by Lola Keeley
“Anna isn’t up to it.” Victoria clenches her fist, overselling it a little. She doesn’t want to tip over into mime. “He denied it of course, but I think he just saved my season. If not my career. I could have lost it all on that mediocrity.”
“But I heard you fired him.” Teresa makes her first slip. Clearly she’s more than aware of what went on yesterday. Or thinks she is. “I mean, you did fire him?”
“Well, I had to for show,” Victoria continues, forcing herself to lay a hand on Teresa’s forearm, as though they’re partners in crime. “But let’s just say that Mike will find himself getting a very impressive offer from San Francisco by this time tomorrow. Kevin owes me a favor or two.”
“No!” Teresa can’t hold it in. “Victoria, are you saying you’re happy someone hurt your little pet?”
“I’m not unhappy. And anyone who spared my considerable blushes deserves to be rewarded.”
“It wasn’t Mike! Why would you think that walking STD has the brains? He’s barely even spoken to her. I knew, Victoria. I’m the one who saw she was a waste of your time.”
“You, Teresa?” Victoria is careful not to bite too quickly. “Don’t be silly, you don’t have that kind of boldness in you. In your playing, yes. But you’re no secret agent. Why would you in the first place? Surely not because of us.”
“I’m not that crazy about you,” Teresa says, though they both know different. “But I’m not the only one who has your back.”
“You’re not?”
“Richard came to me,” she continues. “He’s worried you’ve lost your edge. He simply suggested that if you can’t be talked out of Anna, maybe someone should help you by taking her out of the equation. I don’t think the Times coverage helped.”
“Of course not.” Victoria makes it sound so understanding. “But you’d have been here for me now, when I have to put it right for the rest of the season. Wouldn’t you?”
“That’s all I want,” Teresa reassures her, and she actually leans in to kiss Victoria.
She ducks away just in time, swiping her cell phone from the desk and pressing Pause on the voice recorder. Victoria holds up the phone and lets realization sink in, as surely as heels returning to the floor after a perfect grand-plié.
“Well, it wasn’t quite busting Lance Armstrong, but I suppose I should be glad you didn’t take up my whole morning with your sniveling.”
“Victoria—”
“Shut your damn mouth.” She thinks of Anna, of that gleam in her eyes yesterday. I want them to be just as scared as I was. “It goes without saying that you’re fired, but I’m going to enjoy marching you out of here myself. Now, should I have Kelly post it to social media before I hand it over to the police? Or should we wait for the coverage of the trial?”
“I was just trying to show you that I care!”
“No, you weren’t.” Victoria wags a finger at the excuse. “But if you want to work anywhere but a dive bar for the rest of your life, you’ll make yourself available to me if and when I decide to take a little revenge on Rick. And you will apologize to Anna.”
“Like hell.” Teresa finally finds a little spine at that, straightening and pulling away from Victoria’s desk altogether.
Sad, how small and pathetic Teresa looks in her fussy dress, the patterns too bold and the cut unflattering, that bland brown bob hanging across her face. Victoria wonders how she’d ever been interested.
“You might not like it, but you’re still making an ass of yourself to the whole world,” Teresa says. “She isn’t good enough, and you’ll be a laughingstock.”
“You’re just making me wish I could fire you again, with feeling. You mess with my season again, and you’ll wish you were dead. Understood?”
Victoria calls for Kelly—time to get a witness in after all. She takes Teresa gingerly by the arm, expecting resistance, but the girl is as easily led as ever.
“Yes?” Kelly asks when she meets them at the outer office door. “Oh. Did you need me to call an exterminator?”
It’s almost enough to make Victoria laugh, given the circumstances. But that would undo a career’s worth of severity. “Really, Kelly. You’ll come with us while Teresa apologizes to Anna, before I hand her over to security.”
“That didn’t take long,” Kelly says, almost conversational. “Cracked like a soft-boiled egg, did she?”
“I’m right here, you know,” Teresa says with a scowl.
“Sure you are, hon,” Kelly says. “But you keep announcing that to people, that’s my advice. You don’t exactly make much of an impression.” She turns to Victoria. “Anna’s in with the warm-up class.”
This year, Kelly is definitely getting another raise.
Anna’s almost starting to hope that every interruption to a class or rehearsal won’t be her fault when the studio door opens with a bang. There stands a furious Victoria, grasping Teresa like an escaped prisoner. Teresa for her part has her shoulders rolled, staring at the floor and trying to make herself invisible.
Victoria nods to David to turn off the recorded music. “As some of you may know, there was an incident yesterday in studio,” she says. “Anna, our newest principal, was deliberately injured by someone who works closely with us all.” She pushes Teresa forward. “Or should I say, worked.”
The dancers exchange glances.
“This matter has been handled internally, and if I hear a whisper of it outside this building—including Twitter, Instagram, or the Polly Pocket journals you keep under your pillows at night—then you’ll be fired with immediate effect. As the final word on this matter, Teresa has something she’d like to say.”
She, of course, says nothing. Victoria actually prods Teresa in the back. She mumbles, just about.
A little part of Anna wants to die at the attention. She knows half of the room is staring at her as intently as they are at Teresa. Before, she would have tried to melt into the wall, or at least crouch down under the barre. She sees the protective rage in Victoria, though, and does what a principal should. Anna steps forward, free of the crowd of bodies.
“I didn’t catch that,” Anna says when there’s no second attempt. “Did you want to see the cuts on my feet first?”
“I’m sorry, okay?” Teresa practically spits it, dragging an unkind look up and down Anna’s bright red T-shirt and black leggings. “You clearly didn’t die from it.”
“Well, that was gracious,” Kelly says with a snort, tucking her bright red hair behind her ear. “Security are here, Victoria.”
“Then let’s take the trash out, since I think that’s as good as we’re going to get.” Victoria turns Teresa away from Anna.
It seems the moment is over, but Anna is relieved to get the tiniest quirk of her lips from Victoria before she practically drags Teresa back into the corridor.
“If we’re all quite done with Masterpiece Theater,” David bellows, turning the music back on. “Nobody leaves here until you’ve worked up a sweat. Even you, Gale.”
“Yes, sir,” Anna answers, almost skipping back to her spot.
She feels ten pounds lighter and the cuts on her toes are barely stinging at all. There’s a dot or two of blood on her slippers, but nothing major. She catches Irina’s eye in the mirror, busy with her own work on the other side of the room. A nod, one professional to another. Maybe they can grab lunch together later. It’s not like Anna’s going to get to do her corps rehearsal anyway.
Or maybe, just maybe, Anna can shake off the awkwardness of this morning and take some lunch to Victoria instead. It would be the best way to say thank you, after all.
There’s a flutter in her stomach as she stretches along with David’s barked instructions. Which is definitely just about the culprit being caught. Nothing at all to do with the thought of Victoria maybe agreeing to another private little chat, this time over salads and bottled water.
No. That’s not something Anna feels excited about at all. And she’s getting better at lying to herself about it.
CHAPTER 20
Anna doesn’t need to go all the way to the office, catching Victoria on her way out of the shoe store instead.
“Thank you,” Anna says, with what she hopes is her most winning smile. “I feel much better knowing she’s being punished for what she did. And I kind of overstepped yesterday, so either way I figure I owe you lunch at least.”
“Coffee, lunch… I’m all for buying people’s affection, Anna, but it’s not exactly a winning strategy with ballerinas, is it? Even former ones.”
“Right, but you still eat,” Anna says. She shouldn’t be entirely surprised that twelve years out and Victoria is still strict with her diet. “I mean, I eat more than the others with this crazy metabolism, but tell me you’re not still living on nuts and salad like most of the dancers? And…” She wilts under Victoria’s disbelieving look, hand on her hip in that coquettish way she has. “There I go again with the overstepping. I swear I can stop it.”
“I’m not sure you can.” Victoria snatches the paper bag from Anna’s hand and peers inside. “Lots of protein, anyway. Why don’t you just take this home, treat your crazy metabolism to a midnight snack later?”
“Oh, sure. I didn’t mean to assume or anything. I should go eat before rehearsal.”
“Take that home,” Victoria continues, as though Anna hadn’t interrupted at all. “And come have lunch with me in the executive suite. We might even have it to ourselves, this early in the season.”
“Really? I mean, I don’t have rehearsal for an hour.” Anna didn’t expect to be forgiven so easily. There’s something about Victoria this afternoon. She seems lighter. Realization dawns that it’s the sheer pleasure of catching and firing Teresa. That should make Anna shudder, and when it does, it’s not exactly in an unpleasant way.
“Let’s go, before you talk yourself out of it. I had an idea last night, and it’s time we talked it through.”
“What kind of idea?” Anna follows Victoria down the hallway toward the public part of the Metropolitan Center, with its triple-height atrium and breathtaking artwork. Most days she finds an excuse to come through this part of the building, just to prove to herself she really works here.
“How are the toes?” Victoria changes the subject as they enter the public café that leads into the more exclusive restaurant.
“Healing.” Anna remembers coming here for the first time with her mother, the way the lights sparkled so much she didn’t realize there was a roof.
“You’re up in the stars, Anna,” her mother whispered, and even in daylight, Anna can still feel that hitch of excitement in her breath every time she steps into the space.
One of the catering staff scurries to open the private dining room, and by the time they’re seated, an actual waitress comes to take their orders. Quite a step up from the grab-your-own-salad arrangement Anna is used to, when she isn’t bringing food from home. She blindly orders the first thing with chicken and a sparkling water, oddly pleased when Victoria does the same.
“Okay,” Victoria says, rearranging her cutlery. “So we have a small problem.”
Honestly, she never intended to tell Anna about the Rick revelation. It’s one thing to ask the girl to take on a challenge beyond anything she’s prepared for, but quite another to have her go against the man who effectively gave her the job. But Victoria’s anger is still roiling in the pit of her stomach, sloshing waves of it that threaten to race up her throat.
“What kind of problem?” Anna asks.
“Teresa’s spiteful little move wasn’t entirely her own doing.” Victoria drops the bombshell. She’s impressed that Anna barely flinches. “I’m sure if you think for a moment you’ll work out the one person over my head that she might answer to.”
“Richard Westin.” Anna glances around the private dining room as if saying his name will conjure him up. “But he’s the one who brought me in.”
“I’ve been summoned to dinner with him tomorrow night, in fact. I assume he means to spring Liza on me as an unpleasant surprise,” Victoria continues. “Since she’s retiring, that makes her a firm favorite to replace me.”
“Why would he do that? If you… I mean, not hate, but everyone knows about your rivalry. Why would he force you out for her, of all people?”
“It’s possible he told me to go slower on your promotion,” Victoria says. “So the Times piece might have pissed him off. But I won’t give her the satisfaction of thinking I can’t handle a simple meal just because of her presence.”
“Maybe Delphine could go?” Anna says. “As a buffer, I mean. I’d go if you like, but I can’t keep inviting myself to meals. You’re going to get sick of me pretty soon if I do.”
“You would do that?” Victoria can’t help but be suspicious. Is the girl really so selfless? Or does she want to get close enough to confront Rick herself? “Because Delphine and Liza squabbling is just as tiresome, believe me. Having you there might…well, it might annoy Liza for a start.”
“Then count me in. I guess that makes it good timing to know how you’re going to use me? I mean, for the season.”
Blushing. Again. It shouldn’t be so appealing, and yet Victoria finds a smirk twisting across her lips.
“It’s a doubleheader, of sorts,” Victoria says, interrupted by the sparkling water being set on the table. They’ve remembered to put lime in hers instead of lemon without instruction. Could the catering staff finally be reaching competence? “It’s something I’ve been wanting to do for years, but most of my girls don’t have the physicality for it.”
“What is it?” Anna’s practically bouncing in her chair.
“Well, the first part is flipping the script on gender roles. You mentioned those shoulders of yours, and I think you have a point. I’ve seen your arm work, and I would have let you throw me around back in the day.”
The mouthful of water Anna’s in the middle of taking almost ends up sprayed across the table.
Victoria braces herself out of instinct.
“You’d probably be more careful than a lot of the men I worked with,” Victoria continues. “We’ll need approval from Delphine of course, but Gabriel and that boy you’re friends with can give you some coaching. And there’s always David. Safest pair of hands I ever worked with.”
“You want me to…be the boy?” Anna asks, uncertain. She sets her glass back down, considering. “Everyone always talks about gender stuff, but that usually just means letting the guys do a pirouette.”
“Yes, yes. Like we haven’t been doing seven in one since we were fourteen, I know. Maddening. Rick was always fond of that gimmick. I’m talking a whole other level. A prince, whoever. The romantic lead.”
“Won’t that have all the old people having heart attacks in the balcony?”
“For a start, the really rich conservative ones sit in the orchestra seats. Stairs are a liberal conspiracy. Maybe they can’t drag that much jewelry up one floor.”
Their food comes out, neatly plated and with dressing on the side. Victoria pauses until they’re alone again.
“That would be one facet, but what will launch you…is a traditional ballerina part.”
“But not classical?”
“No.” Victoria’s impressed Anna caught the distinction right away. Dealing with someone on her level at last, or someone who will be, with the requisite training. “A revival that’s long overdue. Gala Performance.”
“You want to do a gala?” Anna’s face scrunches in confusion. “Of what?”
Perhaps that decision about her level had been premature.
“The ballet called Gala Performance,” Victoria says with a snap, spearing a piece of chicken with her fork. “Surely you’ve heard of it. The Russian, the Italian, the French ballerina?”
“Oh!” Anna looks giddy again. “So I’d do that as well as playing the boy in something?”
“Done right, you’ll make headlines like no one has since…well.” Victoria indicates herself with a flick of the wrist. It isn’t l
ost on her that there hasn’t been a star ballerina in the twelve years since she last danced. Good reviews, sparkling notices, sure. Not the dancer of a generation and Queen of Ballet monikers that were slapped on Victoria as soon as she broke out. The ballerina whose name is recognized even by non-ballet people.
“How?”
“Well, Irina will make a splendid Russian, and she deserves one more principal role. Delphine’s the heartbreaker, but a comedienne with it. That makes her a perfect Française. As for you…”
“The Italian?” Anna scrunches her nose. “I don’t exactly… Plus she wins! She outdances the other two. I can’t dance better than Delphine and Irina. Are you kidding?”
“Anna.” Victoria sets her cutlery down, closing her eyes for just a moment. When they open again, she looks around, making sure they’re completely alone. “I don’t say this lightly, and it will take a shitload of work to make me right. But you have to start believing me when I say this: Yes. You. Can.”
Instead of responding, Anna flushes dark pink again and shoves some rocket in her mouth, presumably as a way to close it.
Victoria waits her out, picking at her lunch.
Only when Anna has drained her glass does she finally respond. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“I’ll believe you,” Anna says. “So where do we start?”
“Do not summon me at ungodly hours,” Irina barks at Victoria as they enter. “I have agreed my schedule.”
Delphine is lying on the floor, legs up and extended as she works through some stretches. Irina is in no hurry to join her, standing at the barre with the perfect posture that’s been commented on in almost every review in her career. “A military bearing,” The Washington Post called it. They weren’t wrong. Her black leotard and track pants are a stark contrast to the pastel-toned soft lines of Delphine’s leggings and shrug. Anna compares her own gray running tights and tank top, feeling like she might have something approaching her own style at last.
“Well, you never check your schedule,” Victoria fires right back at her on her way to take up her chair in front of the piano.