I lean toward Alisha. “I need to go to talk to Igor.”
“I’m so excited for you.” And I believe her.
I drink water, throw on my pants and drag my feet to Igor’s office. Audrey smiles at me when I enter the imposing room full of old paintings and pictures of him dancing. “He’s waiting for you.”
“What?”
“He said if someone gets that audition, he’s sure it’s going to be Jennifer Harrison.”
I don’t think I could be more surprised if I tried. Igor has never ever praised me for anything. And he never gave me the impression that he thought I was that good. Some days, I even had to wonder why he allowed me to delay my acceptance into his company, since he always yells at me that I’m not good enough, not talented enough.
“Come on in.” His Russian accent is still there, and it’s even mixed with a French accent. He’s been living in France for the past twenty years, and he calls himself more Parisian than the Parisians. Whatever that means.
I hold the paperwork to my chest, trying not to look intimidated. I shouldn’t be. We’ve all seen Igor lose his temper often enough to sometimes not take him seriously, but his career…his career is impressive. His way of dancing, of transcending emotions, of making everything look oh so easy. That’s impressive. Plus, he danced with the most talented, he danced in front of the Queen of England, in front of stars and kings.
“I am guessing you got the part.” He leans back in his leather chair. His dark cherry desk is imposing, but what’s more imposing is the picture of him and Baryshnikov smiling like old friends.
“I did.” I’m waiting for him to tell me to sit down but he simply stares at me. He waits. Like he did when he called me personally to let me know I was offered a position in his ballet company and I explained I could not accept it, that my sister was offered a new trial treatment and we were not sure if it was going to work or not. That I could not leave without knowing I would see her again. Back then, he simply said, “I will call you again in one month. If you cannot take the position before October then I will need to find someone else who can.”
His voice didn’t sound warm or empathetic or like he felt anything at all. But I was grateful he gave me that extra time. When he called again a month later, we all thought Mia would get better, Mia wanted me to take the position.
His expression softens for only a split second, and maybe I imagined it because his voice is hard when he speaks again. “My sources told me which band it was for.”
“Your sources?” I bite my tongue to not laugh out loud. This sounds like an episode of a crime movie.
“I have my connections in the show business too. From my short-lived career in the film industry.” He taps his fingers on the desk and bores his eyes into mine. He looks like he’s waiting for me to say something, but instead, I take a seat across from him. This staying standing isn’t working, and I need to at least pretend like I have control over what I do. Over my own career.
“I think it would be good for me. That it would be good for the company.”
“How so?”
“The video is going to air before the show. There’s high interest for it. It’s the first song ever since…”
“Ever since that boy died of an overdose.” Again, his eyes turn soft, cloudy, almost like he has a story of his own. Everyone has a story. And everyone has sadness in their story, even when it ends with a happily ever after. There’s always sadness somewhere. And people deal with it in different ways. “I want to make sure it is not going to be detrimental for the image of the company. While I am entertaining the idea of showing ballet in more modern circumstances, like in that music video, to remind people how much emotion one can put in ballet movements, how incredible it is to dance and tell a story, I also want to make sure we do not alienate our regular donors…who are…a bit more classically oriented.”
“Okay.”
“And so I would like to ask you something. I will say yes no matter what, but maybe we could kill two birds with one stone.”
“What do you mean?”
“What if the main singer…Lucas is his name, right? What if he came and performed the song during our show?”
“Didn’t you say that it might attract the wrong type of people for the company?”
“Not if he played the melody on the piano and you danced it. Think of it as a solo. A very important solo. Then, we could probably sell out and get amazing coverage in all media. Maybe we could put the video on YouTube and get more viewers.” It almost looks like he’s talking to himself, reminding himself of his vision for this company, of what he wanted it to become.
“I don’t know if he would do it.”
Igor leans forward, tilts his head to the side and the smile he has on isn’t friendly or enthusiastic, it’s calculating, and a chill runs down my spine. “I have a feeling that if you ask him, he will do it.”
I shouldn’t be surprised by what he said. He’s Igor. Well known for his scheming and his manipulating. But still, my eyes widen. “I don’t know if he would do it,” I repeat. And what I don’t say is, “I don’t know if I want to ask him.”
“We’ll discuss this later. For now, here is a paper stating that you are authorized to work on this music video as long as the hours do not interfere with your training at the company. Think about what I said—you may hold the key for the company to survive. And think about all those dancers who will need to find another job. Some would need to go back to their countries. Some might not be able to dance any longer because this was their last stop before retirement.”
I nod, stand up and leave the office in a daze. I text Lucas before going back to train. I can’t bring myself to ask him about the performance, though. He’s already so wary about everything, wondering if everyone is out to use him. Talked to Igor. He’s okay with everything. I’ll see you this afternoon.
And then I replay the entire conversation in my head.
Igor is pretty much telling me I can make or break his company.
No pressure.
CHAPTER 27 - LUCAS
I run my fingers through my hair. This is fucking ridiculous. Grégoire looks beyond pissed, but he also has an “I told you so” smirk on his face that I want to punch away.
He points to his iPad in my hand. “Keep reading.”
Coming between Olivia and Lucas, Jennifer Harrison could be the one to prevent the band from getting back together for its memorial song for Benjamin Graves, the band member who died from an overdose last year.
“This is bullshit!” I stride over to the counter and punch it, wincing at the pain that radiates from my hand to my shoulder.
“What is bullshit is that I’m meeting with Fran in thirty minutes and the news is already out. Someone blabbered, and it better not be your new girlfriend.”
“She didn’t. She went to her company to rehearse for her show and she was going to talk to her director.”
“When was she supposed to be done?”
“She was going to talk to him around eleven and tell him not to announce anything. She was going to text me that Igor did agree with it, because of that clause in her contract.” I shuffle through my winter coat to find my phone.
There’s one text from Jen. Igor agrees and actually seems happy for the first time ever. I’ll see you at the studio at 2 p.m.
Grégoire plops himself on the couch. “We need to do some damage control. I need a new scoop for Fran, otherwise she’s going to start digging and writing shit about you guys.”
“I’ve got nothing to hide.”
“Everyone has something to hide.” He doesn’t look me in the face when he says it, and I’m not sure if he’s talking about me or about himself.
“Why don’t you just tell Fran about Olivia singing that song with me?”
Grégoire perks up right away. It almost looks like he’s happy too. “Really? I thought you wanted to see how it was working before agreeing to it.”
“Plus, it would put to rest all those theories about her and Benji.” He pauses. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“Okay. Then I’m going. I don’t want to be late for the lunch, but do me a favor.”
“Another one?” I raise an eyebrow in my signature “what the fuck” move.
“Maybe check with your girlfriend that she doesn’t talk to anyone about the band without my consent and guidance. It’s in her contract. If she messes up, she can kiss any career goodbye.”
“Don’t be like that.” My tone is a warning, but as always, Grégoire only cares about Grégoire.
“And don’t be naïve. She’s probably after easy fame. Or maybe she wants money.” He pauses and smiles—like the snake of my dreams. “Okay fine, she probably doesn’t want money, her parents are loaded. Which is a good thing.”
“You checked up on her parents?”
“Of course I did. And that story about her sister is heart-wrenching.”
“Don’t you dare use any of this without talking to her first!”
“You know me. I always play by the rules.” He grabs his iPad back and slides out of my apartment, probably sensing I’m two seconds away from exploding.
I grab my phone back. It seems you’re going to get a fast crash course in dealing with shitty gossip. Coming to pick you up. Sorry it’s already starting to get out of hand.
She said this morning she was going to leave rehearsals around 1:30 p.m. She’s probably still there—that’s why she’s not answering.
And part of me worries it’s going to be too much for her. She seems to be a private person, she has a hard time talking about her sister, about her past. What is she going to do when people follow her every move, question her every word?
I used to feel bad for even questioning what came with being a performer. I used to believe that everything I did was fair game for public consumption. But it’s not. My life is still my life. I’m an entertainer, and I’m grateful, but I don’t owe the entire world an insight into my thoughts.
Last year before everything went down to shit, Olivia’s naked pictures were stolen from her phone. Pictures she sent me. Pictures that were only meant for the both of us. She sobbed in my arms, as the pictures wound up on thousands of websites with people commenting on how hot or ugly she was, how they wanted her, or how she was a slut. Seeing her so destroyed, seeing how she couldn’t stop thinking about it every single time someone looked at her in a certain way or snickered, seeing how she couldn’t sleep, anger crushed into me. I hurt for her.
That’s when Olivia decided to take control of her own publicity in a sense. Seeing those pictures of herself spread everywhere, she realized her life didn’t only belong to herself anymore, and that was tough.
How is Jen going to react?
I stare at my screen. But still no answer.
I check the time. One. If I call my driver now, I could make it to her ballet company when she’s done, bring her back to her place and then drive her to the studio.
It’s funny and scary how much I care already.
CHAPTER 28 – JEN
The rehearsals are running late. “One more time,” John repeats, and I’d rather he would yell because this cold voice without intonation is usually a sign he’s really unhappy with us. And when John is angry, he’s almost as bad as Igor.
“Grace! Your turnout is so wrong I don’t even know how you could call yourself a dancer!” Grace tries harder—she’s one of the oldest here. She told me the other day that this company is her last hurrah, one more way to show that you can be forty and still dance professionally. She was a star dancer in the San Diego Ballet Company, but John doesn’t seem to care about her past right now. He’s all about business. “Come on, Grace! If you wince like this, do you think anybody is going to believe you? I don’t know what Igor was thinking when he accepted you.”
Grace huffs but she doesn’t answer. Instead, she tries harder.
“Alex…you need to bring Alisha higher, much higher. And Alisha, maybe you should try pretending you know what you’re doing once in a while.”
Alex curses under his breath and Alisha blushes, but they continue.
John walks past me and I expect him to scold me. I don’t expect him to yell into my ear. I almost lose my balance. “This is not an arabesque. This is a joke of an arabesque!” He pulls on my leg, but I don’t move. My entire muscles are tensed the way they’re supposed to be. “You look like the Pisa Tower, your balance is barely there.” He leans his head back and stares up at the ceiling. “This is ridiculous. I’m supposed to prep you for one of the biggest shows of this ballet company, and this is what I have to work with? A bunch of amateurs!” He walks past Erin and looks her up and down like he’s looking at a piece of meat. I can see them in the mirror, the way she stares back at him without blinking.
“Sergei was fired for a reason,” she says loud enough for everybody to hear, and silence falls onto the studio. Erin did not stutter, she did not hesitate. John clears his throat and moves on to the next person.
Sergei was fired three weeks ago. The rumor goes that he was being way too friendly with the dancers in exchange for bigger and better roles.
Igor said he wouldn’t have any of this in his company. It wasn’t about spreading your legs but about talent. His words, not mine.
I smile at Erin in the mirror and see her chest rising and falling. She was bluffing, she looks petrified now, but I discreetly give her a thumbs-up. Because she did it, standing up for herself without hesitation.
“Okay, fine, you can go! I’ll see some of you later this afternoon.” He dismisses us and stares right ahead as he exits the room.
“That was pretty impressive, Erin,” I tell her after shaking my muscles. Everything hurts, and I don’t even know if an ice bath is going to enable me to move again after holding several positions for longer than was required.
“A friend of mine left the company because of what happened with Sergei. She’s still not over it, and seeing her so lost…I got mad when I saw the way he was looking at me. The way he told me he could help me if I wanted.”
“He said what?”
“He leaned in and whispered it to me. I’m going to mention it to Audrey…but I don’t think they’ll fire him. They can’t keep on firing people. And he didn’t do anything.” And she sighs, because she may be right. And it’s not fair.
“What time is it?” I ask, changing the topic when I realize I might be late for my first production meeting.
Erin shuffles through her shoulder bag and turn on her phone. “One forty-five,” Erin answers and then her eyes widen. She opens her mouth. “You made it.”
“What?”
She shows me her phone. She received a text from her sister telling her I got the part. “That’s you. You made it into the video.” She jumps and hugs me and I don’t have time to react before the rest of the room explodes in chatter. It seems Grégoire released the information earlier than planned.
I gather my stuff quickly, turn my phone back on. We can’t have our phones on during rehearsal unless we want to face the wrath of the entire crew.
There are hundreds of notifications from Twitter and Facebook and Instagram. The last time I posted anything was last month. It doesn’t make sense. My mailbox is full and there are also hundreds of text messages. Hundreds of messages of love and hate from total strangers. “What the heck is going on?”
Alisha turns to me, her mouth wide open. “It’s out. People know you got the part…and…�
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“And what?”
I scroll down to one message which has been sent at least fifty times. Why don’t you go and die, you ugly bitch? He’s never going to want to be with you. He’s mine. Only mine.
Wow. That’s encouraging.
Alisha shows me her phone. “And your name, your phone number have been posted online.” My mouth gapes open and I stare at her screen. My cell phone number is on some random blog and that post has already been retweeted four thousand times.
Some of the other dancers gather around us. “Hey Jen, congrats!” Then another takes a picture of me. “You’re going on my Instagram. I can’t believe you know Lucas.”
“Okay, calm down.” Igor enters the room. But even he can’t stop the effervescence that has taken over. “I said, calm down!”
I snap out of my stupor and with shaking fingers, I scroll down my text messages until I see one from Lucas. It seems you’re going to get a fast crash course in dealing with shitty gossip. Coming to pick you up. Sorry it’s already starting to get out of hand.
What is everyone talking about?
And then Alisha gently shows me her phone.
And I see the picture, and the headlines, and my phone beeps again with another hate message, and my throat tightens until it’s hard to breathe.
CHAPTER 29 – LUCAS
There is a small crowd forming outside. And they’re waiting for her. They’re already trying to dissect her. Olivia almost broke down, she lost a part of herself. How is Jen going to react?
How is she going to deal with everything?
I text Grégoire. Do you have the number of the ballet company director?
Why?
I need to talk to him. See if there’s a back entrance or another way into the building. It’s not too bad yet, but I want to talk to Jen before she gets into this craziness.
Good idea. I don’t think she’s equipped yet to deal with that by herself.
He texts me Igor Baraski’s number and I call him, arranging that Jen will exit via the garden they have and not via the courtyard. I tell my driver to turn around, grateful nobody has noticed the Peugeot we’re using.
Love in B Minor Page 12