Diary of a Dancer

Elise is hanging out in Washington Square Park after ballet class at Tisch and is supposed to be on the way to her “Music for Dance” class with Ms. Vanaver. On the way back to her dorm on Sullivan St, she stops to pick up food and a coffee at her deli (she loves this one because Dad came here for the cups they use that were always on that tv show Law & Order). She walks past The Back Fence bar where she sees an old man putting out the signs (the story is that this guy is a cousin of Rocky Graziano). She also wanders past the old chess club and wonders what it must have been like when Bobby Fisher was there every day, wiping the floor with “geniuses”.  

She gets to her dorm and see’s a pick-up notice for a package. 

She gets the package and opens it up. It’s a diary from her dad, one of his charming little black books. He’s a famous dancer and choreographer, and that’s mostly what got her into the school in the first place. She loves dancing but doesn’t have dreams of being what everyone expects of her. She reads through the book, see’s dad’s weird doodles, diagrams and disjointed notes. He has a quirkiness in writing, trying to apply philosophical ideas into geometry and movement. It’s hilarious. She reads the way he critiques himself and laughs. His thoughts are funny, but she’s also not sure why he sent it to her. 

She carries it with her, looking through it and imagining what the things he’s created look like from the audience, and then what they might be like to actually dance. It gives her a kind of appreciation for what he does, and how it’s his soul expressed through movement and rhythm. And then the endearing subtle reminders of him saying things like “call the panda..”, “I miss Panda” and “I wonder what she’s doing right now”. 

She sees little notes of reminders for meetings. Scratches through things that were bad ideas and the names of people to stay away from and why. There were some weird nondescript numbers and words that he made up but no-one knows what they mean, except him, like “flimflango” and “strobbleclob” or “flashymcjiggybone”. He also has this weird habit of sometimes starting to write on the right side of a two-page spread and finishing on the left side, and then continuing left. Why? Who knows… but he does. If he was here he’d say it was so that he could limit the number of words or thoughts used on a thing, like forcing a deadline. But really, she knows that he’s just pretending that he can write in Japanese… goofball. 

Then the last entry is actually written to her.. 

Hey little bear, 

I know it’s weird that you’re getting one of my thingies, and I know you probably flipped through it and found something to entertain you while you’re sitting in the park. But, I really need you to pay attention to what I’m writing to you right now. It’s very important, and I’m sorry that I have to ask you to do this, but I promise I’ll explain it all soon and everything is going to be okay. 

I need you to call Milady’s, that little pub I took you to in Soho, and ask for Mark West and order a bowl of chilli to be delivered for Andy Teirstein ( Yeah, I know. Your music for dance prof) at the 3rd chess table by the dog run at the top of Thompson St in Washington Square Park. Ask them how long it will take, be specific to the minute. I know you know the place. But please, just make the call and go there and wait. Andy will come to meet you at that exact time and bring you to me. When he meets you, give him this book. If anyone else comes near you or says anything to you, you get up and walk to The Back Fence and ask for Kato. You ask him if Tommy Riccobono is playing tonight and he will take care of you. 

Okay? I’m sorry. I know this is weird and confusing, but I need you to trust me and do what I say. 

I love you, so much. You have no idea. 

Dad

She sits there for a second and then laughs, thinking this is another one of his games. And probably the best one ever. Lost in thought for a second, remembering all the wonderful adventures and scavenger hunts they’d been on together in the Rocky Mountains, Mexico, India, The Philippines, and Upstate New York. She’s jarred back to the present by the sound of a tap dancer busking on what looks like a countertop with his hat and amp in front of him. 

She laughs and pulls out her phone. Calls the number google tells her to for Milady’s and a raspy voice picks up. 

“This is Bashi.. ?”

“Hi, is Mark there?” Elise asks politely.

“Mark… Mark West?”

Elise tries to sound polite, “Ugh.. yeah. Mark West.” 

“ Yeah, one sec..”

She hears the annoyed voice say bitterly 

“ Yo Mark, it’s for you. Ya know, not for nothin’.. but you’re not supposed to be getting calls here”. 

“Yeah yeah.. easy.” The man’s voice says “ Hello?”

“Hi, Mark? Can I please have a bowl of chilli delivered for Andy Teirstein?” Elise says, hesitantly. 

“Oh…. man… Yeah. Where?” Mark says

“The third chess table by the dog park at the top of Thompson St, in Washington Square Park.”

“Okay. Right away…”

“Ummm... How long do you think that will take? Like, exactly.” 

“3:27”

“Oh okay.. thank you.” She says, 

“Elise… go there on time. Be careful.” And the phone hung up. 

“What the fuck?… How do you know my…..” Elise was obviously freaked out, and a little scared now. 

She’s on the other side of the park. It’s only 4 square blocks. She looks at her phone for the time. It’s 3:21. So the chilli will be there in 6 minutes? Or will Mark? Or what the fuck is happening? If this is a game, it’s getting weird. 

She get’s herself together and just decides that it’s all part of dad’s game, or prank, or whatever. He’s an artist, he does weird shit and it’s usually kind of awesome in the end, so she just decides to go with it. 

She finds the table. There’s no one there, which is weird because the tables are always filled with players trying to hustle someone who thinks they’re smarter than they are. So she just sits and waits. This time of day the park is always busy so it took her 5 minutes to get to the spot. It’s 3:26. She’s watching the seconds tick by, but it’s the longest, slowest, most annoying minute ever. And right at the moment when the promised minute appears, so does Dr. Andy Teirstein. 

“Hi Elise,” He says in a happy, almost cartoonish voice. “Have you ever had Milady’s Chili?” 

“No... what? What the balls is happening?” She’s almost gotten a New York accent by now. 

“You should try it. Here…” He handed her a take-out bag, with what seemed to be the chilli in it.

“Okay.. um. Can you tell me what’s going on?” 

“How was class today? You seem to be doing really well. I know you’re not really gunning for a prima or principal spot, but it’s nice to see you loving your classes. Does your toe still hurt?”

“No. Wait.. what? How did you know about my..” She barks out, in that way only a teenager can. 

“Your toe? Ah, don’t worry about it. I’m glad it’s feeling better. That can be annoying.” Then he leans forwards and puts his elbows on the table and tilts his fedora back even further so that it looked like it was going to fall off his head full of curly dark hair. “So… confused. Right?” 

“Yeah…” She says without a blink. 

“Okay. Let’s just talk. Your dad sent you a book. And you don’t know why. It’s filled with a bunch of confusing doodles, notes, numbers, quotes, and then a note to you... right?”

“Yeah. But, that’s just the way he is. He writes ideas in weird ways that only make sense to him.”

“ What’s another word for that?” Andy slides in. 

“Ummm… I don’t know. Shorthand? Or Code?”

“Yeah!” He says with a smile like you would imagine a parent saying to a child who just tied their shoelaces. “ And, where is he?”

“Russia, I think…” 

“And where else has he been in the last couple of years?” 

“He’s been busy. Vietnam, China, Cuba, Norway, London… Brazil. I think a couple other places too.” 

“I’ve known your dad for almost 30 years. Do you know that he helped me raise and he taught both my kids?” 

“No. I thought I just got into your program because he’s famous.. sort of.” 

“Well, sort of. Now, can you think of anything else that has happened in those countries that your dad has been to over the last couple of years?” 

“Maybe. I guess I remember seeing some stuff on the news. Why?”

“Well. Someone who writes in codes, travels all over the world, everyone thinks is just some goofy extroverted artist, meets celebrities and diplomats, royalty and billionaires, and then shortly after, those places are in the news because of the things that happen there. He’s really good at puzzles, likes games, is an incredible martial artist, shoots a bow and arrow like a ninja, speaks a bunch of languages, and you just called a bar to get chilli delivered in a park by a guy who knew your name and you get met by an old friend of your dad’s who’s known you since before your were born and just handed you a bag of “chilli” (air-quotes with his hands) that’s actually $20,000 in diamonds and a ticket for a private plane to a place where I don’t know I’m supposed to take you. What do you think is going on? Your dad is a……”

Elise sits for a moment. Her mind is racing, hopping from place to place, fact to fact, memory to memory and then, like a ton of bricks the other shoe drops. Andy sees it happen in real-time “.. and there it is” he says quietly. 

“Holy shit” Elise blurts out, “ My dad’s a spy”.