The Music and the Mirror

by Lola Keeley

“Fine.” Victoria huffs, but she looks pleased. Unfortunately she also wriggles off Anna’s lap, wincing as she tucks her bad leg under herself as best she can. She thumps the privacy screen again and they’re in motion.

  “Wait, you didn’t read it first to check?” Anna gasps as Victoria searches through the paper. “I thought you were bluffing and knew it was a good review.”

  “We really have to toughen you up,” Victoria says. “Aha, here we are. Oh, a whole section. Remind me to call someone about using the correct promotional shots, would you? No, never mind, that’s something to annoy Kelly about.” Victoria actually takes out her phone and fires off the message.

  Anna is on the brink of combusting from sheer anticipation. She clears her throat, and the smirk Victoria shoots her this time says the delay is entirely on purpose.

  What was it Jess called her the other week? Princess of Pain? Yeah, Anna absolutely has a thing for a sadist.

  “‘In a nod to Matthew Bourne’—ugh, I knew they’d start there,” Victoria groans. “‘The Metropolitan Ballet has finally begun to deliver the shake-up we were promised when their leading light returned to them just under four years ago.’”

  “Leading light,” Anna teases. “I’ll have to remember that’s your title. Maybe Kelly can have a sign made for your door.”

  “‘In choosing a ballerina to dance the traditionally male role of the Salamander Prince’—we changed the… It was a metaphor… Forget it.” Victoria frowns.

  “It’s bad isn’t it?” Anna panics. “No, I don’t want to hear it. Stop there.”

  “‘Victoria Ford has unearthed a rare gem in the form of Anna Gale (pictured). Her feminine wiles may not be deployed, but she brings a grace and tenderness to the Prince that makes him the perfect choice for the Princess (prima Delphine Wade).’”

  No picture of Delphine? Anna can’t muster outrage over her bubbling excitement. They think it was a good idea. Not to go full Sally Field at the first hint of success, but they liked her. They really liked her.

  “‘Of particular interest is the new take on McMillan’s blindfolded pas de deux. It was the London performance that launched Ford as a star, but she shares the spotlight perfectly between her stars here. Gale is a revelation with her cutting-edge line and pale complexity. Here is an actor-dancer who will tell the story twice over, once with her movement and again with her expression.’”

  Victoria looks giddy as the paper falls into her lap. “Delphine professional, yadda yadda. Get your tickets here. ‘Be sure to book if you can, because this first night felt like an I was there when… moment, much as the same ballet did in London some twenty years ago for the current artistic director.’”

  “That…” Anna licks her lips, fumbling for words. “I mean, that’s…”

  “A rave,” Victoria finishes for her, falling on Anna with a ravishing kiss. Her hands are under the flimsy blue top, and Anna moans low in her throat.

  “Your rise, since I promoted you, is already meteoric, Anna,” Victoria says when she relinquishes Anna’s mouth for a moment.

  Not content to wait, Anna’s mouth seeks out the base of Victoria’s throat when she’s back on Anna’s lap.

  “It’s only going to continue that way,” Victoria says.

  “Thank you?”

  “Do you know what turns me on more than success?” Victoria runs her fingers through Anna’s hair, stopping short to tug at it with intent.

  Their gazes meet, and Anna is openmouthed in her desire to keep touching, to continue being touched. “What?” she rasps. “Tell me.”

  “Nothing,” Victoria confirms, and then her dress is so easy to unzip, slipping down her arms and rucking around her waist.

  Anna pushes the high hem up to meet it and Victoria’s practically naked on top of her. A cursory skim of Anna’s hand between them confirms Victoria is already soaked through her barely-there suggestion of underwear. Apparently fine lace thongs are not an occasional choice.

  It doesn’t seem like a lot of foreplay is going to be necessary, at least for this early round. Anna is just greedy to be touching again when she thought she’d surrendered the privilege, so when she puts her fingers to work this time, there’s firm purpose in the stroking movements.

  Victoria drops her head back at first, the touch making her seem electrified as her short nails dig into Anna’s bare shoulders, her top barely intact from their initial groping. When they kiss again, Victoria biting down on Anna’s lower lip before sucking on it, it’s all the incitement Anna needs to slip two fingers inside. Victoria grinds down against them, and Anna flexes her thumb to apply the necessary pressure to Victoria’s clit.

  There must be traffic on the way uptown. Anna vaguely thinks they may be hitting the post-theater crowds, who tip out of their musicals and plays later than the ballet usually does. She doesn’t care much beyond the extra time it gives her to have Victoria rocking steadily up and down on her lap.

  Anna surreptitiously moves her other hand to support Victoria’s knee, just in case. She drags her fingertips along Victoria’s inner thigh as a distraction, knowing how sensitive she is there. Victoria’s breathy moans confirm it’s a good choice.

  They’re almost rolling to a stop outside Victoria’s building when she comes, muffling the sounds she makes against Anna’s shoulder, mouth hot and wet as she nips aimlessly at the skin. Anna is almost out of her skin with need, and, as she shifts to the side, she teases Victoria that as the star of the evening, shouldn’t she be the one riding the highs?

  “Oh, just you wait, Anna.” Victoria sighs. Between them, they zip her dress back to something approaching decent.

  Anna just puts her jacket back on and zips it over her half-removed camisole. When they step out onto the sidewalk, they’re almost presentable, but they barely make it inside the front door of the building before Victoria is on Anna, kisses fervent and hands determined.

  Getting to the actual apartment takes an age, between being too intent on making out to notice the elevator has arrived, and Victoria having her hand inside Anna’s jeans when they reach the top floor, meaning they miss that opportunity to step out and bounce around floors for a while. Right up until Victoria, breathless and flushed, announces that they are not having sex on the damn elevator, even though they’re not very far from proving that wrong.

  Anna is so turned on she could cry by the time they finally make their way along the correct hallway, performing an inelegant sort of waltz as they kiss, and fumble for keys, and take turns being pressed against the wall. They attract an audience from the rude neighbor through the peep hole, and Victoria takes extra relish in moaning as Anna kisses her collarbones with exquisite attention.

  “Okay.” Victoria just about gathers herself long enough to unlock the apartment door. “Come here.”

  Anna barely has time to close the door behind them, but she manages it before Victoria sinks to the floor, using Anna’s jacket to prop up the painful knee. She threads her fingers through Victoria’s hair, smiling as her jeans are impatiently tugged down.

  There’s no way the neighbors can miss the sound of her coming, with more of a scream than a moan, and Anna can’t find it in herself to give a damn.

  CHAPTER 36

  Victoria is standing at the side of the bed the next morning when Anna finally cracks one eye open enough to let light in. More beautiful than the postcoital woman in the robe standing before her are the steaming coffee mugs said woman is holding.

  “So I have coffee, but there’s a qualifying question.”

  “The answer is whatever you want it to be, as long as I get the coffee.” Anna groans, pulling herself up against the pillows. “You know, I didn’t even drink that much. Why do I feel like I’ve been hit by a train?”

  “Adrenaline crash,” Victoria says, a little snappish. “Now, to qualify for coffee, answer me this: are you going to have any more genius ideas about one-time things and how that’s all I want? Or are you going to be a person who gets to drink their coffe
e?”

  “No more bright ideas,” Anna says. “I don’t have enough functioning brain cells anyway.”

  Victoria hands over a delightfully creamy coffee, and a first sip confirms just a hint of sweetener.

  It’s Anna’s go-to order, and much nicer than her usual takeout version.

  “So I can come back to bed without you dumping me? Sneaking out when I go for a shower?”

  “You’re pretty sensitive for someone with a really big ego,” Anna says, filters not entirely in place for the day yet. “Uh, I mean—”

  But Victoria is smiling, so Anna stops fumbling. They sip their coffees in comfortable silence, Victoria wriggling closer when she’s back under the sheets.

  “Any chance I can just sleep all day?” Anna asks. “I could live in this bed, for the record.”

  “It would be remiss of me to let you. But powering through isn’t always the answer. You should go easier but keep active. Swim, massage, a couple of light classes today. And before you start worrying, it’s what I’d recommend to any dancer not currently naked in my bed too.”

  “Does that mean you’ll join me? If it’s so routine?”

  “Is that your idea of a date?” Victoria smirks into her mug.

  “Are we dating?” Anna drains her own coffee and sets it aside. She has to learn how to work that coffeemaker. “And if we are, I guess I should ask how discreetly?”

  “You, the one who likes to assume things, are assuming you’re my dirty little secret?”

  Anna nods. What else could she possibly think?

  This conversation is inevitable, and it’s usually the point where Victoria scrambles for the nearest exit. Honestly it’s unlike her to even let it get this far, but there goes Anna again being the exception to so many of Victoria’s rules.

  “Well,” she considers out loud. “Fuck that.”

  “Ex-excuse me?” Thank God Anna has finished her coffee, or it would be all over Victoria’s immaculate brushed-linen bedding.

  “Oh yes, it’s quite the sapphic scandal.” Victoria rolls her eyes. “Do you know how many men in my position have fucked their way to greatness? Claiming an exceptional dancer as their muse and riding her talent to fame of their own? Not,” she clarifies, “that it’s what I intend with you.”

  “You’re already way more renowned,” Anna points out.

  “Well, of course I am. All I mean is that no one ever judged those men and their muses. Often the fights were more dramatic than the performances, but it never stopped them. Why the hell else are we in the arts, if not to shrug off that pedestrian bullshit?”

  “Am I your muse?” Anna teases, leaning in for a coffee-flavored kiss. “Do tell all the ways I inspire you, maestra.”

  Victoria wrinkles her nose. How cheesy. “You don’t need to flip the gender. I’m quite content as a maestro, thank you.”

  “And this isn’t going to be a secret,” Anna says, a gleam in her eyes now. “So I can swing by your office any given day and do this.” She leans in for a slower, more thorough kiss. “I know, I know, studio time is only for practice, but afterward, I can also do this.” She kisses Victoria again, and they’re both smiling into it.

  “Go get the shower started and I’ll ring Kelly about the spa,” Victoria orders, already turned on. If she doesn’t get them moving, they’ll end up wasting the day in bed, and that’s an irresponsibility too far.

  “You joining me?” Anna hops out of bed. She stretches, the defined muscles of her back pulling Victoria’s focus as they flex.

  “You know me,” Victoria deadpans. “I’m just nuts for water conservation. I’ll see you in there.”

  Nobody notices at first, and Anna tells herself she’s relieved. It’s not as though Victoria goes any easier on her in the studio, and the high of performing as a principal each night for more than a week is as exhausting as it is thrilling. She crashes hard each night, more often than not in Victoria’s bed, and if that’s how habits form, Anna is happy to let them.

  With The Prince of the Pagodas wrapped, it’s time to focus on the holiday program. Anna’s big coming out in Gala Performance will be in the new year, after some light traveling for the company in January, where the summer touring schedule will also be finalized. She’s so busy she almost forgets to be tired, enjoying the relative anonymity of being back in the corps for The Nutcracker while the rest of the company is also closing out the regular shows with Coppélia.

  She’s running through a sequence heavy on développés, her leg extended vertically, toes pointing to eleven o’clock. There’s a second, no more than that, when she thinks it’s just someone’s elastic snapping.

  Then the electric surge of pain that radiates down her leg and up through her hip is like lightning wrapped in barbed wire.

  “Son of a—”

  She hits the ground hard, because her weight was shifting back to center and her other leg isn’t expecting to have to suddenly do all the work. The pain is so sharp that Anna instinctively runs her hand over the back of her thigh, paranoid that Teresa has somehow gotten to her with more glass, or worse a knife this time. It’s paranoid and panicky, but it gives Anna something to focus on so she doesn’t cry.

  There’s a crowd around her in seconds, David barking orders as the one in charge of the rehearsal. Two of the boys make a carrying cradle for her and gently transport her down to Kim. As expected, Victoria shows up two minutes later, clearly having rushed right over from her office.

  “Are you okay?”

  The boys bolt, knowing they’ll be sent back to rehearsal anyway if they make eye contact. Kim is still in back dealing with an ankle sprain, so it’s just Anna waiting on one of the empty beds.

  “It’s not so bad,” Anna says, promptly bursting into tears.

  Victoria scoops her up in a hug that manages not to jostle her at all.

  Anna cries harder, into the shoulder of Victoria’s gorgeous patterned blouse. She hopes it won’t stain, since the little makeup Anna is wearing must be washing off her face about now.

  “Hey, hey.” Kim joins them, patting Victoria on the shoulder to get her to move away. “What have we got here?”

  “Hammy,” Anna says through gritted teeth. “Fully extended and then: snap.”

  “That’ll do it,” Kim says, and her voice is so calm, so soothing, that Anna bursts into tears all over again. “Hey, get that panic down to a simmer. It’s rarely as bad as you think.”

  “But—”

  “Here, here, let me see.” Kim rolls Anna over to examine her properly. Victoria watches on, holding Anna’s hand the whole time. The new position adds to her discomfort, but Anna grits her teeth. She can’t be a baby about this.

  Kim is trying to be gentle, but her fingers feel like they’re trying to pull muscles out through her skin every time they prod at Anna’s thigh. She wants to throw up, always has when she’s hurt, going way back to skinning her knees on the playground. But then Victoria’s other hand is rubbing between her shoulder blades, soothing circles that make it easier to breathe. Anna closes her eyes and lets Kim work.

  “We’ll need a scan, but first look says it’s relatively minor.”

  “How long?” Anna grits out, turning back over as carefully as she can. Yet again, Victoria’s hands are there, guiding her. “Please don’t say months, Doc. Please.”

  “Not this side of Christmas” is all Kim can offer. “I’ll know more when I get an ultrasound. I’ll need to get you to move a bit for me, too, check the hip and knee involvement. That’s going to hurt like a bitch, Anna, so I’m saying sorry now.”

  “Great.” It comes out as a groan.

  “Soon as we have it diagnosed, I’ll give you a shot of the good stuff, okay? Just hang in there. I don’t think we’re looking at a grade three, so thank your lucky stars. You okay, Victoria? You look like you’ve got an insurance payment riding on this leg.”

  Victoria dismisses her with a mocking little laugh.

  “She’s good,” Anna announces as Kim
wanders off in search of her equipment. “I’m so glad she’s our doc.”

  “Well, she hasn’t killed anyone yet,” Victoria agrees, kissing Anna’s hand that she’s holding. “I know you’re in pain, but Kim doesn’t seem overly worried. When I heard you just dropped, I thought…”

  “I’m sorry.” Anna reaches for Victoria’s face, stroking her cheek with her thumb. “This can’t be easy for you. I can call Jess. Don’t feel like you have to stay.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not leaving you here alone.”

  “People are going to think you like me, you know.”

  Victoria kisses Anna’s hand again in response. “So let them. What the hell do I care?”

  It’s not quite an admission, but Anna’s going to take it anyway.

  The painkillers knock Anna loopy, so it’s good to see her sleeping it off. Trapped beneath her on the sofa, at least through choice, Victoria fusses with loose strands of Anna’s honeyed hair, half watching some Netflix documentary about somewhere she doesn’t recognize.

  “Huh?” Anna awakes with a less than dignified snort, lifting her head off Victoria’s lap. “What…?”

  “You hurt your hamstring,” Victoria explains in her most soothing voice. “You’re going to miss a few weeks, but it’s not too severe. We’re back at your apartment, and it turns out you snore.”

  “No, I don’t!” Anna protests, sitting up with some difficulty. She knocks a half-melted ice pack off as she moves.

  Eventually, with Victoria’s help, Anna is up and on her way to the bathroom. She’s awkward with the crutches, but everyone is on the first day or two.

  “Hungry?” Victoria asks on her return.

  Anna shakes her head. “Can I go to bed? What time is it? Will you stay?”

  “I can stay,” Victoria agrees. “Let’s get you comfortable, then I’ve got a few things to do before I join you.”

  “You’re so pretty.” Anna sighs, as though carrying the knowledge around has been exhausting her. “And you were very nice to me in PT. Kim was making faces about it when you weren’t looking, you know.”