“Meh, I believe we already met ... duh?” Zoe quipped. Lazily turning away, the last word was punctuated with the outburst of giggles from her cohorts.
“No,” Missy negated, “This is the first time we’ve met. It's only right since we're making a new start, right?” Cocking her head, she lifted an eyebrow.
“R-i-g-h-t!” Zoe drawled, the rationale finally sinking in. Shaking Melissa's hand, she gave what could pass as a genuine smile.
“Very glad to meet you Melissa. I am Zoe Ryan, and these are my two friends, Robert Meleon and Gretchen Stowd.
Rob and Gretchen both joined in the silly game, jovially offering salutations. A lively discussion sputtering forth, conversation was convivial and surprisingly easy during dinner. Not a hint of tension, there was only an occasional beep on Melissa's phony meter. The hiccups forced her to take a reality check. Much preferring for the world to be one big, happy family, she deluded herself into believing that it could work.
“Collette, what on earth happened to your roommate?” Zoe inquired. Changing the subject, Melissa listened while measuring the right amount of ice cream for her bite of pie. The dessert was beyond delicious and put the perfect capper on the great meal.
“Christina? Don't know. The office only said she was a bit delayed.”
“Are you sure you didn't off her?” Gretchen asked, her freckled face wrinkling into a poison-laced expression. “Aw, come on! You can tell us! Was she too much competition? Or just thin?”
Another slam at Collette's weight, it was none too subtle. Sighing heavily, Missy dropped her fork, letting it clank against her plate.
“What? What the hell’s gotten into you,” Zoe demanded, disingenuous as ever. Knowing damned well why she was upset, Missy patted Collette’s hand. Firing a dirty look at Brandi, her roommate slumped down to avoid being damaged by the blast.
“Hey, well, will you look at that! Company! The kind you want staying long after dinner—and overnight,” Rob cooed, lasciviously smiling like a man sneaking a peek up a tutu.
All turning to view a stunning, light-skinned African American, her shoulder length hair was wicked back by a barrette. Her body displaying a perfect proportion, it was the type demanded by the unrelenting art form. Her long limbs accentuated the width of her shoulders, her back narrowing into a waist as firm as a military-made bed. Her dark brown eyes took in her surroundings. It didn’t take long to see where the line started. Sauntering over to it, the rippling muscles of her lithe legs made it seem performance worthy.
“I wonder ...” Zoe mused.
“Wonder what?” Brandi asked, wistfully watching Melissa demolish the rich dessert.
“Whether ...” Zoe started.
“... it's my roommate?” Collette finished, happily starting to fidget. “I'll bet it is, Christina! I think I'll go over and see. If you'll excuse me,” she said, pushing away from the table. Rushing to the young girl, it wasn't long before Collette yelled excitedly, a very animated conversation ensuing.
“I guess it's Christina alright,” Melissa drolly observed, taking her last bite. Meting out just the right amounts, she ended up with a dollop of ice cream to wash down the crumb topping.
“Hmmm, I wonder?” Zoe asked, the non-sequitur hanging in the air like a water balloon.
“Wonder what?” Gretchen asked.
Half-paying attention, Melissa began fiddling with the placement of her dirty dishes. Hating anything slovenly stacked, she didn’t care if they were only going to be washed.
“Whether it was her watching.” The bullet whizzing over Melissa's head, she hadn’t been so distracted as to not notice it had been fired. “So Missy, do you think that she’s the one who’s been watching you?” Zoe taunted. “I mean, she could have been hiding under the eaves of the roof, or in the basement.” Raucous laughter breaking out amongst her minions, Melissa's ebony eyes drilled into the callous girl. “Or maybe, she's paranoid enough to think that she’s being watched, too! Yes, that must be it! Let’s go ask! If she says yes, it’ll mean that you’ll have some company in that loony bin that they're going to send you to!”
Hilarity breaking out, it spilled into the four corners of the enormous hall. Humiliated, the remarks left Melissa to search for a reason as to why she'd put herself into the position of being victimized. It didn't take long to find an answer—it was because of her dear, sweet roommate.
Swiveling her head, she flashed Brandi another hostile grimace. Rising, she marched away.
“Hey, Missy, where you going?” shouted Collette.
She was so angry that she didn't even turn to acknowledge the query. Stacking her tray on the metal stand, she rushed out into the hall. Running to the staircase, the brush fire inside was consuming reason. She rubbed her temples, wondering why she would disregard her own instincts. It was completely futile to override things you already knew, but she was always so willing to give people a second chance. It was what she'd done with her mother, and by endlessly repeating the pattern, she kept being stabbed through the heart over and over again.
Staring down, she rushed headlong into a man. Vaguely familiar, she’d seen him after her sessions in the unused studio. The route forcing her to pass Una’s office, she’d seen him in it, talking to the artistic director and Anna. In his thirties, he was a handsome man. Obviously a dancer or former one, his legs were lean and muscular, but it was his carriage that gave away his pedigree. The first good look she'd gotten of him, she was intrigued by what she saw. An air of mystery to him, he was the type of man that should be wearing a cape. Possessing an awe-inspiring presence, his gorgeous blue eyes were brimming with humor, his, thick, wiry leonine hair framing his square-jawed face the way peanut butter goes with jelly.
Slamming on his brakes, the man easily avoided disaster by stopping on a dime. Glancing at her, he smiled, moving nimbly on his way. Raising the collar of his navy blue pea coat to fend off the frigid air, he exited into the night.
The breeze hit her full force. Wrapping her arms over her chest, she scampered to her room. Rapidly changing into her racer-back leotard, she hadn’t worn it to class since the day she'd been insulted. Not wanting to chance being slammed for something as silly as the cut of her dance apparel, she was making good use of it during her nightly dance rituals. Taking her dance bag, she didn’t bother slowing her pace for her errant roommate’s unexpected appearance.
“Missy! Missy, I'm sorry! I didn't know! Really!” she bellowed like the foolish child she was.
“I can't abide idiots that can't keep their mouths shut!” she screamed as she ran down the hall—away from the source of her irritation. Keeping up the furious pace, she hurried outside. The huge sweatshirt covering her didn’t help at all. Allowing all the air to rush in the loose neck and arm openings, she felt she would freeze like a Popsicle. Making it to the annex that housed her favorite haunt these days, she rushed through the door.
Looking both ways before she took off for the stairs, her rubber-soled ankle boots allowed her to move noiselessly past Una's office, and up the final two flights of stairs. Arriving undetected, she entered the studio. Discarding her bag, she cranked up the thermostat on the wall, feeling the warmth seeping out of the vents almost immediately.
Putting her earphones in, she began working at the barre. The pliés felt wonderful as did the cambrés. Throwing herself into the movements, she had a lot of anger to work off. Not able to get Zoe's insidious face out of her mind, she felt like such a jerk. Then there was her pseudo-friend Brandi. With friends like her, you didn't need enemies.
Working in her ballet slippers, the touch of her hand on the barre was the same as taking a man's hand at the altar. What Phoebe had taught her, it was one of the rules she followed. The preparation paying off, by the time she finished the impromptu barre, she felt sweaty and aligned. Dispensing with her sweatshirt, she was ready to tackle the center.
Turning down the heat, she strapped on her shoes. Doing a few relevés to warm her feet and ankles, she made sure s
he felt her legs extending all the way into her pelvis. Engaging her pelvic floor, it was crucial to ballet—most especially in pointe work.
Performing more warm-ups, she was ready. Switching the music, she tried some tendus into passes. Turning the passes into pirouettes, she comfortably completed triples on each side. Far from satisfied, she was a perfectionist, and only perfection would do.
Stopping for water, she glanced at the clock. Even though 9:30, her energy level was peaking. Feeling feisty and needing to let loose, she remembered she had Kitri's music loaded. Finding it, the music launched with a touch of a button.
Counting the introduction, she ran on tiptoe to the center. Pretending it was a stage, she posed, waiting for the cue. Studying her reflection, she exuded confidence. It was just the right note in which to approach the classic character. Hitting the music, she piqued on her right leg into an arabesque. A glissade into a saute de chat following, she executed a developpé à la seconde and two fast passes. Repeating it twice more, she matched the music’s vibrancy with stylized head and arm movements. An eerie paranoia descending, it began to freak her out. Suddenly wanting to stop, she was certain that she was being watched.
The hair on the back of her neck stood straight on end. Completing the échappé, she hopped in attitude. A final series of chaines climaxing into a delicious arabesque, she held the position, checking her form. Her legs straight, her back was lifted.
Quickly coming down to a flat foot, she rubbed at beads collecting on her forehead. The unnerving premonition hadn’t disappeared Her eyes drifted around the dimly lit room. Assuring her that she was alone, she wasn't buying it. Keeping on her guard, she saw something move in her peripheral vision. Right there in the small rectangular window built into the top of the door, was a pair of brilliant blue eyes. Belonging to the mystery man she'd almost run into leaving the cafeteria, he acknowledged her with a slight nod of his head, giving her a friendly wave before moving away.
The gesture wasn’t threatening, but that’s how it felt. She’d never intended on being discovered. Hoping that he wouldn’t tell Una, she couldn’t imagine how she’d react. Quite sure that Una had done the same, if someone were considered proficient, it meant extra time had been put into practice.
Retrieving her sweatshirt, she slid it over her head. Shutting off the lights, she sat hidden in the darkness, rehydrating herself with water. Her mind scrambling to understand, she wondered if this man was the one responsible for the feeling of her being watched. It was impossible. He’d only recently started visiting the academy. Besides, if he’d wanted to remain anonymous, he certainly could have. The opportunity had been there for him to duck away. No, something else haunted Velofsky’s.
Haunted? Had she really used that word to describe what was occurring? The tingling pulsing in her fingers drifted up her spine, letting her know that the word choice was apt. She did indeed feel as if some sort of ghost were roaming about. Spying on the young talent, she felt she was a prime object of this spectre's interest.
The music kept her company as did the dark. Through the large, framed windows, she watched the moon through the treetops of the surrounding forest. The branches created rivulets of drama through the luminous orb, the stillness of the room was enhanced by the beauty of Chopin. Time danced by her like a chiffon scarf in autumn's breeze. Drifting off, she awoke two hours later.
Hurriedly taking off her pointe shoes, she slipped on her boots. Gripping her bag, she turned down the thermostat, running into the blackened hallway. The light from the stairwell allowing her sight, she skipped down the steps, hearing the tapping of Viktor's cane. Coming up the stairs, she hunkered down, flattening against the side of the wall. Craning her neck around the corner, he was headed for Una's office. Angrily knocking on the door with the end of his walking stick, he didn’t wait for an answer. Barging in, the force caused the door to crash into the wall. The sound reverberating throughout the empty corridor, the door was left open, the angry voices easily discernible. Wanting to see what was happening, she crept to the door, being careful to stay in the shadows. The placid Una seated behind her desk was confronted by Viktor's hulking frame. She felt sorry for the woman dwarfed by the bane of Melissa's existence.
“This is foolhardy!” he roared.
“Does this mean you've heard?” she replied, a smirk playing on her rosebud mouth.
“Of course, I've heard! Did you think this kind of lunacy would remain secret forever!”
She leaned back, chuckling, her fingertips touching in a thoughtful pose.
“Certainly not. I just never expected for it to reach your ears this quickly. I only just decided this evening to ...”
“To destroy this school, and the lives of your students?” he screamed. The torrent of emotion was palpable and caused Melissa to wince in fear. “This academy, it’s what you've been ... no, what we've been working for!” he continued, his voice softening. His eyes pleaded with her for answers. His spirit crushed, Missy no longer thought his tirade was just misguided hubris since he seemed genuinely upset.
“Aren't you being unreasonable in your assessment?” she responded, not wavering in her cool demeanor. “It's only a change in program. Viktor, surely you've encountered changes in programs before.”
“Una, you know that is not the point!”
“One ballet or another, we have to open with something, do we not?”
“But this one, Una? You know it spells disaster for everything we've done!”
“We?” she asked, tilting her head. “You keep using that word.”
“Yes, we! You asked me for help in starting this school … and this company! I put my own career on the line and my own interests to rest, for you! But then you knew I would, didn't you, Una?” he asked. His hand trembling, his body wobbled as if it would collapse. Suddenly feeling sympathy for the old junk yard dog, he did seem to be in considerable pain, but why? Just because he didn't agree with Una's choice of a dance program? It made no sense.
It was Una's turn to shudder. She closed her arms around her, shutting him out.
“I am not a young man, Una, as you can see, but I would still do anything for you. Nothing has changed—not for me.”
Sniffing, she turned her head away from him, studying her nails, “Everything's changed. I am not that young girl anymore either,” she acknowledged wistfully.
Taking an unsteady step forward, he looked at with adoration. “I won't have you talking like that. You are more beautiful than ever. In fact, you are the most beautiful dancer to ever step foot on stage,” he assured, his fervent devotion inherent in his solemn tone.
Laughing, she smoothed her long skirt. Standing, it fell to below her knees, covering her world famous legs. Straightening to her full height, she met his eye.
“But this is not why you're here. You're here about Alexei and what he has proposed. The decision about our debut is made. He will stage his ballet and you will not stage yours. This is such a wonderful opportunity, and the publicity will be generated for us! There is an aura, a mystery! And he knows the original choreography. His great-grandfather ...”
“This is madness! Idiocy! Reckless witchcraft! You know what happened to that company! And to Monarch Ballet! And to your mother!”
“Viktor! That was an accident!”
“Was it? Or part of the curse?”
“That is ridiculous!” Una replied, her voice becoming more strident. “My grandmother is still here and living quite nicely, or have you forgotten?”
“I have forgotten nothing!” he swore. Rushing forward, he balanced tentatively on the hooked handle of his cane. “Not one moment, not one second. The only thing I don't know is why. Why did you end it, Una? Why? Did I do something so wrong to you? I loved you so much! I still do! I have never stopped, never! But you've never given me an answer! Do you hate me that much?”
The huge man reduced to rubble, he resembled a skyscraper that had tipped over. Broken into a million pieces, his shambles lay in front of
her to step on or sweep away. Her jaw clenching, Viktor reached out, wanting to be comforted by a touch of her hand. Steadfastly refusing, she kept it firmly at her side.
“Hate you? No, I don't hate you, Viktor.”
“Then what? What is it, Una? Did I do something so terrible that you can't even tell me? Please, I want to know!”
“It's over, Viktor. You are living in the past. Right now, we have to look to who will dance the lead.”
“You mean, it won't be that talentless girl you've stuck me with?”
“Brandi? No, it will not be Brandi. She is incapable of dancing that role. Not even if we water down the choreography. And I don’t know why you’re complaining. You got to cast the rest.”
“Because she’s wrong for the role! Please, tell me why she was given that part since she was your choice; not mine!”
“Money. Her parents are quite wealthy. Her father promised a huge contribution if she got a role and was included in our company.”
“Una! You're not thinking of adding her to our company's ranks? She will dismantle our credibility before we even begin!”
“We, again? Viktor, this is my company! Mine!” she emphatically stated, pounding her chest‘ “You have helped me enormously, and are responsible for us being here. It’s a beautiful building and I’m very appreciative of that, but I make the decisions on what is best for me. And right now, I need that money. So, yes, she will be a member of the company. That ensures the contributions will continue for many years. Her father has already set up a trust that …”
“Una!”
“Oh, don't give me that look! You know some decisions are monetary! It's part and parcel of running such a company!”
“Never money over artistic integrity! Never!”
“Then who should I choose for the lead?”
“I don't want that production to exist! We decided on Swan Lake! I can stage it! We agreed!”
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