Bad Reputation

by Stefanie London

  “She’s telling the world that we’re sleeping together.” Remi forced herself to speak slowly and at a moderate volume when really she wanted to scream and curse. How could Annie not see what a huge problem this was?

  “She didn’t actually say that, and she hasn’t named you.” Annie tucked her hair behind her ear. “I’m sorry. My hands are tied.”

  “No, they’re not. It’s your bloody site.”

  Annie’s eyes darted around. Thankfully, the café was between rushes of customers and the people behind the counter were busy chatting. “Yes, but I have these rules for a reason. I can’t go deleting reviews when they’re not doing anything wrong. It would undermine the reviews system.”

  “I’m your friend, Annie. I’m a real person who is being affected by this. My career is on the line.” She sucked in a breath, heat flooding her cheeks. “I found out your secret. I haven’t told a soul because I value our friendship.”

  “And I’m grateful for that,” Annie said, a deep crease forming between her brows. “I really am, Remi. But if this review suddenly disappears without warning, then why would people use my site? Worse still, it might indicate that we’re connected and I already had to fight off one guy who got too close. I can’t have any trail lead back to me.”

  “So you’re not going to help me?”

  “Don’t make me choose, Remi. Please.”

  She stood, grabbing her bag and slinging it over one shoulder. “You already have.”

  Remi felt like she was sitting inside one of those spinning rides in a children’s playground, watching everything around her turn and turn until it was nothing but a murky blur.

  How had she screwed everything up so badly?

  Chapter 21

  “New York dating has taught me one important lesson: know when to walk away. That point should come before your life is a steaming pile of rubble.”

  —LostInManhattan

  Wes stood in the private landing of the Park Avenue building where his parents lived. It was one of those gaudy places with gold-trimmed this and wood-paneled that. Where chandeliers came in groups of two or three. It had the whole “more is more” aesthetic that he hated about a lot of the buildings in this section of New York.

  But anything—even having his retinas permanently damaged by all this flash and finery—was better than sitting in the theater, watching Out of Bounds take its last wheezing breath. After he’d seen Remi yesterday, he’d stormed into the theater ready to have it out with Lilah.

  It hadn’t taken long to get it out of her that she’d told a few people about him and Remi and predicted the lead ballerina’s soon-to-be-announced dismissal. She’d cried angrily when he’d fired her, accusing him of holding her back. Threatening to tell the world what an asshole he was. Fine by him. He’d get his lawyers involved if she decided to slander him. It’s what he should have done in the first place, instead of being so worried about trying to keep her quiet.

  But Wes didn’t have it in him to placate her. Besides, what was the point? Without Remi or Lilah, they wouldn’t be able to launch in two weeks. None of the other corps dancers were right for the part and learning the whole show in two weeks would be tight even for the strongest members. And the theater was booked right after their initial run for another production, so to create more rehearsal time would mean cutting into how long the show could run.

  He might be able to pull off opening night if he found someone immediately. But the fact was…he didn’t want anyone else.

  And if Lilah decided to go out with a false story about his casting-couch mentality, he’d have to deal with it then. Sadie would back him; the people he’d worked with at the Evans Ballet School would back him. It was a risk he needed to take. Because when Out of Bounds played in his head, he only saw Remi. And, as much as he wanted to deny it, a large portion of what was in his head revolved around her. Period. She’d become entrenched in his life. He was enamored with her. And now he was on the verge of losing it all. The very least he could do was to show her that the lead role was hers. Unconditionally.

  Which was pretty much the only thing that could have brought him here voluntarily.

  The door to the gallery opened and his mother stood there, a strand of pearls at her neck and her makeup and hair done as though she was about to head to a formal event.

  “Wes.” She smiled. “Can I get Marie to fix you a drink?”

  “I’m fine. Thanks.”

  His eyes swept over the room. Not a picture frame was out of place, not a speck of dust marred any of the furniture. It was like a museum. A memory flashed, him chasing Chantel around the room and knocking a vase over. His mother had flipped. Years later, he’d learned how much the vase had cost. Why would anyone spend so much on something so pointless? It wasn’t like they even kept flowers in it.

  “I, uh…” He dropped down onto the floral couch, running his hands over the familiar embroidered fabric. “I wanted to talk.”

  Adele raised a brow. “About?”

  Where the hell was he supposed to start? It felt like everything had turned to shit so quickly, but, in reality, things had been amiss from the beginning.

  “I want to clear the air,” he said. “And I want your advice.”

  The quiet clink of cutlery sounded in the next room, where Marie was no doubt setting up for lunch. Adele looked him over, her blue eyes shrewd and knowing. It was one thing that always frustrated him about his mother—as much as he quietly admired it: without fail, she could figure people out. Even him, who was so good controlling what people saw.

  “What happened?” she asked. “Something’s gone wrong with the show, hasn’t it?”

  He waited for her to look pleased. Or smug. Or, at the very least, to have some kind of I-told-you-so air about her. But she didn’t.

  “The show is fine. It’s all the people in the show that’s the problem.”

  “People usually are the reason for problems.” Adele smiled. “Especially in smaller productions, where one person makes up a larger percentage of the total.”

  She had a point. At a big company, there were plenty of people to choose from. But he could only pay so many dancers, and, as it was, they were accepting the minimum for a chance to be part of the production. Losing one dancer would halt things. A corps member wasn’t so bad, because they always had alternates. But losing the lead and the only other person who knew her choreography was a catastrophe.

  “I did warn you this could happen,” she added.

  Wes gritted his teeth, biting back the defensive reply. Unleashing his frustrations on his mother wasn’t going to do anything expect make the wedge between them even bigger. And despite knowing that his family was far from perfect, he didn’t want the damage to be permanent.

  “Opening night is in two weeks,” he said. “And I’ve messed it up.”

  He told her everything, from start to finish—though details of his time with Remi were kept to a minimum. Adele listened without expression, giving him no indication of what she thought. Maybe he was proving her right?

  She leaned back in her chair, her neat nails drumming against the arm of the wingback where she sat across from him. “I guess if you’re going to mess something up you may as well do it properly.”

  “Great advice,” he said, rolling his eyes.

  “Do you have any idea why I didn’t want you to go down this path?” she asked.

  Here we go. Let’s relive all the ways she thinks I’m failing at life.

  “I was cast in a show like that once. It was this strange independent ballet with a director who was one of those mad-genius types. Great ideas but usually too high out of his mind to properly execute them.”

  Wes blinked. He had no idea that his mother had ever performed in anything outside her illustrious career with the New York City Ballet.

  “I left the company after I’d been a s
oloist for two years, certain that they were going to keep putting other girls ahead of me. I was disillusioned. So I left, got cast in this show, and within three weeks, I realized it was the biggest mistake of my entire life.” Her lips twisted into a sheepish smile. “The only reason we are here now is because the ballet master had a soft spot for me. Not enough to promote me early, mind you. But he said if I came back and did my time, they would pretend like it never happened.”

  Wow. There were not many people who would be afforded that kind of second chance.

  “So I went back, I kept my mouth shut, and I worked the hardest I have ever worked in my whole life.” She toyed with the pearls at her neck. “But I know that if I hadn’t gotten out of that show when I did, my career would not have recovered.”

  “And that’s what you thought would happen to me?” Wes asked, frowning. “Although for the record, I’m not some high-as-a-kite director. I believe in this show.”

  “I know, but you’re trying to fund it yourself knowing that such a small percentage of these shows actually succeed. You’re happy to send yourself broke on one opportunity.” His mother shook her head. “Of course, you must know your father and I would bail you out.”

  “I don’t know that. I certainly don’t assume that you’ll foot the bill for my mistakes.”

  Something glimmered in Adele’s eyes. Was it respect? She made it so difficult to tell. “Well, for the record, I would.”

  “Even if you think I’m throwing away everything you built for me?”

  “I could have worded that differently,” she admitted. “I was angry that you decided to leave without giving us a say.”

  “It’s my life. My career. You don’t have a say.” He would not budge on that. Of course, he wanted his parents to be proud. Who didn’t want that?

  “You could have warned me, Wes. How does it look when you suddenly walk out without explanation?”

  “I handed my work over. I wouldn’t leave the company struggling.” But he’d been so caught up by this idea, so wrapped up in his lightbulb moment about what was wrong with his life that he hadn’t given much thought to talking things through with his parents. Perhaps it was because he knew they would try to convince him to stay, and he didn’t want to risk that. “And why should I care what people say? God, I’m so sick of people talking. Wouldn’t the world be a hell of a lot better if people would shut the fuck up for once?”

  The clinking in the next room came to an abrupt halt and he cursed under his breath. Everything was getting to him right now, and it wouldn’t stop until he’d righted things with Remi.

  Don’t you mean until you’ve righted things with the show?

  “You should want people to talk, Wes,” his mother said. “Talk helps our work. But we want them saying the right things. Not speculating over our dysfunctional family.”

  He’d never heard his mother call them that before. “You think we’re dysfunctional?”

  She lifted her shoulders in a shrug. “I’ve got a daughter who couldn’t run fast enough away from her pointe shoes and a son who walked out of the family business without a word. I think my grandchildren are frightened of me too.”

  He looked at his mother then. Really looked at her. She still had the grace of someone who danced often, even though her feet gave her pain and she could only wear flat shoes these days. Like him, Adele was a master of presentation. To others she was charming and poised, elegant. Intelligent. To their family…well, she hadn’t been the kind of mother who’d embraced that role. She’d never planned on having children, and being surprised with twins must have been tough. It was almost like she’d never quite figured out how to mesh being a mother with her dreams.

  “You think Frankie is frightened of you?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. She asked me the other day why I don’t look like the grandmothers in her picture book. She called me a pretty dragon.”

  Wes snorted. “Oh, Frankie.”

  “She’s going to give her mother nightmares one day.” Adele smiled ruefully. “Kind of reminds me of how I was as a young girl. My father cursed me all the time.”

  “I would have thought you were the perfect child from how you used to tell Chantel and I that we were always running amok.”

  “You were.” She folded her hands neatly in her lap. “I wondered sometimes if you wished I were like the mothers in books too.”

  At times, he had. But Adele wasn’t one to cuddle or coddle her children; she never patted them on the head for a job well done. She was hard in a lot of ways. Demanding, strict, and had expectations that felt as high as the moon. She was with her children exactly how she was with her students.

  “I love you, you know,” she said. “I don’t always agree with what you’re doing and I know I don’t say it often. Or enough, perhaps. But I do.”

  “I love you too.” He supposed that other parents and children might’ve hugged at this pointed, or at least reached out for physical connection. But that wasn’t her way, and he’d learned to accept what she gave. “Why did you steal Ashleigh away?”

  Adele sighed. “I didn’t. She came to me because she had similar fears about the show as I had. Cincinnati Ballet had contacted her, asking for an audition. She wanted me to put in a good word, and I think she’s wonderful, so I did. I knew it might affect your show and I felt bad about that, but I did what was best.”

  “For her,” he said. “Not for me. Not for your son.”

  “You found Remi, didn’t you?”

  Wes couldn’t argue that logic. “So you didn’t push her?” he asked.

  “No. But I should have told you what was going on,” she conceded. “I was still mad at you. It was petty for me to have kept it to myself.”

  “And did you tell other people not to audition for me?”

  She shook her head. “For anyone who asked, I told them they needed to weigh the pros and cons. A big company might mean slower progress, more competition. However, the opportunities are broader and there’s more career prestige. But I never told anyone not to audition.”

  After their blazing fight when he’d quit, Wes had assumed the worst of his mother. And he shouldn’t have. “So can you help me save this weird, ill-advised show?”

  “Is that the thing you want to save?” she asked.

  “Why else would I be here?”

  “The whole time you were telling me about your problems, I kept hearing her name: Remi, Remi, Remi.” She flicked her hand back and forth in time with the words. “She’s beautiful. I can understand why you want to save things with her.”

  “And you think that’s separate from saving the show?”

  “No woman wants to feel like she’s being pursued for what they can give you, Wes. Women want to be pursued because you’re so compelled to be with them that you have no other choice than to fight as hard as you can.” She paused, studying him. “I know losing Emily was tough. And I suppose your father and I haven’t been the best influences when it comes to putting relationships before other things in life.”

  “I admire how ambitious you both are. I want that for myself. I want to build something important and meaningful and creative.”

  “And I want you to have everything.” His mother’s voice was unusually soft. “But sometimes that’s not possible.”

  Remi might come back to the show if he convinced her that he could manage the press. But he knew deep down that it would be as a ballerina only. Not as his ballerina.

  “I know.”

  He had a choice to make. Choose the show and convince her to come back so they could prepare for opening night, knowing they would only be together in a work capacity. Or give up the show to prove that he wanted her for all the right reasons.

  * * *

  The Anaconda and the Casting Couch…

  By Peta McKinnis (Spill the Tea society and culture reporter)


  Sounds like some kind of twisted fairy tale, right? But this story isn’t taking place in a faraway castle. Oh, no, we’ve got more drama right here in New York City than the Brothers Grimm could ever have dreamed up.

  We’ve been following Wes Evans’s breakaway from the Evans Ballet School with interest. Information about Evans’s show, which we now know to be called Out of Bounds, came out last week with the release of an intriguing poster and the following blurb:

  Some things can’t be contained by boundaries. Some experiences should be close enough to touch. Why watch the show when you can be part of it?

  Given his background, this does sound like a huge step away from the kind of work the Evans Ballet School produces with their annual workshop performances. But Spill the Tea’s Society and Culture team is all for people pushing creative boundaries! It sounds like Out of Bounds is set to be a unique offering to those who’ve grown tired of traditional ballets.

  However, while perusing the Bad Bachelors website yesterday (it’s our not-so-secret guilty pleasure, no judgment!) we stumbled across a review, written by user HeyThereDeLilah that indicates the possibility of some unsavory practices happening behind the scenes of Out of Bounds.

  “Take for instance [Wes Evans’s] show, Out of Bounds. He’s using the recognition of his family name and the notoriety of his sex life to garner publicity for the event… Oh, and how do you think his lead ballerina got her role given she hasn’t worked professionally in over four years? I’ll give you one guess. ;)”

  It doesn’t take too much reading between the lines to figure out what this reviewer is talking about. Could Evans be using his position of power to lure female dancers onto the casting couch? We sure hope not! But if that’s the case, then the Spill the Tea team will be boycotting Out of Bounds.

  While many recent articles regarding unethical behavior in the entertainment industry seem to focus on Hollywood, even the ballet world has been rocked by abuse allegations in recent times. We’ve reached out to Evans for comment. But let’s just say, based on previous attempts, we’re not holding our breath for a response.