by JJ Knight
The tutu slides up and almost hits him on the nose. “Dangerous business, carrying dancers,” he says.
“It’s easier on your shoulder. That’s why they do it that way in the show.”
He shifts me on his arm, then his hand on my butt lifts me to his shoulder.
“Huh,” he says. “It is easier.” The tutu goes off to one side now.
We head to the curtains. If I hurry, I can be changed and gone before the others arrive. I still don’t know if Carla saw me witness the moment with her daughter.
Even thinking the word makes my stomach drop. I don’t know how to look at her. I’m sure she has a story. We all have stories. But it’s so hard.
But now I get why she was so subdued at dinner last night. She must have known she’d see the little girl, who obviously lives with her father.
Who doesn’t allow her to dance. What did he say? Dance was what destroyed them?
Blitz sets me down carefully and I quickly strip off the bodice and tutu. The tights are ruined, so I peel them off and tug them over the bandage. The nurse had already cut the foot of them away.
Blitz watches every movement. “Do you always get this naked in community dressing rooms?” I only wear a thong now.
“Only if everyone is watching me,” I say, turning to dig in my bag for a pair of silky workout pants and a T-shirt.
Blitz lets out a groan. “You’re killing me.”
“I’m just kidding,” I tell him. “But you do learn not to be too shy. There’s other curtained areas, and bathrooms with stalls. You can find places to go.”
I don’t tell him how we all have to try on our costumes in a big fitting area and you never know when a seamstress is just going to remove your top unexpectedly to change something.
The noise level increases. The show has ended. I jerk my T-shirt over my head and sit down to pull on the pants. By the time dancers start filling the room beyond the curtain, I have zipped up the bag.
“Shall I carry you again?” Blitz asks.
“I don’t want to be obvious,” I say. “But I will let you take these out to the costume manager. Large woman with a beehive.”
He nods and takes the tutu and bodice.
I stand up and test my foot. It doesn’t really hurt, but the bandage makes it impossible to fit my shoe on. I rummage through my bag and pull out a pair of plain ballet slippers, the sort you warm up in. I think they might fit.
They do, and I instantly feel better.
Blitz ducks back inside just as the makeup artist also appears.
“Do you need me to get you ready for the after-party?” she asks.
“No,” I say. “I’m not going.”
“Why did you not do the final scene? Her makeup was completely different from yours since I didn’t do it.”
I point to my foot. “I got a small injury. I’ll be out a few days.”
“Oh!” she glances down. “So you won’t need me tomorrow?”
“I don’t think so. I’ll let you know how it all goes down.”
She nods.
I put my arm around Blitz’s. “I guess carrying me is the easiest thing,” I say to him.
“I’ll make it look like I’m rescuing you from your drudgery, like in that movie An Officer and a Gentleman.”
“I haven’t seen it,” I say.
“I only saw the Simpsons version of the scene,” he says with a laugh. “But I get the gist.”
Only a few of the dancers turn to look as Blitz sweeps me up and carries me across the dressing room. We head out the back hall door, not the bar side, but the one where Carla was. There’s a small parking lot for theater staff only.
Ted is already there with the limo. He’s not driving, but sitting in the back. He scoots over as Blitz deposits me on the end of the seat. I push around to make room for Blitz.
“Some other girl was you at the end!” Ted says. “What happened?”
“Injured,” I say. My face flushes as I realize how many people will ask. And I can’t tell them the whole story.
“How long will you be out?” Ted’s face is full of concern.
“Just a few days.”
“Well, that’s good.”
The driver closes the door. Soon we’re pulling away from the building and crossing through the throng pouring out the exits.
I lay my head against Blitz’s. Only now that we’re away from everyone do I start to feel everything. The sting of the cut. The tightness of the wrap. The downward pull of the thoughts of Gabriella. The grief that I will not be performing tomorrow.
I should have known I would screw this up too.
Chapter 27
Despite how much it bled, the cut really isn’t much. Blitz and I lounge around his hotel room, me walking every now and then to test it. I don’t really feel anything.
But I’m not sure of my status with the troupe. No one has called to tell me what will happen. I’m not even sure who makes that decision. Surely not Ivana. If it is, then I’m out.
“Man, ballet really is a different world from TV,” Blitz says. He’s perched on the sofa, intent on his phone.
“How so?” I ask, feeling my anxiety soften just looking at him in a pale blue T-shirt and jeans, no shoes. I think I will ask him to finish the tour with me, if he can. If I’m still on it. I want him close.
“Well, when a girl in season one fell on my show, there were six zillion Tweets about it, news shows picked it up, and the studio got flooded with flowers and messages,” he says.
“You think I should be on every network news?” I ask. He’s funny about things like this, as if it really matters.
“No, I just find it interesting.”
“Why are you searching so hard?” I scoot closer to him and lay my head on his shoulder. It’s after noon, but I haven’t bothered to get dressed, wrapped up in a hotel robe after a bath where I kept my foot out of the water.
“Just looking for bargaining chips,” he says. “I’m not going to let that chick kick you off the show. The DVD is worthless without you. Have you seen the sales on these other ballets? Peanuts.”
“I think ballet is probably best live onstage,” I say.
“Nonsense,” he says. “It’s elitist. Not everyone can afford a ticket. And tons of people live in places where there isn’t a ballet for two hundred miles.”
“So what are you going to do about it?” I ask.
“Start a shit storm,” he says. “Make sure they remember you’re important.” He taps angrily at the phone.
I cover the screen with my hand and push the phone to his lap. “Don’t Tweet me,” I say. “It’s fine. We’ll talk to Dmitri and figure this out.”
He wraps his arm around my shoulders and draws me in even closer. “I guess you do have to live with these people.”
Even Carla, I think. So weird how many times we’d talked in our rooms or on airplanes or waiting for our scenes in the rehearsal space, and she never mentioned she was a mother.
Of course, I didn’t either.
I wonder if she looked me up after we met and saw the gossip about my secret baby. It had mostly died down by the time we left for rehearsals, but it’s definitely something that pops up when you Google Livia Mays.
Blitz and I didn’t really talk about what happened last night. I was tired and strung out. He always respects my need to think during this time and doesn’t push.
But now he finally asks, “So where was the glass that cut you?”
I close my eyes. “Outside in the alley.”
“You went outside?”
“I needed some air.” I shift against him, my fingers plucking anxiously at the soft belt of the robe. “It gets really crowded backstage.”
“This was before the show?” he asks.
“Yes. I realized I was hurt but tried to dance through it. It just bled more than I thought.”
“You going to try and practice tomorrow?”
“I’ll do some stretches and light work. Probably not pointe. I’
ll see the regular trainer and let him tell me what to do. Unless I’m really fired.”
He just accepts my explanation. I could tell him about Carla, but it’s really not my secret to reveal. And the why doesn’t matter.
My phone rings from the bedroom.
Blitz jumps up. “I’ll get it. You stay still.”
When he comes back, he says, “Looks like Dmitri.”
I lay my head back. “Can I ignore all this?”
Blitz smiles and taps my screen. “This is Livia’s management agent,” he says.
Then laughs, “Yeah, it’s just me.”
Then “Let me ask her.”
He presses mute. “You want to talk to him? He’s checking on how you are.”
I shake my head no.
Blitz returns to the call. “She’s resting from her injury.” When I sit up, he quickly adds, “Her very minor, not very bothersome injury. Really, she was up all night reviewing her moves on this very important role she has.”
God, Blitz! I reach for the phone.
“Actually, here she is.” He makes a “sorry” face while he passes the phone.
“Hello?” I say.
“Livia!” Dmitri says. “How is our Carabosse?”
“I’m fine,” I say. “The nurse says I can dance in a couple of days.”
“Good to hear,” he says. “I guess you know Ivana is very concerned about your ability to dance.”
I slide back onto the cushions to stare at the ceiling. “I got that feeling last night.”
“We want you back on the tour before New York, so we’re hoping everything looks good by next weekend to close out the shows here.”
“Blitz is concerned about having a different Carabosse on the recordings for the DVD,” I tell him.
“We all are,” he says. “But Dominika does have a clause about her principal dancers. We’re hoping you will impress her upon your return so that everyone’s concerns are laid to rest.”
“I intend to,” I say.
“Very good. You rest today. We’ll see you soon.”
I shut off the call and drop the phone on the carpet. “Great,” I say.
“What’s going on?” Blitz sits on the floor by the sofa.
“I have to be approved to come back on the show. By Dominika.”
“I knew we should have eliminated that clause. You think Ivana will try to pressure her to kick you off?”
I shrug and cover my eyes with my arm. “Probably.”
“I thought you and Dominika were getting to be chums,” he says. “Sharing a makeup girl and all.”
“I don’t know,” I say. “I don’t know anything.”
He strokes my hair. “It will be fine, Livia. One way or another, we’ll get past this.”
My eyes smart. This has been the worst summer. Just the worst. All the grief and frustration swirls together. I can’t seem to separate them anymore. My family. Gabriella. The harshness of dancing with a troupe.
I roll into the back of the sofa to block out everything, even the beautiful room, even Blitz.
But Blitz knows me. He gets it. His body takes up the space I’ve left on the cushions to curl up behind me. I’m cocooned, safe, protected.
I can’t let this overwhelm me. I just have to keep going.
Chapter 28
Despite the nurse’s encouragement to stay off my feet for two to three days, I go into rehearsals on Monday in my dance clothes.
Blitz comes with me, along with Ted. My “manager” and my “bodyguard” create a little entourage to back me up throughout the day.
The trainer checks me out first, announces, “It’s just a flesh wound!” and says to dance without pointe or demi-pointe for an hour and come back.
So we head to a small warm-up room, avoiding the stage where my understudy is rehearsing with the cast, and I run through some of the scenes by myself or with Blitz when I can, keeping it easy.
Carla, Fiona, and Andrew are naturally tied up with the main group, but as soon as they break, all three of them rush into my room.
“What happened?” Fiona asks, dropping to her knees to examine my dance slipper.
“A piece of glass cut me,” I say. “It’s nothing.”
Andrew gives me a big hug. I notice Carla hanging back by the door, as if she only came because she couldn’t come up with a reason to tell the others why she shouldn’t. Her hesitation tells me she did spot me walking down the hall while she hugged her daughter. When she sees me looking, she gives a little wave.
“I’m about to go back to the trainer,” I say. “He wants to check it periodically as I start slowly dancing again.”
Fiona touches the bandage wrapped around my instep, its whiteness stark next to the pink of my slipper. “I do hope you get to come back,” she says.
I don’t want to badmouth Ivana or mention the ultimatum.
“I will,” I say.
“We have to get to props,” Carla says. “We’re getting new spring wreaths for New York. For the DVD.” She glances over at Blitz. “Something splashier.”
“Have fun with that,” I say.
Fiona hops up and leans in for another hug. “I’ll text you tonight!” she says.
“Looks like some good friends,” Ted says when they leave. “The blond one is cute.”
“Down, boy,” Blitz says. “Don’t be macking on Livia’s dance friends.”
I slide into an easy stretch, hiding my smile. I could see Fiona with Ted. Her wine-buyer at the restaurant the other night hadn’t worked out. He tried to kiss her and she said it was like getting licked by a dog, and not in a good way. She escaped.
“We missed our limo party,” I say. “Ted could have come along.”
“I’m always down for a limo party,” he says.
“We’ll do it next weekend after your triumphant return,” Blitz says. He walks over and presses on my back to deepen my stretch. “Foot feeling okay?”
“Just fine.” I lift it and rotate my ankle. “Maybe a little twinge.”
“Let’s go see the trainer again,” Blitz says. “It’s been an hour.”
We head down the hall and the trainer says the foot is holding up well, but still no pointe for today. We drift off to head to lunch. It feels strange to have no schedule, no dances, no direct pressure to do anything.
I’m torn between going back to prove that I’m determined to return to the stage and blowing off the rest of the day to spend it with Blitz and Ted. When we leave the cafe, I’m still not sure what to do.
“Should I dance more?” I ask Blitz.
He knows what’s going through my mind. “If you’re injured more, you’re out, but if you give Ivana more fuel by skipping, you could be out.” His face is thoughtful. “So really the only option is to dance and not get hurt.”
Ted sniffs. “If it were me, I’d storm into the rehearsals and give my replacement the stink eye. Make everybody remember I’m here, and I’m pissed.”
Blitz laughs and slaps Ted on the back. “I knew there was a reason I kept you around. Should we go with her, O wise adviser?”
“Damn straight,” Ted says. “We’ll stand on either side of the stage like evil gargoyles ready to curse the whole lot of them.”
“Awesome,” Blitz says. “I’m in.”
So we head back to the theater. We’ve gone ahead of the cast, so when we arrive, the only people there are Dominika, the Prince, and the pianist.
Dominika looks surprised to see me, but she’s polite as always. “How is your foot?” she asks.
“Doing great,” I say. “The trainer had me dance this morning and it stayed nice and closed. Should be fine by tomorrow.”
I don’t know that this is true, but I like the uncomfortable look it gives her.
The Prince gives a bit of a sneer. “Ophelia is doing great in your place,” he says.
“She’s a great dancer,” I say. “I’m glad she got to perform the role yesterday. She deserved it.”
We’re in a standoff.
I can tell by Blitz’s expression that he’s pleased with how I’m handling it.
Despite what the trainer said, I can’t help but take it a step further. “Dominika, can we run through that one part of the spindle scene? I feel like I still have a little ways to go to match my form to yours.”
Now Blitz isn’t as pleased looking. I’m not supposed to do pointe today. But I slide my bag around me and pull out my toe shoes. Sometimes things are worth the risk. If I want to keep this role, I have to prove myself.
“Is she pulling a Black Swan?” Ted asks.
Blitz laughs. “It’s only a flesh wound,” he says.
My gaze shoots daggers at him even though Dominika’s quizzical look tells me she doesn’t understand what he’s saying. It doesn’t translate for her.
Ted steps back to stand beside the base of the stage, his arms crossed and his expression stern. Gargoyle pose. Blitz follows his lead and stands on the other side.
I’m not admitting this to them, but I know that by the time I put on shoes and warm up, I’ll be dancing ten minutes tops before people start coming in. It’s a calculated risk, one designed to impress.
I slide the pointe shoes on as if it’s no big deal that I bled on this stage just two nights ago. Inside, I’m anxious. What if the cut breaks open? If I bleed again, that will be it.
I have to trust the trainer, the nurse, my instincts. It will be okay.
Dominika and the Prince continue their practice while I do a quick warm-up. It won’t help me prove myself with my injury if I strain a tendon in the process.
I take a deep breath and do my first relevé, hoping my foot holds up. It feels fine, so I come out and do a few more. Okay, it’s working.
I decide to minimize any more relevés to avoid too much pointe work before doing the hard movements with Dominika.
When the dance with the Prince ends, they look over at me. I nod to the pianist. He shifts his papers around and starts the opening notes to the spindle scene.
We’ve done this so many times that I know each note, each phrase, by heart, no matter if it’s a piano or a recording or a full orchestra.
I scurry away from her so I can make the entrance at the back of the stage, approaching with caution and stealth, but enough creepy evil that the audience recognizes me. I’m well practiced at this, and the acting coach Franco says I do the part well.