As I walked the five blocks to the club, I pressed Mom's number on my phone, and held my breath.
The next thing I knew, I was in Isabelle's dressing room, under her dressing table, knees pulled into my chest, sobbing. It was Simone who found me like this. Isabelle was still onstage.
"Anna! Honey, what's wrong?" Don't call me that right now. Don't act sweet and motherly because I might just fall into your arms and then Isabelle would walk in and that would be bad bad bad.
"I just . . . I need Isabelle . . " I sniffed. Simone flinched.
"She's on stage."
"I know." She just crouched there for a minute. I wasn't planning on saying anything else. Hopefully that would clarify.
"Okay," she said, apparently getting it. She stood and went over to her side of the dressing table. It wasn't nearly time for either of their shifts to be over, so she must have been just taking a minute. I hoped Isabelle didn't work the floor too long.
Finally, I saw her platform shoes come through the door. I don't know if she saw me, or if Simone, who was still here for some reason, indicated that I was down here on the floor, but suddenly she was there, wrapped around me, and this time I really lost it. God bless her. She didn't even ask me what was wrong. She just let me cry.
When I finally calmed down, I said, into her chest, "My dad." She was stroking my hair. She leaned her head down, closer to my face.
"What sweetie? Your dad?"
"Yeah. He's sick." Hearing the words coming out of my mouth made me choke on them, which caused me to sort of hyperventilate and cry at the same time. Isabelle squeezed me tighter. God I loved her. How did I ever doubt.
"We're going." She said, with a finality that left no room for argument. She took my arm gently as she stood, pulling me up with her. "To Virginia. Tomorrow." I just looked at her. "And right now? We're going home."
