In The Spotlight

by Shona Husk

  ‘Whose dumb idea was it to get up early?’ Ripley rolled over and silenced the alarm.

  ‘Yours.’ Pierce sighed. An extra hour of sleep would’ve been nice.

  ‘Mmm. Yes.’ Ripley moved closer, pressing his body against Pierce’s back. He placed a kiss between his shoulderblades. ‘I didn’t want you to be running out the door without leaving me a number or a glass slipper or something.’

  He really wanted his number? ‘I’ll give you my number.’

  ‘Good.’ His hand skimmed lower.

  Pierce was fully awake and it took Ripley about three seconds to discover that.

  ‘Why couldn’t you work in the city …’ his hand was moving and there was a nice hardness pressing against Pierce’s ass.

  He rolled over to face the dancer, not wanting to accidentally give him the wrong idea.

  ‘What time do you start?’

  ‘Ten-ish with class, then full rehearsal and individual coaching … then I get a few hours off before performing. I’m going back to sleep when you leave.’

  Ripley would be dancing all day, it was no wonder he looked so good with his clothes off. ‘I would be too. What’s the show?’

  ‘Beastly … I am the beast.’

  Pierce laughed.

  Ripley pushed him onto his back and straddled him. ‘I can be horrible.’

  ‘This doesn’t feel horrible.’

  ‘Let me expand your repertoire beyond quick and dirty. Have a fling with me.’ His lips were dangerously close.

  It was hard to think. He was going to get third-degree burns. He was going to end up with scars. But Ripley was offering him everything he wanted. And in three weeks’ time he was going to going through withdrawal and wanting to die.

  At least he would’ve lived first.

  One more kiss and he was agreeing. Forty minutes later he was walking out of the hotel to claim his car and feeling that morning sex was definitely the best way to wake up.

  By the time he drove onto the base with a travel cup of coffee in hand, he still looked as though he’d had a big night out and no sleep. Four hours wasn’t enough, and even though there hadn’t been much alcohol involved he was still feeling rough—and more than a little pleased with himself. That wasn’t wearing off anytime soon.

  ‘Well, someone looks happy for a Wednesday morning.’ Blue fingered his unlit cigarette as he hung around the smokers near the gangway to HMAS Ellis.

  Pierce wiped the smile off his face.

  Blue grinned. ‘You still have “I got laid” stamped across your forehead, Lover.’

  His nickname sounded better on Ripley’s lips. Was it that obvious?

  ‘Was she hot?’

  ‘Yep.’ Pierce was more than happy letting Blue get it wrong.

  ‘Did you stay over?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Did you get her number?’

  ‘Yep.’

  Blue slapped him on the shoulder. ‘Well done. We thought you were going to be a virgin forever.’

  ‘Fuck off.’ It was good-natured teasing—mostly because he didn’t pick up in bars and he’d had no girlfriend since joining the boat. ‘I need another coffee.’ He didn’t want to be copping shit all day because he looked tired.

  If Ripley called him, he’d get up at five every day.

  Chapter 5

  Ripley had called Dan and left a message while Pierce had been dressing. He hadn’t been joking about going back to sleep. He was shattered. If he didn’t catch up on sleep today and tomorrow, by the time they got to the Friday and weekend matinee shows, plus the regular night shows, he was going to be dead on his feet.

  Which wouldn’t stop him from seeing Pierce. There was no way he was going to choose sleep over him. With the room quiet, he did go back to sleep. When the alarm went off a few hours later, he called Dan again; it went through to messages, again.

  Hopefully he hadn’t died from alcohol poisoning.

  Before he got up he scrolled through his social media—ignoring two messages from an ex—and then he checked on Dan through a little online stalking.

  ‘Shit.’ There was a picture of him leaving the club with Dan; Pierce wasn’t in it, and there was a question of whether was Dan leaving with his lover. Ripley laughed, but stopped when he read the comments. People thought it was serious.

  Dan had mentioned that Lisa, Dan’s manipulative ex, was going to pull something.

  Ripley left a comment regretting that Dan was entirely straight, but that didn’t stop them from being friends, then shared the picture with an entirely different caption. Big night out with my buddy. One of us scored but it wasn’t Dan.

  He pressed his lips together in a thin line. Dan was bloody lucky that the other incident hadn’t been caught on camera.

  He sent Dan a message, not sure what the hell was going on, but Dan needed to get online and laugh it off. Denial never worked. While he knew Dan didn’t care—this wouldn’t be the first time someone had thought him to at least swing both ways—Dan would protect Gemma from Lisa at all costs. Lisa had hated Gemma from the start, without realising Gemma was never going to steal her boyfriend. Although he had to admit the first time he’d met Gemma, he’d thought she and Dan would make a cute couple. Turned out she made a much cuter couple with the lead singer’s sister.

  He swore, cursing Lisa. He hadn’t liked Lisa, but he wasn’t around and he couldn’t tell Dan how to live his life. Someone needed to because he was fucking up all over the place.

  Ripley didn’t have time to deal with this. He needed to get to class and do his job.

  He got up, dressed and grabbed his things. He tossed the clothes that were on the floor onto the spare bed, vowing to get sorted in the few hours he had off this afternoon.

  Which is exactly what he’d said yesterday.

  The only things he ever cared about were his dance clothes; everything else was left to chance.

  As he waited for the elevator, he pulled up Pierce’s number.

  What to say? Nothing too out there in case someone else picked up his phone. He did love the way Pierce was so coy about sex. It was endearing. He didn’t remember ever being so innocent.

  By the time Pierce finished work and drove to the city, he’d be on stage. By the time he finished it would be late and Pierce would have to be up early. They had completely mismatched schedules.

  It was too hard. He stared at his phone.

  Cait walked up. ‘Where’s your smile gone?’

  ‘No smiles before coffee.’

  ‘Up late, were you?’ There was a glint in her eye.

  ‘Jealous?’ He needed to send Pierce something. He wanted him in his bed again. He wanted Pierce on his knees.

  She shook her head. ‘No, your finger was more than satisfying the other night.’

  ‘Be glad I didn’t drop you.’ His fingers had dug into her—although not as intimately as she was suggesting. He had no doubt they would both get corrected before class, and then would have to work on that lift after. He had needed the night off. But it was clear she wasn’t going to let him forget what had happened in a hurry. ‘Do you know how it went last night?’

  ‘No, I went to the movies. I’m sure my understudy did a grand job. Yours too … he is desperate to take over.’

  That made him smile. ‘We’ve both been there.’

  ‘Yes.’

  The elevator finally arrived—had it stopped at every floor on the way down and then back up?

  ‘I didn’t think you had me, it’s why I moved,’ Cait said softly.

  ‘I got you. Trust me.’ He offered her his fist and she bumped it. He knew that she’d been dropped before, badly. It had only been spoken about once during rehearsals in the States, but he got it. However, she had to trust him. He rolled his shoulder. Wobbles happened, but he was going to have to get his shoulder worked on. He didn’t say anything to her about it though. She’d trust him less and that would be worse.

  He stared at his phone. Fuck it. The worse thing Pierce coul
d say was no, but asking him to come up tonight would be too much. Tomorrow then.

  I knock off by 10pm tomorrow, want to catch up?

  Thursday was so far away.

  ***

  Pierce was having one of those days where he was tired, but almost bursting. He’d had a great night out. And he couldn’t share. Not really. It was a weird kind of limbo. At lunch he saw he had a text from Ripley.

  When he looked around at all the blue-grey cams or the smart uniforms, he knew what he had with Ripley didn’t belong here. Ripley was bright, a star—literally the star. It hadn’t been hard to find out a bit more about him online.

  In the promotional pictures he was even prettier. All smile and cheekbones.

  If Ripley Malone, ballet dancer, didn’t fit with his world, he certainly didn’t belong in Ripley’s. He hated being the centre of attention. Ripley seemed to thrive on it.

  He stared at the text message. He should say no.

  That would be the smart thing to do.

  Blue walked by and took the phone off him. ‘Is that a booty call?’

  ‘Give it back, dickhead.’ Pierce held his hand out.

  ‘RM? Just initials? What does she do?’ Blue was out of reach, smiling as he read the message.

  ‘Dancer.’ The word fell out of his mouth. Maybe he could share a little.

  ‘Ohh, flexible. You lucky prick.’ He tossed the phone back. ‘If you don’t say yes, I will.’

  ‘Your missus wouldn’t be thrilled.’

  Blue gave him the finger. ‘Someone should be happy around here. It must be your turn. Suck it up while it lasts.’

  His girlfriend’s unplanned pregnancy was making Blue more twisted than usual.

  ‘I don’t know … it’s complicated.’ He needed to reply, that message had been hours ago. What if Ripley had already moved on?

  Don’t be so dumb. He was working, not picking up.

  ‘What isn’t?’ Blue shrugged. ‘Don’t make my mistake … oh wait, your girl has a job. She won’t be keen on getting knocked up.’

  Pierce bit back the smirk. That wasn’t even a concern. Blue was right. He should meet Ripley again and enjoy having a boyfriend for a few weeks.

  If I bring up a uniform I can stay a bit longer.

  Can I take you out of it?

  Pierce stared at the screen. He didn’t want his worlds colliding.

  ‘What?’ Blue leaned forward.

  Pierce turned the screen away, really glad he had used Ripley’s initials. ‘Nothing. Trying to decide if I should take a uniform over.’

  Blue laughed. ‘Always.’ He stood up. ‘You aren’t as innocent as we had you pegged, Lover.’

  ‘I’m not a gossip, you mean.’

  ‘That too. Come on, best get back to the boat,’ Blue said. ‘You did say yes?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So you’ll be ratshit on Friday. I’ll make sure you get the shit jobs.’

  ‘Ta. You’re a real mate. Don’t know why I never shared before.’ If Blue knew the truth, would he be as keen to joke around? Maybe. But it was a risk he wasn’t ready to chance. Not yet. Maybe not ever. He didn’t think he’d ever be as confident as Ripley. He didn’t know many people as confident as Ripley.

  He needed to start going to the gym more. Starting tonight.

  ***

  As soon as Ripley walked in to the theatre he knew something was up. He checked the call sheet to see what he was doing today and saw his name more times than he liked. Cait’s as well.

  ‘Did we get in trouble for something?’

  She shrugged. ‘I have no idea. Who is Anton Holst?’

  Ripley knew exactly who Anton Holst was. He was one of the dancers he’d grown up admiring. But why was he in Perth? ‘Why is he now the coach? What happened to Marco?’

  ‘Marco’s cold has turned into chickenpox. You had it?’ Chad leaned against the wall and eyed up Ripley a little too hopefully. Chad was his understudy and a little too keen to take over.

  ‘Yep. I’m not that easy to get rid of.’ Ripley glanced at Cait. He really hoped she’d had it. He liked working with her. She looked good with him—even if she didn’t quite trust him after the months they’d spent working together.

  She pointed to a tiny mark on her forehead. ‘When I was two.’

  Chad didn’t smile. ‘Would’ve told you last night but I couldn’t find you last night to tell you. Marco knew someone who could step in.’

  Ripley stood a little straighter so Chad had to look up at him. He had an Aussie cell phone. He hadn’t got rid of it when he’d moved to the States. Chad could have left a message. Or even stuck a note under his door. Not that Ripley had been paying attention to anything other than Pierce. ‘How did you go last night?’

  ‘Felt okay. I’m sure there will be a list of corrections though, and who knows what Anton likes.’

  Cait waved her phone as though she had news. ‘Danish trained, danced all over Europe and now specialises in remedial coaching.’

  Ripley looked at Chad. ‘You worked under a Danish coach before?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘Me neither. This will be fun.’ By fun he meant no fun at all. Everything would be a little bit off. The average person in the audience wouldn’t be able to spot the difference between styles, but there were differences. While he’d had the benefit of Russian, Australian, British and American coaches, it still wouldn’t be the same. But this was an opportunity to work with someone he admired, as well as work with a Danish coach. He really wanted to make a good impression. ‘Best not be late.’

  An hour and a half later after all the company had experienced a session with Anton, Ripley was glad to be getting a half-hour break. He changed clothes, knowing he was going to be sweating again.

  This morning had been about Anton seeing what they capable of. This afternoon would about working with him and Cait and Chad and Lacy. Partner work and lifts.

  He checked his phone to see if Pierce had replied. He might be feeling tired now, but by the time he’d performed he’d be buzzing. And tomorrow he’d have someone to buzz with. He grinned. Whatever was thrown at him this afternoon, he’d survive.

  He did barely.

  They’d run through a couple of pieces so Anton could watch, make notes and then spend the afternoon breaking it down. He wasn’t changing it, he wanted better lines. More core, shoulders down. Extend. Breathe the music.

  Things Ripley knew, but had obviously stopped consciously thinking about. It had felt like every move he made needed a correction. That was why he’d loved watching Anton dance—he was brilliant. If Ripley could be half as good … no, he wanted to be as good … no, better.

  Before he could escape and enjoy a few hours of freedom, Anton called him over. Nerves took hold, but Ripley kept them in check.

  Anton smiled. ‘You’re not American, like the others.’

  Ripley let the tension unravel a little. ‘I was born here.’

  ‘And you left?’

  Ripley shrugged and felt it pull in his shoulder. He didn’t mask the wince. He had worked hard and was feeling it.

  ‘What have you injured?’

  ‘It’s just a niggle.’ He wasn’t going to let it stop him.

  ‘Get worked on.’

  ‘Already booked.’ He’d sorted the massage in the break between classes.

  ‘Good.’ Anton looked at him. ‘You have good form. Why do you dance modern?’

  ‘Because I like it, it was where I got my first job and I rolled with it.’ He was the lead. It had worked for him.

  ‘You could do more.’ There was a calculating look in Anton’s eyes.

  ‘Flattery?’

  ‘No.’ Anton gave him a slow once-over. ‘Hard work. You have height, talent. Maybe not enough commitment, eh?’

  Ripley bristled at the insinuation that he didn’t work enough or make enough effort. This man had been here five minutes—and yeah, he knew what he was talking about—but he didn’t know Ripley. It was also a personal w
ound. He wasn’t measuring up to a dancer he’d idolised. He could do better. He’d have to do better. He drew in a breath but didn’t get the chance to speak.

  Anton laughed. ‘There is the spark. I need to see that when you dance. You cannot get by on good looks and charm. That only works for a while. If you have the hunger you could be great … or you can settle in and be good enough. For some people that’s all they want. I’m not sure about you. Are you happy coasting or do you need to be pushed?’

  Ripley forced his jaw to unclench. In there was gold, he knew that. But he couldn’t get his ego out of the way.

  ‘Think about it. But not for too long. I’m only filling in.’ Anton walked out of the studio.

  Ripley stood there watching his back. Coasting on good looks, not good enough? That was like saying he was average. Ordinary. How the hell had Anton seen that in a couple of hours?

  Not enough commitment. That was bullshit.

  Wasn’t it? Did he glide through on a smile too much? Ripley stared at the door.

  He could be great. He wanted to be great. He wasn’t even half as good as Anton. He closed his eyes, knowing that Anton could dance circles around him.

  He needed to be pushed. He could get to the next level; the offer was there if he could prove he was willing to work harder.

  If he wanted to make the switch to classical, it had to be at the end of this tour. But the company he was with specialised in modern ballet. He couldn’t move sideways. He’d have to audition all over again.

  The idea of starting over, of dropping back into the corps de ballet, scared the hell out of him. What if he never got out of the corps?

  Chapter 6

  Driving up to Perth with the intention of meeting Ripley gave Pierce plenty of time to get nervous again. There had been text messages today too. In the end, he’d packed a small bag with his uniform and a toothbrush. He was going to stay over again.

  That wasn’t going to be weird at all …

  The whole boat knew what he was up to as well, and he was copping it from all angles. All he could do was keep his head down and do his work and ignore the comments and the pirouettes that were now being done around him. If they knew his girlfriend was a boyfriend—not that Ripley was his boyfriend—he would never be able to show his face again.