by Alta Hensley
“We have a meeting today.” Yuri stalked into the office, a furious frown on his face.
I looked down at my calendar. “I don’t have anything on the schedule.”
“You do now,” he said, dropping heavily into the chair before my desk. “Broadway promoters want to talk to us.”
“Broadway as in Randolph Street—”
“Fuck no. If that was the case, there would be no problem,” he said, running a hand through hair he normally wouldn’t dare muss, being a rather meticulous man. “I’m talking about Broadway smack-fucking-dab in the middle of fucking Times Square.”
My blood ran cold at his statement. If the promoters responsible for lining up those few out-of-state companies allowed on what some considered the stage of stages wanted to meet with us today, then something was definitely up. There was a certain protocol that was followed without deviation. Unless the shit hit the fan, we never saw them before it was our slot to promote a production we wished to perform in the city that never slept.
“Do you think it’s about Clara?” I asked, trying to appear nonchalant though I already knew the answer. What else could it be?
“I would assume so,” Yuri said, sending me a look.
As he held eye contact for a second, I had a sinking sensation he’d somehow found out about me and Clara hooking up. I’d feared the moment would eventually come, and while I would never apologize for what had been the most incredible night of my life, knowing how pissed off Yuri would be filled me with dread every single time. I hated drama with a passion.
“I can’t see what else it’ll be. I knew there would be trouble when you offered her an audition. I told you—”
“What time are they going to be here?” I asked, not about to listen to him whine about how he’d told me so. I knew I was going to get grilled. I was the head of the business side of our theater. I’d been the one who went after Clara. Granted, I hadn’t physically forced her to join the company, but I’d used every bit of info in my arsenal to bait her until she couldn’t refuse to audition without losing face if only with herself. If they had any concerns, or they didn’t like the way I’d done business, I was the one who was going to have to accept the consequences. Still that didn’t mean I was ready for my brother to start turning that spit and roasting me over the coals.
“In a couple of hours or so,” he said, looking fraught.
A part of me was glad it was so soon because it didn’t give Yuri long to get worked up, but another part of me was totally freaked out. An hour or two wasn’t long enough to work out what I was going to say. Sure, I knew why I’d pursued Clara, and I knew I’d done the right thing. But how was I going to get that across if they disagreed?
“Then I better get ready,” I said, fingers already tapping the keys on my laptop.
With a grunt, Yuri pushed out of his seat, paused as if he had something else to say, but then turned on his heel and left, slamming my office door behind him, taking the final word I supposed but didn’t really care.
I instantly started researching, putting together things such as the increase in ticket sales, the number of interviews already done and of those booked for the future to present to the people who made decisions that could make or break a dancer’s reputation… or a company representing that dancer for that matter. With every figure I entered into the spreadsheet, I started to feel a little more confident. Clara wasn’t only a damn good dancer, she was a fabulous investment. Not even the most miserly bean counter could argue with the ROI evident in crisp black and white on the screen in front of me.
I knew I shouldn’t be surprised. Clara had always had unlimited potential. There had never been any doubt she’d been destined to be a prima ballerina, but was on track to be the rarest of rare, reaching the pinnacle of the title prima ballerina assoluta, an honor bestowed on a very few and only on the absolute best dancers in the world. She’d been born to dance and, if not for the fuckup at the end, she would unquestionably have been one of the most sought-after dancers on the planet. Hell, if she hadn’t walked away, she could have stood center stage at the Bolshoi Theater, the pride of the motherland in one of their own pouring over her though she’d never lived in Russia.
I put in a call to Baker to find out what he might not have yet revealed to me about Clara. I knew he must have done some intense, out-of-the-box research before he went to interview her, even if the piece was never run. Baker was the consummate reporter. He would have been looking at the story from a different angle to give the article the atypical slant he was famous for doing. I was looking for anything that might give me another perspective, and maybe more than just stats to throw at the promoters.
“Baker,” I said into the phone the second he answered. “You have to help me. Give me everything you have on Clara Simyoneva, and don’t leave anything out, no matter how small you might think it is. The New York promoters want a meeting later today, and I need to present all my reasons for picking her and why they should allow her another chance to perform on Broadway. Personally, I don’t give a fuck if she ever sets foot in the Big Apple again, but it would mean a lot to her. It would mean she’d been forgiven if she were allowed back into the fold no matter how unfair one group having that amount of influence might sound. I’m going to have to defend my decisions, and I could use everything you have.”
“Considering you sound desperate, I’ll forgive the fact you didn’t even bother to say hello before snapping orders at me,” Baker said. Before I had a chance to growl that etiquette was the fucking least of my concerns, he added, “Give me a second. Let me find my folder on her. I have everything I learned about her in there, and I know I have some good stuff.”
“I sure hope so.” I listened to the sound of drawers opening and paper being shuffled around.
“Your interest and unconditional support of the girl had me digging deeper even though I wasn’t assigned to do another piece,” Baker said. “There was something about the whole sordid story that kept nagging at me. Okay, this is what I’ve learned since last we talked.”
I hardly dared breathe as I listened to him run through all he had discovered. When he stopped talking, I let out a deep sigh of relief. “You’re a lifesaver,” I said.
This was going to be easy. I’d be able to do this. Once I told the promoters everything about the real woman Clara Simyoneva was, rather than the media fuck-up they’d seen and the lies that had been fed to any reporter willing to listen, then everything would be okay.
Well, it had to be… Volkov Ballet was on the line.
14
Alek
Despite holding copies of my fancy spreadsheet and my newfound ammunition cramming my head, my heart raced the second I stepped through the door into the meeting with the New Yorkers because each one of them had the same stern expression on their face. They were clearly already annoyed about everything, which was going to make this so much harder.
“I think we all know why we’re here,” Jason Maxwell said, frustration and anger dripping from his tongue. “We need to discuss the latest… addition to your company.”
“Who the hell is responsible for this?” Justine Wiggington added.
It appeared even former prima ballerinas could set manners aside. I took a moment to meet every single pair of beady eyes staring at me as if attempting to look into my soul.
“I am,” I answered firmly and unequivocally. “Volkov Ballet needed someone worthy of taking the lead in the company, and, after taking the time to do my own research and not depending on yellow journalism, I offered Clara a chance to audition.” I gave every person another look, knowing my dig had hit at least a few marks as positions shifted in chairs. “We pride ourselves on being one of the top companies in the States, and we have some fabulously talented dancers.” I paused again for emphasis before stating, “Clara Simyoneva danced circles around every single one of them. We not only felt we’d be lucky as hell to have her join us, we know she has the potential to become one of the premiere dan
cers in the entire world.”
“So, you decided to bring someone in who is infamous for injuring another, one who was already a quite famous dancer, into a production and make us look like total fools? A woman who is capable of ending the career of another hardly deserves a chance to enhance her own, don’t you think?” Maxwell said.
“What I think is you didn’t listen to a fucking word I said,” I snapped.
A few gasps of surprise at my response told me I should probably apologize, but there was no fucking way that was going to happen. Sure, I could eat some crow and lay out all the figures to show the extra revenue she’d brought to my company and what she could earn if allowed to dance on Broadway, but that didn’t mean a fucking thing if they’d already made up their minds she wasn’t worth giving another chance. This wasn’t really about money. This was about her smearing dirt over their precious ballet. Dirt that might be impossible to wash away.
Bullshit.
Nothing was impossible. Hell, if I needed to shave my head and become Mr. Fucking Clean, I’d do so. Clara had proven to me she was worth the effort. It was now my job to convince the men and women seated stiffly before me they’d be the losers if they passed judgment without truly listening.
“We didn’t come all the way to Chicago to be insulted,” Maxwell said, pushing back his chair.
“Then, why did you come?” I asked. “A simple phone call stating there was no way you’d ever allow Clara to step a foot onto your stage would have been enough to keep her in Chicago,” I said, suddenly realizing the truth of my words.
Slapping the copies of the spreadsheet down onto the surface of the conference room table, I watched them slide across the polished surface.
“Since you doled out a few grand for plane tickets, I have to think despite your obvious spite, you have at least a tiny bit of interest. Now, we can either continue this little spat, which is a total waste of all of our time, or you can quit with the predetermined judgmental bullshit you’ve been spoon-fed and listen to the truth of what happened.” I crossed my arms over my chest, leaving the choice up to them. It was a long few moments of dead silence before Jason pulled his chair back up to the table and reached for one of the copies closest to him. Several others followed his lead. I waited until everyone had a chance to go over the columns of cold hard statistics.
“These are impressive, but it could be a fluke,” Adam Jefferson said.
“Exactly, you know, people wanting to see for themselves the dancer who fell from grace,” Justine added, her silver head bobbing.
“Scandals might garner attention for a bit, but the world has forgotten about Clara,” Andrea Housmann offered helpfully.
“And they’ll remember every detail if she shows up again. Not to mention there is the matter of her simply disappearing. What makes you think she won’t run away again if things get rough?” Maxwell snapped, evidently none too happy with even a modicum of support being thrown my way.
“She won’t,” said a voice before I could respond.
I looked over my shoulder to see Yuri, unable to believe that he was actually sticking up for Clara. Sure, he’d let her dance, but he’d been the one who had been dead set against the idea of Clara joining in the first place, and I thought he would love the chance to say I told you so.
“She’s no longer the person she used to be… the person you thought she was. She was good years ago… she’s even better now.”
“But there is so much bad press surrounding her,” Jason interjected. “How are we supposed to ignore that? She could turn Broadway into a damn circus—”
“Tell us the truth, Maxwell,” Yuri said, cutting him off and moving up to stand beside me. “Is that how you really feel or are you just acting as the mouthpiece for a bunch of rich investors who got their panties in a wad when their little ballerina stumbled a bit?”
Fuck! I wasn’t only shocked, I was proud as hell at how Yuri was cutting the feet out from under them. It made me feel like I was not on my own here. These old school men and women would respect my brother’s opinion more than mine as he truly lived in their world — as much as that pissed me off — so having his support was paramount.
“That media coverage could actually bring in more revenue, and you all know it,” I shot back, sending Yuri a self-satisfied smile. “Let me be honest in return. There will be shit talk, people arguing over our decision to allow Clara to join our company and yours in allowing her to perform on such a prestigious stage, but at least they’re talking about the ballet. Her supporters will be there. People who want to see her succeed and those who want to watch her fail will be buying tickets. Whether that’s to hurl abuse at her or to support her, it really doesn’t matter. The money will be lining your investors’ pockets.”
Of course, I didn’t really feel that way. I didn’t want people to say nasty things about Clara, but I needed to speak the language of this group. Even though I truly believed this wasn’t about money to those seated around this table, I knew that money was what kept the rich happy.
“But what if it becomes too much for her? What if she can’t take the pressure. What then?” Jason asked, staring intimidatingly at me. It was as though he thought he’d be able to get me to back down just by looking at me.
“She’s not going to cave no matter how much pressure is put on her,” I said confidently, staring right back at him. “She’s made her mistakes, but this second chance means the world to her. She has more people relying on her than the public realizes. She’ll earn back everyone’s trust over time. I can be sure of that. And while she’s dancing, we will all be benefiting from every step she makes on the stage.” I shifted my eyes from Maxwell to give everyone a long look. “No matter which stage she appears on.”
I felt confident in my speech. I was pretty sure that everyone had been completely and utterly turned around by my words. I couldn’t stop the big grin from spreading across my face. I’d done my best, and I’d make things work no matter how hard it was.
“Yuri,” Jason snapped, completely looking away from me. “If… and I mean if we decide to give Volkov a spot, I’ll expect you to keep a strict eye on the woman. I don’t trust her, and I need someone to ensure she doesn’t fuck up. In fact, if you suspect she might be up to anything unsavory, then I’ll pull her ass off stage so fast her head will spin.” He shot me a dirty look, before continuing, “Forget second chances, I promise you if we offer her this, it will be the only chance she’s going to get. I don’t want any short-term financial gain to have negative long-term effects. I’m not about to have the one special performance allocated this year turn into a shit show. You keep assuring us this isn’t a mistake, and you’d better be right. Your ballerina better not fuck this up.”
I could have left it there, yet I didn’t. I’d listened to Baker and had absolutely no doubt his findings were indisputable. Planting my palms on the table, I leaned forward, pinning the man to his seat with my glare. “I’m only going to say this once, so I suggest you listen and listen well. Threaten me all you want, but I’d better never hear you so much as mention Clara’s name in any disparaging way again. It’s time to set the record straight, which Clara won’t do for herself, but which the entire ballet world should be doing for her. Clara had nothing to do with Lara’s injury, and I believe that everyone in this room agrees or you wouldn’t fucking be here. All Clara is guilty of is dating a man who is a known mobster and then walking away from the one thing she truly loved in order to make damn sure no other ‘accidents’ occurred. She should be given a fucking medal instead of being dragged through that shit you seem so worried about,” I said, each word ringing with the weight of my full belief behind them.
I didn’t move until the ass gave a short, single bob of his head. Only then did I push up and allow Yuri to step forward, shaking hands with everyone as they joined him to stand, smiling as if nothing but sunshine and roses had been discussed.
I was just glad it was over… at least for the time being. I wasn’t f
ool enough to think all it would take would be a single meeting for the past to be brushed away like some sort of annoying bug. What I knew was the future of Volkov Ballet really did all rest on my shoulders. We wouldn’t be able to bounce back from a scandal as big as Clara being involved in another incident, accident or not, or doing even the slightest thing to bring us bad press.
I really hoped I was right in trusting Clara not to fuck up. Not only did I want to maintain the reputation of Volkov Ballet, I didn’t want to think I’d felt something so deep for someone, was willing to fight to the death for that someone, who was nothing more than a liar and a cheat.
15
Alek
If I’d not seen much of Clara before, Yuri was making damn sure I saw even less of her now. I was just starting to get used to the idea of not getting any one-on-one time with her. My mind was even almost at the point of accepting that fate might be stating what we had was a one-time thing that would never become anything more. But my body wasn’t buying that lie — not when every time I did catch her eye, I felt that jolt of electricity snapping between us. It was a good surprise when I glanced into the break room as I walked back toward my office after tipping the Uber driver for delivering my lunch to find her standing before the open refrigerator and staring inside.