by Alta Hensley
But as I glanced around at the other members of the company, they seemed to be nodding in agreement with Yuri as if they completely understood his logic. Or maybe as if they were scared of him. I wasn’t totally sure. I’d yet to get a true reading on this man.
I didn’t really know what to do at the moment. When I’d been a prima ballerina, I could make suggestions, and, while I might not have always been successful, at least I’d always been listened to. But unfortunately, I’d lost that right when I turned my life upside down. I got the sense if I started running my mouth off now, I’d end up isolating myself and proving the rumors I was difficult were true.
I knew I was on probation every single day. Yuri had kicked my ass in rehearsals far more than he had anyone else’s. The reason I didn’t complain was that I needed it. I wasn’t afraid of hard work and was determined to earn my place back on the stage.
With that, I forced all of my own opinions down and continued to listen intently, quickly realizing the more Yuri talked, the less I agreed with him. I’d heard whispers that many a dancer of the Volkov Ballet had left because of Yuri’s captaincy style, but I was doing my best not to let that affect me. I had a lot more to lose than anyone else. This was my only shot. If I had to get along with people I didn’t like and keep my opinions to myself, then I’d bite my tongue off and do it.
“Right,” he finished with a big beaming smile on his face as he glanced around at the people he’d drilled daily for hours. “You’re all ready. So, as they say, break a…” He paused, his eyes flicking to me as if remembering the fact that what was a common idiom had turned into horrifying reality in the last company of which I’d been a member. I was ready to protest my innocence once more when he surprised me by grinning. “Fuck the past. Go out and break a leg and do the Volkov company proud, is that clear?”
“Yes, sir,” chorused dozens of voices as we all did a final round of stretches before beginning to line up in the order required for the first act.
All of a sudden, as I heard the noise from the crowd die down, and the first notes of the strings in the orchestra waft through the wings as they warmed up, the newspaper headlines started to flow through my mind.
Disgraced Dancer, Simyoneva, to Return to the Stage.
Will Prima Throw Her Diva Act Again?
Clara Simyoneva Brings Her Tainted Past to a Once-Respected Theater, Destroying its Legacy.
A sickness swirled in my stomach, and my confidence level plummeted. When I’d awakened this morning, I’d felt ready to conquer. I wanted to prove to the people who believed in me I was worth it.
The surprise kiss I shared with Alek a few weeks ago floated to the forefront of my memory though it was never far from my thoughts. I so wanted to make this work for the man who had given me this chance. I’d felt honored to have been given this opportunity, and I’d felt like I could take on the world. That nothing would bother me. That I could brush it all aside and focus on all the nonstop training I had been doing to prepare for this moment. But now all that confidence was gone.
What the hell am I doing here? Why did I ever think that this was going to be a good idea?
I wished my grandmother could be sitting in the crowd somewhere, but I’d insisted she remain at home. Despite her assurance she would be fine, I knew the arthritis was too painful to allow her to sit comfortably in one place for very long. Even though I would feel a million times better if she was there, I’d promised to replay each step to her once I returned home. It had to be enough, but I couldn’t help being selfish and wanting her near. I also wondered where Alek was.
I had Yuri and the other dancers around me, standing close in the tight confines of the wing as my costume was given the final inspection, a few snips of a tiny pair of scissors removing a stray thread that dared to appear on this special night, but I’d not set eyes on Alek. Ever since that kiss, he had been keeping his distance. He wasn’t exactly cold, but he always seemed busy, going to his office and closing the door when I was around. I didn’t exactly have much time between the nonstop rehearsals, but I still had hoped he would step backstage for a moment before the house lights dimmed.
I needed him.
I needed that positive energy.
I needed the man who’d spoken of the Golden Buddha right now.
I sucked in a couple of deep breaths, trying to calm my panic-stricken body, but it didn’t do much good. My heart still raced away, my palms were still sweaty, and I trembled all over.
Think about the dance, I told myself. Focus on how you’re going to show everyone Alek Volkov didn’t make a mistake that day he showed up at the house. Prove to every naysayer the ballerina still lives inside you.
As bells chimed softly, and the lights went low, the music soared, the soft whisper of curtains opening sounded, and the first dancers leapt onto the stage. The magic of the ballet descended over me as I forced out all my negative thoughts and, with a final deep breath, I lifted my arms and joined my company… and heard the loud mass of boos ringing out, just for me.
Booo.
You suck.
You’re a fraud.
Has been.
Go home, you cheat!
Get off the stage.
Why would they let her on the stage?
I almost stumbled, arms beginning to drop, when Jordan, my partner, caught my eye and gave a slight scowl and an almost indiscernible movement of pulling his shoulders back.
Don’t you fucking dare screw this up, he said without so much as moving his lips. It was enough to realize the words and accusations had only played in my head. It was up to me to assure they were never actually uttered again.
The hatred wouldn’t last forever unless I let it. I had proven I could dance and, with time, I could win people back around. I could prove I was a different person now. I could earn their respect again. I just needed to weather this storm first. If I danced my heart out, if I gave it my all, I might even be able to start winning their hearts again.
Tuning out all but the music, a tensing of muscles allowed me to leap high into the air where Jordan was waiting to catch me. With his firm grip around my calves, I arched my back and extended my arms until he slid me down his body and only my toes touched the floor. I spun in circles so rapidly the audience became nothing more than a blur. The hundreds of hours of preparation were a godsend and allowed me to forget everything but the beauty of the dance.
Arabesque…
Allégro…
Balloné…
Dégagé…
Fouetté…
And every form of jeté that was possible…
I did them all. I dipped and arched. I spun and leapt. I did not miss a single beat until I sank into a low curtsy, my head bowed, arms posed precisely in front of me, each finger perfectly splayed as the last mournful note was played.
I’d done it.
No matter what anyone said, I’d danced every step with not only my whole heart, but my entire soul.
Silence descended, the roar of my blood through my veins echoing in my head until I realized it wasn’t the sound of my blood.
It was the thunder of applause.
Applause.
They were actually clapping for me. Not a single “boo” existed. I felt lighter than air, happier than I had in a very long time, and, for the first time in what felt like forever, the future looked a little more filled with color. I pictured my beloved babushka as if she were seated front row center, her face beaming with pride. Imagining her smile made every hour of training and every negative write-up about me reentering ballet worth it.
As the curtain slowly drew closed, I finally straightened, and legs that had supported me through every act now shook, threatening to buckle.
“Damn, at this rate, I’ll never be the lead,” Bella mock-snarled as she gave me a quick hug.
“Get over yourself, girl,” Jordan retorted, his smile huge. “This girl is a freaking star,” he said, also giving me a quick embrace as the others hurried to line
up as the curtains began to open again.
As I glanced around at everyone in the crowd, I spotted smiles and happiness rather than the bitterness I’d experienced before. It transported me back to the time when I first joined the world of professional ballet. Everything was so shiny and new then. I’d never imagined I would get sucked into the underbelly of fame, the negative side of it. I’d thought I was stronger than that, and a better person.
Of course, I had been proven so very wrong.
That wouldn’t happen again. I wouldn’t allow anything to grip me the way drugs, alcohol, or a man like Nikolai Kosloff had done before. Not this time. I was a grown-ass woman. Not a fucked-up kid with no real responsibilities. I had grasped onto a lifeline tossed to me, and I had no wish to ever let it go. Instead of taking my life for granted, I would appreciate it for what it was, cherish every moment, and I was going to make the best of it, no matter what it took.
My grandmother was right. I was never supposed to run a dance class out of a garage. This was always where I was supposed to be, and I was so unbelievably glad Alek forced me to take that chance.
I bowed low again in a curtsy even the queen couldn’t fault, standing when I felt a hand on my arm, assisting me. Alek stood at my side, a huge bouquet of red roses in his arms. Bending, he kissed me, and, while it was a simple brush of lips against my cheek, it affected me as much as the first one had.
“You were incredible,” he said softly.
“Only because of you,” I said, meaning every word.
“You did it,” Yuri said, grinning at me as he joined his company, all of a sudden my friend. “You really fucking did it.”
“I told you she would. I never had a doubt,” Alek said with a tone that spoke of his sincerity, of his total belief in me.
Alek swept his arm in a gesture to state I belonged to those who were still on their feet applauding. I returned the gesture, turning to include every single dancer on the stage before bringing my hands together and clapping as Yuri joined his brother and the two took their own bows before the curtain closed for a final time.
As I watched him straighten, I realized I didn’t need to actually feel Alek’s hand or see him beside me to know he’d been standing with me, holding me up this entire time. Holding me up...
10
Alek
I felt on top of the world as we headed out of the theater, our destination a local bar for drinks to celebrate. This was a good start for us. Bringing on Clara to be the new principal had been exactly what the company had needed, and I was glad everyone else was finally on board with that decision.
We crowded the sidewalks as the company laughed and jostled each other. After changing, we’d gathered to walk from the theater to a local bar, where luckily they were very used to loud and boisterous crowds. Yuri stated the first round was on him. I bit back my snort and any snide remark about how quickly his attitude had changed. Tonight was about the good things… not the bad. We all had the tendency to make judgments, and even I had been guilty of several. I had no right to question another. Instead, I grabbed a frosted mug and lifted it, giving my brother a nod of thanks.
“That was an amazing performance. The first of many,” Yuri toasted, clinking glasses with all of us before turning to address Clara specifically. “If we can keep you dancing like that no matter what production we put on, then not only will you have proven you truly are worthy of the title of Prima, Volkov Ballet will be recognized as the outstanding company my mother intended it to be.” Everyone cheered in agreement.
As I glanced over to Clara, I couldn’t help but notice she hadn’t lifted a glass to join in the toast simply because she wasn’t holding one. I didn’t know if she wanted to keep a level head, or if it had more to do with her addictive personality, but I instantly felt a bond with her — like we were the outsiders of this rowdy, crazy group.
She seemed to sense me looking, and her eyes locked on mine. She gave me a tentative smile that had my own mug pausing on its way to my lips. There was something more in that smile, something I couldn’t help but think of as expectation. Suddenly, my grin grew as another scenario bloomed in my head. Maybe, just maybe, she was a bit concerned over a possible penalty she’d be forced to pay if Yuri whipped out some sort of breath analyzer and discovered she’d drunk even a drop of alcohol. I’d never truly given the definition of penalty much thought, but now the possibilities seemed limitless.
Fuck. Every time I vowed to myself I was going to behave, that I was going to keep away from her for the sake of everyone else, I couldn’t seem to do it. It was as if she was some sort of magnet and I was made of steel.
“Don’t,” Yuri growled into my ear, anger lacing his tone.
So much for his exuberance. It only took a glance at him to see he was now glaring at Clara, clearly noticing I had been staring at her. He was always making comments about me being a distraction for his dancers, and I knew for a fact it would piss him off if I went anywhere near Clara.
But I no longer really gave a shit what pissed him off. We might be co-owners of the company, but that didn’t mean I answered to him. I never wanted to kick my own ass as much as I did right now for the so called rule we’d put into place to assure neither of us risked our company’s success over a female — or a male in Yuri’s case — but this was neither the time nor the place to get into a senseless shouting match.
Ignoring his directive, and, despite the fact that I still held an almost full mug, I said, “I’m going to get another round for everyone.”
I pushed my way through the crowd to reach the bar, in no real hurry to return to the tables my company had claimed. I could see a few dancers out on the crowded floor, gyrating in ways so far from the precise movements of classical ballet I had to grin. It was good to see smiles on their faces. These people deserved a night off. Yuri had worked their asses off and would continue to do so. He might be a pain in my ass, but the man was dedicated and demanded the very best of every dancer who crossed the threshold of our theater.
As I stood waiting to be served in a massive crowd fighting for a chance to order a drink, I sought out Clara again. She was talking with a few of the other dancers, talking and laughing in a way she hadn’t been able to do up until now. It made me happy and sad all at once. It really sucked that just when I’d decided to tell Yuri to go fuck himself and the stupid rule, I realized I couldn’t go anywhere near Clara without screwing up the friendships she was finally developing with her fellow ballerinas or ending the positive relationship she could have with my brother. I couldn’t fuck up the forming dynamic. Sleeping with the boss could damage the respect she had worked hard to gain up to this point.
But was I being unfair to us by forcing myself to keep my distance?
There was definitely something there. Something between us. A sizzling, intense chemistry, and a connection I couldn’t quite explain. Was I really wishing to push someone aside who could be the perfect woman for me? I’d never cowered to anyone before. Why was I even entertaining the idea of letting my brother win, and why should I give a fuck what the others thought?
I might not be a professional dancer, but I felt like I was always dancing around when it came to Clara. I didn’t want to have to make such potentially life-changing decisions at a bar. What I really wanted to do was fuck her and call it a good night. And while that had worked with women in the past, something told me the moment I touched her intimately, I’d not be able to walk away again. Fuck this. I could imagine the derisive sneer on Yuri’s face if he ever discovered how I’d often stood in the shadows of the theater watching Clara sweating on the stage during all the late hours of dancing.
Sweat on a body… her body. My weakness.
I’d tried to lock myself away in the office and not pay attention. But I’d failed. She was a damn fantasy that refused to go away. Every passing day added to a hunger I wasn’t sure I would ever be able to feed.
As I grabbed the tray of drinks, lifting it over my head to avoid it
being bumped into, I slowly made my way back to the rest of the group. I noticed my brother had pulled Clara to one side. Unable to resist, I stepped a little closer, unabashedly eavesdropping on their conversation.
“I’ve seen the way you look at him, Clara. You will not go there. He’s off limits. Alek is my brother and your boss. Spread your legs all you want when you’re practicing grand jetés for the stage, but you better damn well keep them closed everywhere else. Do you know what I’m saying? Hands off.”
Hearing my brother make this decision for me, caused my blood to boil. How fucking dare he warn Clara off me? Part of me knew he was right in that relationships within a company could prove messy, but it still infuriated me. This was far beyond brotherly love. Fucked up was what it was, and I was done with the condescending act.
Temper rushed into my ears. No way was I going to stand there and let Yuri control my life, or Clara’s for that matter.
“Hey,” I said, “I’ve got some drinks here.” Without waiting for a response, I shoved a mug of beer into Yuri’s hand and offered a glass to Clara.
“Thank you, but I’m not drinking,” she said softly.
“It’s non-alcoholic sparkling wine,” I said, pressing the glass into her hand. I remained rooted where I was, refusing to allow their conversation to continue. I figured if Clara didn’t promise to keep away from me, then I won. We wouldn’t be doing anything wrong when we inevitably hooked up — which, because of my very reaction to my brother’s shit, I was now sure was what was going to happen.
Why the hell should I hold back from the first person I’d had a real connection with? Especially when our own parents had proven love could exist between couples who worked together. I wasn’t going to allow Yuri to play at being my puppet master. It was time to fucking cut the strings for good.
Fortunately, almost right away, the other dancers raced over to us, taking mugs of frosty beer or glasses of wine from me, breaking up the conversation completely. I didn’t let on to either Yuri or Clara I’d overheard their conversation, which had been really a one-sided lecture given by Yuri, but, from the odd look in Clara’s eyes, I got the impression she’d guessed regardless.