The Music and the Mirror

by Lola Keeley

  “Could have fooled me,” Anna mutters. “But I know you were probably in there trying to work out how to let me down easy, and I get it. I’m not naive, Victoria.”

  “You’re not.” It’s a statement of fact after the past few hours. “And here you are, beyond the castle walls. I suppose I should tell you I don’t generally bring people home, so you’re not entirely wrong. I’m careful about who messes with my feng shui.” She gives a pointed look to the rumpled mess they’ve made of the bed, hoping for comic relief.

  “I know, and I feel so lucky. That’s why I wanted to stay. I mean, if it’s a one-time thing, then make as much of it as we can, right?”

  Victoria’s freezes halfway to the bed, dressed in a scandalous slip of a negligee she wasn’t planning on wearing by morning. “One-time?” she repeats, the term sounding foreign on her tongue. The sinking sensation in her chest certainly has nothing to do with her heart, or any kind of genuine feelings. Of course the twentysomething ballerina isn’t looking for something permanent. Victoria has had her share of flings over the years. “That saves an awkward conversation in the morning, I suppose.”

  “Right!”

  Anna’s enthusiasm seems a little faked, but Victoria is sure she’s just projecting. So she’s the notch on the bedpost this time. It’s refreshing really. And, after all, what really matters is the work. They can only be better for taking this last barrier of intimacy out of the process.

  Despite what they’ve said, the moment the room is dark, Anna seeks her out beneath the sheets and holds Victoria close. There’s a kiss pressed into her hair, and it feels like so much more than one night has any right to.

  Dawn wakes Anna, because in their punch-drunk state neither of them considered the curtains. She fumbles for her jeans without getting out of bed, retrieving her phone with its balefully low battery and a flurry of notifications. Unable to resist, she shoots off a text to Jess.

  you’ll never guess where I am.

  Then she regrets it, because somehow she’s talked herself and Victoria out of having anything more than this. If Victoria had put up any protest, or looked even slightly disappointed at Anna’s suggestion, she could have recanted.

  Seeing her across the pillows now, face free of concentration frowns or faint lines of distaste, Anna almost feels like she’s in bed with the Victoria who was still dancing, the years she wears incredibly well falling away. What would someone so sophisticated and accomplished want with her flings nipping at her heels, anyway? No, Anna has stumbled on the perfect adult solution to this necessary development.

  Still, if it’s absolutely the right thing to do, then why is kissing Victoria again the only thing she can think of doing? Waking her up and saying one more night, and day, and another after that. Would Victoria kiss her back? Or tell her not to let the door hit her on the ass on her way out? It’s too big a risk, with everything they have planned for the season.

  Anna slips out of bed and dresses quickly in the hall, before slipping into the kitchen. She hopes to make coffee as a parting gift but, to her dismay, Victoria’s coffee machine looks like professional-grade equipment, and Anna is no barista. Knowing her resolve will weaken if she returns to the bedroom, she leaves a brief but cheerful note on the elegant cream-colored fridge.

  A moment later and Anna is out of the apartment, running right into the nosy neighbor who looks Anna up and down as though they’ve never met.

  “Morning!” Anna says, far more chipper than she feels.

  “Hmm” is all the response she gets, so she hurries the rest of the way downstairs.

  “If you have company I can make myself scarce,” Kim offers, presumably seeing how bedraggled Victoria looks on throwing the front door open.

  “No, no, she’s gone. Coffee? I sure as hell need some.”

  “I’ve got B12 if you want a shot to go with that.” Kim drops her bag on the kitchen counter, and Victoria winces at the takeout bag and empty wineglasses. “Oh, you really did have company. Tell me it wasn’t that creepy piano chick with the staring. I keep thinking she’s going to Carrie the whole studio one of these days.”

  “No, it wasn’t Teresa. And I’d defend her, except she is the one who glassed Anna’s shoes.”

  “There is that. I’m glad you’re putting regular physical therapy back on the calendar. You ever think about a midweek session? Not to be selfish, but it would save me coming up here.”

  “I’ll think about it. Any word on the Gresham girl?”

  “Not good.” Kim winces. “Labrum’s definitely torn, and the wear on the socket is worse than they realized from last time. The surgeon’s giving her less than fifty perfect chance of dancing again with a full replacement.”

  “Shit.”

  “I’m going to see her later. I’ll see what she’s thinking. Done for this season, though, obviously. Haven’t I told you about breaking your toys?”

  “Just for that I’m pretending I have no creamer for your coffee,” Victoria says with a sniff.

  “You never do. When did you start getting it? For she-who-sleeps-over?”

  “Stop fishing, Sawyer. If you’re going to torture me, let me at least splash some water on my face. You are fifteen minutes early.” Victoria whisks the coffee machine into life with practiced ease, preparing two mugs.

  “Force of habit” is all Kim has to say for herself. She moves around Victoria to get the creamer, catching sight of something on the fridge. “Well, at least your guest had a nice time.” She offers the piece of paper with a smirk before adopting a dreamy voice. “Is she A in your ballet? I think she must be.”

  “I know you’re quoting something sappy at me, but I remain unmoved.” Victoria groans, but she can’t help smiling at Anna’s adorable note. Has she really agreed to one night only? Probably best, considering. That didn’t stop the pang of loneliness on waking up to an empty bed. Or the urge to scheme a way around that little agreement, the sooner the better. “I’m going to get that shower.”

  “Wait, A…Anna? Victoria Ford, are you banging the new girl?”

  “No comment,” Victoria says as she pours the coffee. She takes hers toward the bathroom as she flees from Kim. “I’ll be quick,” she calls back.

  “Yeah, you’d better be.”

  “You did what?” Jess accuses, rifling through a rack of clothes as the thud of music with too much bass plays over their conversation.

  Anna just wants to skip the shopping and get to the part where they eat.

  “Anna, that’s some amateur nonsense.”

  “I wanted her to contradict me!”

  “And tell you that in just one night she’d fallen madly in love with you, go pack your things and move in?” The snort of laughter only makes Anna feel worse. “That U-Haul-on-the-second-date thing is supposed to be a joke, you know?”

  “Of course that’s not what I thought,” Anna says, even as she’s picturing them sharing the Sunday New York Times at the table with its beautiful linen tablecloth, or taking long showers together in the marble bathroom. “Besides, if she wanted more than to get it out of our systems, she would have said so.”

  “Or you’ve just found a way of breaking your own heart when the woman of your dreams had no intention of doing so,” Jess says.

  “When did you turn into such a romantic? Normally you’re telling me there are other fish in the sea before I’ve even broken things off with someone.”

  “I just… It’s different when it’s something real.” Jess blushes furiously. “I know I wouldn’t be giving Irina an out, not when it would mess me up.”

  “Well, that sounds super romantic.” Anna rolls her eyes and feels how inherently Victoria-like her posture is as she does.

  “I do okay.” Jess settles on a black shirt that looks a lot like the other many black shirts she owns.

  “I need to focus on dancing anyway,” Anna says, trying to convince herself. “We go into full-time rehearsal for my turn as a prince this week. Delphine’s amazing. I just hope I d
on’t make an idiot of myself.”

  “Nobody can mess up Sleeping Beauty.”

  “Which would be great if I was dancing that, but it’s The Prince of the Pagodas. And this choreography was first written for Victoria in London.”

  “Well, it sounds like you know what you want.” Jess wanders over to the counter to pay.

  Anna surreptitiously checks her phone, the battery almost wiped. She needs to get home and put her life in order. It isn’t disappointing that Victoria hasn’t sent a message, of course it isn’t.

  But when Anna closes her eyes even for a second, all she can see is Victoria on top of her, beside her, then asleep on the impeccably white pillow. Go back go back go back, Anna’s gut is telling her, but she ignores it in favor of another coffee with her sister.

  It’s safer that way. No disappointment, nothing getting in the way of her big shot. By the time Jess is done and they’re heading for the café, Anna’s almost sure of her choice once more.

  CHAPTER 34

  The more professional Anna is, the harder she throws herself into being the perfect prince to Delphine’s Princess Rose, the more Victoria wants her.

  It’s maddening.

  The official costume fitting with Susan is torture. Not because of the tension crackling in the room, but because Anna spends the best part of three hours standing around in her underwear. Even Delphine doing the same cannot distract her from Anna. Delphine is just another body as far as Victoria’s brain is concerned, no matter how conventionally attractive. Anna, on the other hand, is distracting with every bend, flex, or reflexive rubbing of her arms because the wardrobe department is always painfully cool.

  The final result is worth it: a prince worthy of any production.

  “Well.” Susan tucks her tools back into the satchel she carries around for alterations. “Even by my standards, that’s a damn home run.”

  “It’s your modesty, that’s why I brought you in from Miami,” Victoria says, but she’s impressed.

  Anna can’t take her eyes off the mirror, and no one could blame her. The jade green, now tailored to her shape in new material, looks as though her thighs were sculpted from actual jade. Those broad shoulders look more than capable of tossing Delphine around now they’re crowned with golden epaulettes, and the starched collar only adds to the military bearing.

  “I can undo all this and put her in a potato sack, you know,” Susan warns.

  Anna gasps at the very idea, possessive hands all over her military jacket. “Don’t you dare!” And it’s the closest she’s come to a diva moment of her own.

  “Nobody’s taking your clothes,” Victoria says, but she likes the enthusiasm.

  Anna blushes at the mention of removing clothes, and it’s a small but predictable victory for Victoria. They’ve held out for over a week now. This magnetic pull should be fading, but it’s only getting stronger.

  “I’ve got some sketches for Gala,” Susan tells them, rooting around in her satchel. “But we’ll make time to go through those before I commit to stitching anything. I’ll let you know what labels get back to me.”

  “I’m still inclined toward a Susan Ramos original.” Victoria has been firm on that point. She brought Susan in because she can work miracles with cloth and dye. Her cuts and stitching make the clothes an extension of the dancers, and it’s an art form in its own right. “Anna, you can get going. Dr. Sawyer is waiting.”

  “Right,” Anna says, like she’d been about to say something else. “I am so ready for a massage.”

  Victoria turns away, trying not to think about Anna in just a slip of white towel. It’s a sports massage, for the love of…

  “Have fun,” is all she can think to say, not turning back until Anna has made her exit.

  “She gets the preferential treatment?” Irina asks from the doorway. “I see how it is.”

  “I was here first.” When it comes to a massage for her exhausted legs, Anna has decided to be ruthless. “You can have the guy with the knuckles thing, though.”

  “Girls, girls, don’t fight over me,” Kim orders. “Irina, take the bed over there. Anna’s almost done.”

  Anna whines in protest.

  “Unless you want your hamstrings and Achilles to actually turn into tagliatelle, you’re just about done,” Kim says. She jiggles Anna’s thigh to make her point.

  “Fine, but can I lie here for a while?” Anna asks. “I’m too relaxed to move.”

  “You can keep me company,” Irina decides for them both. “We have not spoken much, and Kim here is a vault. She asks no questions, tells no lies.”

  “I ask plenty of questions,” Kim argues. “And it’s you dancers who lie to me, all the time. ‘I took my shots, Kim. I did my reps, Kim.’ I should lock up the painkillers and ban you all from my lovely department.”

  “You would be so lonely without us,” Irina says.

  Anna listens to her get ready, the Moon Boot finally off, but her leg still firmly strapped, at least based on warm-up this morning.

  “How is the girl?” Irina asks.

  “You know I can’t discuss Morgan’s condition with any of you,” Kim warns, pulling a thin sheet over Anna’s legs and back to keep her warm. “But since you’ll only make up scurrilous rumors if I don’t, I suppose I can unofficially tell you that New York General discharged a young woman today. She’s going back to stay with her mother, instead of her own place. The second surgery is postponed for now.”

  Anna sat up, only just remembering to cover her front with a towel. “Seriously? But there’s no way she dances again without it.”

  Kim shrugs. “Some pain isn’t worth going through twice. She’s considering her options.”

  “It is not as though she’ll lack for options,” Irina says. “Still, you know what your beloved Martha said.”

  “Stewart?” Anna asks, because that would be out of left field.

  “Graham,” Kim corrects, smacking Anna on the arm for being dense.

  “Oh.” Anna gets it then. “A dancer dies twice. That’s what you mean?”

  “Mmm,” Irina confirms, already facedown on her massage table. “Once when they stop dancing.” Her voice is level as she says it, despite how close she’s already come to that reality. “Perhaps Morgan just wants to get it over with. It’s the most painful death.”

  “So…” Anna isn’t quite sure where to start, but they managed pretty well over tea the other day.

  “You want to tell me about her,” Irina asks. “You knew Inessa for longer than I did, after all.”

  “I mean, what do you want to hear?” Anna asks. “I was a kid and she was my whole world. I don’t know if there’s anything that will even make that much sense, honestly.”

  “She brought you to the ballet. You must have been young.”

  “My lullabies were ballet scores. That and some folk songs I never really got to understand, but her voice was beautiful. A real soprano, you know? My dad always said she should have been a professional singer. Do you…sing?”

  Irina groans as Kim attacks her back and shoulders with renewed enthusiasm. “I can carry a tune, yes.”

  Another detail to file away. Another similarity in a person who’s still here, still walking around and talking. Sharing DNA with Anna just when she thought there was no one left coded in the same way as she. She’s gotten used to knowing that doesn’t matter, that it doesn’t make a family, but as an orphan far from home, it’s amazing how the smallest thing can make her feel that little bit less lonely.

  “Tell me about Moscow,” Anna says, standing and pulling her shirt and sweatpants back on. “She came to see you dance once, I know. I guess she knew. Did she…?”

  “I never had guests,” Irina cuts off that fantasy. “If I was asked anytime, I don’t remember. I’m sorry for this.”

  “It’s okay,” Anna sits on the floor, leaning back against the wall. “The Bolshoi, though,” Anna presses. “Is it as hardcore as they say?”

  “Oh, do I have some tales
for you, malenkaya.”

  Anna opens a bottle of water and settles in for the stories.

  The switch to stage rehearsal is a relief. Here, there’s a whole company most of the time, and so many fixes and tweaks needed that Victoria rarely has time to dwell on Anna, save for her solos and pas de deux. There’s a lot of chatter among the girls in the corps about how Anna gets to dance an entire show without pointe shoes, mutters of mild jealousy and curiosity alike. Fairly standard whenever someone gets to color outside the lines. Aside from that, it’s almost irritating how quickly the company has taken to her, especially after Victoria’s best efforts to keep her isolated and focused. It’s that damn sunshine smile, even if half of them are bitching behind her back later.

  “Did someone hire a monkey for this production?” Victoria rarely has to raise her voice, but they’re a rowdy bunch this afternoon. “Because I fail to see why you’d be playing with those ropes otherwise.” Ethan stops turning somersaults between two ropes, having the decency to look embarrassed at being caught.

  “Now, if the corps could seat themselves in the house for ten minutes, we might actually get to see our prince and princess dance today. Wouldn’t that be something?” Victoria’s sarcasm echoes back to her over a sea of bowed heads scurrying to do as they’re told for a change. It’s hard to tell sometimes if this is a ballet company or a kindergarten.

  Delphine and Anna are the only ones left onstage. The lighting design is not finalized, so they’re sitting in the glow of a couple of follow spots that won’t move yet. That’s another meeting—a handful of them, probably—and some agonizing tech rehearsals still to come. Dry tech yesterday hasn’t exactly filled Victoria with confidence that her department heads know what’s expected of them. These work-light rehearsals have been more tedious than normal, and she’s close to losing her temper.