Oh, the manipulators of the world. Mom and Gil, Charlotte and Courtney. How sad it was, and thank goodness for people like Alice and Dena, who cut through the bullshit and told you things you didn’t want to hear, doing it for your own good, not theirs.
“Anyway,” she told Courtney. “No harm done. Your story is just that. Your story. It has nothing to do with me.”
Courtney looked uncertain.
Lana didn’t much care. She shifted her focus to the sewing. When Courtney rose a few minutes later, Lana bade her a cheery goodbye, a “see you onstage,” without ever looking up.
She had more productive things to focus on.
Intermission was last-chance-to-warm-up time for the dancers, each one immersed in their own personal pre-performance ritual of jumping, stretching, push-ups, jogging. All too soon came the amplified voice of the stage manager.
“Dancers, three minutes to curtain. Those not in the next ballet, please clear the stage.”
Lana and Javier made their way to center stage. She was preoccupied with drawing deep breaths to keep her stage fright at bay. An interesting thing, the stage fright. For some dancers, it went away after years onstage. For Lana, it had always been there, manageable but real, if only for a moment. Dry mouth and icy fingers, trembling limbs, a pervasive terror that she’d forget the steps, which she’d never done, but nonetheless remained a threat until she was immersed in the dance.
“Dancers, one minute.”
They took their opening poses. She remained standing, as Javier lowered to one knee by her side, a will-you-marry-me position. Her fingers rested on his shoulder.
“Hey,” Javier whispered, and she looked down at him, in the semidarkness. “Merde,” he said, and squeezed her cold fingers.
“Thanks,” she whispered, and the fright lessened. “Merde to you too.”
“Dancers, ten seconds to curtain.”
Showtime.
The curtain rose. The music began, a solo cello, sonorous, nostalgia-laden. Their opener was thirty-two counts of languorous pas de deux, then Javier lifted her from behind and it was time to move. Time to conquer the passages that had dogged them throughout rehearsals: the first tricky combination; the troublesome bourrée series; the leap into Javier’s arms where he caught her and she appeared to hover, mid-air, frozen in time.
The movements grew quicker, more defined, autumn leaves stirred up by the wind. On came the corps dancers behind them. Javier and Lana leapt off. Twenty seconds, spent panting in the wings, a swish of water for her dry mouth, a dip into the nearby Vaseline jar to lubricate her teeth to keep her lips from sticking. Onstage again, leaping, running, flying, a dizzying pace of piqué turns, and another passage that had once troubled them. Two minutes later they arrived at the sequence where Lana had taken her spill earlier in the day.
No spill.
Offstage they went, turning the ballet over to the demi-soloist trio for the next five minutes.
The adagio was at the ballet’s core, the slowest, most romantic movement. Autumn souvenir. Memory of what was now past, or was passing. Regret, nostalgia. Tonight she added sorrow to the list. Sorrow over Mom’s actions, over Luke’s pain and vulnerability. Courtney’s deception, Gil’s manipulation and the way she still felt so helplessly, hopelessly drawn to him. She let the sorrow work its way through her movements in the adagio, and Javier responded to her internal cues. He was far and away the best partner she’d ever danced with, anticipating her needs, providing a steady hand without ever gripping too tightly. It was a powerful force, this support. “It’s all about trust,” Alice had said that day she’d provided help, and she’d been right. Lana would have trusted Javier with her life.
Time for the Big Scary Lift passage, the one that had dogged her for weeks.
It went perfectly. Never better. She could almost hear Alice’s voice.
You see? There. It works.
Alice, out there right now, watching her. No audience member’s presence had ever been so rife with significance, nor meant quite so much to her.
The last movement was all about motion, swift and articulate, no time to think or ponder. All the rehearsing hours, the committing to muscle memory, paid off here. Javier was on fire, and she followed his lead. She felt dazed, almost giddy, afraid to even consider the success of this night’s performance for fear of jinxing it.
The explosion of applause at the end of the ballet shocked Lana with its intensity. Back in the wings, Javier swept her into a bone-crushing hug.
“We nailed it,” he crowed. “Every last bit!”
They were both saturated with sweat, drunk with endorphins and euphoria as the stage manager cued all the dancers for a curtain call.
When they returned from their first bow, she could see Ben, across the stage, standing in the stage left wing. Anders was next to him, arms folded. Not clapping. He gave a brief nod, turned and said something to Ben, before stepping away to speak with someone behind him. Impossible to tell from his face what he’d been thinking. But Ben caught Lana’s eye and thrust his arms in the air, overhead, thumbs up. He was grinning.
Anders had liked it.
Ten minutes later, in the green room, Lana still hadn’t stopped trembling. She chattered with the other dancers, accepted the congratulations from audience members who’d been allowed backstage, but only when she saw Alice across the room, gazing around in a tentative manner, did something in her relax.
She stopped short, peering closer.
Alice had been crying. Her eyelids were puffy, her eyes red, the makeup on them smeared. She seemed dazed, exhausted. She looked, to Lana’s eyes, a little like Lana must have looked earlier tonight. But an even greater shock followed when Niles, of all people, came up behind her. He was holding Alice’s hand, kissing her temple, as Alice leaned into him, her eyes flickering shut. When she opened them, she spotted Lana, straightened, a broad smile replacing the fatigue on her face. She strode toward Lana, who hurried over to her. They met halfway, crashing into a hug.
“You’re here,” Lana said, voice trembling. “Thank you so much. This meant everything to me.”
Alice pulled back, beaming through her tears. “You were beautiful. So beautiful it broke my heart.”
Niles came up from behind, stammering about how much he’d enjoyed it, how great it had been to watch her. He and Alice took turns explaining how Alice had called him just an hour earlier, how he’d shifted his plans, shot over here, and here he was, only now he had to dash, back to the other girl.
“Go,” Alice laughed, wiping the last of the tears from her face. “The other woman calls.”
Niles drew her in for one more hug, his lips brushing against her forehead. “Sunday night?” he asked her, and she nodded. “I’ll call you before then.”
“That would be nice,” she murmured.
Lana had never seen Alice look so happy. Ever. Watching her watch Niles depart produced a bittersweet pang, made her wish things were as clear and uncomplicated with her and Gil.
Gil, who, if Dena’s theory continued to hold true, hadn’t been flirting with Gabrielle after all. Just another one of Courtney’s fabrications.
Once Niles had disappeared from sight, Alice glanced around, her expression growing wary. “I think I’m going to head out of here, too,” she told Lana. “Are you going out, or coming back to the house?”
“The Souvenir cast has been invited to join Anders and his group over at L’Orange. I’m sure everyone would enjoy seeing you there, too. Would you consider joining us?”
Alice shook her head. “Sorry, but tonight has drained me of everything I have. Besides, I’m not ready to discuss with anyone the fact that I might no longer be a Ballet Theatre employee.” She looked stricken as she said the words, as if the truth were just now sinking in.
“Alice, Gil couldn’t have meant it. It’s impossible. Please, let me call him.”
“No,” Alice said. “It’s between him and me. You stay out of it. You’ve got enough on your plate right
now, anyway.”
Mom. Of course.
“You told me, on the ride over here, that you had an idea on how I could most effectively deal with the situation,” she said to Alice.
“I did. To be discussed later.”
“Will you tell me now?”
“Nope. Not tonight.”
“Why not?”
“Because this is your night to celebrate your huge achievement.”
“When, then?” Lana persisted.
“Maybe Sunday afternoon, after your matinee performance.”
“I’m holding you to that.”
“Fine. Now go party. I’m going home. To my safety zone.”
On Sunday, minutes after Lana had returned home from the matinee performance, she sought out Alice, who sighed, nodded, and shared her plan. She’d been right to wait; it was shocking, painful to hear. Alice explained gently that it was the only way Lana could break this terrible cycle and free herself.
“This is helping me? This is helping my family?” Words failed Lana and she began to cry.
Alice sat by her side, feeding her Kleenexes. Only after Lana had calmed, did Alice try and speak again.
“You can do nothing, of course. That’s the easiest option. This current crisis will all blow over, and nothing would change. But that’s just it—nothing would change. You’d live in the shadow of knowing it might happen again. And in time, that would keep you from flying as high as I know you can go.”
Lana felt panic rise up inside her. "I can't do it,” she cried. “I can't."
“Then don’t. You certainly don’t need to make a decision or a move today. Just ponder the option.”
“You have no idea what you’re asking me to do.”
Alice looked sad. “You’re right, I don’t. Not a clue. That’s why I’ll leave it in your hands and not bring it up again.”
Lana had Sunday night to ponder it, a quiet night, no performance. Alice had gone to Niles’ place for the night. Lana sat and watched movie after movie, only taking half of it in. She could have turned to Gil for support, advice. He would have loved to hear from her. Given his contentious relationship with his own mother, however, she didn’t think he could understand her agonized indecision.
Monday morning she woke early to a quiet house. She went downstairs, fixed herself a cup of tea, and managed not to look at the incriminating sheet of paper Alice had set on the kitchen counter after they’d talked.
She lasted forty-five minutes before she gave in. She picked up the paper, which held three sets of names and phone numbers.
Kansas Social and Rehabilitation Services.
Kansas Protection Report Center.
Child Protective Services.
She couldn’t do it.
She wadded the page into a ball, shoved it deep into the trash and went upstairs to take a shower. Five minutes later she came down again, shower untaken. She reached back into the trash, past the damp coffee grinds and orange peels, searching until she found the crumpled ball. She pulled it out, smoothed it out.
Stormed out of the room and went back upstairs.
Cried. Railed.
Came back down.
Picked up the phone and called.
Chapter 23 – A New Chance
The call from Gil, the call Alice had been expecting, came seventy-two hours later than she’d anticipated. But it came.
He’d left a message on her cell phone and a duplicate back at her house, which she discovered upon returning home Monday morning from Niles’ apartment. “Oh, Jesus, Alice, help me. Name your price,” he said on the message. “I apologize, on my knees. I was so out of line, I’m a jerk, I’m an asshole, I’ll give you all of that. Only please, please, call me back. Better yet, come in. Please. Let’s talk. Do not go to the HR office. Come straight to me. Are you there, listening? Alice? Call me, ASAP. Please.”
She called him, more out of curiosity than concern. She expected him not to pick up. It was Monday, after all, with his erratic hours, wandering in late, in and out of meetings. But he picked up on the second ring, crying out in relief when he heard her voice.
“Oh Alice, I’m in deep shit. Please, please be kind to me here.”
“What on earth are you going on about? Your message made no sense.”
“It’s Andy. He heard about your leaving.”
“My leaving? Gil, call it what it was. You fired me.”
“Okay, semantics. He heard. And it’s not what he wants. And now he’s threatening to invoke that three-day clause if I don’t get you back in your position. Right away.”
Her head spun. “Andy said all this?”
“Trust me. I wouldn’t lie to you here.”
“Can he do that? Invoke that clause?”
“It’s fine print at the end of the letter of agreement. Three business days to pull out if the factors are irrevocably altered. He says he wants to work with you on this account, not anyone else I hire. Not even me.”
Gil sounded as if he couldn’t believe the last part.
Neither could she. A chuckle slipped out of her. “Wow. Damn.”
“Please. Can you just come in? We’ll hash out the rest later.”
She relished this moment of control, the pause that so agonized this person who had let her agonize for days. Then she decided to ease up on him. She was the one getting laid now, after all.
“Give me an hour.”
“Okay, that’s great. And, hey, thanks.”
Her return to the WCBT offices ninety minutes later—she was late, she didn’t care and Gil didn’t comment—felt surreal, askew, like stepping into a funhouse version of her job.
Gil issued her into his office, all smiles and courtesy, offering her a seat, a cold drink.
“Of course I wasn’t serious about going through with firing you,” he said. “How could you think that? Sure, I was pissed off. Very much so. But Lana would never speak to me again if I went through with firing you. Besides, what would my grounds have been?”
He spoke fast, throwing all this at her in a mildly accusatory manner, as if this were all Alice’s fault, that he was getting ready to fire her all over again for being so obtuse as to not know he’d been bluffing about firing her.
“It’s almost lunchtime,” he continued. “Should we go get something to eat? Why don’t we go off-site? Stop by Human Resources afterward to make sure everything’s smooth?”
The other administrators, when they saw the two of them together, were wide-eyed and silent. Only Lucinda beamed at her, giving her a little “you go, girl” nod of her chin. Her good friend, Lucinda.
This was indeed a funhouse day.
Following a bite to eat, the two of them visited Human Resources, where Gil had them tear up the grievance report he’d filed on Alice—not quite the firing he’d boasted, but nonetheless inflammatory and probation-worthy. Gil made a big show of apologizing to Alice again, enough for her to tell the HR director that no, she herself did not feel compelled to file her own grievance report against her boss for his self-admitted egregious behavior. They were fine, Gil and Alice assured her, putting on big phony, professional smiles for her and each other.
Back in their offices, Gil asked if she wanted to go across the street to Murphy’s later, for an afternoon meeting over beers. She didn’t. She felt drained, curiously sad. That specialness, the cozy team spirit they’d shared for three years was gone. Maybe for good.
Once upon a time, they might have even been able to discuss it, brainstorm on how to get it back. No more. Instead, she told him she was feeling a little disoriented from all the upheaval, and if it was all right with him, perhaps she’d just head home, call it personal time off if she needed to, and start fresh early the next morning.
Gil nodded. “Just go, no need to call it PTO. But would you mind giving Andy a call from here? Tell him you’re still gainfully employed here, and such.”
“I can do that.”
Andy, when she spoke with him, made no comment about what had trans
pired, only asking if she could stop by his Hillsborough house the next morning, for a logistics meeting over coffee. She agreed, and informed Gil of her plans.
“No problem,” Gil said. “Absolutely no problem. Give Andy as much time as he wants.”
“Okay. Well, then, see you tomorrow.”
“One last thing.” He hesitated. “Tell Lana I’m thinking about her. How’s she doing?”
She knew Lana had asked him for time apart, and the irony was surely not lost on him that he’d mocked Alice for having had the same setup with Niles. Remembering her own pain, she decided to go easy on him.
“Truth is,” she told him, “she’s going through a bumpy patch with family back home. Her mom’s scaring her, intimidating her, but being passive-aggressive about it. It’s really tearing Lana apart.”
“God. The poor thing.”
His care and interest were genuine. She found herself thawing further to tell him about the car crash. He looked horrified.
She nodded. “I know. Lana was in a pretty bad way Friday afternoon. It’s a good thing I was home. She really needed someone to help her through it.”
“They told me you went to her performance that night.”
Who were “they”? So she’d been spotted. In reply, she only nodded.
“To support her?”
She paused. They were entering dangerous territory.
“Yes,” she said, vowing to herself that if he said one cutting thing, offered one snarky or derogatory comment, she’d walk out of the room.
But Gil surprised her.
“Thank you,” he said.
“For what?” she asked, wary.
“For taking care of her.”
The two of them sized each other up uneasily.
“That’s all that matters to me, Alice,” Gil said. “Whether you believe that or not. I love her, and I want her to be happy. Feel safe.”
“That makes two of us.”
Laughter outside the room, two workers joking, eased the tension inside Gil’s office.
“Anyway,” Alice said, “she’s muscling her way through it. Keeping focus on her dance, resting, staying uninjured.”
Off Balance (Ballet Theatre Chronicles Book 1) Page 29