The Music and the Mirror

by Lola Keeley

  “That’s supposed to be the point.” Victoria picks at a piece of lint on her black silk blouse. “Shaking things up, remember?”

  “I always said you were wasted here,” Irina grumbles. “See you in two weeks.”

  “So where’s Irina?” Anna asks the moment the rest of the class is clear of the studio.

  Victoria didn’t take warm-up, but she slipped in at the end, knowing this confrontation would be forthcoming.

  “If you booted her because of what I suggested last night—”

  “Which part of ‘Morgan can understudy’ did you not understand?” It’s more snappish than she needs to be, but Victoria is still offended that Anna thinks she’s disposable after everything that’s been staked on her. “I should go and break the good news. She’ll need to call her mommy.”

  “I’m sorry,” Anna blurts, reaching for Victoria, who’s too slow to fully pull her arm away. The touch is electric, a test to her resolve. “I didn’t mean to push. I can wait.”

  “I’m not asking you to wait. I’m asking you to be a professional.”

  “But when the show is up, or in the off-season…” Anna is gathering steam with her suggestions.

  Victoria can feel the last shred of stubborn resistance waver. Why push away someone who’s going to get her the success she needs? Why push away someone who feels so much better when pulled close? And before she knows it, pulling Anna close is exactly what Victoria does, until their faces are mere inches apart.

  Anna’s flushed from the warm-up, rosy-pink cheeks and her honey-blond hair darkened by sweat. Victoria reaches out and tucks a loose strand behind her ear.

  “Maybe.” It’s all she can give. It’s not just ego, it’s the fragile hope of retaining the upper hand with this girl, of retaining the authority and the distance to drive her past the point where lesser dancers would give up. “But it’s not just your distraction I’m worried about.”

  “I distract you?” Anna asks, waggling her eyebrows just a little. She reaches out, touching Victoria’s arm so tenderly it’s barely contact at all.

  “Not if you dance well. Then I can focus on that, and that alone.”

  Anna considers, before stepping back and letting her grip on Victoria’s arm go loose. “Then no distractions.” She’s so sincere that Victoria aches, just a little. “You want me to tell Morgan to come see you?”

  “Please do.” Victoria wants to take it back, wants to reconsider all her restraint and sensibility. She takes a seat by the window and waits.

  She isn’t disappointed that Anna doesn’t return, but Victoria is more than ready for Morgan Gresham when she appears alone, all glossy black hair and nervous smiles that show a little too many teeth for comfort. Honestly, she’s not one of the corps members who Victoria knows well—she’s missed more than a year with an injury and wasn’t Victoria’s initial pick from the apprentices. David has a reasonable amount of faith in the girl, but he’s always been softhearted.

  Anna’s suggestion is sound in one regard. Morgan has the physicality and imposing paleness to make for a dramatic Russian.

  “Victoria? Anna Gale said you wanted to see me?”

  “I do.” Victoria turns her attention out of the window, affecting boredom. It doesn’t take Morgan long to start squirming.

  “Did you need me to get something, or…?”

  “You’ll understudy all three parts in Gala Performance. There’ll be other cover, of course. But if you go on, it will be promoted, it’ll be a star-plucked-from-the-corps story. Any objections?”

  “Wait, what?”

  “Do I need to repeat myself?” Victoria unfurls her legs from the windowsill, stalking across the floor toward Morgan. “Of course, if you go on for Anna, that wipes her off the map. That won’t be a problem?”

  Morgan looks stricken at the thought of it, and Victoria is ready to roll her eyes at the lack of ambition in these millennials. Then with a grin that resembles her mother’s, Morgan sees the opportunity for what it is.

  “No problem at all. Should I come to rehearsals with the others?”

  “Times will be on your board,” Victoria confirms. “This won’t affect your friendships? Relationships?”

  “Well, I don’t have much of either,” Morgan confesses before biting her lip like she hadn’t meant to confess it.

  Perhaps Victoria shouldn’t invest much in this girl who’ll stab Anna in the back for her shot, but it’s not a failing, not where Victoria is concerned. She respects a fellow shark at work. It’s just Anna who mistakes them all for dolphins.

  “I assume word will reach your mother?” Victoria asks, and Morgan almost completely deflates. Oh. “She didn’t ask me,” she says, correcting where her thoughts have clearly gone. “Anna suggested you, in fact.”

  “She did?” Morgan smiles a little too brightly. “Oh, okay. Thank you, Victoria. I have to go do the whole rehearsal thing.”

  “Go on. I’ll see you next week.”

  “Next week.” She practically skips out of the room, and Victoria watches her go, tugging at her bottom lip.

  CHAPTER 28

  It’s excruciating. A week of barely seeing Victoria at all. Anna starts to hate David just a little, for the simple fact of him not being the woman she’s so enthralled by.

  She’s sleeping like the dead at least. The combined exhaustion of rehearsing her corps shows, along with preparing for her turn as a prince, and the very early work on Gala Performance that’s waiting for Irina’s return, would be tiring enough. Add a full ballet every night, with the exacting Kingdom of the Shades and the exquisite arabesques, and Anna has found levels of exhaustion that she can’t understand how any human body can endure.

  And God, she loves it. It’s everything she ever dreamed of and so much more. Even when her legs feel like lead or her back muscles enter brief spasms, she can grit her teeth and bear it. The alternative is not getting to dance like she does, and for Anna that’s no alternative at all.

  Apart from the emotional bruising around her heart from Victoria’s insistence on boundaries, that still sucks on a daily basis, and Anna can’t find a more mature word for it than that. But Victoria is available to them once again with her new rehearsal plan, and Anna practically skips up the stairs at the thought.

  She greets Delphine and Morgan with equal enthusiasm, the brief hugs of people who now work together daily, then nods to Eve as she sets up at the piano with her typical flurry of nerves. It’s like the first day of school all over again, and Anna is determined to make nothing less than a perfect impression on her returning director.

  When Victoria enters, the first thing Anna notices is that she’s leaning heavily on a sleek black cane, almost invisible against the backdrop of her tailored pants that graze the ankle and no more. Her shirt is white, crisp, the collar high and starched, open in that Jane Fonda style that always looks so classy. Anna is drinking in the details as though she’ll never be allowed to look again, even as she affects the guise of going through her hamstring stretches at the barre.

  “Mes danseuses,” she greets them, just the hint of a grin tugging at one corner of her mouth. It’s peak fantasy Victoria Ford, the vision who’s been haunting Anna’s exhausted dreams for weeks, but never more clearly than in the past few weeks. “David tells me you were so very well behaved while I was away. I assume he’s covering for you.”

  Delphine laughs, more used to Victoria than any of them. Morgan has adopted Anna’s wide-eyed wonder from the start of the season, and it’s something of a relief not to be the least sure person in the room anymore.

  Shucking her fitted black track top, Anna unveils the peach-colored leotard that scoops far more daringly than the others. It’s what Jess called “as close to naked as you can get without being arrested” and that’s statement enough. With tights, tiny white running shorts, and her pointe shoes, it at least looks appropriate for the session.

  And yes, Victoria looks. Positively stares for a moment, eyes raking up and down with en
ough focus that it seems the fabric should shred under her gaze. Anna’s almost disappointed when it doesn’t, but the jittery excitement of it all just makes her more impatient to dance. Exhausting, repetitive actions are her best hope. There’s going to be plenty of those in store.

  “Shoes off,” Victoria announces with a brisk clap of her hands. “We’re going back to the roots today, so throw out your manuals and your muscle memory. It’s time we reacquainted you with exactly what these bodies of yours”—a pointed glance at Anna—”are actually capable of. Eve, we’ll need something soft, think Philip Glass on Valium.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Eve says, flipping through her sheets with a faint smile.

  Anna sits heavily on the boards and begins untying the ribbons she just pulled taut. Delphine just toes her untied slippers off, and Morgan hasn’t thought to change yet.

  The three of them gravitate toward each other at this change in routine, nervous glances exchanged.

  “Now Irina would only scoff, so it’s important we do this work before her Russian training comes to stomp all over my methodology here. Delphine, you did plenty of Bournonville coming up, but we have ourselves some true Balanchine babies in here. What I have in mind is that all three ballerinas have their proud styles, but they have to be talented enough to mockingly dance each other’s too. It’s going to be a bastard to remember, so there’s some unlearning to do first.”

  Anna raises her hand. First day of school indeed. “Unlearn how, exactly?”

  “Oh Anna, just you wait and see.”

  It’s needlessly melodramatic and just what Victoria needs. She hasn’t been in retreat, not exactly. Part of her absence has been to fend off Rick, who keeps turning up like a bad penny.

  The other is a need for private space. Growing up in the ballet, she’s been used to dorms and locker rooms and crowded studios, barely a quiet minute most days. At times, when the demands are pressing and the standards must be exceptional, Victoria recognizes the need for solitude. It’s how her best work gets done.

  The timing was settled by her knee protesting all the recent exertion in more dramatic fashion. An early morning phone call to Kim after three hours of sweating out incredible pain has resolved the worst of it, but the cane is not optional as long as the sporadic weakness persists.

  “You don’t have most of the muscle there anymore. It can fake it for a little while, but come on, Victoria,” Kim lectured her as she iced and injected and supported.

  For once, Victoria hadn’t argued.

  The choreography is finalized. Victoria may barely have slept—four hours a night is sufficient, really—but she has it now. In her head, in her bones, on the tip of her tongue and the flick of her wrists. If these talented, indefatigable women can do what she believes them capable of, they’ll paint her dance on the canvas of the stage, bold brushstrokes and emphatic swirls of color.

  They’re looking at her like she’s lost her mind. Maybe she has.

  “Lose some layers, ladies. This isn’t your regular warm-up.”

  “Uh,” Morgan interrupts. “How many layers, exactly?”

  “Don’t worry, your virtue will remain intact. We just need to shake off the staleness. Back to basics, if you will.”

  Morgan pulls her sweater up over her head, tossing it toward the mirrors. Delphine similarly ditches her fussy additions until, like Anna, they’re all in leotards and tights alone. Back to basics. They could be in their first classes, back in whichever church halls and school gymnasiums sparked this fire in them, the incubators that raised three ballerinas of the New York Ballet.

  Victoria claps, and Eve starts up with a wistful, caressing little tune that seems oddly familiar. All three dancers nod in acknowledgment of something other than a driving march or lilting waltz. It’s going to work, and what’s more, they’re going to enjoy it.

  “I want you to make a full circuit of the studio.” Victoria begins her instructions, seeking out the sanctuary of her director’s chair, folding into it with only minimal discomfort. She props the cane on the side, still resenting its presence. “Use whatever steps you want. Make your way around the room as elaborately as you can think of. No pointe, obviously.” She gestures to their bare toes.

  “I don’t get it,” Anna answers. “You don’t have instructions?”

  “I just gave you them. The rest is up to you.”

  “Come on, children,” Delphine says with a sigh. She might not have been subjected to this particular exercise before, but she’s familiar with the concept of Victoria tipping the world on its head. “Just be grateful it’s not the one where you can’t use your feet.”

  “Spoilers, Wade!” Victoria calls out, but Delphine is off at a trot, breaking into a jog and then a few experimental spins toward the window wall. The Gresham girl hesitates another moment before closing her eyes and starting a series of small leaps, warming up to full jetés by the time she’s closing in on the first lap.

  Only Anna stands frozen.

  This won’t do, this won’t do at all. Eve’s music gets a little livelier as Victoria slips from her seat and approaches her uncooperative principal. Time to lead.

  Anna can’t seem to make her body do anything at all; she’s completely stalled in her own self-consciousness. For years she’s taken daily instructions. Even practicing alone, the routines have been drills, repeating what she’s been shown in the way she’s been shown it. Sure, if someone said, “Show me some ballet,” off-the-cuff she might throw a few steps into a routine, but more often than not it would be a prelearned sequence, whichever popped into her head first.

  Now Victoria is approaching. God, she looks good. She’s been to the hairdresser, the blond brighter and the curls that little bit softer. There’s a dull sheen of pearls at her throat. For a second, Anna pictures them between Victoria’s teeth and she almost moans.

  Why was she pleased to have Victoria back, again?

  “Come along,” Victoria says, but instead of stopping in front of Anna, she slips around behind her. Hands are on her hips, as though straightening her posture. Anna doesn’t dare open her eyes to see if Delphine or Morgan have noticed. All she cares about is the warmth through the taut spandex, the feeling of five fingers pressing almost hard enough to bruise. “You’re free, Anna. Have some fun.”

  “Fun?” Anna opens her eyes and glances back over her shoulder. “Since when?”

  Victoria squeezes Anna’s hips, and she gasps. With a little shove, Anna is in motion and mourning the contact even as her feet seem to find their way without her direction. She hops and skips and jumps.

  By the time she catches up with Morgan, they’re competing over who can jeté highest and longest, laughing the whole time. Delphine scoffs at them, but then they start spinning wildly, three oscillations that bounce off each other and the walls, the laughs getting louder along with the music as Eve gets in on the fun.

  Eventually Victoria summons them all to a halt with one of her trademark bursts of clapping, and Anna sinks to the floor gratefully, still laughing. She feels like a kid in a schoolyard again, lungs bursting and legs burning just a little. Somehow all the throwing themselves around has been more exhausting than performing a whole ballet, but she can’t bring herself to mind.

  “Much better,” Victoria tells them. “Now pick yourselves up and gather round. We’re going to keep it fluid today.”

  Anna executes a perfect kick up from her back to standing, just for the hell of it. She gets a Victoria Ford smile in response, and it’s the best idea she’s ever had.

  “Hey, Kelly,” Anna greets Victoria’s righthand woman as she exits the locker room. “Were you looking for Victoria? We left her back in the studio, while we could still walk.”

  “No, I’m looking for you, Anna Banana,” Kelly fires back with a smile. “Package for you, and with all the ‘urgent’ and ‘confidential’ stickers on it, I thought I’d better bring it straight to you.”

  “Oh, you didn’t have to do that. But thank you.”
>
  “No show tonight at least. You could…well, you could take another shower maybe.”

  “That bad?” Anna sniffs herself. “Yikes, fair point.” She gestures with the package. “This is from my foster mom. She gets a bit carried away when it comes to the postal service.”

  “Just remember if she sends snacks, you have to share.”

  “I will,” Anna promises, ducking down the side hallway by the changing rooms to sit on an empty bench. She rips apart her own packing skills and unearths the packet of papers she was looking for. The hallways are empty. Distant noise elsewhere in the building says classes and rehearsals are still going on. The packet is in her hands and still she can’t quite look directly at them.

  When she checks, when she finds out for sure, there’ll be no going back. Anna isn’t at all sure she’s ready for that.

  Victoria leverages herself out of the chair at the foot of Irina’s bed. “Your girlfriend, I assume. Doesn’t she have a key?”

  “Don’t be jealous I got myself a Gale sister,” Irina teases. “But yes, Jessica has a key.”

  “It’s hardly been five minutes, you walking cliché. Sorry, hobbling cliché.”

  “Fuck you, Vicki.” Irina flips her off as Victoria makes it out of the room.

  It’s a nice place. Victoria’s always thought so. She should have put her insurance money into buying somewhere with this modern style.

  “Irina’s bellhop service,” Victoria says as she opens the door to see…Anna. A tearstained, wild-haired, equally stunned Anna Gale is on Irina’s doorstep, and just when the hell did it start raining?

  “Is she here?” Anna demands, rubbing her hands on her ripped jeans. The dark T-shirt beneath her jacket is wet through. “Wait, why are you here?”

  “I can’t check on my injured dancer? What if she’s not up to visitors?”

  “No.” Anna is resolute. “That is not an option. This is too important. Are you going to get out of my way?”