I just couldn't put my finger on it

(Sunday night)

His door automatically opened. I climbed in, viewing the interior as I took a seat.

“Hey, how are you?”, he asked. His voice, smooth, calming.

“Good”, I managed to respond. I knew that voice from somewhere, I just for whatever reason, couldn’t put on my finger on it.

I look around the car, curious, but not scared.

The city lights blurred in my peripherals as we started driving. What I seemed to notice, was people looking in my direction and at the driver of this car, I was in. Did they know who he was? What the fuck was I missing?

We crossed into the halfway point near my city condo. I still couldn’t put my finger on it - on who he was. I was racking my brain, as the city passed us by. I felt like he knew me.

A little back story? I’m a dancer and a choreographer. When I’m not choreographing, I dance in clubs. Well only in this one club, called “Acquainted”. I entertain there.

But I have boundaries. I’m not a stripper, let’s be clear. Not that I find anything wrong with that - if it pays your bills, then who am I to judge. I have a stage, I dance, people come in and out, eat and drink, smoke, have a good time. My job? I just dance and do what I love. It’s a vibe. We have opportunities for emerging artists, dancers, musicians - whoever wants to try this, and they’re decently paid for their creations.

High-end celebrities, low end celebrities, come and enjoy the space. There’s art on the wall, excellent food and drink. A section to smoke, and for those who don’t fuck with it at all. It’s like an airport really, but more sophisticated and bougie and a safe and inclusive space, cuz we’re woke like that. Sounds good to be true right?

Well it is because it’s a fucking fictional story. Just escape with me for a second.

My other part of this job is getting called to choreograph dance shows and music videos, for artists big and small - on a more professional level. The rush I get from putting together dance pieces, man, it’s greater than money. What I feel about that process, for being a professional dancer, you can’t compare it with money.

Money doesn’t make you happy, if you’re not doing what you enjoy. I don’t care who are, money does not make you happy. I saw it with my family. As soon as money, came in, man, there were times when we were travelling to places, that some of my friends thought I was making up. And then there were other times, were debt collectors were showing up on our doorstep. I didn’t want part of it, so I broke off my family…for a while and worked hard to be a dancer and do what I love and made sure I’m happy first, before money. Don’t get me wrong, I have doubts, I have fears, because I’m human, but it’s the choice of letting those control you, is where I stand apart from others.

I love my job and am so grateful for it. It pays my bills, I feel secure and have a good relationship with it. I have worked hard to earn this job and this title, I stay humble, and flex when I want and work hard and be grateful.

…

The car pulls up near the entrance of the condo building.

“Is this okay?”, he says, slightly turning to face me, like his almost watching and considering my expression.

“Yes, this is fine, thank you”, I say, holding my gaze with his eyes. I knew in the back of my mind I saw him before, but I wasn’t ‘able’ to put it together. What was he thinking?

I climbed out of the back seat and he wished me a good night, and I closed the door and watched him reverse out and head the way we pulled in. We held eye contact for a second and I watched as he drove away and I entered my building. I felt like he knew me.

…

(Friday night)

One night at the club, I got up on stage, in a silver, studded dress. The thing is, this outfit was given to me by someone I hadn’t met yet, but he was in the audience, I was told.

I got up on stage, the familiar music started and I started dancing. Moving effortlessly and getting lost in the music. This time, I wasn’t in my apartment space where I always rehearse and make up dream worlds, it was happening for real, in real-time. This is manifestation, and it’s awesome.

I tried to spot ‘him’, but I couldn’t. The lights were too bright.

I was so lost in the music, that I could have sworn he joined me and started dancing with me. I couldn’t decipher whether it was real or not. I was high. I had smoked a full joint before hitting the stage, it helps with nerves, but sometimes I hallucinate - between reality and what’s not there. It’s a little trippy. So at some point, I could have sworn he was on stage with me, and we were teasing each other with movement and music and magic.

The performance ended, and I headed to the dressing room to unwind and get out of costume and have a drink. I heard footsteps approaching, I wasn’t concerned, it was probably my manager about to commend my performance.

I heard a knock first.

“Yes?”, I answered, expecting my manager. It wasn’t.

It was him. Or was it?

“May I come in?”, he asked, gently, possibly thinking that I would reject him.

“Yes..”, I said.

He gently pushed on the handle and opened the door carefully and came in, he had sunglasses on and it was the first thing I noticed. He reminded me of Prince.

“I just wanted to say that I really enjoyed your performance…and you killed it”, he said, not moving from the slightly ajar door, keeping his distance and eye contact on me.

“Oh, uh…thank you….uh, thank you, for coming to see my show, I appreciate it a lot”, I managed to blurt out, surprised. His voice, his presence, so calm and observing.

He very slowly started to move closer to me, holding his hand out, “I actually wanted to offer —”, he got interrupted, as someone called his name from the hallway.

He quickly opened the door wider and responded with, “I’ll be there soon”, and looked back in my direction.

“I have to run, unfortunately, however, your performance was fucking crazy and I’ll be in touch with you soon”, he paused.

“What’s your name?”, he asked, on the verge of heading out the door.

“Uh…Rose..”, I managed to say.

“Have a good night, Rose”, he said, holding that same eye contact and then heading to the hallway.

He was a major superstar, so I understood his time was valuable. I feel like a superstar too sometimes.

I quickly ran toward the door and peeked down the hallway, to see if I could catch a glimpse of him, but he was long gone. I wondered if I could see him from my window, so I ran and pinned myself as close to the window as possible, to see if I could spot a car, but it wasn’t anywhere to be found. Hmmm, mysterious I thought. I’m usually the one to put together clues quickly, but there was a huge piece I was missing that night.

…

(Sunday night)

I entered my condo, still pondering and wracking my brain over the mystery of the driver.

I placed my keys and bag at the front and looked at the big floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked the city. I felt grateful.

My buzzing phone interrupted the moment. I glanced at it, and noticed my manager's name flashing, I answered.

I froze in place. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I was right. I didn’t know who drove me, but I had a hunch I knew him….he was from the club, he told me that I performed well.

My manager apparently arranged for him to drive me home, he was too shy to introduce himself upon dropping me off. But it was him. The Weeknd.

He dropped me off at my city condo. Damn.