by Lola Keeley
Anna nods at her Feminism 101 reminder.
“Now, please tell me you’re not another dreamy-eyed chorus girl with her eyes on my man?” Delphine asks, the threat beneath the words evident. “Because that is honestly the last point of friction, and I’ll be so disappointed if we have to be enemies over that.”
“I don’t!” Anna protests. “I mean, he seems great, don’t get me wrong. But I’m not doing that whole thing. I never really have.”
“Oh.” Delphine winks across the table. “Batting for the other team. I get it.”
“More of a…” Anna blushes furiously and wonders why she ever let Delphine kidnap her from all those simple, beautiful shoes. “Switch…hitter?”
“Hey, I asked, but you don’t have to tell,” Delphine reminds her, and it’s honestly the kindest thing anyone has said to Anna since she arrived in New York. “Do you have someone?”
“Nah.” Anna sips her tea. It tastes like perfume, diluted. “It’s just me, this job, and I’m crashing with my sister for now. Until the company housing comes up. Kelly’s email said next week, maybe the week after.”
“You have a sister?”
“Yeah.” Anna doesn’t elaborate on that, either. Her defenses have been down too much already, first around Ethan and then around Irina. Just because she was already thirteen when Anna met her doesn’t make Jess any less her sister. Besides, Liza and Delphine grew up in the same house, and it seems they can barely stand one another. “She’s not in this, though. Broadway.”
Delphine smiles, the first one not to crinkle her nose. “Chorus girl?”
“Stage manager. She’s at the Booth. I’m going to meet her when I’m done.”
“Invite her up here someday, if she doesn’t have a tedious little matinée or something. You’ve just made friends with the prima; you should take shameless advantage of that.”
“We’re friends? I mean, of course we’re friends. You’ll love Jess, she is so much cooler than me, and no way would she ramble like this and…”
“Finish your tea.” Delphine pats Anna on the forearm. “And then you can tell me everything you know about Saturday.”
Anna skips dinner out in favor of having the small apartment to herself with enough cheap takeout for at least two people, her body crying out for protein by the time she actually sits down to eat.
A handful of Advil and the requisite rattle of vitamin bottles to top up on B, C, and B12 punctuate some half-hearted sorting through the clothes Victoria brought. She texts Ethan to warn him that he’s going to be in a showcase Saturday, but when he replies Anna simply cuts him off with details tomorrow.
Losing herself in a few old episodes of Gilmore Girls, Anna spends most of the evening dozing or getting up to swap out her ice packs. It’s only when she hears the key in the door around eleven that she realizes she should have tidied up her clothes haul. The things from her own luggage are hung everywhere Anna could find for them, and everything else is still in flashy designer bags that are strewn across the floor.
“What the hell?” Jess demands. “Where did you get the money to go Pretty Woman yourself?”
“I didn’t spend a penny. It’s part of my company wardrobe.”
Jess raises an eyebrow. “Really?”
“Yes, really!” Anna makes a point of picking up a couple of leotards, clearly standard ballet-school wear. “And I get custom-made shoes, too, did you know that?”
“Well, you have to figure,” Jess says, relaxing a little. “The way they work you there, it’ll be a new pair twice a day.”
“At least.” Anna gathers her clothes into a pile, already distracted at what to pick for the next day. “You know the Freed shoes I used to always obsess about? Well, I get those.”
“Sounds great.” Jess pours herself a large glass of white wine from the fridge. “You having some?”
“Not worth it. I sorted everything out with Victoria, though.”
“Oh, the principal mix-up?” Jess looks exhausted. “I hate to say I told you so, Anna.”
“No, no…” Anna is going to enjoy this just a little bit. “I was right. They’re sorting out a new contract, and I’ll be, like, some big deal in the spring program. Victoria’s going to direct me herself. Well, if we pass this test on Saturday anyway. Pretty much dancing for the money to be allowed to do it, I think.”
“Anna!” Jess sets her wine down and drags her sister into a hug. “That’s awesome! I am so proud of you.”
“You are?” Anna mumbles into the hug.
“Of course I am!”
“You’re the best sister, Jess.” Anna wriggles free and collapses back on the sofa that’s also her bed. “I was talking to Delphine Wade about you today.”
“The Delphine Wade?” Even Jess is impressed. “You’re getting fancier by the day, Anna. Don’t forget me in that rarefied air up at the Metropolitan Center.”
“She said I should bring you to lunch,” Anna says. “We’re friends, can you believe it?”
“Of course I can,” Jess teases. “Who wouldn’t want to be friends with a big dancing dork?”
“Hey!” Anna whines, but she laughs right through it. “I met Irina today too.”
“The Madonna of ballet. Because she only uses her first name. Let me guess: she wants to adopt you?”
“No,” Anna huffs, thinking of her mother with a fresh pang. “But we had a very cool conversation. I told her my mom saw her dance in Moscow, so I guess that’s like bonding, right?”
“I wish making friends was the biggest problem in my job.” Jess groans as she sinks down onto the other sofa cushion. “Have I mentioned lately that I want to kill all my actors?”
“Once or twice.” Anna gets up to refill Jess’s glass and hand it to her. “I have private rehearsals tomorrow. Dancing with Delphine and Irina, and some of the boys… It’s all happening so fast.”
Jess sympathizes, patting Anna’s hand. “This is what you always wanted, Anna. I know plenty of people tried to talk you out of it—no one more than me. Don’t start listening now, or you’ll regret it.”
“I already got your wine, you don’t have to butter me up. You want to see my new clothes?”
“Tomorrow. If you’re home before I head out, you can do a whole fashion show, I promise. I can’t believe I’m going to bed before midnight,” Jess says, but she doesn’t protest when Anna pushes the bedroom door open. “Dance pretty, little sis.”
“I’ll try.”
Victoria doesn’t bother announcing herself; she simply appears in the doorway and waits for the exiting crowd of dancers to part before her like the Red Sea. They dutifully comply, and Victoria enters the studio to find Anna and Delphine deep in conversation, Irina draped over the portable barre like she’s been shot, and the Vaughn boy staring at Gabriel in unabashed adoration. That adoration certainly seems to be putting an extra flex into his preliminary stretches.
“Morning,” she grunts in their direction, directing Teresa back to the piano with a click of her fingers.
The pianist scrambles to comply, accepting the sheet music Victoria hands.
“As Anya here probably informed you,” Victoria says to her remaining five, “our lord and master has requested a command performance Saturday evening. Since we all like being gainfully employed, I assume there’ll be no complaints?”
“Why me?” Irina asks. “At this point, surely it will just antagonize him.”
“You’re walking proof that my gambles pay off. You’re going to dance this season to the end, Irina. Starting here.”
“Uh, Victoria?” Ethan raises his hand like a kindergarten student in need of a bathroom break. “I just wanted to check that you meant me? Anna’s new, so she might have been confused…”
“She picked you,” Victoria says with a snap in her voice. “Unless you’re saying you’re not up to the job?”
Ethan shakes his head and steps back toward the mirrors, out of her firing line. It explains how he’s survived this long.
&
nbsp; “Delphine and Gabriel, you’ll reprise your pas de deux from Rubies.”
They exchange a glance Victoria doesn’t care to decipher.
“Irina?” Victoria receives a sullen glare. “Your Bluebird can be dusted off, yes?”
“A Sleeping Beauty to put the audience to sleep?” Irina sasses, but the relief is evident on her face. It’s by far one of the least strenuous options Victoria could have put on her shoulders. “Fine.”
“Tell me, Cardigan Boy,” Victoria says, “you understudied Gabriel as Romeo last season, yes? And you went on in Berlin?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Ethan confirms.
“I seem to recall your balcony scene wasn’t a total disaster, so you’ve got yourself a Juliet here in Anya. I’m giddy with the romance of it all.”
“Right.” He shoots Anna a grateful look.
“As for you, Anya.” Victoria rounds on her then, advancing across the room. “Juliet is obvious, but when dealing with the less artistic, a sledgehammer is sometimes necessary.”
Anna swallows hard and nods like a marionette with a loose string.
“I think I’ll teach you my Kitri variation,” Victoria says, deciding in the moment. “It’s short, but it should put some of that athleticism on display. Have you danced it?”
“You mean, um, Don Quixote? Not really. I’ve seen it, though.”
Victoria rolls her eyes. “George Bush saw my production of Don Quixote. It doesn’t mean he can dance it.”
“I don’t know,” Gabriel interjects. “I think he has the hips for it.”
The nervous laughter relaxes them. Victoria allows it, stalking back toward the piano.
“You all know Rick, you know what he expects. We do the mini-show, and we let them pour champagne down their throats until a check is cut or I dismiss you. Any questions?”
Anna looks like she might ask, but she doesn’t raise her hand.
“Delphine, Gabriel, Irina, we’ll make time Friday to check you’ve refreshed. See Susan about costumes. She’ll have everything from the tour filed away.”
They murmur in vague agreement.
“Ethan, you refresh with Gabriel on Romeo, then we’ll spend some time tomorrow and Friday getting you and Anya confident around each other. Drop her once and you’re back to the corps for life.”
He nods and grabs his bag.
Anna waits, patient to a fault.
“I hope you had a good warm-up, because you’re not going home today until you get this variation within touching distance of where I want it,” Victoria says.
Her threat gets only a beaming smile in response.
“You can go.” She dismisses Ethan with a wave of her hand. “Teresa, a recording will be fine. I’m sure you can find some other ivories to tinkle.”
Teresa fiddles with the sound system and scurries out after handing a remote to Victoria on the way past.
Alone at last. To get the best out of Anna, distractions will have to be kept to a minimum. Despite her talent, there’s a flighty quality.
“I’m ready when you are.” Anna fiddles with the heel of her right shoe.
Victoria only glances at it, sure Susan will have done the right thing as always, when the snap of recognition hits her.
“You went with Freed,” she says, and Anna smiles even wider. It’s maddening. “Someone thinks highly of her feet.”
“Maltese Cross.” Anna’s smug for the first time.
Victoria loses her train of thought for a second, because that she didn’t expect. The steel is there beneath the puppy eyes and boundless enthusiasm.
“Susan made them fit so well, and she already placed the full order.”
“You have decent taste in one area of your life, then.” Victoria clicks the remote and music blasts for a second. She lowers the volume with fast, irritated jabs at the button.
“I know Irina used to wear them,” Anna offers, shy again.
“She did. In fact, those have been the prima’s choice for most of the past two decades in this company. Well, until Delphine and her fondness for space polymers or whatever sales pitch she fell for.”
Anna’s smile falters, and she pales despite the earlier flush to her complexion.
“They didn’t tell you?” Victoria tuts. “Yes, Anya. I’d say you’re wearing my shoes. How literal of you, when trying to follow in my footsteps. It’s not exactly subtle.”
“I didn’t know. But I just knew they were for me the moment I pulled one on. I can go ask Susan to recommend something else if you want, I just—”
“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s not as though I’m using them, is it? Besides, you’ve found your shoe. I would be a terrible ballet mistress to interfere with that. Now, get rid of that top layer and we’ll start in second.”
Anna throws off her sweater, exposing a sunny yellow leotard. It’s a vast improvement on her earlier attempts. “Yes, Victoria.”
That kind of compliance is something Victoria could get very used to.
CHAPTER 9
“Again!” Victoria snaps, and Anna bends double, trying to pull in a deep enough breath. She holds up a hand in something like surrender.
“Drink,” she gasps, stumbling toward her bag. It’s been well over an hour, and Victoria has been relentless. Anna plucks a vitamin water from among her tape and spare shoes, twisting the cap off before Victoria can complain. Most of the bottle is downed in one long swallow, and Anna pulls a towel out to mop some of the sweat from her face.
“I’m waiting.” Victoria taps her foot, her impatience perfectly in sync with the beat.
“How…am I doing? I thought I nailed the pas de cheval that time.”
“You know there are mirrors on every wall to avoid that kind of delusion.” Victoria gestures toward them. “I’ll tell you if you ever nail something. And learn to stop mangling the French language, or keep your mouth shut on Saturday.”
Anna nods. Apparently a positive attitude is going to get her precisely nowhere. She tosses the towel and the bottle back down and stands straight again in first position, arms tensed and ready for Victoria’s barked command.
“Remember, developpé devant croisé, glissade, cabriole derrière.”
“It’s so cool, because this isn’t the version I saw,” Anna starts to explain. It’s not that she doesn’t understand; she can already see the steps in her head. Dragging her foot up to the knee of her standing leg, making a triangle before fully extending. A display of control. After that a simple side step-and-jump, followed by her favorite: the bold leap of the cabriole where her legs press together in midair, fully off the ground. It’s as close as she’s come to flying.
Victoria’s stare is frosty. “I forgot to ask the Mariinsky choreography to accommodate your limited exposure. I’m trying to play to your strengths, Anya. Or is that not obvious?”
“These are my strengths?” Anna gets an eyebrow raise in return. “Right, got it.”
“Now try to summon something less bland, less American. You’re young, you’re Spanish.” Victoria reels off the details of Kitri like a shopping list before pausing, her voice dropping low and sultry. “You’re caliente.”
Hot.
Anna chokes for a second, even though her drink is long since swallowed.
It doesn’t deter Victoria from continuing her lecture. “You got your man, you’ve got the ring on your finger, and you’re showing off. The triumph of true love, all bound up in how you dance.”
“It’s a little strange to be starting at the end,” Anna says in her own defense. “I mean, I bet a lot of people would feel that way. If you want, I could learn—”
“No time. You want to wallow in deep background, be my guest. But you’ll have to give up sleep to do it. Focus!”
Anna jumps at the force of Victoria’s command.
“Focusing on the correct details is enough to master any variation. Context be damned.”
“Right.” Anna accepts her fate. “Sure. Okay, I’m ready.”
“We’ll se
e,” Victoria says, cueing up the music. “Now, start by learning how to count.”
“I came to check for bloodshed,” David announces from the doorway before striding across the studio to where Victoria has settled on the low windowsill. “Where’s your new pet project?”
“She said something about eating before she passed out.”
“And you’re going with Kitri? I hear Rick is looking for a command performance.”
“You haven’t been roped into it, Mr. Jackson,” Victoria reassures him, smiling back when that easy grin of his breaks out. “You still have your Saturday night free to work on your frown lines.”
“As opposed to getting drunk and misbehaving with the support staff?” David leans on the unused piano.
They’re both dressed in black—though not so matching that it looks like a uniform.
Victoria slips gingerly from her seat and approaches him.
“Speaking of gossip about you… The new girl’s really up to it?”
“Her Kitri is already… God, David. I haven’t even started on the fan work, but I can see an audience in raptures over it. The best part is that she has no idea. That lack of awareness of how they’ll see her will be stunning to the audience. If I can preserve it.”
“Well, yours was one hell of a star turn,” David reminds her. “Think she can live up to Victoria Ford hype without an explosion of ego?”
“Hard work doesn’t seem to be an issue, but her focus is shot,” Victoria says, worrying out loud. “It can be trained into her, but whatever else I think of Rick, he knows talent when he sees it.”
“Well, it’s that or she’s a mole sent to sabotage you.”
“Don’t even joke. I’m more than aware that I’m on thin ice with him.”
David’s stoic silence is all the confirmation Victoria needs of how far the rumor has spread.
“It’s okay. I have a plan. You think I don’t know how much more vulnerable I am with Liza Wade looking for her next big challenge?”