Pas de Deux

by M. J. Duncan

“I’m sorry?” Mallory asked.

  Devereaux clucked her tongue as she shook her head. “Shoulder your instrument? Is that the correct cue?”

  “It works.” Mallory murmured as she lifted her violin, placing the butt of the instrument against the side of her neck and lifting her shoulder to cradle it. “Like this?”

  Devereaux hummed and nodded as she placed her left hand on Mallory’s elbow and her right on her at the base of her neck so that her thumb and ring finger pressed into the muscles on either side.

  “Soften your shoulders,” Devereaux instructed, pressing her fingertips into Mallory’s muscles indicatively. “Relax.” When Mallory did as instructed, she murmured, “Very good. Just like that. Now, chin up a bit.”

  “I need my chin on the rest to hold the violin in place,” Mallory argued. “So if you want my shoulders down, then the chin has to come down more. It’s impossible to play otherwise.”

  Devereaux sighed and combed a hand through her hair. “Can you get one of those lifts then? You head being bowed like this”—she ducked her head in a gross exaggeration of Mallory’s playing posture—“throws off the lines. You need to appear elegant, regal…”

  “You mean a shoulder rest?” Mallory clarified.

  “Yes. That,” Devereaux said, waving her hands imperiously as she stepped back and gave Mallory a thorough once-over, nodding to herself as if confirming her own suggestion. “Can you do that?”

  Mallory blew out a soft breath. While she knew plenty of violinists who used shoulder rests, she never had, and she had no doubt that it would affect her playing until she got used to it. “How imperative is this change visually?”

  “Incredibly.”

  Of course it was. Because why should any single element of this endeavor be comfortable for her. “I can pick one up and try to get used to it, but I’ve never actually used one before, so…”

  “Good. Good,” Devereaux said. “When can you get one? Can you have it before rehearsal tomorrow afternoon?”

  Mallory bit the inside of her cheek and nodded. There was a shop she knew of not far from the Barbican that should have something that would work. “I should be able to find something before tomorrow.”

  “Excellent.” Devereaux clapped her hands twice. “Now, let’s do it again. And try to relax into Addison, this time. She’s your muse, after all. You shouldn’t be afraid of her.”

  “Yes, of course, because I’m apparently Lindsey fucking Sterling, now,” Mallory grumbled under her breath as she and Addison returned to their starting position.

  “I wouldn’t give her any ideas if I were you,” Addison chuckled.

  “Right,” Mallory drawled. She rolled her head counter-clockwise to try to loosen her neck to try to meet Devereaux’s exacting standards, and sighed as she straightened. “Any other words of wisdom?”

  “Yeah.” Addison smiled and bumped Mallory’s arm with her shoulder. “Try and have fun.”

  Mallory grit her teeth to keep from pointing out that there was nothing about the experience so far that she felt came even remotely close to ‘fun.’ It wasn’t Addison’s fault that she was miles out of her depth and struggling to stay afloat. She had already disappointed Devereaux, the last thing she needed was to put herself at odds with her partner in all of this as well. “Right. I’ll see what I can do about that.”

  “No, no, no.” Devereaux waved a frustrated hand in the air. “Stop. Just stop.”

  Mallory cursed under her breath as she let her arms fall to the side, her shoulders slumping under the weight of Devereaux’s latest criticism that was, no doubt, about to be flung at her. After close to three hours of genuinely trying to meet the expectations leveled upon her and—judging by the scowl that seemed permanently etched on Devereaux’s face and the near-constant head shaking from Toby—failing spectacularly, she was ready to run away and never show her face in Covent Garden ever again.

  She grit her teeth as she waited for the blow to land, her jaw tightening even further when Addison relaxed beside her, eyes wide and expectant, as if eagerly awaiting whatever critique was about to be leveled at them.

  “Addison, you need to really extend your allongé on that arabesque, and make sure you hold until Mallory’s bow begins to move toward you,” Devereaux instructed. “Then you turn to face her, left hand moves from her wrist to her forearm, working leg into attitude devant, hold, and let Mallory guide the turn.”

  “Got it.” Addison nodded, not at all bothered by the critique. If anything, she seemed to almost enjoy it.

  Which was at once infuriating and enviable.

  Every time Devereaux stopped them, Mallory was torn between wanting to throw her violin at the woman and demand she do the job herself—which she would never do, if only because her violin would most likely be broken beyond repair, and she would break her own arm before she purposefully destroyed a 1779 Lorenzo Storioni—and crying in frustration—which was an equally unpleasant idea, because she absolutely loathed the idea of letting anyone know they had gotten to her so completely.

  If she had the strength to keep it together in the face of Gwen telling her about Dana, she could damn well do so now. All she had to do was make it through the rest of this positively hellish rehearsal, and then she could go home and just let go.

  She took a deep breath to steel herself as Devereaux’s attention turned to her. Please just let whatever she wants to be fixed be something simple for a goddamn change.

  Devereaux sighed and shook her head. “Mallory, I know we’re pushing you, and that your main responsibility in this section is leading that spin while supporting Addison, but I need you to relax and actually move with her. You’re entirely too stiff.”

  Mallory clenched her jaw and nodded, not trusting herself to speak. It was much safer, and much more professional, to take the criticism in silence than to risk opening her mouth and snapping at Devereaux. She had been doing her best to ‘move with Addison’—and she had been much more demonstrative than she would have had she simply been playing a solo—but there were things she just could not do while playing.

  “Good.” Devereaux took a step back and waved a hand toward the center of the room. “Again, please,” she instructed as she pulled her phone from the pocket sewn into her leggings and frowned at the screen. “From the end of Addison’s entrance,” she continued distractedly as she tapped out a reply to whatever message couldn’t wait until after rehearsal.

  Mallory closed her eyes and nodded. The first time she had been instructed to begin playing in the middle of the piece as if she were a machine that could be cued without effort, or someone blessed to have sheet music in front of her, she had nearly lost it, but she was getting used to the command now. Annoying as it was, there was something strangely comforting in the confidence Devereaux had in her to just know where in the music to begin.

  And the fact that it further cemented her knowledge of the piece wasn’t a bad thing, either.

  “How are you doing?” Addison asked softly as they took their positions.

  “Fine,” Mallory lied.

  Addison smiled and shook her head. “It will get better, I promise. It’s always brutal in the beginning. Maybe try and close your eyes this time around. Just let yourself go and really feel the music, let it guide your movement.”

  Mallory bit her lip as Addison’s words reminded her of another time and another place, when she’d been given a nearly identical suggestion. Her gaze turned unfocused, the rehearsal studio replaced for the briefest of moments by a clear blue sky, a slowly filling amphitheater, and a comforting arm draped over her shoulders. The illusion was shattered, thankfully, by a pair of worried brown eyes and a warm hand on her wrist.

  Addison squeezed her wrist gently as she leaned in to murmur, “I’m sorry. Did I say something wrong?”

  “No. I… Somebody else told me something similar once, and it just…” Mallory’s voice trailed off, and she shook her head. “Old memories. I’m fine.”

  “You’re sure?
”

  “Of course.” Mallory did her best to look like she meant it. Judging by the way Addison’s lips tugged down in a small frown, though, she had failed just as miserably at that task as she had everything else that afternoon.

  “Jasmine Lewis is in my office and is apparently rather adamant that she speak with me immediately,” Devereaux announced with a heavy eye roll. “It’s past six anyway, so let’s just go on and call it a day. We’ll pick up here tomorrow afternoon,” she added as she turned toward the door, sparing the briefest of glances at Toby and Paul, who watched her go with matching grim expressions.

  Grateful for the fact that her bruised and battered ego was spared for the rest of the day, Mallory let herself relax as she watched Toby and Paul hurry after Nina. Once the door had closed behind them, leaving her and Addison alone in the studio, she asked, “Dare I ask who Jasmine Lewis is?”

  “A ridiculously wealthy donor whose granddaughter is in her final year at the Upper School,” Addison explained, motioning vaguely in the direction of Floral Street. “She wants the girl to be promoted to the corps before graduation, but the kid isn’t ready. She’s a decent enough dancer, of course—you don’t get accepted to the Upper School if you’re not—but she’s nowhere near as talented as her grandmother would like to believe. If she makes the jump here, she’d probably never advance beyond the corps. Honestly, she would be better off starting her professional career on a smaller scale somewhere, but…”

  Mallory grimaced. “Sounds like a right headache.”

  “And then some,” Addison agreed with a rueful smile. “Add in the fact that our funding took a serious hit this season and that one cheque from Lewis is enough to keep the entire company in shoes for a year…” Her voice trailed off, and she shrugged. “I wouldn’t trade places with Nina for all the money in the world right now.”

  “No, I don’t imagine I would, either,” Mallory murmured.

  Addison nodded. “Anyway, how are you feeling? Do you want to work through this one more time before calling it a day?”

  “Not particularly,” Mallory admitted with a small shake of her head, “but I probably should, given how problematic Nina seemed to find my performance.”

  “You did fine,” Addison insisted with a kind smile that only grew when Mallory scoffed and arched a disbelieving brow in response. “Seriously. For not being a dancer, you managed today incredibly well. And your playing…” Her voice trailed off as she tilted her head, her right shoulder lifting ever so slightly to follow the movement. “You’re amazing.”

  It was a compliment Mallory had heard many times over her career, but for the first time in years, it made her smile. She looked down at their feet and took a deep breath to try and calm the blush that was beginning to warm her cheeks. Knowing her reaction was ridiculous only seemed to make it worse, and she shook her head as she whispered, “Thank you.” She blinked as she lifted her head, unsurprised to find Addison’s warm, earnest brown eyes smiling at her. “You’re pretty amazing yourself.”

  “Oh, I know,” Addison replied with a laugh and a little wave of her hand. It was clear she was trying to lighten the mood, but the way her smile softened as she held her gaze conveyed just how much she appreciated the sentiment. “So, are we dancing, or are we calling it a day?”

  It was startling how well Addison could read her mood and somehow know just what to say to make everything easier, and Mallory smiled as she dipped her chin in a small nod. “We’re dancing.” And, oh, the way Addison smiled at her then—her so eyes full of joy and her cheeks dimpled with happiness—made her heart flutter up into her throat so that she had to clear it softly before being able to speak. “From the beginning? Or the end of your entrance, as Nina had suggested?”

  Addison shook her head. “We can just start from here,” she said, tapping the padded block at the toe of her shoe on the floor.

  “Okay.” Mallory nodded and lifted her violin. She smiled at Addison in the mirror as she watched her take her position just off her right shoulder, and asked, “Ready?”

  “When you are, maestro,” Addison replied with a wink.

  Mallory took a deep breath as she lifted her bow, and began playing the last couple bars from Addison’s entrance to help get them onto the same page. She let herself soften into Addison’s touch as the ballerina lifted onto her toes, and closed her eyes as she surrendered to the feeling of warm fingers against her skin, letting that and the music guide her instead of her thoughts.

  It was easier this way, she realized as the muscles in her back relaxed ever so slightly, and she leaned with the fingers dragging across her upper back. Her focus was split so completely between the notes she was playing and Addison’s touch that she couldn’t spare a thought about what she was doing with the rest of her body. Instead of worrying about how she looked, she just went with the music and Addison, letting them take the lead, her body simply an instrument that moved and bent to each as her hips shifted and her feet slid across the smooth linoleum so she could keep Addison’s fingers against her skin. The spin still gave her trouble—she hadn’t quite figured out how to generate the power that she needed to turn them both given that she was starting essentially from a standstill—but she knew even before she reached the end of the section and blinked her eyes open that it had been a much better effort.

  And, judging by the way Addison was looking at her—her eyes crinkled with happiness and her smile full of sunshine—she felt the same way. Still, she couldn’t help but ask as she let her arms fall to her sides, “Better?”

  “My god, Mal!” Addison laughed as she threw her arms around Mallory’s neck and pulled her into a happy, bouncing hug. “That was it!”

  Mallory smiled as she wrapped her arms around Addison’s waist, pressing her wrists into the small of her back to keep from poking her with the violin and bow still in her hands as she returned the embrace, and laughed in relief. If Addison was this pleased with what she had just done then maybe, just maybe, she might actually be able to pull this whole thing off. “Thank you.”

  “For what?” Addison asked as she let her arms fall and took a step back to look at her.

  Mallory switched her bow to her left hand and lifted her now empty right hand in a vague wave. “I don’t know. I just…I just felt like I needed to say it.”

  Addison’s smile softened in understanding. “You’re welcome, then. Could you tell the difference in what you were doing? Did it feel better to you?”

  “It did. I could definitely tell that I was moving more, I just…I hope I didn’t look too ridiculous.”

  “No.” Addison shook her head. “You…” She huffed a soft breath as she shook her head again. “You looked perfect,” she whispered.

  There was something in the way Addison was looking at her now that made Mallory’s stomach flip, and she sucked in a sharp breath as she looked away. It felt like a lifetime had passed since the last time a woman had looked at her like she was something special and, while she was sure it could only be because Addison was pleased with how their attempt had gone, it was still nice to feel like she was seen. “Okay. Good.”

  Addison’s voice carried the slightest husk when she agreed, “Yeah.” She cleared her throat softly. “So, you ready to get out of here?”

  Twenty minutes ago, Mallory would have gladly sprinted for the door, but she found herself suddenly reluctant to leave, lest this sliver of magic that was beginning to form disappear. Still, they had no reason to stay any longer because they would be back at it all the following afternoon, so she forced a small smile as she nodded. “Sure.”

  “All right.” Addison took a deep breath and let it go slowly as, with one last lingering look, she turned toward her kit bag.

  Mallory fell into step beside her, the silence between them at once comfortable and palpable with something she dared not try to identify. She knelt to stow her bow and violin as Addison sat down a few feet away to begin unknotting the ribbons crisscrossing her ankles, and once her instrumen
t was secure, she too took a seat to switch out her new ballet slippers for her trainers.

  She looked up from tying her shoes when Addison sighed softly beside her as she tossed her pointe shoes into her bag and wiggled and stretched her toes as wide as the tape around them allowed. Her expression was the familiar one of relief any woman would recognize after a night out in heels, and Mallory couldn’t resist asking, “Does it hurt to dance like that?”

  Addison chuckled and shook her head. “Not at all,” she insisted as she pulled a pair of worn, wooly slippers that looked sinfully soft from her kit bag and slipped them on. “I mean, it helps that I have a ridiculously high pain tolerance but, as long as there’s nothing going on with my feet, it’s really no different than walking regularly for me at this point. It is nice to free the toes, though.”

  “I can imagine.” Mallory pushed herself to her feet and gathered her dance shoes in her left hand as she slung the strap of her violin case over her head and across her chest with her right. Once Addison had zipped her bag shut, she offered her a hand to help her up.

  “Thanks.” Addison smiled as she took her hand. It was almost unfair how graceful she looked as she rose to her feet, and she tilted her head toward the door once she’d picked up her bag. “Shall we?”

  “We shall,” Mallory agreed with a small nod.

  There were only a few dancers in the corridor when they exited the studio and, though they were all incredibly young and in even more incredible shape, she took some solace in the fact that each of them looked more tired than she felt. Of course, hers was more of a mental exhaustion where she had no doubt theirs was physical, but still…

  Small favors were still favors, and at this point in the game, she would take anything she could get.

  She pulled up short at the feeling of Addison’s hand on her elbow and arched a brow as she turned to look at her.

  “Hold on a sec?” Addison waved at the large, crimson rectangle lined with super-sized binder clips and sheets of paper. “I need to check the boards before I head out.”