"Oh, shit Maura! I'm so sorry!" Andre was genuinely upset, trying to haul her back up off the mat.
"Not to worry, brother. I can take a punch. My Da saw to that," she muttered. Looking around she watched the frightened expressions of the women she was meant to empower. "Hey, it's all right. Most of us in this room took more than a punch or two to get where we are today, yes? My Da was not... a good man. And he was a terrible father and husband. But if I let that consume me, I lose control over my life. And I am unwilling to do that. What about you?" Andre smiled, watching the instructor change the mood of the room into a fierce intent.
***
The next morning, James clicked a link in his email and sat back to view a video of the class at the YMCA last night. He watched Maura as she moved that long and graceful body into lethality, over and over for the benefit of her students, and her confession to the group about her abusive father.
"Interesting."
He reduced the video and started on the morning's plan. "MacLaren. Please come into my office." It wasn’t long before he heard the tentative knock on his office door.
"You needed to see me, Mr. Pine?" He looked up to see Maura pushing her glasses back up with one finger. James leaned back and gestured for her to sit. The difference between the tall, confident Amazon on the surveillance video and the nervous woman in front of him, wearing her loose clothes like a disguise, made him tap his fingers on his desktop. After a couple of minutes of the mutual staring contest, she swallowed and queried, "Did you, um, did you need something? The new firewall link, maybe?"
His mind still on the woman in front of him, wearing tights and a sports bra last night and throwing that gigantic lug over her head, James absently replied, "No. Not that."
Maura shifted again. They sat staring at each other until James suddenly shook his head. "No. Not the firewall. I understand you conduct... extracurricular activities outside the auspice of the Corporation." She stilled suddenly, reminding him of a rabbit huddling motionless to avoid a predator.
Maura arched a brow but said nothing.
James smiled a little, the small change making his eyes sparkle with a warmth she hadn't seen before. "Your self-defense class." He laughed, "Don't look so stricken, MacLaren. It's an admirable thing, certainly. I had no idea you were so skilled in martial arts."
"It's not particularly relatable to my position here, Sir."
James suddenly leaned forward. "Everything- everything is relatable to your position at Jaguar Holdings. There's always a place where talent like yours can be used."
Maura looked deeply alarmed. "Sir, I'm not a soldier. I write code."
James picked up an iPad and started moving around the screen, suddenly no longer interested in her. "My specific reason for calling you in is to remind you of your sensitive position here at the Corporation. You're smart. I'm not worried about you spilling classified information to a group of domestic violence victims-"
"Survivors." Maura corrected, for which she was impaled by James's ice-blue glare.
"I beg your pardon, MacLaren?"
"Su- um, survivors, Sir. That's what I insist they call themselves. They survived unimaginable brutality. They're not victims.”
Looking at her again for a long, uncomfortable moment, James nodded. "Survivors, then. Just remember who you work for. You are excused."
"Thank you, Sir." Eyeing her speedy departure, he was amused at her burst of bravado.
Good for her.
Chapter 4: Girl’s Night
In which Maura discovers that she cannot catch a goddamn break.
The following week as he was logging out, Nicholas asked Maura again to join a group from the Corporation at the pub. "It's Friday," he coaxed. "it'll be fun, I promise!"
She shook her head, smiling. "This is girl's night. I'm taking some of my favorites out dancing."
Her lab partner suddenly looked hopeful, "Well, now that you've taught me to dance, maybe I could join you?"
Maura laughed. "Another time, tonight's just for my girls." In truth, she wasn't sure how the night would go. Putting on her favorite black dress, she shook her head as she applied lipstick and mascara. Maura couldn't remember the last time she'd worn more than lip balm. In a burst of energy, she even curled her thick, black hair and slipped on the first high-heeled shoes she'd worn in at least six months.
Taking an Uber to the club, she tried to quell her nervousness about bringing some of her students from the self-defense group out. She'd picked some of the women who’d been improving, but were still deathly afraid of socializing with men. "Take a chance!" she'd urged, "It'll be fun. We'll all stick with each other, and you'll have a great time. We'll just dance together."
Maura met her little group at a club in the Meatpacking District on the far west side of New York. She’s tried to pick a medium-range dance place with a more laid-back, non-pretentious clientele. She smiled, seeing the effort they'd all tried to make, especially Martie and Estella - they’d been raised under cruel fathers and then equally contemptuous husbands - who battered their self-esteem as well as their bodies. She knew that for most of her students, this was a huge step. "We’re gonna own this place!" she laughed, and they linked hands and plunged in.
The club was beautiful, with lots of laughter from clubgoers rising over the blaring EDM as she found a big table for the group in the corner. "Take your time,” she assured, watching several of her girls look around nervously, “let's have a cocktail and we can all watch for a while until you feel ready." After an hour and a couple of drinks, she started dragging girls, giggling with embarrassment, to the dance floor.
