by Lola Keeley
“We’re old friends.” Victoria already sounds thoroughly bored.
Anna’s trying desperately not to fixate. “So”—she comes to sit beside Victoria on the armchair, big enough for both of them—“she’s not here to poach anyone?”
“Getting ideas above your station there, Gale?” Victoria is joking with her, prodding a slender finger into Anna’s ribs. “Some good reviews and you think they’re all coming to steal you away? I saw the difference in you today. You hold yourself like that in a few days’ time and there will be offers.”
“I just don’t see that I’m as good as they are. What if the audience laughs?”
“Anna, some of those people haven’t laughed since Nixon, and even then it was involuntary.”
“There’s really nothing to tell?” The voice at the back of Anna’s mind says she’s missing something, but she’s getting tired and there’s only so much awake time left to take advantage of. “Well, in that case we’d better have an early night.”
Anna shoots off a quick miss-you message to Victoria. They see each other in rehearsals, but Victoria’s been out with all kinds of people most evenings, networking like hell. Anna can’t exactly blame her, even if it’s meant spending lonelier nights back in her own apartment.
She has a nice brunch Sunday with Jess, who thinks Irina is acting weird.
“Is Pluto in retrograde?” Anna asks, sipping her mimosa.
“You mean Mercury. Pluto isn’t a planet.”
“Pluto will always be a planet. Anyway, maybe it’s lead in the water supply, but everyone is super strange this week. Maybe this is how they cope with stress?”
“Or maybe everything’s all messed up.” Jess sighs. “Irina retiring is good news. I don’t want her hurting like she was. But then…where does she go?”
“You know, if where she goes has ballet, they’ll have theater too. And stage managing isn’t that different on our side of the fence. You know that.” Anna squeezes Jess’s hand before going back to her eggs. “And with all our chaos, I’m probably back in the corps next year. Unless they find a reason to just get rid of me. I’m starting to think I should have sucked up to Liza more.”
“Sounds like not even that can help you. You never know, Richard Westin might see you dance this week and offer you prima for next season.”
“Yeah, right.” Anna snorts into her orange juice. “Why are you so quick to give up on Pluto, anyway?”
“Let it go, Anna.” Jess groans.
It’s agony not to tell her, but with all her selfishness of late, Victoria keeps her distance from Anna. The moment there’s a concrete offer, when they’re on the other side of opening night, of course she’ll parse every detail and see what Anna thinks. Somewhere along the way, Victoria has come to see her as a partner, someone whose opinion matters above almost anyone’s. Not because she’s seen much of the world, but because she considers others as naturally as breathing. If Victoria’s ideas pass with Anna, then they can’t be all that terrible. As metrics go, it’s a workable one.
Dress rehearsal went smoothly at least. It’s easier without so many in the cast, and the bulk of the work being done by the three principals. Victoria let them off the reins at last today, in their final match up, directly vying for attention in their respective section of the stage. When Anna—the American—triumphed, it felt correct. Delphine and Irina, perhaps with their priorities elsewhere, have seemed nothing but happy for her.
Which just leaves Victoria’s little cameo, one she’s refused to do in rehearsal save for the blocking. The part of Stage Manager is little more than a walk-on, but it allows the press to bill it as “Victoria Ford’s return!” in a variety of over-promising ways.
Only one preview this time, so they’ll have to keep it tight. Victoria is lying on her side, curtains half-drawn this time, watching Anna sleep. She allowed it tonight because Anna showed up looking so wiped. Sure enough, they barely got a chance to talk before she was passed out on her side of the bed. Victoria tugs at her bottom lip. She can’t start thinking of things as belonging to Anna—not at this stage.
Settling back in, hoping for a couple of hours’ sleep, Victoria presses a tender kiss to Anna’s shoulder. Just get the show open, get the raves that are due, and then it’s time for truths and decisions.
For now, there’s just Anna, warm and soft, so inviting to lie next to. Victoria closes her eyes and hopes this isn’t their last night together.
Anna hangs around after the first preview, but Victoria is mostly occupied with sorting out a fight of some kind between corps members. The early editions are usually put online, but this time every reviewer seems to be waiting for when the show is actually ready. Only one scenery snafu in the preview feels like a good omen, and she gets a healthy amount of applause from the audience. They take their individual bows in the order they perform their solos, before sharing the final bow as a trio. Women are so democratic that way, and Anna loves them for it.
Not in the way she loves Victoria. Who definitely seems to be avoiding her. Is this some prize-fighter mentality of denying sex in the days before the main event? Anna thinks she might be grateful. When she gets in at night, she can barely lift her arms most of the time.
“You came in early on your ronds,” Victoria announces when she finally appears at Anna’s dressing room door. “I have late drinks, sorry. Rest up for tomorrow. No classes apart from PT and the late warm-up session, okay?”
“Okay,” Anna agrees, left to head home alone. She’s never been so ready to open a show, if it means she and Victoria can go back to some kind of normal.
Meredith is waiting for Victoria in the bar of the Four Seasons, envelope in hand.
“Contract, plane tickets, including a flexible return for your first trip back—everyone always regrets storing something, or gets the homesickness too soon, you know?”
“When does Olivia want me?”
“Next week.”
Victoria takes a sip of the Scotch waiting for her. “Are you…? My God, you’re serious.”
“Time is of the essence. Some groundwork will be needed, otherwise the French press will savage you before you even pick up a score. Tell me this doesn’t change anything? And I could see you all the time, with the trains between London and Paris.”
“Oh well, that seals the deal,” Victoria says with a hint of mockery. “Do you think there are enough Berlin Wall chunks left for me to blockade myself in Paris? Or at least keep you out of the city?”
“Say yes, Victoria. But for God’s sake, tell Anna. You’re making yourself ill by not.”
“I don’t want to give her up,” Victoria admits with a hollow laugh. “Pathetic, I know.”
“Not pathetic.” She flags down a server for the check. “Just love.”
Anna doesn’t hear Victoria come in, but she’s there in the morning for lots of kisses followed by lots of coffee. The day is crammed—radio and television are covering the preparation, which is unusual in itself. Unlike Pagodas, this production is getting a lot of hype.
“Who’s up first?” Anna asks when she’s dressed and ready. “I figure local TV, since they’re most likely to try to buy tickets.”
“Well, we’re almost sold out,” Victoria says. “We did better than we thought. Or the marketing tapped into the right thing at the right time, maybe? Either way, I take full credit for my genius.”
“You’re lucky I love you.” Anna fills her travel mug with coffee, then another for Victoria. “Let’s go get this show open, huh?”
By a stroke of luck, Anna’s cutting around the side of the building where the box office is as Henri is collecting the tickets Anna left at Will Call for them.
“And who’s this big girl? This can’t be Yara, can it? I thought she was only six. You must be at least twelve, you’re so tall.”
“I’m six!” Yara protests from behind her dad’s legs, but that soon prompts her to come out. They chat politely for a moment, but Anna has to go get into her costume and f
inish the boldest parts of her stage makeup.
“Yara, next time your daddy brings you, we’ll do a tour, okay? You can go onstage and see all the pretty dresses.”
“Can I see the drums too?” Yara asks.
“Sure. I bet your dad will just love it if you get into drumming. Enjoy the show, both of you.”
Victoria will watch the rest of the show from an unoccupied box as usual, but right now she’s waiting in the wings for her cue. One scene and flee. Anna waves from the opposite wing, and Victoria gives her a reassuring smile. No last-minute backstage visit tonight. Anna needs total focus, and when Victoria is done with her bit onstage, she’ll be handing it over to all three ballerinas.
The applause as she steps out is intoxicating. Dressing all in black is hardly a stretch, but as Victoria mimes her elaborate moments of story, she feels her ankles and knees twitch with the need to dance. Luckily she only has to pull off the simplest of tendus, but the audience is old and loyal. They cheer her off as their queen, and Victoria lets herself cry in the corridor for a moment when it’s all done.
It won’t be so tricky to do that for a few nights. It’s just she’s a little unsteady, an addict who just got an accidental hit. Oh, far too mild to take the edge off, but enough to remind her what she’s missing.
Victoria makes her way to the box, then watches Anna transform before her very eyes. From regular dancer to something superhuman, her precision and heart completely in balance with even her introductory steps. The crowd seems to be holding its breath.
Then Anna is unleashed on them, and the audible gasp as she leaps into her first sequence is everything Victoria hoped for. Part of her wants to close her eyes, to bask in the reactions alone. She’s seen Anna dance this time and again, after all. There’s something magical about tonight, though, about the tightness in her hair pulled back, and the soft flow of the leather that forms her costume. Somewhere, the same hidden power that lifted Victoria a hundred times and more is carrying Anna through this. She’s dancing like a woman possessed, and God, the vindication is sweeter than Victoria could have hoped for.
She aches to touch Anna, even though she’s way out of range. There’s only one way to fix that.
They survive the post-performance red carpet, and the bland corporate catering at the afterparty. Anna chats to every person who seeks her out, making her excuses only when Meredith shows up to talk with Victoria again. The curiosity is palpable, but Victoria still can’t find the words to explain it.
The moment comes when Victoria least expects it. Anna turns to her in the middle of the party, twinkling fairy lights and bottles of house wine strewn all over the space.
“Did you get an offer?” Anna asks. She’s in the tiny red dress from the shoot, a borrowed silk wrap resting at her elbows. “That’s the only thing I can think of, other than you rekindling some old flame with Meredith. I know you’ve been quiet, and I’m trying not to worry. I love you, and there’s nothing you can’t tell me. Even if you’re moving to London.”
“She’s just an emissary. I’ve been offered top job in Paris,” Victoria says, and it’s plain to see the physical relief when she lets the secret go. “As in this job, my dream job. The paperwork is being drawn up right now, so it’s decision time.”
“Pfft, decision!” Anna flaps her hands. “What can there be to decide? Your dream was Paris. You’re getting a second shot, with all the power and skill you have now. This sounds like amazing news.”
“Just not for us.”
“Well, no, I suppose not. But I’d only be miserable getting in the way of something so perfect for you. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.”
“Anna, I know it’s soon, but if there’s a space, if I can make that demand so early on…”
“I don’t know,” Anna admits. “My family is here. I have responsibilities. There’s always long distance…”
“More like the long goodbye. Darling, can we talk about this tomorrow? I know it’s reality and we can’t ignore that, but I’d like to put it off for a few more hours.”
“Where would you like to spend them?”
“In bed with you, of course.”
They manage to wait past sunrise for reviews.
With a blanket draped over her shoulders, Victoria flips through her tablet to the usual suspects. Anna fetches the Times from the doorstep, flashing plenty of thigh at the nosy neighbor in the process. She looks good in Victoria’s robe, relaxed and rumpled despite the tension of waiting for reviews.
Both their phones are off, so they’re going in blind. Anna opens the arts section and gasps at the half-page picture of herself, alongside Irina and Delphine. It’s so charming, so wide-eyed and wondrous, that Victoria swipes the camera on her tablet and quickly snaps a few candids. They come out exactly as she hopes, Anna fresh-faced and full of life in the early morning sun.
The kind of picture someone frames to remember a person by.
Anna flips to the review itself, oblivious to Victoria’s resettling melancholy. Only when she comes to the right part of the page does she push the paper away.
“I can’t.” She squeezes her eyes shut. “Just like last time. I don’t suppose…?”
“If I have to keep reading to you, people are going to assume you didn’t pass third grade,” Victoria says, but she’s already reaching for the pages.
“Okay.” Anna takes a deep, steadying breath. Sitting cross-legged on top of the sheets, she seems meditative, downright calm. “Do your worst.”
“Let’s see… Blah-blah talk about the arts. State of ballet. History of the piece.” Victoria reads hastily, eyes darting across the text. “Ah, finally. They’ve remembered there were people on stage.”
Wade is an accomplished prima, a walking advert for the triumph of technique over authenticity.
Victoria sucks in a breath through her teeth. Ouch.
While Irina, for all her presence and power, seems a fading light. The choreography is limited to accommodate her range, and the long history of injuries would seem to have taken its toll. I would be surprised to see her dance for this illustrious company next season.
“Oh God.” Anna flops forward, clutching her stomach. “They’re going to slaughter me.”
“The evening is saved, however, by the company’s brand-new star. Sources suggest she is Victoria Ford’s personal project—”
“Subtle,” Anna groans, hearing only the implication about their relationship.
—now that she has headlined in two of the biggest shows of the season. It’s not hard to see why. Star quality is an indefinable thing, but like Ms. Ford, we know it when we see it. As the erstwhile, arrogant American ballerina, Anna Gale steals the show and the hearts of the audience. For all the frivolity in her section, she dances with her heart so exposed it might well be beating out of her chest. This reviewer almost felt compelled to stand and sing the Stars and Stripes when the foregone winner of their ‘contest’ was announced.
“Wow.” Anna is upright again, clutching her face. “Does it really say that? Are you making this up?”
“I’m rarely this eloquent before coffee,” Victoria reminds her.
Making her own brief return to the stage tonight, Ford gave a timely reminder that the city has not had a true prima ballerina of her standing since she retired. If she is to share with us one more gift, it would be the uncovering of a worthy successor.
Anna is crying, and Victoria folds the paper before pulling her in close. “It wasn’t so harsh on the girls,” Victoria says, trying to reassure her. “Anna, they loved you. It was worth it. The season was a success.”
“That’s not why I’m crying,” Anna says when her sobs are back under control. She tucks her head against Victoria’s shoulder, facing away from her as she traces fingertip lines on Victoria’s forearm. “As soon as you were done, I wanted to say, Wow, what if next time…? before I remembered there probably isn’t going to be one.”
“I want to say I can turn it down.” Victoria is
stunned at how much she actually means that. “I want to be that better person who trades in professional success for personal bliss, but God, Anna. I just can’t give this up, not after everything.”
“I know. I know.” Anna moves across the mattress, switching her phone back on. She’s clearing notifications, trying to focus on anything that will stem the flow of tears by the looks of it. After a minute, she sits bolt upright.
“What?” Victoria snaps. “Anna, what is it?”
“Rick has sold the company. And the new bosses just appointed Irina as artistic director,” Anna says. “There’s a press release in five. Irina made it a condition that I can stay on too. So I still have a job. Not in Paris, but a job all the same.”
“Then you should stay.” Victoria nudges her. “Not to build on this success would be ludicrous. And the touring in the summer will bring you to Europe at least.”
Anna’s face falls, confronted with the reality that Victoria is going.
“Anna?”
“Yes?”
“If there was ever a time I’ve come close to not putting this first, my career? It’s here, now. This is maybe the hardest thing I’ve ever done. But we both still have growing to do, don’t we?”
The nod is minimal, just a slight jerk of Anna’s head.
“I think I have to go. I’m sorry. It’s just too hard,” she says, barely looking at Victoria. “I wish you everything, Victoria. Every dream you’ve had to wait for. I’ll be cheering you on, even if I can’t be there.”
“Anna—”
“No, no, I’m sorry.” Anna is scooping up her clothes from the chair they were thrown on. “If I don’t go now, I won’t be able to. And you don’t want me crying around your ankles, do you?”
“Even breaking up with me, you’re too kind.” Victoria slides off the bed, ridiculous in only her cashmere throw. “But please. We still have some time, we could make more of it. And…and… It won’t be forever. They could fire me in a month.”