“I want you to think about it, Mish, before we make a decision,” said Charles, now standing from his chair and easing toward the door. “Analyze the notes, watch the rehearsal tape,” he said. “Let’s keep this between you and me for now and announce it in the morning once the dust of this unfortunate news has settled. Let’s give Maura a little time to grieve, you understand.”
“Yes sir,” I said.
As Charles left me, I was brimming with excitement. Of course, I wanted to run to Dinah right away and tell her but I had to keep it secret as Charles instructed. Still, I knew that Dinah was my choice. I didn’t have to watch any tape, review any notes. I knew it was Dinah in my heart, I had known for a while. She would be a star someday.
*
I carried a thick binder down one of the theatre’s longer hallways, my steps echoing throughout, and I fussed absentmindedly with my hair held in a high bun. Holding in the enthusiasm was becoming difficult. Though I did indeed feel bad for Maura, I couldn’t help but think of the pleasure I would receive in promoting Dinah. As I approached the stairwell leading up to the second floor administration offices, I saw one of the girls from the corps de ballet, Lacy, coming down the steps and looking at me with a knowing smile.
Lacy was a terrific dancer, she herself destined to excel in this art, and she was beautiful and sharp. Sometimes almost two sharp, like she was plotting something, her eyebrows revealing a certain deviousness. Approaching the bottom of the stairs, Lacy was dressed for rehearsal in white tights and a leotard, her black hair already done up in a tightly woven bun.
“Mish,” she called to me as we met at the bottom of the stairs. She had a grin stretched across her face. “Can we chat?”
“Hi Lacy,” I said. “What’s up?”
“The girls have been talking,” she said. “About Maura.”
“Yes,” I said. “It’s very unfortunate about her accident.”
“Is it true that Charles means to promote someone from the corps to take her place?” Lacy asked.
“We’re still figuring that out, dear,” I said. “I’m sure it will be a topic of conversation today at rehearsal. Now, if you’ll excuse me I have to—”
“Mish,” she said, blocking my way to the stairs with her small frame. “I know Charles looks to you for guidance.”
“Lacy, I really must be going,” I said. “We can talk about this later.”
“I know about you and Dinah,” she said. I’m sure the color drained from my face at that moment, informing Lacy of my guilt, and I suddenly felt incredibly trapped. Cornered. Powerless.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Lacy,” I countered. “Please let me pass.”
“I want to take Maura’s place,” said Lacy, her stance as firm as her voice, resolute in her blackmail. “If I’m not given Maura’s role as soloist, I’ll tell everybody about you and Dinah.”
“You don’t scare me, Lacy,” I said. “There’s nothing to know about Dinah and I. She’s a dancer in the corps whom I direct, just like you.”
Putting my hand on Lacy’s shoulder, I pushed past her and began trudging up the staircase and away from the young extortionist, my heels clacking on each step as I ascended.
“I know she stayed at your house the other night,” Lacy called up the stairs behind me. “I want to be made soloist,” she reaffirmed, and then stormed off in a huff in the opposite direction.
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. How had Lacy found out about my and Dinah’s tryst? It was unfathomable. Of course I had told no one about it, that much I knew. So it came down to Dinah. There must had been a moment when she let it slip. Perhaps she hadn’t covered herself well enough with a story to assuage the interest of the other girls. I needed to find Dinah. All of my highs were stumbling into lows. I felt like I could throw up.
*
“That’s all for today,” said Charles, rising from his seat and clapping for the dancers on the stage. I remained seated, almost shrinking in my chair, as the entire company waited with excited impatience as to the announcement they knew was coming. We had conducted the entire rehearsal without Maura, instead having one of our choreographers fill in, and many in the corps knew this was their chance to climb the ranks and grab their star.
I could feel Lacy looking at me, her gaze stern and angry, as she milled about with the others on stage. Dinah smiled at me softly and then turned to chat with one of her fellow corps dancers.
“Attention people,” continued Charles. “You all know that Maura has suffered an unfortunate accident and her role in the show will need to be replaced.”
As Charles spoke, the company grew silent and gave him full attention.
“Mish and I will be deliberating as to whom shall fill this role,” he went on. “The new soloist will indeed come from the corps de ballet,” Charles said, rousing a clamor among the young women in the corps. “Please,” he said austerely, inspiring sudden silence. “Thank you. Moving on, we will hopefully come to a decision by tomorrow’s rehearsal,” he said. “This is not political. We will be choosing based on talent and whom we think will best execute the role. Mish, do you have anything to add?”
“I don’t, sir,” I said.
“Very well,” Charles surmised. “You are all dismissed.” With that, Charles gathered his notebooks and traipsed off down the aisle and toward the exit as the company remained on stage enthusiastically talking with each other about this dramatic prospect.
I lowered myself further into my seat, releasing an exhausted sigh, and I opened up my binder to look busy. I knew if I got up and walked off I would be stopped by the girls, but perhaps if I stayed and waited it out, they would all leave and I could exit without speaking to anyone.
It was difficult to not beat myself up inside. Had I, only days ago, contained my lust for Dinah, had I not spent the night with her, I could very easily and rightfully give her this promotion, a job that could surely take her to the next level in her career. Yet because of my irresponsibility I was being extorted by Lacy, still quite a talented dancer but undeserving of the role over Dinah. At stake was my career, my life, for I knew that Charles would certainly dismiss me where he to find out I had brought such drama into his production. He preferred scripted drama to the real life sort.
As I blindly stared into my binder, pondering my fate, I felt a presence hovering next me and looked up. It was Dinah, grinning down at me.
“Mish,” she said softly. “It’s really happening, just like you said.”
“Dinah, I—” I said, unable to finish.
“I’d prefer it not happen this way, with Maura having that injury,” said Dinah. “But I’m excited for what’s to come!”
As Dinah and I spoke, I looked up toward the stage and noticed Lacy eyeing us, her arms crossed, a dark grimace on her face. The other girls conversed happily around her, but she just watched in our direction. Our gazes met and she raised her eyebrow suggestively, then turning from me to reenter the colloquium with the others.
“Dinah,” I went on. “Sit down.” She followed my orders and sat next to me, her expression growing more concerned.
“What’s wrong, Mish?” she said, reaching her hand over and placing it on my arm.
“Listen,” I started. “Did you tell Lacy anything about what happened between us?” I spoke in a slight whisper, especially when saying Lacy’s name to avoid any unwanted attention.
“Well, I—“ said Dinah, diving into deep thought. “I think I did tell her that I was going to your place the other night.”
“You did,” I said matter-of-factly.
“I’m sorry,” said Dinah. “It just slipped out.”
“Dinah, Lacy is now trying to blackmail me into persuading Charles to give her Maura’s role,” I said. Dinah’s face changed from concern to a visage of shock. “She stopped me in the hall and told me that if I don’t get her that part, she’ll tell everybody about us.”
“Oh my God,” said Dinah with sadness in her voice. “Are
you serious? She said that?”
“Yes,” I said. “Of course I want you to have it, I want you to be a soloist, but if Charles finds out about what we did I’ll lose my job.”
“Mish,” mourned Dinah, a tear forming in her eye. “This is my dream.”
“I know, dear,” I said. “It’s wrecking me inside.”
Dinah began to quietly sob, lowering her head and dropping her hands to her lap. Reaching over, I tenderly rubbed her back and sighed heavy-heartedly. I couldn’t help but look to the stage and again I caught a look from Lacy, who smiled sweetly at me. She could see that Dinah was sobbing and could, I’m sure, infer what I had said to her.
“If it’s any consolation to you,” I said. “Charles mentioned you first.”
Dinah said nothing. She was broken. I wished I could disappear.
*
At home that night I was having such a difficult time coping that I opened a bottle of wine and poured myself a glass. This may not seem out of the ordinary to you, but ballerinas rarely, if ever, drink alcohol. In fact, I never even tasted wine until I was 27 and I still have never had beer or any other liquor. We just work too hard as dancers to even have time to drink, nor do the additional and unnecessary calories entice us into drinking. The straight and narrow life of a dancer.
But I was hardly a dancer anymore.
I sipped from my glass and wallowed in my sadness in the kitchen, slumping against the kitchen island and dwelling on what would happen in the morning. I knew I would have a meeting with Charles before rehearsal and I knew we would have to make a firm decision.
Dinah was the right choice for the soloist promotion, I knew that. Charles knew that. And I believe the corps knew that, perhaps even Lacy. It’s sad how much politics play a role in the arts — talent, drive, ability, at a certain point it doesn’t matter all that much. Sometimes you need to make an unpopular, an incorrect decision, just to keep the status quo, to keep a project moving without some sort of unnecessary dramatic interruption. It was hard enough that Maura was injured. She had real talent, real drive, and she would still have a successful career despite this setback. I could see Maura as a principal dancer. Just not this year.
Dinah was like Maura, just a couple years back. I knew she could succeed in this business, this art. Oh Dinah. Just the thought of her made my heart palpitate. So lovely, slight, innocent in a way. The idea that she could be playing me because of my position, it just didn’t seem possible. Our night we spent together was too perfect to fake.
I took another sip of wine and picked up my phone, carrying it and the glass with me as I paced around my condo. I opened up my address book and thumbed through it, landing on Maura’s phone number. I had barely spoken to her since the accident and I knew it was irresponsible of me to ignore her and her feelings. She was, after all, important to our company and her voice should be heard.
Sauntering into my bedroom, I crawled up onto my bed and flicked my bedside lamp on. My wine glass sat on the table and I eased back into my pillows, my finger hovering over the “call” button. Perhaps Maura could help make my decision for me.
The phone rang a handful of times before Maura finally answered.
“Hello?” came a weak, sad-sounding voice on the other end.
“Maura,” I said. “It’s Mish.”
“Hi Mish,” she said. “You’re calling quite late.” It was only nine, but I knew she was used to turning in early because of her usually quite grueling schedule.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I just wanted to phone you and wish you my condolences on your injury.” I could hear her sniffle through the phone.
“Thank you,” she said. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t upset about it.”
“It’s quite sad,” I said. “You know how much you mean to the company and to me personally.”
“I know,” she said. “Thank you for saying it.”
“You know that I, along with Charles, have the very difficult job of trying to replace you,” I said. “Which, I might add, is a near impossibility because of what you bring to the company.”
She was silent for a moment, but for a few sobbing whimpers.
“I’m positive you’ll bounce back,” I said. “You’ll be ready for next season and you’ll blow us all away, just as you always do.”
“Thank you,” she said quietly.
“But I’m still in the position of needing to fill your role,” I said, changing ears with the phone and picking up my glass of wine. “And I feel it would be a mistake to not get your input as to which member of the corps should take over.”
“That’s sweet of you, Mish,” said Maura, taking a deep breath. “It means a lot that you think so highly of me.”
“Can you give me a recommendation of who you think might do the best job?” I asked. “We want to promote the junior dancer with the most promise, just as we did for you not long ago.”
“Dinah,” she said unequivocally. “I think it should be Dinah.”
“Thank you,” I said. “That’s also what Charles thinks.”
“She is an exceptionally driven dancer,” Maura said. “I love all the girls, of course, but I can think of no one else that is better suited.”
“I appreciate this insight,” I said. “Thank you, Maura. If there’s anything we can do to help your healing process, please just let me know.”
“Thank you, Mish,” she said.
After a couple more pleasantries, we both hung up. Setting my phone on my bedside table, I didn’t feel my job had gotten any easier. I downed the rest of my wine and felt subtly buzzed. A single glass of wine will do that to me. The curse and benefit of being a lifelong teetotaler.
I meditated on Dinah for a while as I lay there in my bed. While I admit that I have had my romances in the ballet world, there was something special about her. Something I hadn’t seen before. I was falling for this lovely little creature, with her pale complexion, delicate features, naïve attitude. In a way, she reminded me of myself a decade ago. Although I was never as good as she was. I had never achieved what she had at such a young age. At 20 she had made it into the corps whereas my opportunity didn’t come until 25. And here I was, almost 30, drinking wine, abusing my power to romance a young protégé, and finding my entire career on the line because of it all.
Maybe I wasn’t cut out for this world.
As was my habit when feeling depressed, I tried to kick myself out of the funk by thinking sexual thoughts. I remembered back to my and Dinah’s encounter just nights before. After our time on the couch, we headed into my bedroom, lying together on this very bed, continuing our lusty touching. As we grew more heated, Dinah admitted to me that she liked to have her asshole rubbed and I obliged, something I secretly find sexy as well. Using the wetness dripping from her pussy, I massaged her tight little puckered hole in small circles and as I did this Dinah arched her back and purred, loving the attention from behind. I wanted so badly to penetrate her as well, but I hesitated because of the newness of it all and soon after I went down on her to lick her once more to completion.
As these thoughts replayed in my brain, I suddenly found my hand down my own shorts, rubbing my pussy through the soft fabric of my panties. I massaged myself deeply and firmly, coaxing the wetness to ooze through my panties and gently coat the tips of my fingers. My mind focused on Dinah, on picturing her naked, her small frame light and sweaty, grinding up against me as we made love.
Quickly heating up to these lusty reflections, I slid my shorts down my legs and kicked them off my feet, letting them fall to the side of my bed. I snaked my fingers down the elastic band of my panties and touched myself, caressing my aching lips, manipulating the wetness emanating from my pussy up my slit and focusing in on my clit. I diddled in short, fast circles, thinking of Dinah, thinking of her small chest, each breast punctuated with a tiny, poky nipple. I imagined Dinah pulling the tie of out her hair, letting her usual tight bun fall out and her long tresses tumble down over her pale shoulders, sho
ulders that were both dotted with the minutest and infrequent freckles.
“Oh,” I softly moaned as I pleasured myself. My hand grew damp and humid within the confines of my panties, and I turned over to lay on my side, pressing my hand between my legs, flicking and rubbing and massaging myself, working myself up into a fervor.
I imagined myself licking Dinah’s slit, lapping up her juicy pussy as my wet fingertip slowly kneaded her crinkled and hairless ass. It was heaven for me, exactly what I needed. I plunged my fingers into my own pussy and thrust them back and forth a couple of times, submerging them in my own wetness before I returned my attention to my clit and speedily thumped it.
I could feel those familiar sensations building inside of me, the subtle tingles, the weird energy coursing through my limbs, little prickly pokes all over my body. My brain went cloudy, perhaps from the wine but most certainly it was mixed with the feeling of testing that edge of the orgasmic cliff.
This all caused me to fondle myself harder, steadily, methodically. It felt incredible and I felt happy, lost, distant from my troubles. My hand beat against my pussy, entrapped by my stretchy panties, damp from its self-stimulating duties.
Suddenly the loud ringing of my phone interrupted it all. It chimed its little tune, buzzing hard on my nightstand.
“Gah!” I exclaimed, calming my breathing and opening my eyes. With one hand still down my panties, I reached with the other to grab my phone and see who was calling.
It was the front desk of my building.
“Hello?” I said somewhat irritably into the phone.
“Ma’am, this is the front desk,” said the voice on the other end. “Dinah is here to see you.”
“Dinah?” I said with surprise.
“She said that she is unexpected but must speak to you in person,” said the doorman.
“Please send her up,” I said.
Looking down at myself, I pulled my hand out of my panties and wiped the wetness from my fingers onto my bed sheets. I hopped out of bed quickly, scurried over to where my lounging shorts lay on the floor, and hiked them up my legs. Rushing out my bedroom, I quickly turned to the wall and checked myself out in the mirror. My dirty blonde hair was a bit of a mess, but a few passes through with my fingers straightened and untangled it.
The Ballerina: A Lesbian Romance Page 3