Fiction Published in Angel City Review

 

One of my fiction stories has been published in Angel City Review. This story features a blind woman, a character portrayal seldom seen in literary fiction.

 

 

 

                                 White Gloves

To get to her weekly ballroom dance lesson, Jenna walked the five blocks between her downtown Philadelphia apartment and the dance studio. She was adept at tapping her white cane back and forth to avoid curbs and other obstacles. When she came to an intersection she stopped, turned her head, saw nothing but blurry pockets of light, and listened for cars. Hearing none, she crossed. When Jenna came to the only stoop on the fifth block, she maneuvered around it and felt for a metal door handle. Finding it, she fingered the buzzer on the wall. Zzzzt. The door clicked, she pulled it open and stepped inside the place she once described to friends as a classier version of an escort service.

 

     Jenna heard a chair rolling around behind the reception desk, “Who’s there?”

 

     “Hi Jenna, it’s Danica.” Jenna smiled. Danica was the gum-snapping receptionist who kept the studio in order. If anyone needed anything, she was the one to go to. Danica wanted to be a dance instructor but couldn’t afford the training. Determined to hold on to the dream, she worked and saved. Jenna respected her for that.  

 

     How’d your day go?” Danica asked.

 

     Jenna groaned. “Typical day in the life of a Ph.D. student. Tedious. But I’m here now. Marty around?”

 

     “He’s upstairs. I’ll let him know you’re here.”

 

     Jenna folded her cane and laid it on the coffee table. She slid a backpack off her shoulders and cringed as she took a seat on a sticky, fake-leather couch that smelled like sweat and dirty laundry. She grabbed a set of beige-colored satin dance shoes from her pack. Jenna, who wore white socks and sneakers over her nylons, was still getting used to the closed-toe shoes with a kitten heel. But she liked them better than the cheap, black, bulky ones she started with.  

 

     After prodding from a friend, she’d cold-called the studio and booked a free, introductory lesson. Her interest was in the International Standard and American Smooth dances, which she preferred over the Latin dances. She was too embarrassed by the thirty pounds of excess fat she carried around her belly and hips to feel like doing the hip gyrating, sexy Latin steps.  No four-inch stiletto spikes waiting underneath her bed. She ran her fingers along the soft, felt lining on the soles of her shoes and imagined herself gliding across the dance floor in an elegant gown, her partner in black tails.  She took off her socks and sneakers and checked to see if her toenails poked any holes in her nylons on the walk over.  None found, she slid the shoes on, stood, and centered the only skirt she owned. Then she sat back down and waited.

 

 

 

To finish reading this fiction story, click here. The journal is available in e-book or pdf format, and you need to scroll to the bottom of the page to see the downloads. My story starts on page 20.