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by Taras Ford

  Xenia Minetti owned a ballet studio uptown. In the past four years she had produced only one classical ballet to rave reviews; however, her social standing and connections made her shows the most sought after in the city. A month earlier, Xenia had been his date at a charity event hosted by the mayor. The next day, their names appeared in the society column of the newspaper, citing them as the new “it couple.” The article had the nerve to announce his retirement from bachelorhood. Why his dick and how he chose to use it would be more newsworthy than his twenty-million-dollar investment deal confounded him.

  “Inform the driver I’ll be down shortly,” he mumbled.

  Annemarie nodded, excusing herself. Resigned to his day’s appointments, he stood, pulled on his black, floor-length trench coat with his cigar still pressed between his lips, and strolled out the door. Maybe he was wrong. The storm brewing wasn’t carrying something fresh in the wind, just the stale odor of the same shit that blew his way every other day.

  C’mon, c’mon, c’mon, ignore it, her inner voice whispered. Imposing an iron control over her emotions, Sydney entered the practice studio. The pain in her ankle became unbearable. But she’d be damned if it stopped her now. Instead of caving, Sydney had changed into her black leotard and tights. Her feet and ankles were properly taped around worn over dance shoes. With her heart thundering in her chest, she carefully masked her weakness. Along the way her naiveté had caused her to make some critical mistakes. But it would be different this time.

  Practicing her breathing, she stretched at the ballet barre, loosening her muscles and letting go of her anxiety. With a slow, meticulous rotation, she worked her foot and felt the pressure in her ankle ease. Maybe the pain could serve as a distraction from her nerves, giving her something else to focus on. She could only hope.

  “Dis is it!” A voice cracked like a whip through the girlish chatter, silencing her thoughts. Everyone turned and Sydney lowered her leg, curious to see who was speaking.

  “I am Madame Gustav, and for you ladies de free ride begins and ends heah!” A petite woman stepped out from under the arch of the doorway. Sydney’s only instructions in dance hand come under her mother’s care. She’d never faced a professional instructor before, especially one as rigid and serious as this woman.

  “Dey say you’re dancers. I say prove it! Line up!” she ordered.

  The girls all fell into a military straight line. Birthed from the Academy, they were disciplined and compliant. Sydney followed their lead, her stomach now twisted into a pretzel knot.

  “Nice feet,” a dancer said, snickering at the state of Sydney’s shoes.

  Sydney smirked at the lame attempt to intimidate her. It only showed how weak her opponent was.

  Besides, her focus was now on winning over this choreographer.

  Gustav walked through the room with her hands on her hips. Standing barely five feet tall, she appeared to be very physically fit for a woman her age. She had sculpted arms, a lean body, and finely muscled dancer’s legs that showed beneath the knee length sheer skirt she wore. The choreographer’s hair was a spider’s nest of silver and black streaks pinned to the top of her head. She wore dark red rouge and lipstick. Sydney guessed her to be in her late sixties, fighting desperately to maintain her youth.

  She watched the instructor through the reflection in the mirror, careful not to look directly at her. Her heart beat in her throat as she waited, anticipated, and prayed she passed whatever inspection they were now all set to endure.

  “Step back!” Gustav commanded of the first girl.

  “Step forward!” Gustav said with a nod of approval to the next.

  “Step back, step back, step back, step forward!”

  The critical tone Gustav used as she approached gnawed at Sydney’s confidence. The coveted front row is always hard to secure. It should be chosen based on skill, not a two-second appraisal from this brutish woman.

  Sydney’s jaw tensed and her nostrils flared and she braced herself. Locking her fingers behind her back, she silently prayed that her fears were premature. When Madame Gustav stopped before her, she found the courage to look the woman in the eye.

  “Step back!” Madame Gustav ordered.

  Her chest fell. How dare Gustav dismiss her without a trial? She wouldn’t stand for it. Not today, not after all the rejections and disappointments, not when if this could be her final shot at her dream. “Excuse me,” Sydney said.

  The girls all looked at her. Gustav slowly turned. Her cool gray eyes were flat and unreadable. “Yez?”

  “I’d like to ask that I be given a spot in the front. Or, um, maybe try out for it.” Silence filled the room. Sydney could feel a charge in the air at the audacity of her request. Shock and sneers from dancers she didn’t care to know she could handle. What worried her was the flame of anger now glowing in Madame Gustav’s eyes. She had insulted the woman, and it’s too late to retract the error.

  “I zee. Zenter stage, no?”

  “No, ma’am . . . I mean . . . yes . . . yes, ma’am.”

  “Silenze!” Gustav snapped.

  Sydney frowned, but held her tongue. Gustav walked around her, looking her over. “How tall?”

  “Five feet, six.”

  “And jour weight?”

  “One hundred thirty-eight pounds.”

  She caught the snickering at the mention of her weight, but ignored it. Her bust and hips carried the load, a sure turnoff for many choreographers. If she was a pop singer they’d salivate, but that wasn’t her calling.

  Sydney wanted to dance.

  Madame Gustav’s eyes dropped, and then lifted to her face. “What size are thoze feet?” And there it was. The dreaded question she had hoped to avoid. Sydney held the old woman’s stare.

  “Nine, ma’am.”

  More giggles.

  “Schweigen!” Madame Gustav commanded silence once again. Sydney felt as if her breath was cut off, impaled by the steady gaze of the woman. Tiny beads of sweat dotted her forehead, betraying her attempt at outward calm.

  “I ’ave little time, and even lez patienze. Don’t eva question my instructionz again.” Gustav walked off, barking out the rest of her orders. She then returned her eyes to Sydney. “Zenter Stage, that’s what I shall call you from now on. Heah!” she said, pointing to the front center of the room.

  Sydney stepped up. Madame Gustav beat out a routine before their eyes with a grace and agility that many women half her age didn’t possess. It was a routine of lifts on a pointed toe. Quite simple for a disciplined dancer to manage, Sydney hoped.

  “Now!” Gustav commanded with an upward sweep of both of her hands. The girls rose on their toes.

  “One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight!”

  Sydney, as the lead, balanced through a divertissement, a group of short leg lifts and bends usually found in a classical ballet. With Madame Gustav circling the girls, she demanded sucked in diaphragms and precision through each leap. Sydney soon understood why Gustav had chosen this test for the auditioning dancers.

  Immediately it separated the weak from the strong.

  “Zenter Stage, go!” Gustav ordered. “Up! Up! Turn––now to de right!” Sydney kept going, balancing her way into a pirouette, followed by a jeté—a leap from one leg to the other. Madame Gustav nodded, giving three others a step behind Sydney while making the rest keep up the back. The pain in her foot grew fiery hot and Sydney lost control in a spin twice, which didn’t go unnoticed.

  Having drawn Madame Gustav’s wrath, she was now in her scope. Every move had to be precise.

  But she floundered again and struggled through her discomfort, forced to push herself harder. The other girls, who had trained for this moment since they were possibly children, took over, spinning with synchronizing agility all around her. They didn’t appear more disciplined; they simply were. She could see them in the mirror, which also reflected her own failings. The harder she tried, the more confused she became.

  “Zenter Stage! To
de back!” Gustav said, shaking her head in disappointment.

  “Madame, I can—”

  “De back! Now!”

  Crestfallen, she stepped back, then the door to the studio pushed open.

  “All right, chicas get tight. Ten minutes and you birds take flight!” Juan sang from the open doorway.

  The practice run ended. Sydney dropped her hands to her knees and tried to catch her breath while struggling to hide her pain. Her foot pain remains no match for the wound in her heart. She’d messed up. Damn it, she might have even blown the audition. What else could go wrong now? She bit down on her lip and swallowed the humiliation. She couldn’t even look up at the dancers prancing out.

  “Hey, you ok?” Another dancer asked as she came over with a bottle of water.

  “I’m fine.” Sydney sniffed and smiled up at the generosity. “Thank you,” she said, accepting the much needed drink.

  “I’m Bet, short for Bethel.”

  “Hi, Bet. I’m Sydney.”

  The young brunette grinned. She reminded Sydney of a gymnast with her petite frame and hair tied up in a ribbon.

  “I can’t believe you put yourself out there like that. I mean it’s cool, but, man, it was risky. You don’t want to piss her off. Do you know who she is?”

  Sydney swallowed the water in two gulps, eyeing Madame Gustav as she checked off a list with her assistant. The choreographer cut her eyes up at Sydney with a hint of disapproval.

  “Doesn’t matter now. I blew it,” Sydney said, putting the cap back on the deflated bottle.

  “No, you were great! I could barely keep up with you. You just landed wrong. It happens to the best of us.”

  “It’s not supposed to happen to me,” Sydney said through her teeth.

  Oh, stop being such a baby, her inner voice teased. She couldn’t help it. To come so far and then stumble backward seemed to be the story of her life. Her father had once warned her that she would be a victim of her own pride. He should know, since his rejection of her only lasted because of his own.

  “So who is she?” Sydney mumbled.

  “You really don’t know, do you? She was once the top prima ballerina in Europe. It was in the papers that she’d be choreographing this show. She has trained with the best. The only way she will do the show is if she has the final approval of dancers. That’s why we got to do this old, stuffy, funky routine for the first audition.

  I mean five minutes to learn it? Whatever.”

  “Oh?” Sydney, shrugged, feeling stupid. How many times did Portia warn her about doing her research?

  Sydney had thought knowing everything about Xenia Minetti would be the key to success. Evidently she was wrong.

  “Well good luck. Now that you’ve caught her eye, you’ll need it.” Frowning at the warning, Sydney nodded her thanks. Her stomach soured, and the pain in her ankle throbbed. “Hey, can you cover for me? I’m going to run to the bathroom.”

  “Sure,” Bet agreed, and Sydney hurried off. She avoided Gustav and shouldered past the other dancers, who were congregating at the door. She felt like she’d burst into tears at any moment. She needed some privacy.

  The winter snow flurries moved him along. Annemarie, half his size in height, struggled to keep the umbrella above his head. Nolen made it even more difficult by entering the studio ahead of her. He swept the faces before him. Then finally locked in on Xenia. She stood at the end of the hall speaking with several of her staff members. When she turned to walk away, she looked up and met his stare. Nolen watched her walk toward him with an exaggerated sway of her hips.

  “Glad you could make it,” she said, reaching up to kiss his cheek.

  The dancers, now lined up against the wall, stared at him. Some were even bold enough to bat their eyes, trying to get his attention. None of it went unnoticed. Second only to his love of money was his love of women.

  Xenia fingered her diamond pendant and moved in closer. Nolen leaned forward to speak into her ear.

  “You’ve got an hour.”

  “It’s all I need, handsome,” she said, taking his hand to lead him down the cramped hallway to a side stage door.

  “Mr. Adams, wait. I have to speak with you,” Annemarie said as she passed him her phone. “I’m sorry, sir, but the office called the studio. They just gave me the message. It seems that Lance Delstar has threatened to pull his portfolio for Delstar Textile. No one at the branch office can deal with him. I can get him on the phone in Ms. Minetti’s office, for privacy.”

  “Nolen, don’t.” Xenia groaned.

  He winked at her before he left her side. “Go ahead. I’ll find you.” Nolen stepped away, despite her protests. The dance hall was crammed with the anxious chatter of both men and women. Xenia’s office was down the opposite hall in a less populated area of the studio. Annemarie was ahead of him. She had already dialed the number as he approached the desk. He accepted the phone.

  “This is Adams. What’s the problem?”

  “Adams, fuck, I’ve been trying to reach you for the past three days! Did you see the financial report your office sent to me? You are supposed to be managing my capital issues. Not trading.”

  “Lance. We’ve discussed this before. My people have a long-term strategy. A little loss is expected. The financial markets in India are growing, you’ll recover.”

  “But—“

  “I explained this. I’m managing your assets, buying and selling shares now.”

  “I’m no fool Adams! I know you’re good at what you do, but you’re taking too many risks. I’ve already closed two factories. I need to be conservative now––”

  “Fine.” Nolen said in a disinterested tone. He’d already made the money he wanted from Delstar. The insider information he had would bring in another three million before the market closed with Hollister. “We’re dumping the Delstar portfolio.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Get another investment firm. I don’t work under these constraints. Good luck to you Scott.”

  “Wait! No I don’t—.”

  Nolen slammed down the phone and strolled out of the office. He’d make sure Annemarie got in touch with the attorneys to cover their tracks. He walked down the hall then paused. An unmistakable scraping noise echoing throughout. It was as if a chair was being dragged. Nolen finally took in his surroundings. He noticed the warped floorboards and molding along the walls. In this part of the studio Xenia could have a rat infestation that could shut down her business. He made a mental note to alert her before again turning to leave.

  “Darn it!” a woman cried out. Nolen’s gaze was drawn back over his shoulder. What sounded like a plea instead of a curse came from behind the only door in the hall. Who in the hell said darn it nowadays, he thought with a smirk.

  Nolen acted on his curiosity. There behind a stained bathroom door he spotted a young woman seated with her back to him. She wore the number thirty-two. Nolen dropped his shoulder against the doorframe and watched. Her face remained hidden to him, but her pain wasn’t. She worked her hands over what looked to be her raised foot, which rested in her lap.

  “What am I doing here? How did I ever think I could pull this off?” she asked herself with a drawl that sounded Southern. She then lowered her foot and a soft moan of what he thought to be regret escaped her, before she dropped her face into her hands. “I’m such an idiot! I’m so stupid!” Nolen’s curiosity peaked. The young woman had poufy hair, dark auburn-brown locks that rested on her shoulders. He wanted to see more of her, but to do so would probably embarrass her. His instinctual need to do her no further harm, kept him silent. She sucked in a deep breath and lowered her hands. “Ok, calm down, just stop it, Sydney. It ain’t over yet. You here and it didn’t take some fancy dance school to do it. All you gotta do is get through the audition.” She wiped her eyes. “It ain’t over. . . I can do it. It’s not over,” she mumbled, forcing herself to rise. After a deep intake of breath, she pressed down on the foot and put all of her weight on it. “S
ee, it feels better. I can do it.”

  Sydney? He displayed a sly smile at her name. Nolen slipped back into the shadows and walked out of the hall. In search of Xenia, he checked the time. It might serve him best to meet with the attorneys personally.

  There were some nasty details on what he had the investment team assigned to Delstar doing. He didn’t need another brush with the SEC. He had no time or patience to stick around for this dancing stuff. When he found his bedmate she was seated in the second row. She looked at him with relief. Nolen heaved a sigh then walked over to the second row and eased inside.

  Xenia touched his leg once he sat. “I thought I lost you.”

  He looked to the stage and watched the girls coming out to line up. “Why did you bring me to the auditions? I won’t sit through this. I have things––”

  Xenia squeezed his hand and he cut his eyes back over to her. “I needed you to see the nuts and bolts of my production. You’ll finally understand my commitment to picking the best talent out there. This way you will be more inclined to invest. Now please, Nolen, it won’t take long. And I followed the rules.” A renewed objection formed, but she dismissed him with another quick pop kiss. She reached for her microphone and turned it on.

  “Let’s begin.” Xenia called out, prompting the lights to lower over the spectators, brightening for the dancers onstage. Nolen rested his elbow on the chair’s edge and reclined, stroking his chin as he scanned the ladies. One by one the women got in position. Then number thirty-two stepped out last on the stage. He narrowed his eyes on her.

  “Sir, should I––”

  “Not now, Annemarie,” he snapped. Number thirty-two’s thick hair was pulled back into a ponytail, revealing her delicate features. He couldn’t see her face, as clearly as he wanted to, but there was a striking contrast to this dark beauty that didn’t go unnoticed as she stood beside rail-thin women and men. He immediately noticed how she favored her foot as she got into position.

  The music started and so did the dance. Number thirty-two sprung up on her toes. She matched the other dancers’ sideways steps with grace. Nolen's gaze never left her. Impressed that her movements were masterful and her leaps as agile as the others, he watched, sharing in her secret. She danced toward the back; however, her presence and determination seemed to influence the dancers in front of her.