by J Q Anderson
“Let her cook. I’m starving,” said Marcos with his eyes on the TV.
Nata threw a kitchen towel at his head. “Who said you could stay? And we don’t want to watch soccer.” She winked at me. Marcos turned up the volume, tucking the remote under his leg.
We ate in front of the TV in comfortable silence. After the rich meal and two of Papá’s painkillers, the exhaustion of the day swallowed me. I iced my ankle again and snuggled up in a corner of the couch. When I opened my eyes, I was in my bed, though I didn’t remember getting there. I rolled over and was immediately asleep.
The next morning, I got up well rested and ready to claim my spot in the company. Ignoring my conscience, I packed a quick outfit for my date with Sebastián: a pair of black skinny jeans, boots, and the nicest top I owned, a cashmere sweater Mamá had given me for my birthday. Anticipation sizzled through me. I left Mamá’s laptop on the kitchen countertop for her secretary to pick up and tucked my last pair of good pointe shoes in my already stuffed bag. The persisting reminder that I was making a bad call gnawed at me. I stuck three energy bars in my bag and decided to skip lunch to work on the understudy variation. It wouldn’t be the same as a session with Nata, but staying in all day would at least show Madame I was committed and that yesterday had been nothing but a small setback.
I told Nata I would walk to work. My ankle was much better, and I wanted to warm it up before class. But as I was leaving, she told me to wait. Locking the door behind us, she smiled.
Shit.
Chapter 7
Nata and I fell into the usual chatter as we walked, Alexei and one of Sergei’s friends trailing somewhere behind. The faint, autumn sun kissed the mirrored façades of the buildings lining the streets. A chilled gust of wind brushed my neck, and I tightened my coat. My body tingled with energy. I smiled at an invisible point in the distance. Yes. I was excited to prove myself at work today, but that didn’t exactly explain the fluttering wings in my stomach.
“What’s with you?” Nata clutched my wrist as she looked both ways down the street. A car blazed by and we hurried across. “You are unusually happy.”
“I’m determined to show Vronsky I’m worthy of the understudy part Federico gave me.”
“Of course you are worthy. Stop torturing yourself about yesterday. Just stay focused. Myrta is a challenging role, but you’ve got what it takes.”
“Thanks, Nata. You’re always my rock.” I nudged her as we walked side by side.
Dodging through a sea of bodies rushing to work, we followed our usual route to the theater, the two Russians flanking us closer now that the crowd had thickened. The other one, Viktor, lit a cigarette. I scrunched my nose.
“Seriously,” I said, “it’s seven in the morning.”
He dismissed me with a nod.
“Viktor, I thought you were going to quit.” Nata frowned. He smiled apologetically and took a long drag while bluntly checking out a girl in a tight dress walking past us. Nata shook her head.
“I won’t go out for lunch today. I brought PowerBars,” I said, holding the theater door open for her.
“I see…Anyone I know?”
“What do you mean?” I adjusted my bag on my shoulder to avoid her inquisitive gaze.
“Are you perhaps going on a lunch date with the mysterious guy from the other night?”
Shit! “I wish. I’m staying in to rehearse.”
“Right.”
“Really.”
“Are you ever going to tell me who he is?” she said as we reached the top of the stairs. We sidestepped a girl stretching her leg upright and behind her head.
“Who?”
“The guy. Who is he?”
I felt shitty hiding things from my friend, but something told me to hold back for now, until I knew what this was. “Nothing to tell…I barely know him.”
“Did you meet him at the Roxy?” Gah! Relentless.
“Um…I actually met him that morning, when I lost my pointe shoe on the street. He helped me out.”
“Wait, what?” She paused as we reached the door to her studio. “You met him randomly in the morning, then he was at the Roxy on the same night?”
“Yes, but—”
“He’s a stalker, Camila.”
“Nata—”
“What are the odds? Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
“It’s not like that. The coincidence was us being at the Roxy last night. He works there.”
“At the Roxy—”
“Yes, Nata. Not everything is a conspiracy. Now go, you’re going to be late.” I nodded at her studio where the dancers were taking their positions at the portable barres. She turned, and her eyes widened when she saw she would be the last person in, and without saying good-bye, she rushed to the back to get ready.
The day flew by. I worked with a new stager Federico had hired for Giselle, committing every ounce of my energy to learning everything he taught me. My ankle protested, and I iced it in between classes and rehearsals. I was doing well, and Madame acknowledged me with a slight nod, then left the studio to work with the principals.
The stager finally called it a night. I was exhausted and sore everywhere. When I glanced at the clock, I realized I only had fifteen minutes before Sebastián would arrive.
In the dressing room, I quickly showered and changed into my street clothes. Anticipation wrung my stomach, and I quickly shoved my dance clothes in my bag.
Unable to hide the dumbstruck grin on my face, I pushed through the theater doors to the street, scanning the passersby for ash-colored eyes, my pulse accelerating with every second.
Maybe he would kiss me again tonight. Really kiss me. I had been thinking of that kiss since yesterday. Every muscle south of my navel clenched at the thought of that sensual mouth on mine. I looked around impatiently.
The Colón Theater took up an entire square block. My eyes swept the street from corner to corner, bordering the length of the building. I frowned at my watch. Seven fifteen. Where was he? I pulled out my phone and tapped on the contact I had created the night before under his name.
Straight to voicemail. “Hey, it’s me…Um, Camila? It’s after seven and I’m at the theater door, but I don’t see you…. Just…call me back if you get this.” I hung up and let out a pent-up breath, looking around. Maybe he had gone to one of the side entrances. Idiot me! Of course! I hadn’t told him which door to meet me at. With my heart pounding, I rushed to the east entrance. But he wasn’t there either. People hurried past me, tightening their coats as the evening air quickly chilled. A blanket of darkening clouds stretched over the sky, swallowing the stars. I racked my brain. What had I missed?
Another ten minutes went by. I tried his phone again, and again it went straight to voicemail. I reviewed our conversation in my head, wondering if I had somehow misunderstood something. Another fifteen minutes. Lightning sliced the thick gray above, followed by a deafening roar of thunder. I looked around in despair…Where was he?
I stood, shivering and hugging myself, unable to leave. An invisible claw gripped my heart and squeezed it as a sobering thought materialized.
He wasn’t late…He wasn’t coming.
Jesus. What a goddamn fool. I had made myself an open target. I bet he could smell my inexperience a mile away. A guy like Sebastián surely had loads of chicks after him. He was probably out with one of them right now. Shitdammit. What an idiot, wooed by his eyes, his smile, those lips, Chila…and that stupid motorcycle. Tears of humiliation rushed to my eyes. Fuck, fuck! And for this I had turned down two hours of golden rehearsal time with Nata. What the hell was wrong with me? Madame was right. I had succumbed to bad judgment. I was an immature, stupid fool.
Above me, a churning storm threatened to swallow the city. I shivered from the icy rain that seeped into my bones. Nata had made last-minute plans to go out with Teo, so the Russians weren’t around. I would either have to find a taxi or walk home alone. The traffic was stopped in every direction. Throwing my bag ov
er my shoulder, I rushed across the street, dodging the still cars. My ankle complained. I reached into my pocket, popped in one of Papá’s painkillers, and chewed it. It was bitter, but so was I.
A sudden curtain of rain caught up with me from behind, pelting my jacket like bullets. I vainly tried hiding under my collar, and as if mocking me, the rain doubled. I mentally flipped it off and looked up to the sky, my tears and desolation washing away under the glacial rain. In a way, I was better off. Now I could concentrate on what really mattered. The only things that should matter to me: Ballet. My career. New York.
“Again,” Madame barked as I finished my Myrta variation the next morning. Panting, I quickly grabbed a towel to wipe the sweat off my face. As I did, my eyes briefly met hers. Approval flashed in the deep emerald of her eyes, betraying her usual glacial expression. Hope whirled inside me with the force of a tornado. I took my place in the middle of the room, letting the exhilaration kick the fatigue off my muscles, and closed my eyes, waiting for the music.
I flew through the ballottés, pirouettes, and complex steps I had rehearsed tirelessly during lunch the day before. I had already memorized a good part of the variation, and even Madame couldn’t hide her surprise.
“An improvement,” she said sternly. “But you need to get your strength and endurance up to speed. This role is very physically demanding, more so than any of the others. Now, on the port de bras, keep your shoulders down and be mindful of Myrta’s demeanor so it is reflected in every movement. She is royalty, but her heart is dark. She’s vengeful.”
I smirked inwardly at the irony. Myrta: the Ghost Queen of Revenge. She had sworn to kill every man who ever caused a girl to die for love. How fitting. It was surprisingly easy to pour my own feelings into the part. From my periphery, I caught Verónica’s reptile gaze. With venom slowly filling her, she was waiting for me to falter again. I smiled. I was back on track.
As I left the theater, I pulled my phone out of my bag to call Nata and let her know I would skip the drinks planned for the night and go straight home. My pulse jumped as I looked at the screen showing a voice message from Sebastián. My first impulse was to delete it right away. But my slaughtered ego peeked out from the trenches.
“Hey…Camila. It’s Sebastián. Look, I want to apologize for last night. Something unexpected came up, and I was tied up until late. I had no cell signal where I was. I just got your messages. Shit, I feel horrible. I’m really sorry.”
That was it. My apology. But he hadn’t asked for a rain check. No “I want to see you, let’s try again.” I gripped the phone so hard I was sure I would crush it.
“Screw you,” I spat out loud. A guy walking in my direction widened his eyes and lifted his palms in surrender.
I took a cab home and spent the next half hour under a scalding shower. I dressed in sweatpants and was wrapping a towel on my head when the downstairs bell rang. I hurried to the intercom.
“Yeah?”
“From El Jagüel. I have a delivery for Miss Camila Navarro.”
Oh! El Jagüel was Papá’s favorite flower shop. One of those fancy places on Avenida Alvear where only the most affluent could afford to order flowers. Knowing Papá, he wanted to cheer me up after seeing me injured and a bit beaten down the other day. When I was in ballet school, he used to have a custom bouquet of white peonies and lilies delivered to the house if he knew I was having an especially rough week. I pressed the buzzer.
“Come up.”
A boy barely scratching teen status showed up at my door with a massive bouquet of white lilies, the sweet fragrance instantly invading the hallway air. His small frame was buried under a beanie and a jacket at least three sizes too big. He grinned widely as he pulled out one of his earbuds.
“Sign here, please?”
I obliged and thanked him, unclipping the white envelope from the tissue as I closed the door behind me. The front of the crisp, white envelope showed my name in perfect calligraphy. I admired the delicate, half-open lilies, masterfully arranged, their perfume quickly infusing my apartment. They were simply magnificent.
Reaching into a far up cabinet, I pulled out the only vase we owned and filled it with fresh water. I undid the layers of pale gold tissue and set the flowers in the vase. Sliding onto a kitchen barstool, I pulled out the card from the envelope.
I’m sorry about last night.
It drove me insane that I couldn’t get to you.
Love,
Sebastián
My heart was suddenly pounding. I read it again and again and again. The reason for not showing up wasn’t because he had changed his mind about me. I was frustrated at how relieved that made me feel. I clenched my teeth and crushed the card in my fist. It didn’t matter. I had almost screwed up things at work by letting this guy sneak into my life. Damn it. I didn’t know who to be mad at. Him? Me? Life? For the first time ever, I had let a guy derail me from ballet. That scared the living crap out of me.
I sat there for a while, admiring the flowers. They were almost out of place in the simplicity of the apartment. The hard side of me wanted them out of there immediately. Every time I looked at them, I would think of him. Yet, the softer side of me couldn’t bring myself to throw them in the trash. They were gorgeous.
I could keep them, tell Nata they had been a gift from my father…Man, I was getting shamelessly comfortable with lying to Nata. I buried my face in my hands. Then an idea hit me. I took one last, long look, then wrapped the flowers back in the tissue paper as best I could and grabbed my keys.
Wrapped in a plush, pink robe and matching slippers, Mrs. Garibaldi opened the door of apartment 14B. Her hair was neatly curled into rollers under a silk scarf.
“Camila, sweetheart, what a treat to see you.” She smiled widely. “Come in, come in. I will put on the kettle.”
“Oh, no, you’re in your pajamas. I don’t want to bother you. I just came to bring you these from Nata and me.”
“Oh, my lord! Why would you silly girls do such a thing?”
“You know as well as I do that if it weren’t for you, all our plants would be dead,” I said, handing her the flowers. She let out a long chuckle that echoed through her smoke-battered lungs.
“I like doing that, and you don’t need to thank me. Nobody’s ever given me flowers from El Jagüel before. But darling”—she frowned—“these must have cost a fortune. I don’t want you girls wasting your money on an old hen like me.”
“It’s nothing. We love that you’re our neighbor. You enjoy them, Mrs. Garibaldi. Good night.”
She hugged me hard and kissed my cheek again, her eyes moist with joy.
Satisfied with my deed, I texted Nata, letting her know I had given Mrs. Garibaldi flowers from the two of us. We always talked about doing something nice for her. She texted back a thumbs-up emoji. I sprinted back to the apartment, taking the stairs two at a time and giving my heart a good reason to race.
The next few days at work advanced with clockwork precision. The thrill from having my first soloist understudy made me feel like anything was possible if I put my head and body into it a hundred percent. On the outside, I was a machine. I skipped lunch and concentrated on what I needed to learn and nothing more.
But inside, my guts were in a constant knot. Sebastián had left a new sense of emptiness in me. I resented the fact that he had awakened things I didn’t know how to control. He had called a few times, but I had let them all go to voicemail, deleting the messages without listening to them. I was being a coward, I knew. I was running. But, being alone was safer. Just the few memories I had of him were a major distraction. I didn’t let myself daydream about Marcos either. I ran purely on the adrenaline of moving closer to my goal. Closer to New York. Ballet was back to being my master, and I was in control.
Madame was visibly pleased with my new determination. She once even used me as an example to show the corps what she expected for the new choreography since I had already learned it.
We finished rehearsing t
he first variation for the Wilis, and Madame dismissed us for the day. Federico had come to watch the corps, and he and the teachers sometimes went out to dinner after a long day of rehearsals. He stated he was pleased with our progress. We had been working hard and made Madame look good in front of her boss, so she was in good spirits.
I stretched at the barre by the window while the other dancers dispersed and left the studio. Sweat drenched my back as I caught my breath, coercing my burning muscles into submission. This was why I loved dancing. I had nothing left to give, the tension completely wrung out of my body. I used a towel to wipe the sweat off my face and was startled by Madame and Federico standing next to me. Straightening up, I tossed the towel back in my bag with an unsettling sense of anticipation.
“Camila.” Federico smiled benevolently, a proud father. “That was a great rehearsal. Your technique is much more polished than before. You seem centered, stronger. Whatever you’re doing differently, I hope you keep it up, because I have great plans for your future.”
“Thank you. I…I’ve just been working hard.” I glanced at Madame, and she gave a slight nod.
Federico took my hand in his and gave it a reassuring squeeze. He then kissed both Madame’s cheeks. “I’ll leave you both to it. Great job, Camila.”
As he walked away, I reached down for my bag. Madame grabbed the strap and placed my bag back on the floor. Her statuesque, delicate figure stood just a foot away, and I suddenly felt small. I held my breath, trying to conceal how intimidated I always felt in her presence. Her deep green eyes studied me with determination, but there was something softer in them this time.
“Well done, Navarro. Honestly, I didn’t think you could handle the understudy. But you have learned it quickly. You are working hard, and that doesn’t go unnoticed here.” She paused, frowning. “Federico thinks you may be ready to take on the role of Myrta as a soloist.”