heels clicking furiously against the wooden floor. She was tiny in comparison to Franco, but in her rage she seemed a suddenly towering figure. Her chin jutted out stubbornly as she tilted her head up to meet his stunned gaze and her sweet hazel eyes glittered fiercely. “Yeah, okay I’m no tango dancer, not like you. But I love dancing more than anything else and I am damn good at it!”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah!”
“Prove it.”
“I will!” She snatched back the CD case and stalked over to the player, punching the buttons and inserting the disc with unnecessary force. Abby had never felt this aggravated before, her face was flushed and set with determination, her nostrils flaring, and all the previous aches seemed to have melted away in the sudden righteous fire that swept through her.
“You better not disappoint me Abby.”
“You better keep up with me Franco,” she snapped back without thinking, jabbing viciously at the play button.
The now familiar notes swayed into the air though their sensuality couldn’t puncture the tension between the pair as they circled each other, eyes narrowed and jaws clenched. As the music sped up they drew closer and with the collision of notes Abby whirled into his arms. Franco trapped her easily, barring his teeth in a triumphant grin. She smirked back, hooking her left leg around his as she allowed him to dip her, her body arcing at an impossible angle. The slowness of the maneuver demanded extreme control and Abby could feel her already over-worked muscles begin to complain once more. At the boom from the CD Franco yanked Abby back up and against him, a smug glint in his eyes. She felt her lip curl in a snarl – a facial expression so far from the norm for the usually sweet, innocent girl. She wasn’t going to give in, she was going to win this thing and make that arrogant snot eat his patronizing words.
The song had abandoned its previous docile tones and given over to a frenzy of heated, vibrant notes that left the dancers breathless as they performed. At one point Abby did the splits, dropping gracefully to the ground. Franco leapt over her, grabbing onto her wrists and whisking her up into the air, spinning her until she was pressed against him once more.
“Is that all you’ve got?” He quirked a brow and she scoffed lightly.
“Please, I’m just getting started.”
They cut across the floor violently, their bodies in almost constant contact. Lifts, twists, double cortes, outside swivels; it ceased to be a dance and became a struggle between two competitors, both of whom appeared determined to see the other trodden into the dirt. Abby felt certain that her heart would explode out of her chest at any moment, but the sight of the sweat slipping down Franco’s reddened face drove her onwards.
The last few strains of music rang through the air and Franco caught Abby’s right leg extension; his fingers wrapping tightly around her fine boned ankle as the spike of her heel missed his ear by inches. The hushed static from the player followed the ebbing tide of the song and mingled with the harsh breathing of the dancers. Franco gently released Abby, steadying her before stepping back and mopping the sweat from his face with the sleeve of his shirt.
Abby took a step back as well, drawing her arms about her stomach. Now that the dance was over she felt drained – the fire that had driven her forwards faded into barely flickering embers. If Franco delivered a by now familiar snide comment it wouldn’t matter. She had put everything into that routine and she simply didn’t have the energy to care anymore. Her last reserves went into remaining upright.
“That was…that was better.”
“Better?” She asked wearily.
“Yes, better… Okay, fine, it was good. But I don’t want you getting cocky, there’s still a lot of room for improvement. Your form for example, it’s-”
Abby tuned out the rest of it, smiling tiredly. He had said she was good, and while the compliment had to be dragged from him and even then accompanied with a criticism; coming from Franco it was high praise indeed.
“I’m thinking junk food and a movie.” Abby cut across him gently, her voice returned to its normal soft tones.
“What? Were you listening to what I was saying at all? You really are-“
“I know, I know, I’m the young grasshopper with much to learn, but Franco I’m beat. I really think we deserve a break.” She forced the exhaustion back for a moment to widen her hazel eyes in her best puppy dog expression. It seemed to work as Franco’s lips twitched into a small smile before he rolled his eyes dramatically.
“Freshmen! You’re all the same. Fine, but we’re going to your dorm ‘cause mine’s an absolute bomb. Living with three other men is not as cracked up as I thought it was going to be.” He slung a companionable arm around Abby’s small shoulders, and then wrinkled his nose immediately. “Phew, you better shower first, honey! You stink!”
Abby gave a rude snort of laughter and wrapped her arm around her tutor’s waist, leaning on him for support. “Franco, has anybody told you that you’re a really big jerk?”
“Funny, now that you mention it I seem to recall hearing that quite a few times…I’m not sure why.” He looked down at her petite form with a wide, cheeky grin that seemed quite uncharacteristic to his usual haughty demeanor.
Abby smiled back as they exited the studio. “Yup, it’s a mystery alright.” [/color]
The music was intoxicating. It was slow, sensuous, dwindling to a few trembling notes only to explode suddenly into a series of passionate and demanding strains. They filled the room, swirling and ebbing in every corner. The wails of the violins heightened to a frenzied pitch as the tango reached its most feverish point. And then just as suddenly as it had begun, it ended.
“Stop! Stop right there!” A brisk, frustrated voice sounded over the climax of the song and the music was snapped off. The heavy silence pulsated in the sudden absence of the exotic beat as a young man sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as if it were all he could do to contain is temper. “Abby, what are you doing? You’re all over the place!”
“I’m sorry, it’s just I’m not used to-“
“I don’t want apologies and I certainly don’t want excuses. Let’s do it again from the beginning. And don’t let me catch you sleeping.” Abby turned away from her tutor, wringing her hands and giving her shoulders a shake, trying to loosen up the tension that was threatening to paralyze her. Everyone at Trinity Academy knew that Franco Vargas was the best tango dancer, and when her teacher had assigned shy, mousy Abby the steamy routine it had seemed only natural to turn to him for extra help. Boy was she starting to regret it now.
Franco certainly was everything the rumors suggested. He was a genius; an extraordinarily talented and brilliant dancer, perfect in technique, delivery and form. His lines were excellent, his extensions to die for, and there had to be something said for that body too. Despite the awe that Franco created when he danced, the man was a nightmare to work with. Watching him march about the studio, delivering orders – many of which seemed to contradict one another – Abby couldn’t help but wonder if, despite his Argentinean background, he maybe had Nazis for ancestors.
Abby turned to face Franco as he pushed play on the CD player and the first cords rippled through the air. The couple began to circle each other slowly and as the melody sped up so did they, moving in a tighter and tighter circle. The music exploded with the same fervor as before and Abby spun neatly into Franco’s arms. His firm, immovable form reminded her of how her own posture should be and she swallowed nervously; another mistake. They held for a count of two and as the music pitched again they moved across the floor. Slow, slow, quick, quick, slow. Abby counted the steps in her head and held her breath as Franco moved to dip her, her body curving obediently to the cue.
“No, no, no!” Franco immediately released her and it was all the small girl could do to keep from falling on her backside. “Again!” He marched over to the player and hit the replay button. They circled each other once more; Abby swirled into his arms, then the steps, the dip… “Stop! Again.”
They circled each other, arms, steps, dip; “Do it again.” With each demand to repeat the performance and improve Abby was growing more and more frustrated. Every muscle in her body screamed; the towering high heels were killing her feet and sweat trickled down the back of her neck and between her shoulder blades. She was used to putting her all into her dance and working until she was sore, but this was an entirely new kind of challenge. It was the call for absolute perfection and under Franco’s stern gaze it left her exhausted; drained; bone-achingly weary. There was a moment where Abby thought her knees might just give way and she would have welcomed the hard wooden floor as the most comfortable bed.
“No, damn it Abby!”
“I don’t know what you want from me!” Abby burst finally, letting out her own strangled cry of exasperation as Franco punched at the stop button on the player.
“I want some emotion from you! Right now you’re like a robot; you’re just going through the motions. I want to see you dance this piece.”
“I’m doing my best.”
“Your best is garbage!”
Abby ground her teeth as they glared at each other from opposite ends of the floor. She was the first to look away and busied herself with pulling her hair free of its messy bun, tugging at the sweaty strands before sweeping it up again.
“Abby, I don’t think you understand this dance,” Franco began again once he had drawn in a few calming breaths. “Tango isn’t just about romance. This particular piece is about control, the struggle for power between two people who will do anything to defeat the other. It’s passionate, and alive. You have to feel the music and respond; when it hits you hit back.”
Looking up at Franco’s haughty face hitting didn’t seem such an inconceivable notion.
“It isn’t enough to just do the steps, that’ll get you a pass mark at best. You have to live in the moment and express those emotions. All that hunger, and jealousy and seduction, you have to feel it otherwise you’re audience won’t.”
Abby kept her eyes trained on the floor as Franco lectured her. The criticisms pricked and stung at her pride – these were all things that she knew and the fact that she had to be retold them again and again as if she were a novice was not only infuriating but degrading. She began to doubt her skill as a dancer, being used to taking to most forms easily and being complimented often. It wasn’t that Abby was egotistical, but the demands from her previous dance teachers seemed like sweet cajoling when compared to the hard attitudes of her college professors and know-it-all Franco Vargas.
Her muscles ached fiercely, trembling from the constant strain and little rest. The onslaught of Franco’s criticisms and diva comments ricocheted in her exhausted mind and Abby’s throat began to burn, her eyes smarting with held back tears. “I am trying,” she managed to whisper.
“Then try harder, ‘cause I’ll tell you right now your partner isn’t going to thank you if you keep dancing like that.”
Abby nodded quietly, swallowing with difficulty and then lifting her head as Franco turned the song back to the beginning. They began the dance again and she tried, God how she tried, but this attempt was possibly the most pathetic of them all. Her desperation to impress and gain his approval, to perform the way she knew she could, left the shy girl so frazzled that she could hardly remember the steps let alone count them and ‘feel the music’ as Franco kept saying. She was stiff in his arms, her sweaty brow furrowed with extreme concentration, and she nearly succeeded in pulling him down with her when they moved into the dip. Her hot-headed tutor gave up at last when Abby bumped into him for the second time, having completely lost all sense of direction after the copious twirls.
“Oh for Christ’s sake! That’s it, I can’t do this anymore.” Franco dropped her hands with evident disdain, turning his back on her to retrieve the CD from the player. “We can’t continue, I’m sorry, I just can’t work with someone who is so obviously disinterested.”
“Disinterested? You think I’m disinterested?! I am working as hard as I can and you-you’re-you’re just-” She spluttered over the furious words, her face flaming with indignation. Franco didn’t bother to turn around which only added further insult to injury, and Abby felt the hurt and anger swell in her chest. “This isn’t what I signed on for okay? This isn’t what I came here to do! I want to study ballet, I want to learn how to perform Coppelia[/b] and Romeo and Juliet[/b], not waste my time studying something that I’ll never perform!”
“Oh, get over yourself,” Franco shot back over his shoulder. “It’s not about what you want. It’s not even about what they want. It’s about what you need. You need versatility, Abby. You need to be able to apply yourself to as many styles as possible, and you can’t just be good at them, you have to be the best. There are thousands of good dancers out there, but only a hand full of them can perform with any real sort of competence because they have the heart. You're a good dancer Abby, you paint a pretty picture but it's not alive - you're lacking that openness.” He turned to face her, slotting the CD back into its travelling case. “If you only came to Trinity for better form then I seriously think you should reevaluate your decision. Maybe take a year off, travel a bit, do some other courses. Dance isn’t for everyone, and that’s okay. I’m sure you’ll find something else that better suits you.” He smiled thinly and scooped up his coat, waving an effeminate farewell before heading towards the studio door.
Abby was stunned. Give up? Was that really what he was suggesting? She had never considered abandoning dance. It seemed absurd and unreal. A future that didn’t involve the daily routine of stretching, practicing, improving, performing was certainly no future Abby wanted to be a part of. And that voice, his tone, that patronizing smile: ‘dance isn’t for everyone’, now he had really crossed a line. The criticisms had hurt, digging deep beneath her sensitive skin to score at her confidence that could be described as shaky at best.
Abby didn’t know who she was yet, like most students she went through an identity crisis from time to time. What kind of person was she really? What would happen after college? What would she do when she could no longer dance? These were the big questions that she struggled to answer every day. They were difficult and consuming, constantly nagging at her confidence just as her mother nagged at her dance career. Despite these frustrations, or perhaps because of them, Abby turned to her dance for comfort. Ballet and contemporary, these were the things that she lost herself in, and even if they were only temporary, even if in ten years she could no longer perform as she did now, they were still hers; her freedom. The suggestion that dance wasn’t for her was the final straw.
“Don’t you dare-don’t you dare patronize me Franco Vargas!” The volume of her voice surprised her and apparently it surprised Franco as well for he stopped in his tracks and looked back at her. Abby didn’t have time to think about what she was doing; her body seemed to have a mind of its own as she marched over to him, her heels clicking furiously against the wooden floor. She was tiny in comparison to Franco, but in her rage she seemed a suddenly towering figure. Her chin jutted out stubbornly as she tilted her head up to meet his stunned gaze and her sweet hazel eyes glittered fiercely. “Yeah, okay I’m no tango dancer, not like you. But I love dancing more than anything else and I am damn good at it!”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah!”
“Prove it.”
“I will!” She snatched back the CD case and stalked over to the player, punching the buttons and inserting the disc with unnecessary force. Abby had never felt this aggravated before, her face was flushed and set with determination, her nostrils flaring, and all the previous aches seemed to have melted away in the sudden righteous fire that swept through her.
“You better not disappoint me Abby.”
“You better keep up with me Franco,” she snapped back without thinking, jabbing viciously at the play button.
The now familiar notes swayed into the air though their sensuality couldn’t puncture the tension between the pair as they circled each other, eyes narrowed and jaws clenched. As the music sped up they drew closer and with the collision of notes Abby whirled into his arms. Franco trapped her easily, barring his teeth in a triumphant grin. She smirked back, hooking her left leg around his as she allowed him to dip her, her body arcing at an impossible angle. The slowness of the maneuver demanded extreme control and Abby could feel her already over-worked muscles begin to complain once more. At the boom from the CD Franco yanked Abby back up and against him, a smug glint in his eyes. She felt her lip curl in a snarl – a facial expression so far from the norm for the usually sweet, innocent girl. She wasn’t going to give in, she was going to win this thing and make that arrogant snot eat his patronizing words.
The song had abandoned its previous docile tones and given over to a frenzy of heated, vibrant notes that left the dancers breathless as they performed. At one point Abby did the splits, dropping gracefully to the ground. Franco leapt over her, grabbing onto her wrists and whisking her up into the air, spinning her until she was pressed against him once more.
“Is that all you’ve got?” He quirked a brow and she scoffed lightly.
“Please, I’m just getting started.”
They cut across the floor violently, their bodies in almost constant contact. Lifts, twists, double cortes, outside swivels; it ceased to be a dance and became a struggle between two competitors, both of whom appeared determined to see the other trodden into the dirt. Abby felt certain that her heart would explode out of her chest at any moment, but the sight of the sweat slipping down Franco’s reddened face drove her onwards.
The last few strains of music rang through the air and Franco caught Abby’s right leg extension; his fingers wrapping tightly around her fine boned ankle as the spike of her heel missed his ear by inches. The hushed static from the player followed the ebbing tide of the song and mingled with the harsh breathing of the dancers. Franco gently released Abby, steadying her before stepping back and mopping the sweat from his face with the sleeve of his shirt.
Abby took a step back as well, drawing her arms about her stomach. Now that the dance was over she felt drained – the fire that had driven her forwards faded into barely flickering embers. If Franco delivered a by now familiar snide comment it wouldn’t matter. She had put everything into that routine and she simply didn’t have the energy to care anymore. Her last reserves went into remaining upright.
“That was…that was better.”
“Better?” She asked wearily.
“Yes, better… Okay, fine, it was good. But I don’t want you getting cocky, there’s still a lot of room for improvement. Your form for example, it’s-”
Abby tuned out the rest of it, smiling tiredly. He had said she was good, and while the compliment had to be dragged from him and even then accompanied with a criticism; coming from Franco it was high praise indeed.
“I’m thinking junk food and a movie.” Abby cut across him gently, her voice returned to its normal soft tones.
“What? Were you listening to what I was saying at all? You really are-“
“I know, I know, I’m the young grasshopper with much to learn, but Franco I’m beat. I really think we deserve a break.” She forced the exhaustion back for a moment to widen her hazel eyes in her best puppy dog expression. It seemed to work as Franco’s lips twitched into a small smile before he rolled his eyes dramatically.
“Freshmen! You’re all the same. Fine, but we’re going to your dorm ‘cause mine’s an absolute bomb. Living with three other men is not as cracked up as I thought it was going to be.” He slung a companionable arm around Abby’s small shoulders, and then wrinkled his nose immediately. “Phew, you better shower first, honey! You stink!”
Abby gave a rude snort of laughter and wrapped her arm around her tutor’s waist, leaning on him for support. “Franco, has anybody told you that you’re a really big jerk?”
“Funny, now that you mention it I seem to recall hearing that quite a few times…I’m not sure why.” He looked down at her petite form with a wide, cheeky grin that seemed quite uncharacteristic to his usual haughty demeanor.
Abby smiled back as they exited the studio. “Yup, it’s a mystery alright.” [/color]
