It’s the girl from the picture. Translucent skin, gorgeous red hair.
My heart misses its landing and crashes into the bottom of my chest.
The hope that was floating in tiny bubbles deep in my stomach, that I was trying to ignore, that I was pushing away, explodes.
What goes around comes around.
They still haven’t seen me. And I am tempted to run away from everything, but I’m a professional. So what if I feel like a horde of backup dancers got up and danced the Swan Lake on my body? I’m the queen of dealing with the awkwardness, with the hurt, with the mistakes. Clément was a one-night stand.
Nothing more.
CHAPTER 12 - LUCAS
“You know how sorry I am.” Olivia’s voice is sweet and sugary. Her voice is a lie that hits me in the guts. She still looks the same. The same red hair that appears to be on fire. The same smile that captured my heart once. The same full lips I kissed so many times.
I unwrap her arms from my neck and step back. Seeing her is overwhelming, is a mix of emotions I wasn’t prepared to deal with. Not today.
Even though she betrayed me and lied to me, my ex Olivia was also the one who was by my side when Benji died. She held my hand at the funeral. She gave me space and hugged me when I needed it. She was there at the beginning, when we weren’t famous or rich yet.
Olivia tilts her head to the side, twirls a strand of hair around her finger. Playing innocent, she was always so good at playing innocent.
“I miss you,” she whispers, batting her eyelashes in that way she always had. And maybe she does. And maybe I miss the idea of her, but I don’t miss her. She hurt me too much. Shit, she used me.
“I don’t know what you’re playing, but I’m not playing with you.”
“I’ll change your mind. Come on, Lucas, don’t you remember how we were?”
“You mean the day you sold pictures of us to make sure you stayed in the news. Without asking me first?” I want to punch the wall but instead I curl my hands into fists. I still don’t understand it.
“I apologized. And come on, Lucas, you know we’re good together. And that song you wrote, the one for the music video, you know it was for me.”
My laugh is bitter. The song I wrote for the music video is about Benji. I wrote it six weeks after his death and before yesterday, it was the last song I could bring myself to write. She can’t be serious if she thinks it’s about her. She always thought it was always about her.
She takes one tiny step forward. “I have to go. I’ll see you inside.”
She’s a good singer, but she’s not a classically trained ballet dancer, and she’s not right for the part. “Are you auditioning?”
“Of course not. You know my dancing is good but not that good.” And for a second, when she glances my way with so much mischief into her eyes, I remember the fifteen-year-old she was, how she always found a way to make me smile. She bites her lip, glances down before meeting my eyes again. She always did that when she knew I wasn’t going to agree with something: like when I didn’t agree to go on some reality TV show and she got mad, or when I refused to do a show three days after Benji died and she left the band because she didn’t understand why I wanted to take a break from music, or when I broke up with her after she gave the journalists pictures of us in Corsica three weeks after Benji passed away.
At least she had the decency to tell me about the pictures, about using my name to get a meeting with a top producer when she went solo. She always told me after the fact, even when I disagreed with her. Almost always. There was one time she didn’t and created a whole mess.
“Olivia?” I press her.
“You’re not going to be happy. But you have to listen to me until the end.”
I cross my arms over my chest in a move she used to say was one more way for me to keep her at a distance. “Apparently, Grégoire wants to try to bring in a female part for the song you wrote. He said it was a song about how hard it was to move on. He said it’s a song that means a lot to me too.”
“What?” My voice rises—I can’t help it. I can’t have heard this clearly. Obviously, I’m imagining things. Not on that song. Not on the song about Benji. That song has nothing to do with her, despite what Grégoire said. Grégoire has always been mesmerized by her. Always.
“He asked me to come today so I can watch the auditions, spend time with you guys and maybe we could all talk after.”
“No.”
“Come on, Lucas. I’m not scheming anything. I’m not doing anything wrong. Your manager asked me to pass by. And I’m so happy to see you but I know you don’t trust me and I thought maybe like this, we can put the past behind us.” She bites the skin of her index finger. I don’t think she realizes she’s doing it. “It’s not easy right now. I’m not doing so well. And I need a push.”
“Like you did when you went behind my back and talked about me? Like you did when you lied to people saying I proposed?” I breathe out, calming myself. “I had to call my mom and tell her it wasn’t true. It created a shitstorm when we issued a denial and the groupies blamed it on my parents, who would have said they didn’t want me to marry so young. I know you love the attention, but they didn’t. They got hate messages, and they were followed for weeks afterwards not only by paparazzi, but by crazy fans who wanted to convince them that they were wrong.” My voice rises. “I always told you to leave my family out of the spotlight. You knew how much that meant to me and you didn’t care.”
“But that’s not true. I never went to the press with that story. I would have told you! Marie and I were having a drink on the terrace of a bar and I was telling her how I thought we weren’t too young to get married, how if you would propose I wouldn’t say no. That part is true but not the rest.”
I clench my fists. “Bullshit. Marie doesn’t remember that discussion.”
She rolls her eyes and her voice rises. “Whatever, you can believe what you want. Let’s face it, Lucas. The reason you pushed me away was because of Benji, not anything you’ve mentioned.”
“Do not talk about Benji.” My tone is on the edge, ready to fall into a canyon of anger and despair. There’s nothing for us to discuss now. Nothing left but messy feelings and a past we can never touch again.
“Lucas, please.”
Tears fill her eyes as if I hurt her. “You know how sorry I am. You know how much I miss him too. You know I really tried—”
I cut off her apologies. Almost afraid of what she’s going to say. “I don’t want to hear it, not now.”
She straightens, passes her fingers through her hair. “All I’m asking for is a chance… You know how much my career means to me. And I feel like I’m drowning.”
“As manager, Grégoire can do a lot of things. He can let you audition for example and he can find some loophole in the band’s contract that forces us to sing with you. Not much I can say about that, but I’m asking you to not do it. Not for this song.”
“I need to, Lucas. I need the money and I need the exposure.”
I shake my head. “Don’t fuck it up then.”
And I walk away.
Because walking away is easier than facing the truth.
CHAPTER 13 - JEN
The walk back to the room where Alisha’s still rehearsing is almost surreal and definitely painful. Painful because I’ve been there.
I’ve done that.
The girl from the picture, the one who was hugging him so tightly, she clearly means something to him, even if I don’t think they’re together right now. I’m not getting in the middle of a relationship I don’t understand. My heart got stomped on when I tried that in New York. Back then, I thought…I don’t know what I thought, except Nick and I had so much in common and he always looked at me in a certain way. Nick was the star student of the School of Performing Arts, like me. He was dedicated, like me. He made it seem like he cared and I held on to that.
But soon enough it was clear I
didn’t belong with him.
I can’t go through this again. I’m still working on so many issues and there’s the company and there are my parents who threw themselves in their work to forget the death of my little sister, and at the same time forgot about me.
I purse my lips, ignoring how loud my heart is beating, how fast my mind is racing.
I need to concentrate on the here and now. Otherwise, I can forget everything, pack my bags and take the next plane home.
And then what? I go home and everything I fought for, everything I missed, every mistake I’ve made has been for nothing.
I’m tempted to kick the wall or to scream, but I’m pretty sure that could get me kicked out of the auditions.
I need to relax my face into something that doesn’t resemble a scowl. Scowling can work in certain situations—but an audition isn’t usually the place to look like you’re about to explode any second.
I inhale and exhale slowly and push open the door to the rehearsal room. The light is dimmer and Alisha is the only one left in there. She’s stretching on the floor. Her legs in a split, she pushes her body on her front leg.
She shrieks when I enter and then giggles. “You scared the crap out of me.”
I turn on the lights. The darkness is almost complete outside and the small windows don’t help much. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.” My voice is too robotic.
“Are you okay?” Alisha must have picked up on it. She tilts her head slightly to the side as if she can figure out what’s wrong with me.
“I’m okay.” I chew on my upper lip and then stop. It’s one of my tells that I’m really stressed. That and getting stomachaches. And man, my stomach hurts right now. “A tad worried. The girls here seem to be good. I think Erin and Nadia are here from our ballet company.”
“Really?” Erin is the newest member of the company, and Nadia is amazing. She quit the Opéra de Paris when Igor opened his own ballet company, and she’s been a star in the two previous shows.
“It makes sense. If the auditions are as big as Steve said on Saturday night and now that we have Igor’s approval, it does make a lot of sense.” She shrugs. “We just have to be better than everyone else.” She stands up and grabs her folder, bringing it tightly to her chest as if it can shield her from stage fright. “Are you ready?”
“As ready as I’ll be.” I want to tell her about Clément, about seeing him here, about seeing him fighting with that other girl, about my string of bad luck when it comes to boys. Granted, sometimes it may not have been bad luck, but bad timing or bad choices. Nick wasn’t the first one I tried to hold on to, and at least Nick was a nice guy. Not like others.
But again, I can’t really blame them.
Either I didn’t give them a chance or I tried too hard.
With Clément, even if it was only one night, I felt like myself. And it wasn’t as scary as I thought it would be.
We take a spot in the hallway, ignoring the stares. “Erin is over there,” I whisper, but Alisha isn’t as discreet. “Hey, Erin!” she calls, and Erin skips to us with a big smile on her face like she’s relieved to see us here. She seems pretty nice. I haven’t seen her sabotage anybody, but that could be a skill she’s only learning. Most of the girls at the company are ruthless.
“Hi!” Her voice is soothing. “I don’t know what the heck I’m doing here.” Her British accent gets stronger with each word. “Since Igor agreed we could audition outside of the company, my sister who follows everything music-related told me about this one. I thought why not…but I’m so not ready. What if they’re super famous? I might freeze.”
“You won’t.” My voice could be warmer, but I’m being pragmatic because the likelihood of her freezing is actually very low. To make it to this stage, she had to audition a thousand times, she had to perform in different places, she probably had to act in a certain way even when she felt sick to her stomach or when she didn’t want to move at all.
“Eight hundred and eight,” a tiny woman with the most piercings I’ve ever seen calls, and Erin glances from me to Alisha.
“That’s me.” She stares at the number in her hand, but doesn’t move.
“Eight hundred and eight!”
“You can do it.” Alisha pushes her forward.
I take one tiny step to Erin, whose eyes are still full of fear. “You danced every single day—rain, shine, holidays, sickness. Your feet bled, you cried, you probably even screamed. You put yourself in ice baths that didn’t help. No matter who is inside, what band it is, you can show them a thing or two about dedication.”
She nods and slowly moves forward without a word. But at least her head is high.
Alisha turns and nudges me. “You’re a pretty good motivational speaker.”
“Erin’s working hard. She’s always getting yelled at by Igor, but she’s trying and she’s good and she wants it.”
“Who isn’t getting yelled at by Igor?”
“You have a point.” I half smile before remembering that I may see Clément in that room. Do roadies stay during auditions?
I close my eyes. I need to concentrate.
But apparently, Alisha needs to talk. “What was your best performance ever?”
I could lie and say it was my last showcase at the School. I could lie and pretend my best performance was my happiest one. I could lie and say it was the one that opened doors for me.
But I won’t lie.
Talking about Mia is keeping her alive, and even though talking about her also tightens my chest to the point where I can’t breathe, telling the truth right now is more important than protecting myself.
“When my sister was at the hospital, I used to go all dressed up with a tutu and dramatic makeup and dance for her and the other kids. When I left for Paris, they thought she was doing a bit better, that they had found a new drug that would help her live longer. So my last performance there was the morning before my plane took off. I danced for her and with her and with her friends and she was laughing. She was smiling. It was the last time I saw her.”
I need to fight away the tears, and I’m not even sure Alisha can hear the last words I say.
A girl walks past us, shooting us death glares. “They’re already crying. Must be that article in Le Monde. Clearly, Igor should have thought twice about leaving the Opéra de Paris.” She enunciates each word slowly and loudly enough for me to hear but low enough so the guards at the entrance don’t.
I take a deep breath. If my voice breaks it won’t be as efficient. Alisha gasps but doesn’t say a word. I step up to the ballerina turned mean girl. “My little sister died three months and a half ago. That’s why I was crying. And trust me, in her entire six years on this Earth, she showed more grace than you ever will. And you’re a dancer.”
I don’t bother to check her reaction. Or to answer to her mumbled apologies.
Alisha squeezes my hand.
The tiny woman with the piercings comes back out. “Number eight hundred and nine.” That’s Alisha.
Her body stiffens but I squeeze her hand back. “You can do this.”
She throws her shoulders back and glides to the door like she owns it. The girls behind me now whisper about the latest gossip. Another one mentions the newspaper article and even though she’s more discreet about it, it still stings. “Those poor dancers. Clearly, they should have chosen another company. I guess the glitz and promise of quick fame was enough for them.”
I guess she didn’t hear me put the other one back in her place. She doesn’t know me. “I guess some dancers have too much time on their hands.” I step to her and eye her up and down. “You’re from the Lyon Ballet Company, right?”
Her eyes widen. People have a tendency to become much quieter if you actually call them on their bullshit. “I believe you got that spot because I turned them down. They tried to convince me for days.”
And I whip my head back away from her. Her friend is consoling her. T
elling her I clearly have a problem. Yes, I do. Actually, I have way more than one. But right now, her not owing up to her issues is my issue. Because I know those girls. I caught myself once or twice being one of those girls. And I didn’t like what I was seeing.
I focus back on myself. I shouldn’t let all of them derail me. I’ve got enough on my plate.
The choreography I prepared isn’t too difficult, but I thought for a dancer in a music video, I should focus more on something that can transcend: a few visual movements that may look complicated, and trying as much as possible to convey emotions.
And after talking about Mia, my emotions are all over the place.
Erin took about five minutes. They make all girls exit via a different exit. To not spoil the surprise, I guess. It’s already been ten minutes and they still haven’t called my name. Alisha must be doing well.
Competition is cutthroat in this world, but I’d rather lose to the best than not show up. Some dancers may be better than me, but if they don’t have the passion for it, then it won’t work for them. That was the case for my friend, Emilia.
Dancing is my passion and it’s my career and it’s what keeps me together.
“Number eight hundred ten!” The tiny woman is back. And that’s my number.
I rub my hands and then clench them into fists. Only one second to put on my happy and confident face.
I take a deep breath and turn around to the girl who tried to derail me earlier. “May the best ballerina get the role.”
She purses her lips, but I don’t care. I enter the audition room.
The woman motions for me to stand in the middle of the room. I don’t look at anybody—even though I’m dying to check if Clément is there.
It resembles other audition rooms: the piano standing in the corner, the smell of anticipation. It’s a mix of deodorant and perfume and tears. Because I know for sure at least one person cried in this room today. I cried once during an audition and only once. That was the year I auditioned for the School of Performing Arts, and I wasn’t made of steel yet. I messed up one step and thought I had missed my chance. Svetlana—my favorite teacher there—came to talk to me after the audition, telling me I had talent and they saw it. I only needed to see it too.
Love in B Minor Page 6
