Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 75983 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 380(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75983 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 380(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
“All right.” Alexander left me to my work, walking over to the ledge that housed the sound system. “I accidentally left my headphones here this morning.” He pocketed a high-end brand of wireless earbuds before turning back to me. “I suppose I should apologize for the misunderstanding the night of my father’s party.”
“You were hardly the only one to think I was part of the catering staff.” I finally got the new light bulb screwed in and stepped back to admire my work.
“Even so. Apologies.” There was something just this side of flippant to Alexander’s tone that gave me pause. Was he seriously irked that I hadn’t been able to correct him at the time?
“Thank you.” Good manners prevented me from matching his tone. Instead, I stole my mother’s favorite trick of smiling serenely and ignoring potential negativity in favor of relentless positivity and praise. “And we’re lucky to have you for this show. My mom just told me your rehab is going well.”
“I’ll be ready.” Alexander’s voice turned terse, but I refused to let my smile dip.
“I’m sure.” If he could be flip, I could be brightly patronizing. “And as you prepare, I’ve got some additional opportunities for you.”
“Why do I have a feeling it’s more like obligations?” Alexander sighed heavily. “I’m rather busy with my PT regimen, classes, and gearing up for rehearsals with both Cheryl and Victoria.”
“It’s nothing too time-consuming.” I discreetly crossed my fingers around the bulb-changing gadget. “A few lecture demonstrations for area schools to talk about ballet and The Nutcracker. Some promo. A couple of extras the weekend of the performance, like a director’s talk with Tavio.”
“That doesn’t sound like nothing.” Alexander narrowed his eyes, but he wasn’t flat-out refusing.
“I’ll make it as painless as possible.” I widened my smile. I might lack his charm, but I could be my own brand of convincing when needed. “And all the extras benefit the school. It’s been a lean few years. It was a stretch just to sell the board on hiring me to help my mother. This school is part of her legacy. I—we all—need this show to be a success.”
The mention of my mother landed as intended. Alexander lost some of his prickliness and nodded curtly. “Send me a text with details.”
“Thank you.” I beamed like he was far more enthusiastic as the door opened to admit Angela and a stream of ten-year-olds. “You won’t regret helping.”
“Here’s hoping.” Alexander stepped closer to the door.
Deciding to take my win, I let him exit. I was indeed hoping for both Alexander’s help and that we could get past whatever weird tension continued to linger between us.
Four
Merde: literally, French for shit. Used in the ballet world instead of “break a leg” or “good luck.”
Alexander
The morning light in the studio was disconcerting. The studio itself was as familiar as the stretches I performed. I’d taken my earliest leaps and spins inside these walls, learned discipline and form in front of these mirrors, found my inner drive, and conquered many a doubt demon here. However, as a kid, class had always been after school or in the evening, which, this time of year, meant dark skies and artificial lighting. The November sunshine filtering in through a large window at the rear of the room exposed the worn edges of the studio—paint needing a touch-up from suffering years of peeling posters and announcement flyers, mirrors slightly hazy in a way polish alone couldn’t fix, and flooring showing its age.
The chilly sunshine also felt like a spotlight on my recovering muscles. November meant the start of rehearsing with both of the dancers playing the Sugar Plum Fairy—the company dancer as well as Victoria, the promising teen. I owed so much to the Hollyberry Ballet School. No matter what Tavio said about watering down or omitting my variations, I wanted to give them a worthy performance.
While I’d donated what I could over the years, I wished I had easy access to the sort of funding the school and company needed. Though I lacked a huge cash infusion, I could use my name and reputation. Which meant delivering with my signature perfection, not merely going through the motions for a show I’d memorized decades earlier. The Cavalier was known for his solo, and I wanted to perform the complex variation with the soaring leaps that had helped me to become a principal dancer at one of the country’s premier ballets.
I moved from stretching into the foundational movements that formed the backbone of my repertoire. I wore footless black tights and a light T-shirt, but my dancing kept me warm enough in the drafty studio. Thanks to months of PT, my knee didn’t twinge, but the lingering stiffness had me picking apart my every step.
Not good enough. Not high enough. Not deep enough. Not—
Mid-attack on my latest attempt at a jeté, I caught sight of a shadow in the mirror and whirled to find Rudy lurking near the doorway. Like most of the teachers and employees, he used layers of clothing to defend against the hard-to-heat building. His baggy green sweater over another shirt made him look smaller and younger, but no less annoying as an interruption.