Love in B Minor

by Elodie Nowodazkij

  This time, Igor gives us his death glare, the one he usually only uses when we’re practicing, the one that has me practicing harder than ever before, the one that brought Alisha to tears. “With the economy, and the new ballet companies surging, there’s more competition. But we can do this. I know we can do it. I managed to get big journalists and donors to come to our next show, and we need to prove we have what it takes.” He takes a very dramatic pause and glances at Audrey, who gives him a slight nod. I never thought Igor would need support or encouragement of any kind. Even though I should know better. “I wanted to tell you in person because there will be an article about the difficulties in the performing arts in Paris in Le Monde tomorrow. A preview will be online this evening. I didn’t want you to hear it from someone else.”

  The silence in the room is oppressing. Finding a good dance company can be hard, and many of us refused positions to come here. Igor’s reputation. Paris. The promises of a prestigious ballet company.

  If we close, I’ll need to start over.

  If we close, why did I even leave New York?

  I shake my head, refusing to go down that path of thinking.

  Igor claps in his hands. “This may not be happy news, but I also want to make sure you understand you can make a difference. The dance company can use exposure. Positive exposure. The rumors that some dancers have fallen into drugs didn’t help.” He sounds mad at himself, as if it’s his own personal fault that two dancers were arrested three months ago with coke. I stare at my feet, my heart beating out of my chest. He continues and I focus on his deep voice. “If you think of good ways to bring this positive exposure to the company, don’t hesitate to let me know.”

  Alisha tentatively raises her hand. She’s usually pretty shy and told me before how she never thought she could dance on stage because of her fear of speaking in public. That’s why she broke down once during rehearsal when Igor poked at her weakness, yelling that she needed to get her shit together or he wouldn’t put her on stage.

  Igor nods her way, an eyebrow cocked to the side as if he’s also surprised to hear her voice. “Would you let us audition for a role in a video?”

  “You mean those rap videos with women half naked shaking their asses?” His voice is derisive.

  Alisha takes a deep calming breath. “Not necessarily.”

  Igor raises his index finger, which could be a sign he approves or a sign he’s about to tear into her idea. And I can almost feel Alisha shake next to me.

  “This could be a good idea.” I swear Alisha deflates and breathes more easily. “But I want to be able to approve it beforehand—your contract currently stipulates that your commitment to the City of Lights Ballet Company is exclusive unless mutually agreed.” He glances at everyone in the room, throws his shoulders back, looking taller. “Listen, this article is pretty negative and even though we were able to give our side to the story, I want you to be prepared. The dancing world is a small one and people might try to contact you or recruit you. Give us a chance.”

  And he exits the room without taking any questions. Audrey stays behind, and her reassuring voice is almost enough to convince me that everything will be fine.

  Almost.

  CHAPTER 10 - LUCAS

  It takes me forever to decide on what to wear for the auditions. I settle for jeans, and a comfy sweater that makes my arms look bigger, stronger. Laura, as I still call her—since I don’t know what her real name might be or if she did lie about her name—said how she loved being wrapped in my arms. That may be why I’m paying extra attention today. I am usually a pro at pretending to be calm and composed, but the thought of maybe seeing her again gives me a jolt of energy.

  I spent the entire day working on my new song, on the words, on the melody, spending time on the Quai de Valmy, looking at the Seine, getting inspired. It’s the first time I’ve written a song this fast. And it feels almost perfect.

  A beanie on my head and my signature sunglasses on my nose, I’m pretty sure I can stay incognito until Grégoire decides to reveal we’re the band auditioning for a dancer. The doorman opens the door of the five-star hotel for me. The lobby is full of light and already crowded. A few journalists mingle with the dancers. Grégoire did say this audition was going to be a big marketing event. Steve told me this morning the buzz was all about discovering which band had organized this audition. And I’m sure Grégoire will “leak” the story to the press, making it seem like this wasn’t all planned from the beginning. Grégoire may be good at managing, but I disagree with a lot of his techniques. Benji did too. I remember them arguing to no end, about how Grégoire wanted Benji to date some girl from his old neighborhood to push a new demographics of fans. However, when Benji’s grandmother was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, Grégoire did find her the best care possible.

  I can’t think about that now. I can’t think about Benji.

  A lot of dancers showed up. I stretch my neck to see if I find her. But no luck and I can’t attract the attention.

  I wave at the receptionist in the entrance. Grégoire told me I could reach the audition room by walking through the restaurant and turning left.

  Our security guards let me in. Steve and Dimitri are sitting together, laughing loudly. And there’s a woman who waves at me. Probably the assistant of the director who will shoot the music video. Grégoire stands by the door as if he’s been waiting for me. “We’re starting in ten minutes,” Grégoire informs me, emphasizing the “ten minutes” as if he thinks I can’t remember time.

  Dimitri stretches and yawns loudly. “I don’t understand why we all have to be here.”

  “Good question,” I reply, staring at Grégoire. I’ve got a lingering feeling the reason he absolutely wanted all of us to be there was because he planned something big for the band. Something bigger than just revealing which band is casting for a dancer. Something I probably won’t like. But he’s good at pretending. And he’s good at asking others to pretend too. He wanted Benji to pretend to fall in love. He wanted Benji to pretend he didn’t have a drug problem. He wanted Benji to pretend to be someone else. Benji never managed to do that: to steel himself against the truth and against the pain.

  Anger simmers at the surface. Grégoire and I have been arguing a lot since Benji died; I almost punched him once, but I’ve promised to rein my rage in. There’s no way to break our contract with him without losing everything we all worked so hard for, and I can’t forget the early days, when Grégoire fought for us, fought to put us on a map, was there for us. Fame does change people. Fame can show the ugly side of people.

  I need to take a breather. “I’ll be right back.” I turn to Steve and Dimitri. Both of them look pretty aloof, as if my mood swings aren’t new.

  Grégoire nods but frowns. “Don’t be late.”

  “I won’t.” I exit the same way I came in, but instead of walking back into the restaurant, I continue down the hallway.

  And then I freeze.

  Because in front of me, wearing a small skirt and an apologetic smile, stands the one person I never thought I would see again.

  Especially not here.

  CHAPTER 11 - JEN

  “I didn’t think so many girls would be here!” I whisper to Alisha, who is staring straight ahead, her posture way too stiff. The smell of coffee during the evening has become familiar to me in Paris. Coffee in the morning, after lunch, midafternoon, sometimes after dinner. And the coffee is strong. But I’ve become addicted. People in the hotel restaurant are having an early dinner—most restaurants seem to be full around seven or eight in the evening usually, and it’s only 6:30 p.m.

  The dozens of girls ahead of us in the line should have warned us that this audition was going to be packed, but I didn’t expect to see at least fifty girls already waiting in the lobby.

  “Me neither. Maybe we should turn back,” she says, and there’s a note of resignation in her voice. Something I can’t accept from her, because she’s an amazing da
ncer and she’s dedicated and the sweetest. She reminds me of my friend Emilia—except Emilia didn’t want to dance. I saw it almost right away, and I was right. A tinge of nostalgia pinches my heart thinking about Emilia…how we became friends. Unlikely friends, since I did at one point think her now-boyfriend and I had a chance.

  “What do you think? Let’s go home?” Alisha steps back and almost runs into me.

  “I think we should go for it. We’ve got our numbers.” I point to the folder we received when signing up. “And we have a room to warm up in. Plus, you heard Igor…we could help the company.”

  “You hate Igor.”

  “I don’t hate him. I think he’s a pompous ass who really enjoys looking at himself in the mirror, but he’s talented and I believe in the company.” And I don’t want to think I left New York for nothing. That I wasn’t there for my sister when she died for no reason at all. I can feel the anger, the despair simmering. Before I would have pushed Alisha away, but I promised my sister—Mia—that I would try to be better.

  That I would try to love and be strong and live my dreams. Because she couldn’t.

  “Jen, you need to promise me,” Mia—my six-year-old sister—tells me. She sounds so much older. Her face has more color than the weeks before and her voice is stronger. The new treatment they started seems promising—even if it is just buying her time, they’re talking about at least one year. And I want to spend this year with her. But she cried when I told her I was going to stay with her.

  We’re in her hospital room, surrounded by teddy bears and her favorite superhero figures. She’s wearing her superwoman costume and I wish—yet again—that some superhuman force could help her, save her, eradicate the cancer.

  “I don’t want you to stay. I don’t want to see you if you stay,” she growls. “You’re going to be back in a month for two weeks and I’ll be here.”

  “I want to stay.” The ballet company that wants to hire me gave me an extension, but they said they can’t keep my spot longer than October. And October is in two days.

  “Jen. You’ve got to promise me three things. And you got to pinky swear,” she says.

  “Anything,” I reply and hold out my pinky, linking it with hers. She’s so cold. So cold. I struggle to keep my tears inside. Everyone thinks I’m such a stuck-up bitch, but they don’t know it’s my way of stopping the pain. My sister knows me. She knows who I truly am, and even though I want to hope that they’ll find a cure, I know it’s unlikely.

  “You have to find someone who makes you happy.” She tilts her chin to the books sprawled on the floor. “Like in the fairy tales Mom reads to me.”

  My fairy-tale ending would be that she enters remission. I stopped believing in fairy tales a long time ago.

  “I can’t control that.” I try to laugh but the sound is pitiful.

  “Yes, you can.” She sounds so serious, but then a real smile breaks on her face and my heart melts. “You’re so nice. And you’re so pretty. And I love you. Everyone should love you too.” I’m not half as nice as she thinks I am. I didn’t get the reputation I have for nothing. She should be the one experiencing the world, discovering who she is, falling in love.

  “Hmm.” That’s the only answer I can give her.

  “Promise me you’re going to go to Paris.”

  I shake my head. “I can’t go to Paris. I would need to be there in two days at the latest.” The company has done all the paperwork for me and technically I could go, but I don’t want to. I want to, but I don’t want to.

  She bores her eyes into mine. “Promise me you’re going to go to Paris.” She holds our fingers higher up. “You’re pinky swearing. You can’t take it back.” She wheezes and I’m about to call her nurse, when she continues. “They already gave you an extension because of me. I heard Mom and Dad talk about it. And I’m better.” Her voice wavers. “Please, go. For me.”

  And I went. And she died while I was gone. I don’t want to think about it.

  Alisha and I make our way through the crowd of dancers who eye us up and down, but I give as good as I get. They don’t scare me. They should be worried about us. We come from one of the best—even though apparently not financially sound—companies in the world. That and I’m an amazing dancer.

  I stop in front of a girl who seems a bit less judgmental: “Have you heard which band is auditioning?”

  “Well, some thought it could a French band or singer, but I don’t think so. Someone else brought up Villain Complex, but why would they be in France to find someone to dance in their videos? There are rumors that it could be Dire Blue.”

  “Who are they?”

  Her eyes widen and her laugh is way too loud—a bunch of people turn to us. I keep my head high. Not my fault I have no time whatsoever to listen to music. I’m into Netflix and podcasts. When I take a shower, I listen to the first season of Serial—that’s the only time I have to myself.

  “Thanks.” I smile as widely as I can to show her that I really don’t care about what she thinks.

  Which I don’t.

  Alisha pushes the door to the rehearsing room. Three other girls are in there, but they completely ignore us. “I wish we could google those bands. I can’t believe they took all of our stuff at the entrance.”

  “I guess that was their point though. Keep the element of surprise. Or whatever.” I take off my sweater and stretch down to the floor. My energy is all over the place. Being nervous or anxious before a performance is perfectly normal, but that’s not what I’m feeling right now. It’s more complicated.

  I touch my toes and then throw my arm over my head. Alisha’s in the zone. Her eyes don’t dart all over the place like mine. There’s a paint crack underneath the large window on the right and the décor’s a bit too in-my-face for my taste. The golden panels, the old coffee table that looks like it should be in a historic film.

  Concentrate, Jen. Concentrate.

  I close my eyes. Big mistake. The smell in the room reminds me of the hospital my sister stayed in. I think it’s the product they used on the window.

  Sadness replaces the anticipation. I’m back in New York for one of the performances I’ve done for Mia and her friends at the hospital before we heard she qualified for that new treatment, the new treatment that was supposed to save her time, the new treatment we had put all of our hopes on. The new treatment that failed.

  “Again!” Mia claps her hands. “Do it again!” Her voice is frail but her smile still shines. The other kids in the community room join her pleas, and I bow into a deep reverence.

  I nod toward the nurse and she puts the music to the beginning again. One step to the right, one step to the left and a pirouette. Even though it appears that I’m lost in the music and the movement, I’m aware of everything: the strong hospital smell, the tubes and machines surrounding the children, the way one mom wipes away her tears, hiding so her kid doesn’t see her. I try to smile her way, a smile to tell her I understand and that I’m there for her, I want to be there for all of them. One way or another.

  My sister is dying and there’s nothing I can do. Nothing. Nothing, except not show her how destroyed I am to see her slip away. I can’t show her how much I want to hold on to her and never let her go. The sadness lodges itself in my throat, hard and unforgivable.

  I raise my arms above my head. My sister imitates me and again, I’m amazed by how strong, how courageous the children are. Much more than me.

  I’m almost out of breath by the time the next song stops. The kids clap one more time.

  “Okay, time to go back to your rooms,” one of the nurses says in a warm voice. Mia calls my name softly.

  “You were amazing.”

  “Remember, one day, you’ll be on stage with me.”

  “I don’t think so.” Her skin is much paler than yesterday. How is that even possible? I want to scream but I keep my fake smile in place.

  “You’ll be in a tutu and you’ll do a pirouette
.”

  “I love you.” She glances down at her feet and then stares into my eyes. Her beautiful dark eyes seem tormented. I gently take her hand in mine. And her voice breaks. “I’m going to die.”

  I touch my nose and open my eyes, blinking rapidly to not cry here and now. It took me so long to build up that façade, but one little memory and it crumbles.

  “I need to go to the bathroom,” I mumble. I don’t really need to go to the bathroom, but I need to get out of this room before I break down

  Alisha stops in her movements. “You’re okay?”

  “Why wouldn’t I be?” My tone is curt but it’s so much easier to be angry than to be sad. I dig my fingers into the palms of my hand, one at a time, reminding myself of the promise I gave Mia. I don’t know if my six-year-old sister knew how much what she asked would resonate with me. “I’m sorry. I’m fine.” I head out of the rehearsal room, but I don’t want to go through the lines of dancers. My game face isn’t on. They’ll see the weakness and during an audition like this, I need to come out on top. Because that’s what I do. I work hard. I sacrifice everything and dancing is the only thing that makes me forget, makes me happy.

  I turn to the hallway to the right.

  The crowd dims and there’s a sign for the bathrooms. One more right.

  At first my brain can’t register.

  The tall frame. The dark brownish hair. The deep voice.

  “I should go. You and I are over and you know it,” he says, and there’s so much sadness in that last word. He hasn’t noticed me yet. He’s wearing jeans and a dark burgundy sweatshirt. And I can picture him lying on his bed, taking his clothes off, holding me—his fingers trailing down my back.

  Is it me or did someone crank up the temperature in here? I knew I might find him here, since he works for Steve’s band, but his presence still takes me by surprise.

  My heart leaps into a frantic grand jeté.

  My lips go on automatic mode and stretch into a happy smile. And then I see the girl wrapping her arms around him, the way he rests his head on top of hers like it’s familiar, full of feelings, real.