Only the Brave Try Ballet

by Stefanie London

  ‘But I do, Grant.’ She stuck her chin out. ‘You come here to my place of work and call me a coward. Were you expecting me to accept that? You’re so goddamn stubborn that you can’t even see past your own pain to what really matters. Call your father. You’ve hurt him as much as he’s hurt you. You’d see that if you stopped focusing on yourself for a few seconds.’

  She’d hit a nerve. His lips pressed together and he pulled his shoulders back, but she couldn’t miss the hurt simmering close to the surface. She wanted to grab his shoulders and shake him until he could see what he was throwing away.

  A little voice hinted that she might be doing exactly the same thing, but she pushed it aside.

  ‘That’s none of your business,’ he said.

  ‘Just like my reason for not wanting to go to the Brownlow is none of yours.’

  ‘You’re putting me in the same box as your ex, and I’m not like him. You know that.’

  Grant stepped forwards, sending Jasmine’s nerves on high alert.

  ‘I’m not trying to use you. I’m not trying to parade you around. I just want to be with you and I know you want to be with me.’

  ‘You want to be with me on your terms.’ She stepped back, desperate to put distance between them because she could feel herself breaking. ‘And that’s not good enough for me. I won’t change myself to suit you.’

  ‘I’m not asking you to change. I’m asking you to trust me.’

  ‘You’re telling me.’

  His voice was deep and low, his disbelief palpable in the air between them. ‘How can you be so frightened of giving us a chance?’

  ‘Because I know what happens when I go against my better judgement.’

  As soon as she said it she felt regret seep through her like a poison. Her heart hammered out of control. What had she done?

  The barriers shot up around him so quickly Jasmine felt as though a door had been slammed shut in her face. He was slipping away and she was letting it happen.

  His nostrils flared as he drew a long, deep breath. ‘And being with me is going against your better judgement, is it?’

  ‘Yes.’ It was a whisper so powerful it sliced right through the thick, heady air between them.

  ‘Then you’re right. There is nothing between us.’

  Hearing the words from his mouth was even more painful than hearing them in her own head. Somehow when he said it was over it suddenly felt real. Over before it had even started...

  ‘I know I’m right.’

  The lie tasted sour in her mouth. She’d never been so uncertain of a decision in her entire life. Her head was pushing her to run, but her heart was already crying out at the loss of him. He was dangerous—she’d known that from the outset—only now she realised just how much he had the ability to split her in two.

  The echo of the door slamming behind him seemed to stretch on for ever. Jasmine sat on the ground, wondering if she’d just made the biggest mistake of her life.

  * * *

  Spring had dissolved the chill from the air and there was even a little sunshine peeking through the clouds. The Grand Final was looming and with each passing week the Jaguars inched closer to success.

  Painful as it was, Grant put Jasmine out of his mind. it was necessary for both their sakes. Still, her parting words had affected him more than he’d ever admit.

  Her swipe about him being too cowardly to make up with his father had caused many a sleepless night, and he’d thought long and hard about his family. About the way he’d grown up, the way he’d been treated, and the way he’d treated his father and sister. He could go on clinging to the bad memories as an excuse not to see them. He could use his father’s lack of communication as a shield. Or he could make the first steps in putting it all behind him. His relationship with his father would take work, but it would be worth the effort. He could see that now.

  Despite the fact that Grant had not been able to convince Jasmine to give their relationship a chance, he still owed her a lot. Talking to her had lifted a great weight from his shoulders and her comments on his reluctance to make amends had given him a new perspective. It was an angle he’d not been able to see on his own, and since he’d been living as a veritable hermit for the past year she’d been the first person to see past the façade he presented to the outside world.

  She’d helped him see that he was as much a party to the problems as his father was. That he’d done some of the hurting along the way.

  A deep ache in his chest had started up as he’d left the ballet studio that night, darkening his world until he’d felt that he might not be able to face daylight again. But he had to. This time he wouldn’t take the coward’s way out. He would face his problems and he would rebuild his life.

  Step one was contacting his father. He’d tried calling home a few times so far, typing the number into his phone and planning out what to say. Each time he’d chickened out—but he wasn’t giving up...not by a long shot.

  He typed the number into his phone again and pressed the call button before he could back out. His fingers hovered over the cancel button, but the call was answered on the first ring.

  ‘Hi, Dad. I know it’s been a while...’

  * * *

  The desire to dance scratched at her senses, burrowing deep in her skin and prickling at her so she couldn’t ignore it. Even after her not-so-successful return at the Winter Performance she couldn’t supress the desire. In those moments before she’d fallen the world had made sense. Sure, she’d tried to jump in at the deep end, but watching the playback tape of the concert had shown her that the majority of the audience wouldn’t have noticed a thing...and she’d looked good. She still danced like a pro, even if she couldn’t pull her pointe shoes out of the closet yet.

  She’d started practising in her living room, where no one could see. She’d moved the couch and turned up the music to test out new moves and see how far she could push her ankle. One night it had resulted in a bag of frozen peas being wrapped around her foot, but she’d recovered. Quickly.

  She had to keep busy. Sitting around thinking about Grant and dancing was killing her.

  Grabbing her coat from the stand in the entranceway, she headed for the front door. As she stepped outside a smile spread across her face. The sun was out and bright light filtered through fluffy clouds. Spring was making its first proper appearance, even though it was nearing the end of September. She tilted her face to the sky, enjoying the mild air as it brushed over her cheeks and nose. It smelled of last night’s rain and the orange-blossom tree in her neighbour’s yard.

  It was the scent of happiness.

  As she was about to leave her driveway she noticed the mail sticking out of her letterbox. The handwriting on one letter caught her eye. She’d seen that chicken-scratch scrawl before.

  Grant.

  Unceremoniously she snatched the letter and tore it open, leaving the edges jagged in her haste. A flyer for a dance company, a business card and a brief handwritten note.

  Jasmine,

  I’ve done some research. The director of the Melbourne Contemporary Dance Company is a huge Jaguars fan. I’ve traded membership for a meeting. Call him to arrange a time.

  Grant.

  A lump lodged in her throat as she stood rooted to her driveway, a light breeze fluttering the leaflets in her hand. She’d done her utmost not to think about Grant in the weeks since their argument. She’d rationalised away the curling need in her belly and the ache in her chest. She’d talked herself through all of the reasons they couldn’t be together, chanting them like a mantra.

  Yet he was constantly in her dreams, and in the moments where her concentration slipped and her mind wandered to better times. His touch haunted her; his smile was forever etched into her memory. She couldn’t forget how she’d felt with him—how she’d blossomed
and come alive again under his kiss. In her weak moments she’d thought about calling him...she’d fantasised about how she could make it better between them. But then she’d wonder what they’d say, and if he’d even be interested in talking to her.

  It usually ended with her tucking into a tub of ice cream and then going on a brisk walk to burn the calories.

  She missed him. She missed him so badly sometimes that she couldn’t sleep for the cavity in her chest that felt as if it would swallow her whole. Being without him was like trying to be half a person. He’d burrowed into her life without her even realising it, and she felt his absence as keenly as she would feel the loss of a dear friend.

  Jasmine flipped the envelope over; it was postmarked within the past week. He was still thinking about her. She’d made it clear that there was nothing between them, and yet he’d gone ahead and done something thoughtful for her. Why? Was he hoping the goodwill gesture would win her over?

  She bit down on her lip and carried the mail to her room. She tucked the leaflets and his note into her lingerie drawer and closed it with a slam. The note didn’t change anything. It didn’t change who he was, or his lifestyle. Nor did it change her or her ideals.

  She’d made her bed and now she had to lie in it.

  * * *

  Spring had well and truly arrived in Melbourne, and with the Grand Final less than a week away the city was hoping the weather would hold. Jasmine, on the other hand, had taken to torturing herself with the excessive media coverage of finals fever.

  Now she was sitting on her bed, watching the pre-Brownlow hype. In a short while the players and their partners would take to the red carpet for a media feeding frenzy. Would Grant have someone on his arm? Was he even missing her?

  God, why did she even care? It was over and it was at her hands. But the thought that he’d be there with someone else was killing her, causing her stomach to tumble around. Clamping her eyes down, she shoved the taunting images from her mind. It was useless. She was miserable without him but she couldn’t be with him...or at least it had seemed that way at the time.

  Next to her bed, the brochure for the Melbourne Contemporary Dance Company was on her nightstand; the director’s business card was tucked into her notebook. She’d been putting off making the call, but something was pushing her.

  She wanted that feeling: the incredible elation that came from doing something you’d always dreamed of. But she was procrastinating.

  First it had been because she’d needed clearance from her doctor. She’d wanted to be doubly sure, so she’d seen her physiotherapist as well...and her old mentor from the Australian Ballet.

  She’d then taken her doctor’s advice and set up an appointment with someone to help her work through the emotional issues associated with her accident and the sudden end to her career.

  Turning the brochure over in her hands, she ran her fingertips across the pictures of the dancers in their modern costumes. It would be a different world, but one where she might be able to relinquish some of the control she so desperately craved. The shrink had said it was a mechanism for her to deal with what she’d lost and the years of emotional abuse inflicted on her in her relationship with her ex. She’d shrugged; there was no way she’d give him the satisfaction of confirming that he was right...though that in itself was telling enough.

  Taking a deep breath, she tapped in the number on the business card as quickly as she could before she lost her nerve.

  ‘Hello?’ The voice on the other end was rich, cultured.

  ‘Mr Antonio? This is Jasmine Bell. I was given your number by Grant Farley, regarding a meeting with you.’

  ‘Ah, Miss Bell,’ he said, his tone lightening with recognition. ‘I’ve been waiting for your call. I was starting to wonder if you hadn’t received my number.’

  ‘It’s been a busy few weeks. I’m teaching at the moment, and we’ve started competition season.’

  ‘Yes, Mr Farley has told me all about you. He promised me you would take my breath away. Those are some big words to live up to, my dear.’

  ‘I know.’ Butterflies swarmed in her stomach. The kindness of Grant’s words was making her insides ache.

  ‘I would love to meet you. We’re always on the lookout for new talent, and Mr Farley told me that you were a soloist with the Australian Ballet.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘And you can’t dance en pointe anymore?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘We can work with that. Have you been cleared to train?’

  ‘Yes.’ By three separate people with more degrees than she could possibly comprehend.

  ‘Perfect. Why don’t you come by the office next week? Call my assistant to make an appointment, her number is on my business card.’

  ‘I certainly will.’

  ‘I look forward to meeting you, Miss Bell.’

  ‘You too.’

  She stood in the centre of her room, her heart fluttering like a butterfly trapped in a cage. Making sure the call had been disconnected, Jasmine let out a scream. The noise echoed off the walls of her unit as she shook her head and danced about in a circle, expelling her pent-up energy.

  Nerves flooded her body. The thought of training and performing again for a living was too much to contain. She let out an exhilarated laugh, and clamped her hands over her mouth.

  He promised me you would take my breath away...

  The words swirled in her blood, making it rush and pound and sending desire and giddiness all through her. She was turning her life around and it was all thanks to Grant. Without his belief she might not ever have been able to contemplate dancing again. While everyone else had walked on eggshells around her he’d been able to call it as it was. Unbiased honesty—it was perhaps the best gift he could have given her.

  God, she missed him. Her gut told her she’d made a huge mistake in pushing him away. He was nothing like Kyle. Her ex had abandoned her instead of encouraging her to dance again. He’d never once opened up about himself the way Grant had that day she’d run away. The memory still stung. The note she’d left him had been cowardly. What if she’d stayed to face him? Might they still be together now? Perhaps they would have worked through it... But she’d seen red at the time, with memories clouding her judgement.

  She should have stayed.

  Grant was exactly the kind of man she wanted in her life and she’d let him go.

  Something flickered and caught her eye where she sat. A thin beam of light peeked through her blinds and reflected off something shiny. She walked over to the closet and saw amongst the conservative pants, jeans and long skirts that had become her camouflage that there was a peek of something beautiful.

  She pulled out a floor-length gown of indigo silk. It was scalloped at the bottom, and the elegant cowl neck was decorated with the tiniest, most fragile black glass beads.

  A few months after she’d quit the Australian Ballet money had been so tight that she’d sold all of the gowns and cocktail dresses that had been her after-hours uniform back in those days. The money had helped her survive a few more months and she’d also cleaned out the items that had embodied her bad memories.

  All except this dress. It was the only one she’d bought with her own money, because she’d wanted to wear something of her own choosing. The tiniest of rebellions, but it had meant the world to her at the time.

  She held it against her in front of the mirror. The deep-coloured silk made her skin look even more translucent than it usually did. She was white as porcelain by comparison. The heavy silk was like liquid beauty against her palms.

  Could she...?

  The players would be arriving at the red carpet half an hour from now. If she called a cab she might make it.

  The face in the mirror was from the past, the hopeful sparkle in her eyes unfamiliar. She b
it down on her lip. Her mind was telling her to slow down and think about her actions but for once she pushed her fear aside; it had got her nowhere in the past year except to make her life as lonely as a pointe shoe without someone to dance in it.

  She grabbed her phone, ordered a cab and stripped on the spot. She was going to get her life back on track, and that meant making new rules.

  The dress flowed over her body like a caress, every delicate curve highlighted by the glistening fabric. The neckline sat perfectly, the beads catching the light so that it looked like a piece of night sky.

  Outside the cab honked its horn and Jasmine rushed out, teetering on a pair of high heels she’d plucked from the depths of her cupboard. Her hair was loose and it fluttered behind her as she ran.

  ‘To the city, please,’ she said breathlessly as she slid into the cab. ‘Whiteman street.’

  ‘You know you won’t be able to get in there?’ the cabbie said, looking at her in the rearview mirror with a look that said Beware—crazy woman on board. ‘It’s the Brownlow tonight.’

  ‘That’s where I’m going.’

  FOURTEEN

  She pulled a mirror from her purse and checked her face. Her cheeks were flushed pink from the cold and the excitement in her eyes made up for a lack of mascara.

  ‘Don’t they usually send fancy cars?’ The driver eyed her through the rearview mirror. ‘Why are you getting a cab?’

  ‘It’s a last-minute thing.’

  The cab slowed as they approached the city, the traffic thickening and blocking their way. Jasmine bounced in the back seat, nerves settling in now she had nothing to do put ponder what she was going to say to Grant.

  What could she say? That she’d been wrong to push him away? That he’d helped her trust again?

  She sighed. If only she’d known at the time what revealing her scars to him—inside and out—had meant.

  What if she said all of those things and he rejected her? A heavy ball of nerves rocked in her stomach, causing her to press her hand against her belly. If he did, she would have to deal with it...but she didn’t want to live without trying. She wouldn’t allow fear to rule her life anymore.