by BT Urruela
Annalise couldn’t believe it. He was actually being nice to her and for the life of her, she didn’t understand why. Before she started to overthink it, they began to move. Annalise poured all the emotion of the last twenty-four hours into her dancing. She let the music caress her the way no man ever had, transporting her into a realm of grace and belonging that she only dreamed of. Annalise spun and leaped across the stage in perfect time with her partner. Their feet moved as if connected by an invisible thread.
The other dancers joined in the dizzying frenzy of grace and beauty. Annalise imagined what it would look like on opening night. The vibrant colors of all the dancers’ costumes swirling in stark contrast to her bright white. Around the other dancers, she soared and leaped, weaving a story of love and ultimately, heartache. The music took on a haunting tone. Annalise closed her eyes and let it take her; she knew every move by heart. Her arms and legs became an extension of each note. Her heart and soul poured into the melody and she died and then rose with each refrain, the orchestra breathing new life into the lost soul.
Annalise opened her eyes as the tempo picked up. The dancers began to move quickly again as they prepared for the finale of the number. Stephen picked her up and Annalise raised one leg straight into the air as he spun her around and tossed her, spiraling upward like a rocket toward the rafters. The brief moments of flight had always been her absolute favorite. Soaring through the air, weightless even for only an instant. Like floating in deep blue water, her movements were fluid. Arms extended and her body arched as she landed on a single toe, without making a sound.
Stephen’s hand took hers once again and guided her through the next move. Forward and back, they gave and took until he released her once again.
Before the company could rejoice, the curtain rose and the director started his critique, citing improvements for every dancer. Annalise made mental notes of each instruction he gave her. More than any other time in her life, this performance had to be flawless. When he moved on to the next dancer, Annalise sat silently going over each direction, visualizing the changes.
“Again!” snapped the director as he finished with the last dancer and everyone jumped into action, moving quickly to their starting positions. The cycle repeated over and over throughout the morning like a piece of glass rolling in the ocean. A performance that was jagged and rough transformed into a refined and smooth masterpiece.
Everyone was exhausted and starving when they finally broke for lunch around one. Annalise groaned inwardly when she saw they had ordered from PuraVegan again. God, what she would give for some wings. Not a chance. She reminded herself that would exceed her calorie count for the whole day.
“Thank you,” she said, forcing a smile as Margaret handed her a white carryout box containing an avocado acai salad and a bowl of black bean quinoa soup. It did taste good but, man, what would it be like to actually have a burger with dripping cheese and French fries.
The delivery guy was tall, with sandy blond hair and dark green eyes. Annalise watched him curiously talking with the other dancers. They were all excited about something. He was covered in tattoos and had a somewhat deformed stripper on his bicep. She couldn’t tell if it was on purpose or if perhaps the artist had been smoking crack. He wore the uniform shirt of PuraVegan but had ripped jeans and a chain hanging out of his back pocket. His heavy black boots were the type that bikers wore. He certainly didn’t look like a vegan or a fan of the ballet, but most of the company seemed to know him.
He caught her staring and walked over. “You new here?” he asked, nodding in her direction. The rest of the cast looked on, horrified, as the uncouth young man interacted with their prima ballerina. Annalise realized she hadn’t spent much time socializing with anyone here. No wonder they don’t like me. She could see it in their faces. They all thought she was a stuck-up bitch.
“Something like that,” she answered, without giving any details.
“You gonna be a dancer like these guys?” he asked, pointing at the small group of dancers on the steps behind him. Their chins hit the floor as they shot each other looks.
“I hope to be, someday,” Annalise answered with a straight face, and popped a bite of acai salad into her mouth to keep from giggling.
He looked her up and down. “Well, you’re kinda small, but I bet you’ll get there. You comin’ out with the crew tonight?” He put his foot on the step beside her and leaned in toward her. He smelled of smoke and motor oil.
Annalise almost choked on the food in her mouth. Her parents would never let her go anywhere with someone like him. She was a trophy. A perfect porcelain doll to be kept on a shelf and taken down only when they wanted to show her off. The loneliness was suffocating. Suddenly, it dawned on her that her parents were out of town for a few days and unlike when she was at Julliard, she had no curfew.
“Yes!” she blurted out loud before she even had time to think it over. Why the hell not? “Um … I mean, yeah, that would be cool.”
“Cool. See you then.” He grinned ear to ear, nodding to the group on the steps before walking out on the street.
Madame Petrov stepped out of the main auditorium and gave him a disapproving look before turning to the dance company. “We have a long afternoon ahead of us. When you finish eating, report directly to the stage.” She turned sharply to Annalise. “That is not someone you need to get mixed up with.” Without saying another word, she closed the door.
As soon as the door shut, the dancers broke into a hail of laughter. “So, you really going out with us tonight?” Stephen asked, his eyebrows raised skeptically.
Is that okay?” Annalise asked nervously and pushed the green food around on her plate. The other girls sitting around him scowled at her.
“Yes, of course. It’s just surprising. In the six months you’ve been here, you haven’t hung out with us at all,” he responded, matter-of-fact. He was right, of course. How could she explain to people she didn’t socialize much because her life was so fucked up, she couldn’t bear to let anyone get close enough to see it.
“I would really like to go. This is the first night that my parents haven’t had plans for me since I moved back here. I would like to get to know you guys,” Annalise offered hopefully. That last part was a stretch and she knew it. Growing up in the spotlight, in many ways made her even more reclusive. When she was just trying to figure out who she was, and the whole world felt entitled to knowing every detail, it was excruciatingly painful. Especially when she had to paint this perfect Instagram picture of her life all the time, and the truth was so dark and ugly, she couldn’t even bear to think of it.
They practiced intensely for the rest of the afternoon and into the evening. She couldn’t tell if the director was just trying to make sure every detail was perfect, or if he was still punishing her for being late. Annalise danced like there was no tomorrow. Despite the rough start to the morning, she couldn’t help being excited about actually going out with the company like any other nineteen-year-old dancer. Normalcy. Fun. At that moment, she wanted the carefree, let-your-hair-down escape more than anything she could think of.
The dynamic of the whole group had shifted. By the time practice drew to a close, the energy was palpable. Everyone was watching to see if she would really go. Was the ice princess actually thawing? Annalise didn’t give a shit about their condescending looks. She was in this. She needed this. What the hell could possibly go wrong? Knowing that in less than two weeks, it would all be over gave her a freedom she never knew existed. The consequence was already set. She actually felt giddy heading to her dressing room to shower and change.
“Do you have, you know, regular clothes here?” a petite dancer asked, wisps of her light blonde hair straying every direction from her bun.
“Marcy, right?” Annalise questioned, and the girl nodded. “Depends on what you mean by regular clothes, I guess. I have warmups and a pants suit. Oh, and I have a couple of dresses for dinner meetings.”
Marcy giggled. “Th
at’s what I was afraid of. I think you and I are about the same size. If you want, you could borrow some jeans and a halter top. You know, something that looks more … um … your age … ya know,” Marcy offered, her big green eyes wide and hopeful. The girl seemed genuine, though Annalise couldn’t remember having any real conversations with her in the last six months, outside of technique. That, of course, wasn’t Marcy’s fault, really. Annalise hadn’t made much of an effort to get to know her castmates.
From the start, most of the dancers seemed put off by her presence, so Annalise just shut them all out and retreated to her dark world of self-loathing. “Um …” Annalise hesitated. She wanted to go out, but she wasn’t about to play high school sleepover. “I don’t want to put you out.”
“It’s no problem.” Marcy leaned against the wall. “I’m glad you’re coming, you just don’t really want to look like you’re doing another interview, do you?” She began to twirl one of the loose strands of hair around her finger.
Annalise pictured herself in a bar, looking like a Fox News correspondent. She cringed, for as much as her parents loved them, she hated those people. “Okay, I get it. Yeah, that would be great.”
“Cool!” Marcy practically squealed and took off down the hall before Annalise could say another word.
Annalise rushed into her dressing room and quickly made sure everything she wanted to keep private remained hidden. She showered with lightning speed and barely had the cupboard locked when a chorus of knocks invaded her door.
Holy hell, what now? “Come—” Annalise started to say, but the door opened wide as Marcy and three other dancers filled the room. Each one was carrying various items of clothing and they all looked like it was their turn with the prize Barbie. Annalise stood in her towel, a bewildered look scrawled across her face.
“Jasmine, set the blow dryer and curling iron up over there,” Marcy instructed, and Jasmine cleared the stack of books off her dressing table, setting them on the floor. She went straight to work, arranging what looked like a full-fledged salon.
“I have a hair dryer,” Annalise interjected. Granted, her style had always been a bit reserved. She started to feel a little like Sandra Dee as the Pink Ladies invaded her dressing room and turned it into the backstage of a burlesque show.
“Not like this one, you don’t. So, how is it you get to go out tonight? Where are your parents anyway? Don’t they usually fetch you immediately after rehearsal?” Marcy fired question after question as she held up various bits of clothing and eyed Annalise as an artist would a blank canvas.
“They had to go to Washington for a few days, so I’m on my own,” Annalise responded cautiously. Her father’s warning about ending up in the papers and the potential for bad press was never far from her mind. Her parents had drilled it into her almost every day for the last four years. She didn’t go to parties. She never drank alcohol. Bad press was like a poison to her parents, a sin that could not be forgiven. “I have to make sure that no one recognizes me, is that okay?”
They all stopped and looked at her. “I know I’m nineteen, but with my father’s career, I have to be really careful, you know. If I do something stupid and it gets plastered all over the papers, my parents would kill me.” The irony of what she just said struck her. For a brief moment, she imagined their faces the day after the debut, when news of her demise was on the front page of every paper and blasted on Fox freaking News. Her stomach turned. She wanted out of her life so badly, but she still hated to see her parents suffer. She pushed the thought away as quickly as one would a plate of rotten food.
“We totally get it,” Lauren piped up. Lauren was a stunning redhead maybe a year older than Annalise. She was always right on pointe and had great instincts when it came to ballet. Annalise often wondered why Lauren wasn’t trying for bigger roles. She definitely had the talent for it. “Don’t worry, we’re a low-key group. Just a few drinks and some killer dancing. Then, home early enough to get some sleep, so we can show up … On. Time.” She stressed the last words and laughed, throwing a tutu at Annalise.
“Sorry about this morning.” Annalise shook her head. She hated letting people down.
“No worries. Seriously. We all have things going on. We usually ride over together, and each take off when we’re ready to go. I’m usually up most nights, studying to get into law school.” She paused and flashed Annalise a smile. The others all nodded. “What? You don’t think I’m going to be in tights and a tutu forever, do you? Right now, my body is young and I’m having a blast, but I’m saving every penny for law school and studying for my entrance exams.”
Now it made sense. Annalise relaxed a little—they all had lives and something to lose. They weren’t about to get mixed up into anything crazy. She could let go, even if just for tonight, and have fun. The girls worked their magic and within a half hour, Annalise was standing in front of the full-length mirror and barely recognized the girl looking back at her.
Annalise’s dark hair fell in loose waves past her shoulders. The ripped jeans just fit and ended at the top of navy heeled booties. She was so thankful for the spray Lauren put on her feet. Usually, her toes absolutely screamed after rehearsal, but now she could barely feel them at all. The layered tanks gave her the appearance of curves and still showed off her muscular abs. This is going to be great!
“Annalise.” Madame Petrov knocked on the dressing room door. She looked skeptically at all the girls and then at Annalise. Her overstated eyebrows reminded Annalise of a Disney villain. “Your driver is here.”
“Oh shoot. I forgot to cancel.” Annalise looked at Madame Petrov and then back at the girls. “Give me just a minute.” She ran down to the foyer and saw Miles, waiting patiently as always. He smiled and held the door open.
“I’m going to have a few guests with me this evening,” she began, cautiously watching his expression. “Would you mind driving us to dinner and then downtown for a bit?” Annalise wrung her hands hoping her father hadn’t already forbidden it.
“Wherever you want,” he answered, almost laughing. “My job is to drive you. You just tell me where you want to go.” She stood, looking at him, surprised and relieved, before remembering to go fetch her castmates.
Seven members of the dance company piled into the town car with Annalise. They headed to Adrianna’s first for a quick meal, then on downtown to the club the delivery guy had recommended. Annalise peered out the window at the dark brick building. Music pounded into the street from a dive bar called Illegitimate. Marcy instructed Miles to stop. The line of patrons waiting to get in stretched down the sidewalk and around the corner.
“That’s the line?” Annalise asked, her eyes widening like saucers. Standing in line all night was not her idea of a good time.
“Don’t worry,” Marcy said with a smile. “We know the guy at the door. You ready?” The car door opened, and they all piled out onto the street like a troop of circus performers. Annalise followed them to the man at the front of the line. He winked at Marcy and kissed her on the cheek as they passed. The music thumped like a pulse radiating from the belly of the beast. Annalise felt alive and afraid, all at the same time. Smoke and lights obscured the details. Her new friends made their way to the center of the floor, and Marcy took her hand and pulled her along. The tempo was hypnotic, and the raging bass swallowed her from the floor. A girl in hot pants sauntered up and handed her a small cup.
“Drink,” Marcy instructed, and before she could protest, it was at her lips. Annalise swallowed it down, nearly choking on the bitter sweet liquid.
“What was that?” she tried to yell over the music.
“Courage,” Marcy yelled back and began dancing with the crowd. The delivery guy from earlier appeared by the bar and Marcy moved in his direction, waving at him. She melted into the swaying, bouncing masses. Annalise stood, watching for a moment as the warmth of the sticky treat spread down her throat, and her whole body started to tingle. All at once, she felt the music coming down over her lik
e never before and she started to move. Every single beat vibrated within her, setting her heart and body free. The entire club was alive with the same pulse, like a wild animal, unbridled and free.
For once in her life, she danced with reckless abandon, with no thought, no pressure. Time passed in waves, but she didn’t care. This was tantric in a way she had never before experienced, and she fucking loved it.
The dream was all-encompassing, and she gave way to it completely. Nothing could dampen the pure ecstasy of this moment. None of the demons of her life could reach her here. Eyes closed, arms over her head, she let the music take complete control. It was in that moment of bliss, she felt someone’s eyes on her, pulling her back. She slowed and scanned the room. Everyone seemed lost in their own fantasy, unaware of her. Still, she could feel something or someone watching her.
A flicker of light in the dark corner caught her eye and suddenly, she saw him. The man standing in the shadows on the other side of the bar stared intently and took in every move. A shiver went over her entire body. The room was too dark to fully make out his features but something in his eyes, in the way he glared, shook her. She continued dancing, held captive in the moment, unable to break free. Like a deadly spider in the shadows, he watched and waited for the fly to get too close. A sinister smile spread slow across his face, like Heath Ledger’s Joker in The Dark Knight, head tipped forward dark eyes locked on her, and she instantly wanted to run. She couldn’t shake the fear that gripped her like a vice. Annalise put her hands in her hair and attempted to force the thoughts away. Her mother had told her over and over she was just imagining the stranger in the back of the theater, or in the alley behind the restaurant. Always in the shadows, just beyond where she could make him out. Was he real or a manifestation of her nightmares?