by Lola Keeley
The fondness in Victoria’s voice for whomever she’s talking to startles Anna, and she tries to feign an expression of not listening at all, tapping at her own phone like there are messages to answer or emails to read.
“Bye, darling,” Victoria finishes, shoving her phone in her bag. She watches Anna out of the corner of her eye, as though anticipating some nosy question or other.
Anna holds her tongue. The road is busy with weekend traffic, and they slow to a crawl making their way downtown.
“Which school?”
“What?” Anna isn’t expecting the question and honestly Victoria sounds a little bored about asking.
“Which school did you almost study art at?”
“Oh. The New School. I had an offer from Chicago, too, but I don’t really like the winters.”
Victoria looks impressed at the caliber of school. “You turned them both down to keep dancing?”
“Yeah. I mean, it’s not like being an artist is any more secure as a profession. And I love it, I do. Painting is peaceful, but I can go for a long time without it if I have to. That’s…not true about ballet.”
“You don’t have to try and impress me,” Victoria says. “You’re off the clock, so you can care about things outside of the Metropolitan Center.”
“I know,” Anna says, although a little part of her is still straining for that elusive approval. The few grudging compliments she’s had so far, even the fact of her promotion itself, have only left her hungry for more. “But I’m not going to lie about it, either. It is that important to me. I didn’t always care, when I was younger. For a while I wanted to ignore it altogether, but not now.”
“Because it reminds you of your mother.” Victoria doesn’t ask; she simply states it as a fact. “Mine always insisted I should write, pursue something more academic. But my father…he saw the dancer in me.”
“And a lot of people thank God that he did,” Anna says, perhaps as sincere as she has ever been. “Is he gone?”
“When I was seventeen. He was unhappy for a long time, but he saw my first season. And with all the dramatic flair the Fords are renowned for, he must have decided he could leave. I’d found my place in the world.”
“I’m so sorry,” Anna says, but she knows how inadequate the gesture is. “You have to figure he’d be proud though, right? I’m sorry, is this weird? I never usually talk about this stuff, because people who haven’t lost… Well, they never get it, do they?”
“Platitudes and patronizing smiles,” Victoria agrees as the car comes to a halt outside what looks like a burned-out warehouse. “Well, we’re here. Let’s put that New School-worthy art brain of yours to work, shall we?”
“Is there anything I need to know about your friend?” Anna asks as they step out onto the sidewalk.
Victoria shakes her head, dismissive again. That moment in the car is over. Sunglasses on even though they’re heading indoors, and Anna doesn’t know what else to do but follow along. She measures her long strides a little, matching Victoria’s less even pace.
Still shaking off her oversharing in the car, Victoria is barely prepared for the shriek that comes from the gaggle in the corner. It’s one of Kelly’s little miracles that she unearthed an invitation from an old friend Victoria could actually tolerate. The flurry of air kisses and half-exchanged life updates is almost pleasant.
The reception is warm and everyone acts as though they expected Victoria all along, which at least avoids scrutiny from Anna, whose blue eyes never stop roaming the converted industrial space. The girl misses nothing, which bodes well for following the choreography at least. Only when Victoria maxes out on small talk does she draw Anna away from where she’s fallen into conversation with one of the artists.
Frankly that chat had been a little involved for someone who’s supposed to be focusing on her unexpected new career at the forefront of American ballet. Anna shouldn’t be letting underdressed hipsters who lean in too close monopolize that much of her time.
“What do you think?” Victoria gestures to the array of canvases. “Any hidden gems? Or should I leave all these to decorate uninspired apartments all over Brooklyn?”
“There are some great pieces,” Anna starts to gush, her face lit up like a crew with rigging is following her around. “But it all depends on what you like. Now, Irina has this amazing canvas—”
“You’ve seen Irina’s art?” Victoria is a little impressed. “Oh yes, your chivalry in taking her home.”
Anna casts about for a new subject, uncomfortable with the topic of Irina. “My apartment is great. I really wanted to thank you. I spoke to some people and I know I could have had a way less cool one, in the dorms or whatever.”
“Your due as a principal.” Victoria is rarely secretive about the strings she can pull, but hides behind the perks of the position this time. “I can’t work you until you drop and send you back to a single bed and ramen.”
“I make pretty good ramen,” Anna teases, and it really shouldn’t be charming. “Good preparation for life as a starving artist. I don’t think any of this stuff feels very ‘you,’ Victoria. I mean, from what I know about you.”
“Which isn’t very much,” Victoria points out, and a little part of her almost buys the first thing she can touch, just to prove Anna wrong. Then she sees the conversation buddy approaching, now having acquired an actual fedora from somewhere, and Victoria decides this art really is quite overrated. “I should let you get back to your afternoon. This was clearly a waste of time.”
She shouldn’t bring Anna out of the safe confines of the Metropolitan Center. She shouldn’t blur these lines between directing and socializing. A rookie mistake.
“Oh, well I was having a nice time,” Anna offers. “But I’m sure you have a million more interesting things to do than kill time with the new girl. I’ll make more friends eventually; you don’t have to feel sorry for me. And hey, amazing dances don’t choreograph themselves, right?”
“Oh, they do,” Victoria corrects, steering Anna toward the back of the room, where the original contents of the space are stacked in piles and badly covered with tarps. The presentation is appalling, and Victoria groans inwardly at the amateurism. “Well, in my case David and the resident choreos do most of the work. Artistic directors are big picture, conceptual. I just happen to be great at the micromanaging, too, because I’ve danced the steps in most cases.”
Anna nods, wise enough not to disrupt a Victoria Ford story.
It’s easy to forget how people lap up the mythology, as though Victoria has some special insight into the human condition just because she’s had exceptional control of her limbs for most of her life.
“The trick,” Victoria says, and she can’t stop, because it feels good to unleash all these words on someone, to express something other than disdain or frustration for a job poorly done, “is to take the artifice out of it.”
She doesn’t expect Anna to understand, waits instead for an inane question.
“You mean don’t think of it as making a dance,” Anna says. “But more like… God, I bet you can say this so much better, but just make it how people move. That’s what it should look like.”
“Who taught you that?”
Anna shrugs, maddening again. “It’s just…it’s what it feels like when you teach me. Sure, it’s all technical terms and pushing that one degree straighter, one inch lower, but…you’re not training me to do a perfect Italian fouetté. You’re training me to show how a street dancer would move if she woke up one day as a queen. Maybe I’m way off, sorry…”
Victoria makes sure she doesn’t betray the wonder of being understood with her expression, but it takes all her years of training not to give herself away.
“No, that’s close,” she admits. Even she isn’t so cruel as to leave Anna dangling like that, not when she’s done so well. “Although I haven’t taught you Mercedes’s dance at all, so don’t start Queen of the Dryads with me when I made you Kitri.”
�
��Right.” Anna laughs, looking delighted not to have been shot down.
Making her happy shouldn’t be this easy. It’s not a skill Victoria has ever possessed, for all her abilities.
“Anyway, it was nice of you to invite me, but I can get the subway home,” Anna says. “Clearly this place is a bust.”
“Nonsense.” Victoria grabs her last chance to salvage the afternoon. She needs to get Anna back into a suitable mindset for when they pick up on Tuesday, not least for dealing with Delphine’s still-simmering rage. “It’s a waste of time, but there’s no need to expose yourself to bubonic plague on the subway. We live on the same street, Anna. If you want to head home, that’s where we’ll go.”
“If you’re sure?” Anna nods back to the artists in the corner. “What about your friends?”
“I’m sure they’re still stunned that I showed up at all,” Victoria admits. Today she’s just giving far too much away. “I’ll call the car.” A quick summoning text barely takes a second to send.
“Whatever you want.” Anna falls into step as they move off. “I’m really honored you invited me, Victoria. Even if it did piss off Teresa.”
“Call that a bonus,” Victoria says as the car approaches. “Although it could be less convenient than the other dancers being mad at you. Just keep the beat in your head and don’t rely on her too much until she gets over it.”
The drive uptown is uneventful, and although they don’t talk any further, Victoria finds herself surprisingly reluctant to part when the car rolls to a stop outside her building.
“I’ll need you right after warm-up on Tuesday,” she says instead.
Anna turns, seat belt still on. “I’ll see you then,” she says in a breathless rush. Anna lets herself out of the car on her side the same time as Victoria does. Their gazes meet for a moment over the roof. “Have a really great Sunday.”
With that, she’s jogging through stopped traffic to her side of the street, not so much as glancing back.
Victoria slams the car door a little too hard, and retreats toward the sanctuary of her apartment.
CHAPTER 17
“Malenkaya,” Irina pounces at last on Tuesday morning, when Anna has a mouthful of banana and nowhere in particular to be. “I thought I might find you here, on the roof.”
“It’ll be too cold soon,” Anna says after swallowing. She deliberately doesn’t look at Irina, keeping her gaze on the New York skyline instead. “So I’m enjoying it while I can.”
“You people have an embarrassing idea of cold.” Irina sniffs.
Anna can’t help noticing that while she’s in UGGs and a hoodie, Irina is already in a polar fleece coat over her dance clothes.
“Speaking of cold, are you done freezing me?” Irina asks.
“Freezing you out,” Anna corrects without thinking. She jerks her head to the empty space beside her on the bench. “I don’t want to talk about you and Jess. It’s weird for me.”
“You’re dancing well,” Irina says. “I hear good things, and every warm-up you’re bursting with energy. And you should not worry about Jess. She’s an incredible woman.”
“Don’t be gross. I feel like this is going somewhere that will make me cover my ears.”
“Then tell me about Vicki instead,” Irina drawls. “And all your talking. Do you stay late after rehearsal, braid each other’s hair?”
“No, but she’s a great teacher.” Anna draws her knees up to her chest. She’s wary of saying more after Delphine and Teresa’s outbursts. She doesn’t want anyone else to hate her, and if she can forgive Jess for intruding on Anna’s world, she should stop shutting Irina out too. “And I think I’m getting it. Enough to stop some of the yelling, anyway. I think it helps that we talked.”
“You talked?” Irina snorts, pulling painkillers from her purse and dry-swallowing. “Victoria doesn’t talk.”
Anna turns to her, on the defensive. “When we went out on Sunday, we talked about art, and choreography. I feel like I impressed her, maybe a little. That is actually possible, right?”
“Out?” Irina seems confused for some reason.
“Yeah, Victoria took me to this art show, and honestly, it was like she didn’t even want to be there at first? But we had this cool conversation about movement, and I think it was progress. Or something.”
“Well.” Irina stands again, then stretches and drops to touch her toes “You truly are the Chosen one,” she says when she’s upright again. “I’ve been here every one of Victoria’s years in charge, and even before when she was just consulting. Not one time did she ever take me to see the art. Not Delphine or any of the handsome boys, either. Work events only.”
“I’m sure she must have done it with other people.” Anna tries for nonchalance, but something deep in her chest tightens and burns for a moment. “It wasn’t a big deal.”
Irina nods toward the door leading back to the staircase. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”
“You know what my dream answer is here,” Victoria tells David, easing herself into the director’s chair he set up for her without needing to be asked. “You get that ass out of retirement and back on my stage. Everyone knows men get those extra years.”
“My ass is willing, but my shoulders disagree.” David is a little gruff as always, but less rigid when it’s just the two of them in the studio. “Though I could still throw you around if I had to. You were never a strain.”
Victoria basks in the compliment for a moment. “And you were always a more charming leading man than Rick. Since you won’t slap on some Deep Heat and help me, I need a partner for Anna.”
“I’d stay away from Gabe,” David cautions. “Delphine’s particular boat has been rocked enough for one season. Now, don’t get that glint in your eye, Victoria. This isn’t the Wade you want to mess with, remember?”
“How limiting, to only irritate one of them at a time.”
“You heard she’s in town?”
Victoria balks at that. “Liza is in New York?”
“You know there isn’t a ballet dancer in this country who sneezes and I don’t hear about it,” David reminds her. “Through me all things flow.”
“Sometimes I forget what a gossip you are. What do we know about the lesser Wade’s reasons for being here, then? If she’s planning to upstage me somehow, I want to be prepared.”
“How could she?”
David’s loyalty is faultless as always.
“But the reason I brought it up is that she’s meeting with Rick tomorrow,” he continues. “Dinner somewhere public. Paparazzi-in-the-parking-lot public.”
“Oh, fuck him.” Victoria drums her fingers on the wooden arm of the chair, considering her play. “As pushbacks go, it’s lacking in subtlety. I guess that means he did see the interview.”
“I’d imagine so. Plus, he has his spies,” David reminds her. “Any reports going back to him won’t be all that positive about the new kid yet.”
“She’s doing fine.” Victoria stops drumming and massages her temple. She’s going to have to commit now, not just to Anna’s starring role but what it will actually be. “There’s nothing anyone can say to Rick that will change that fact.”
“Not even your piano girl?”
“What?”
David hesitates. Clearly this is uncomfortable territory for him. “I’ve never been especially interested in how you let off steam. But Teresa strikes me as someone who doesn’t take rejection well, and she’s privy to a lot of your work here.”
Victoria shrugs.
“There’s nothing secret there. Rick just doesn’t want me having my way without a fight. Now, do we have a suitable male soloist in this company?”
David lays a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “One way to find out.”
Anna is expecting an empty studio when she arrives for her time with Victoria, but instead Gabriel and Delphine are lingering, Delphine on the floor and yanking off her shoes.
“I can wait out—”
“S
tay,” Gabriel insists. “Delphine was just saying she wants a word with you. I’ll go,” he adds, smiling at Anna on the way past.
“How was rehearsal?” Delphine asks. She’s been down here working on her solos and pas de deux with Gabriel while Anna ran through La Bayadère with the rest of the corps.
Anna’s a little overheated still and hesitates answering by taking a long swig from her water bottle. “Exhausting. We’re adding in The Nutcracker rotation now. I’m hearing the drums in my sleep. Yours was good?”
“Look at us, so civil.” Delphine laughs as she stands, shoes in hand, ready to toss. “You wouldn’t know you were trying to dethrone me, would you?”
“Delphine, I—”
“Relax, Anna. I know Victoria’s handiwork when I see it. I admit the high-profile photos stung, but I’m getting over it. Giving you a rough time was how I deal. You’re okay though, right?”
“I guess.” Anna is aware that Victoria will be there any moment, so she drops her bag and fishes around for a pair of shoes. That’s weird; she could have sworn she had two or three pairs right on top, freshly collected from Susan. A bit more rummaging through her possessions unearths a decent pair at last. “So we’re cool?”
“Well, I have to go have dinner with my sister tonight,” Delphine begins to explain, zipping up her hoodie. “It’s making me realize something.”
“It is?”
“That I’m going for Liza’s job.” Delphine gives Anna a testing look. “Maybe you’re a sign from the stars or something, but I’ve done about all I can here at Metropolitan. If I ever want to put all this crap with Liza to bed, I’ve got to at least try to make it in San Francisco. To finally impress Kevin Winters.”
“Wow,” Anna exhales the word in relief. “That’s amazing. You should absolutely do that.”
“Because it leaves the path clear here for you? I can see why you’d agree.”
“No! I mean because it’s what you want. And if we both have a good season that helps, right? It only lifts us both up, rather than fighting and letting the company suffer.”