Chapter 2: No Show
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Jordan Jamison skimmed effortlessly over the frozen surface of the ice rink.
Her petite form, now covered in a sedate black and white warm-up suit, hid the
curves of her journey toward womanhood that she was still becoming used to.
There were still days when she was certain it had been easier not having breasts;
they somehow always seemed to be in the way and it took having to re-learn certain
jumps and spins to reacquaint herself with her center of gravity. Thankfully,
her hips still retained their slim, boyishness, but when she looked at her training
films it seemed her bottom had grown more curvaceous, and heaven knew if her
legs got much longer, she was going to scream.
Still, all in all, she was basically happy with her figure. Her skin was peaches and cream, her eyes varying from emerald to forest green; depending on her mood, her lips full and soft; a warm shade of peach. But her crowning glory, she felt, was her shoulder-length head of softly waving shades-of-copper hair. Now worn up in a snug French-braid to keep it out of her face, she absently pushed an errant strand behind her ear and slowly circled the ice, warming her muscles in preparation for the rigorous practice session to come with her partner, Bob Hanks.
For the last four years the two had been skating partners, winning several titles and now contemplating competing for a slot on the up-coming Olympic team. Jordan, too serious at the age of sixteen continued her warm-up slowly, cautious to a fault that her muscles be completely warm and ready to skate and thus avoid possibility of an injury due to being cold and stiff. Unlike Bob, who thought he knew everything at the age of nineteen, who would come in, put on his skates and proceed to toss her around like a rag doll until he warmed up and could better judge his throwing and lifting power.
With Jordan barely hitting five foot two on skates and weighing all of ninety-five pounds, her partner at almost six feet tall and eighty pounds more than she had all too often thrown her into the boards more times than she cared to count. She'd long ago quit looking for bruises and simply opted for thicker stockings to hide the telltale marks of her numerous assisted falls. She often wondered why she didn't just get another partner but the difficulty of re-training with another partner terrified her in such a way that she simply stuck it out with Bob. Now, Bob was an hour late and Jordan continued to slowly circle the ice and run through their program in her mind.
"Jordan..." A voice over the loud speaker called.
Jordan gracefully slid to a stop, a little rooster tail of ice flying up in front of her, and looked across the ice and through the window dividing the front office from the rink.
"Bob's not going to make it," The voice cautiously stated.
Jordan spread her arms and shrugged her shoulders, mouthing the word why?
Jordan watched as Mindy, the Office Manager at the rink continued her conversation on the phone with Bob. When she suddenly dropped the phone and cast a quick disbelieving glance at Jordan then quickly picked the phone back up to finish the call, Jordan cautiously made her way across the ice toward the office. The small hairs at the back of Jordan's neck signaled a catastrophe in the making. Jordan skated to the open door, slipped her blade guards into place and quickly crossed the rubber-covered floor to the office. Mindy's loudly voiced "you son of a bitch!" greeted her as she opened the door, followed quickly by the resounding bang as she slammed the phone back into its cradle.
"Mindy..." Jordan asked softly, numerous questions in her green eyes.
Mindy heaved a huge sigh, ran her hands through her hair for lack of another way to stall the inevitable and bluntly stated. "That bastard left you for Chanelle Watts."
Text Copyright © 2000 by Constance E. Moynihan
