Prima

by Alta Hensley

  I looked around to see names on cubicles that held totes and various articles of clothing. Not about to infringe on anyone’s personal space, I continued across the room when I saw a door open and two dancers emerge with towels wrapped around their bodies, others around their hair. Grabbing a towel off a stack on a table, I slipped into the shower room where I found several curtains already pulled across stalls, steam coiling toward the ceiling as hot water pounded sore bodies. Stepping to the left, I found an open stall along the outer wall, dropped my bag onto an unoccupied bench, and unzipped it to pull out my toiletries case. Setting it down, I quickly began to strip, modesty one of the first things a dancer learns wasn’t a luxury afforded when performances required quick costume changes. Hanging my towel on a hook, I grabbed the bottle of shampoo out of my bag, pulled back the rather flimsy curtain, and turned on the faucet.

  Stepping beneath the hot spray, I tried to ignore the fact the accusations rang true. It had stung when Alek suggested someone younger could dance rings around me. But in all honesty, I’d not given the taunt another thought the moment I’d stepped onto the stage. I wasn’t sure what it said about me, but the second the music had started, I’d been lost in the magic of the dance, totally oblivious to those around me.

  It was only as the last note sounded, when my feet landed without a sound on the oak floor that I returned to the real world. For the first time in years, the faces of the people around me weren’t showing expressions of derision at the poor pitiful dancer who’d fallen from the pedestal. Granted, I wasn’t seeing the exultation I’d grown accustomed to when I was the lead in one of the best companies in the world, but I did see awe mixed with envy in the eyes of my competitors.

  Pouring a generous amount of shampoo on my palm, I began to work it into my hair. Having pulled back a bit from the spray, the water no longer muffled my ability to hear, and I became aware of a hushed whisper coming my way.

  “Can you actually see Yuri allowing her in? After what she did? She’s a fucking cheat!”

  Someone was clearly badmouthing me, which really should have been expected, but it hurt me regardless. I didn’t seem to matter that I had worked so incredibly hard to make myself a better person. No one ever seemed to see that. They saw me as the same person I was, way back then. I used to care what people thought. I’d thrived on positive attention. But I was used to the negative now. I’d moved past caring what others thought of me a long time ago. I’d had to in order to survive.

  “She was the best dancer out there though.”

  “That doesn’t matter! She’s a hot mess and will drag the rest of us down. This theater doesn’t need a bad rep.”

  Ever so slowly, being hurt started to transform into something else. A burning-hot anger. How dare these people judge me when they didn’t even know me?

  “She was so fucking jealous when she wasn’t chosen to be the lead she made sure the prima was injured—”

  “That’s not really fair. They could never prove she actually did anything—” a third voice offered only to have the first cut off any defense of me.

  “Get real. I don’t need proof. Everyone knows she did it or at the very least arranged for Lara’s so-called accident. You know who she was screwing, right?”

  “That doesn’t mean—”

  “Take off those rose-colored glasses,” the leader suggested in a voice that dripped derision. “What it means is all Miss Bitch had to do was whine to her mob-connected boyfriend, and what do you know? Lara’s legs are shattered, and we all know that’s as good as a death sentence for a prima ballerina. Clara Simyoneva would have been more merciful if she’d gone ahead and put the poor girl out of her misery as she never was able to dance again. Who does that shit? What would drive someone to that? She’s a fucking diva bitch—”

  I was shaking so hard I had to press my palm against the tile to keep my knees from buckling. Their conversation brought back the months of whispers, the thousands of accusations I’d endured, the looks of pure hatred that still had the power to follow me into my nightmares. Granted, I’d not been permanently damaged like Lara, but that didn’t mean I’d not spent the past years in pain.

  I’d had to make the choice to allow the dark to take me to the depths of hell or find the strength to claw my way out.

  No one gave a damn I was innocent or that I’d walked away from an extremely lucrative career. I’d traded the spotlight on center stage for a bare bulb illuminating a cement garage floor.

  And how did that work out for you? No matter how many showers you take, your name is still being dragged through the mud. What are you going to do about it?

  The voice in my head was annoying but, by God, it was honest as well. I was done cowering and attempting to let the hatred slide off me. I needed to stand up for myself. To make these people see I wouldn’t be pushed around.

  I slammed the shower curtain open and grabbed hold of my towel before stepping forward with anticipation and rage coursing through my veins. “Why don’t you ask me, rather than talking shit behind my back like a little bitch?”

  I was surprised to find myself looking at Bella — one of the women I had danced with earlier. She’d given me a huge hug, telling me I danced like an angel, and now she was talking about me. Only little bitches did that.

  At first, Bella looked a little shocked, like she might cower away from me. But then she seemed to realize her companions were staring at us, and she needed to back up her big mouth with more than the vitriol she’d been spewing.

  “I think we don’t need someone like you dragging us down. I think you’re bad news. You always have been, and that’s the end of it.”

  “Don’t you fucking get it?” I asked. “I’m not that naïve girl anymore. Haven’t you ever made a mistake? Haven’t you ever trusted someone and then discovered they were the devil in disguise?”

  My fingers clutched the towel around me as I shook. From fury or shame I wasn’t sure, yet I knew I had to speak my piece regardless of the outcome.

  Looking from face to face in the growing crowd, I asked, “Haven’t you grown the fuck up? Or are you still a kid who blindly swallows whatever shit she’s spoon-fed?”

  I wished everyone would understand. But of course that wasn’t going to happen. I could hear my babushka reminding me words were not sparrows. It was an old Russian proverb that basically meant once words were uttered, good or bad, they flew away and couldn’t be caught.

  I might as well be speaking to a brick wall. Strands of my wet hair slapped against my skin as I shook my head. “Forget it. Believe whatever the hell you want.”

  I tried to turn away and walk off. But evidently not content with acting like a bitch, Bella deliberately pushed against me, almost knocking me down as my feet slid across the wet floor. I sucked in a deep breath, not wanting to act like a fool, but it was too late for any rationality. Anger raged within, and it was slowly eating me up alive.

  I spun back, clenching my fists, ready for a dance of another kind if that was what she wanted. Unlike the leaps and twirls we’d done on the stage that barely had me breaking a sweat, I was prepared to knock her the fuck out. But before I could get so much as a return shove in, Yuri walked into the room — the choreographer and co-owner whom I needed to impress. I really couldn’t get into a catfight right now. Not when I hadn’t even signed the contract yet.

  Instead of moving forward, I leaned back against the wall, trying to get control of myself. I needed to learn to keep my temper under control if I was really going to attempt resurrecting my career. It was going to get a whole lot worse than some two-faced bitch talking shit behind my back, and I was going to have to let it brush off me. If I lost my temper every time someone acted like an idiot, then entering the ballet scene again was going to be the biggest mistake ever.

  “What the hell is going on here?” Yuri asked, temper lacing his tone of voice. “Are you fucking kidding me? You’re in here fighting? I suggest you save the energy for rehearsal. I promise there is
n’t a soul here who can rest on whatever fucking laurels you might imagine having. Is that understood? Not a single one of you!”

  The way everyone stepped back with an odd look of fear in their eyes was a little strange. Were they all scared of this guy or something? Was he more of a dickhead than he first seemed? When Yuri realized no one else was answering, he tapped me on the shoulder and indicated for me to follow him out of the shower room.

  Shit. I tried to settle my nerves as I reached up to tighten the towel around me before following him out the door. I’d had my chance at redemption for a half a second, and I’d already blown it.

  Would an apology be enough?

  Would I be able to talk myself out of this one?

  I wasn’t used to talking my way out of things anymore. It had been a very long time since I’d had to answer to a choreographer.

  Since I had to answer to anyone.

  “I’m sorry,” I started instantly, wanting to get my words in first. “That should never have happened. I know I need to earn your trust and respect, as well as theirs.”

  “No.” He shook his head at me, causing my heart to sink. Was it already too late? “I don’t want to hear anything about trust. I don’t really give a fuck what you did in the past as long as it doesn’t bleed into my theater. I need you to work your ass off and prove we made the right decision in investing in you.”

  Huh? That wasn’t what I was expecting at all…

  “When our mother was alive, Volkov Ballet was known to be an amazing theater. Our reputation was that our productions have dancers who outshine the very stars in the sky. We had the very best in the world begging to be in our company. Then she died and, a few weeks ago, our principal goes and gets pregnant. Costs are rising, dancers are getting lazier and demanding more money and more fucking time off while we are working our asses off to make sure we don’t lose the respect and reputation our mother spent her life building. I need you to help me with this. You’re an amazing dancer, though out of shape and in need of some fine tuning. I’m sure it goes without saying I don’t need any bullshit from you, but I’m not stupid enough to believe that isn’t going to happen. As long as you’re not the one to start the crap, I’m willing to cut you a break.”

  “I promise—”

  “Don’t bother making promises you have no idea if you’ll be able to keep. Just suck it up and take whatever the others dish out. If you can’t do that, then do us all a favor and leave.”

  He waited silently as several long moments passed, neither of us making a move. Finally, I shook my head.

  “I’m not leaving,” I said as my heart made the decision for me.

  “Good. Then go get dressed and get that contract signed with my brother.”

  I did my best to ignore the others as I headed back to the showers to get dressed. My mind spun with the fact that I was being brought on to dance with Volkov Ballet. Luckily, after Yuri’s small telling off, everyone else avoided me, too, which made me think maybe he had it right. Maybe he needed to act like a dick and to have a firm fist to control all of these diva-wannabes.

  Dropping the towel onto the floor, I reached into my bag and froze when my fingers wrapped around something slimy. Withdrawing my hand and the soaking wet washcloth someone dumped my shampoo on before shoving it into my duffel, I gritted my teeth and dropped it on top of my towel. They might be too timid to face Yuri directly but evidently weren’t afraid to fuck with my belongings. It was the juvenile prank of a coward. I ignored the dampness of both the panties and leggings I pulled out of the bag, brushing off the bit of suds that had developed, and pulled both on, adding a tank before rubbing my head vigorously with another towel. Once my hair was somewhat dry, I drew a brush through it and pulled it up into a high ponytail. It would be better to completely dry it, but I didn’t want to take the time. All I wanted was to get the hell out of this room and back into air that wasn’t threatening to clog my lungs with pure hatred.

  Tucking my toiletries bag back into the duffel, I zipped it and dropped down to sit on the bench. I put off leaving for another few moments by giving my feet a quick massage before slipping them into a pair of ballet flats. That menial task had me smiling again at the memory of doing the exact same thing at every rehearsal and after every performance.

  The slamming of a door had me looking around to discover that where there had been several others milling about, I was now alone. Taking a deep breath, I stood up and slid the strap of my bag onto my shoulder.

  The hell with the others, and fuck indecision. I intended to grasp onto this new opportunity with both fists. The chance to get on the stage again was too amazing to turn down. It was what my grandmother wanted for me too. Over the last couple of days, we’d had long conversations about it, and she’d told me over and over again she was happy to get the help of nurses while I was out on the road. Though I was not sure how I felt about someone else doing what I felt was my job, I knew my babushka would never forgive me if I didn’t give this a true shot. I was pretty positive I’d not forgive myself either if I didn’t agree to take Alek up on the offer. We’d deal with the rest as it came. I had the intense feeling if I didn’t do this right now, it’d be the biggest mistake I’d ever make.

  I walked through the theater, anxious to see Alek once more. The situation surrounding me was crazy. It was the most unexpected thing in the entire world, but feelings for Alek were still managing to creep their way in no matter how hard I tried to deny or explain those feelings as something else. I suppose it was because he was giving me the lifeline I so desperately needed. Or maybe it was because he was my prospective boss, which made him taboo and off limits. Lusting after Alek was another way I could mess up this chance, which I really didn’t want to do.

  He was gorgeous as anything, probably the most handsome man I’d ever laid eyes on. He might not dance on stage, but he moved with a grace that reminded me of a sleek panther.

  A shudder ran through me at the thought of being stalked by such a beast. I could so easily visualize him slipping through the jungle without making a single sound, only to drop down from overhead to pin me beneath him. The shudder turned into a quiver that resided between my thighs as I pictured his head lowering, his mouth opening in preparation to claim me.

  A bit shocked at the tingle of desire zinging about in places I’d thought long dead. I reminded myself I’d sworn off men, took a final deep breath and lifted my hand to knock on the door.

  6

  Alek

  “Come in,” I called out, looking up to see the door opening a crack to reveal a face that had me wanting to lift my fist into the air, shake it in victory, and shout, “Fucking A!” Instead I said, “Oh, hey, Clara. Come on in.”

  Elegance laced her raw edges.

  I really liked what I saw today. She was dressed completely different from the shabby attire she’d been wearing when I’d first seen her at her house. The fact her hair was still a bit wet from her shower and pulled back in a ponytail instead of framing her face should have taken away from her beauty, but did the complete opposite. The wild curls had been tamed with some type of band, and yet the sleek style served to emphasize a flawless complexion. If she wore makeup, it had been applied sparingly, but then again, she didn’t need any. Her cheeks were flushed the perfect shade of pink. Long lashes enhanced eyes the color of jade glittering with gold specks.

  The baggy pants and shapeless shirt had been replaced with black leggings paired with a white tank top, both clinging to curves that begged to be explored. My eyes were drawn to the sleek toned muscles of her arms and then danced to the cleavage her top not only revealed, but enhanced. There was the hint of a tattoo on her left breast, the tip of a white wing barely visible yet instantly making me want to pull the top over her head and trace every line of whatever image she’d allowed to grace her perfect body. It could be anything with wings flying across her breast, but it made her look exotic, tough, and feminine all at once. A tattoo was normally forbidden in our world
as the dancer was expected to play many different roles, some of them quite timeless. It wouldn’t do to have Sleeping Beauty pausing mid-stage with her arms arched above her head in the fifth position and have an audience’s attention drawn from the art of the dance to wonder what art had been inked into the ballerina’s flesh.

  Evidently even in her rebellion she had been smart enough to know there would be times when her insurrection would need to be concealed. The girl wasn’t only smart, she was ripped, clearly in shape, and there was a way she carried herself in the theater that showed she was no nonsense.

  Clara Simyoneva was, without a doubt, a badass chick. I was intrigued — hell, nearly intoxicated — by this different side of her. But that didn’t mean I was about to let her get away with any shit. I had no tolerance for the drama always surrounding a diva.

  I waited for her to move farther into the room, gesturing toward a chair in front of my desk.

  She sank down, placing the duffel she’d been carrying at her feet. “Yuri told me to come on in and work out the contract with you.”

  “Sorting the last of the paperwork right now.”

  “Thank you,” she said quietly. “I mean, thanks for convincing me to audition. I really appreciate it.”

  “Convincing or goading?” I asked with a grin, glad to see her lips curl up in response.

  “Either one, I suppose,” she said with a little shrug. “Or perhaps both. Regardless, I’m still glad you did.”

  Nodding, I gave her credit for her honesty. “You’re welcome. I’m pleased it worked, and I’m also glad you’re here. We really do need you. You’ll be a great asset to the theater, and I think we can be of benefit to you as well.”

  Straightening the papers on my desk, I then pushed them across its surface toward her, placing a pen on the top page. Even as she reached for it, I shook my head, which had her hand hovering in midair above the document. “No, never ever sign a contract without first reading every single line. There are shady people out there, and you don’t want to get into some hell hole you can’t climb out of.”