First Position

by Melissa Brayden

  “Kotik, you were magnificent,” he said to her softly. “So proud, I am.”

  “Thank you, Papa.”

  He placed a firm kiss on her cheek and squeezed her just a little too hard as always, though she wouldn’t want it any other way. “I will find Roger and say my congratulations on his work.”

  “I’m not sure he’s here. We’re weeks into the run.”

  “He reserved my ticket. He is here. I will find him.” In actuality, that was probably true. When her father made his impending presence known, people tended to show up. He held one finger in the air and dashed down the hall. For the next twenty minutes, Klaus Mikhelson held court as company members, crew, and staff took turns clamoring over him, asking for autographs and photos. Ana waited patiently in the hallway, looking on and smiling, all the while swallowing against the ever-present pain. The role of “less important daughter” was one she could play expertly.

  “Shall we go to restaurant?” he asked, once they were outside. He had a car waiting and opened the door for her.

  “Yes, let’s,” she said, sliding into the backseat. “And remember my friend is joining us. She’ll meet us there.”

  “Yes, yes. My assistant made reservations for three at your request. She is another dancer, yes?”

  “She is. I believe you refer to her as the competition.”

  He slid into the backseat next to her and chuckled. “Well, well, I look forward to meeting this competition. Her name?”

  “Natalie Frederico.”

  “Yes. An Italian.”

  “I believe so, yes.”

  “No, she is of Italian lineage. I read her bio in program.”

  “Right.” Ana should have predicted that.

  “She is here? Should we wait?”

  “She was. She’s required to be close by when I’m on. But I asked her earlier to head to the restaurant once the curtain fell. That way you and I would have a little time to chat on our own. Papa, there’s something else you should know about Natalie.”

  “And what is that? Take Ninth all the way,” he said to the driver in a commanding voice. Once she regained his attention, she smiled against the nervous energy that descended. Here goes nothing.

  “She’s started to matter to me a lot.”

  “She keeps you on your toes, you mean.” He laughed at the obvious ballet reference.

  “What I mean is that we’re involved.”

  “You are doing another show together?”

  She laughed. “Maybe someday, but that’s not it either. We’re involved,” she said, overstating the word. He stared at her hard, what she referred to as his Russian stare. Fine. Forget it. “We’re dating, Papa.”

  He straightened and studied her with interest. “You are dating the competition? No, no, no. Unwise to date competition. Never.”

  She found wry amusement in the fact that his focus fell squarely on Natalie’s relationship to her career, rather than the fact that she was a woman. So very Klaus Mikhelson. But she could roll with it.

  “We happen to share a role. We’re not competitive. Well, at least not anymore.”

  “And you like this Natalie? To do romance?”

  “I do.”

  “Interesting. And you say she is talented?”

  “Very.”

  “We shall see about that.” He relaxed against his seat, staring out at the passing scenery in silence for the rest of the ride. She wondered what he was thinking about, though his face was carefully closed off. He had a way of withholding, and it drove Ana crazy. Always had.

  When they arrived at Sardi’s, his favorite restaurant in New York, Natalie stood out front. Ana took a deep breath and prepared herself for what was very new territory. When she saw them approach, Natalie smiled radiantly and Ana’s heart skipped. She moved ahead several steps on the sidewalk to greet Natalie first, careful to mask her limp, an art she’d refined.

  “How was the show?” Natalie asked as Ana approached.

  “It was fine. Really good,” Ana lied, internally wincing as she recalled the agony of the performance itself.

  “Why are you limping?” Natalie whispered. “Did something happen? Is it your foot?”

  “I’m not limping.” Damn it. Natalie was good at this.

  “You are.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Can you just—”

  “Ana, introduce us,” she heard her father say loudly from behind her.

  “Yes, yes, of course. Natalie Frederico, meet Klaus Mikhelson, my father.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” Natalie said and extended her hand.

  “Likewise,” he said accepting. “You are dating my daughter. In romance.” It was an announcement more than a question, and Natalie looked from her father to Ana and back again.

  “Yes. Oh. I didn’t know she’d—”

  “Of course she told me. I’m the papa. Let’s eat the dinner.” With that, he stalked into the restaurant.

  “Come on,” Ana said, employing her best Russian accent. “It’s time to eat the dinner.”

  “Is he going to kill me?”

  Ana smiled. “Well, we’re about to find out.”

  *

  Halfway through dinner, Natalie felt like she was sitting before an inquisition. She focused on her chicken curry as she entertained yet another question from Klaus Mikhelson.

  “And where did you, how do you say? Hone your technique after you quit the School of American Ballet?” He raised a judgmental eyebrow.

  “Oh, um, various places,” she told him candidly. “Garages, random studios, an occasional theater if we were lucky.”

  “Garages? For ballet? No. No.” He seemed appalled and signaled the waiter for more wine, as if he would need it to survive her. “Anastasia had best training in the world from the time she was four years old. Best only.”

  “And it shows.” She and Ana exchanged a private glance across the table, but Klaus wasn’t done.

  “What did you do in these garages made for cars?”

  She sat back in her chair and considered the question. “Create, I guess is the best way to put it. Generally a fusion of styles, ballet included, but heavily mixed with modern dance.”

  Klaus snorted. “Modern dance is for fun only.”

  “It’s not,” she said. “It’s a perfectly valid art form.” He studied her and seemed to soften, making her wonder if standing up to him had earned his respect.

  “Do you love my daughter?”

  “Papa,” Ana said, stepping in. “We’re not there yet.”

  “And why not?” he practically boomed. “Why would you not love her? She is wonderful.”

  Natalie nodded to Ana to signal that she was okay and turned to Klaus. “I love spending time with your daughter. I think the world of Ana. Even when she’s stubborn.”

  “Oh, she is that,” he said emphatically, pointing his fork at Natalie. “When she was six, she refused to take off pointe shoes for two days. And the crust had to be gone from the bread. The crust off or no eating!”

  “Oh, I can imagine.”

  “You have experienced this as well?”

  “I have. Not with the crust or shoes specifically, but stubborn in general? Oh yes.”

  With that, Klaus picked up his wineglass and touched it to Natalie’s. “We have something in common. But it is not enough.”

  Natalie looked from Ana to Klaus. “I’m sorry?”

  Ana shook her head at him. “I’m right here, you know.”

  “I’m speaking to your friend,” he told her. “Ana’s never introduced me to anyone she had romance for before today,” he said to Natalie matter-of-factly. “Not even stage manager.”

  Ana practically spat her wine across the table, and instead began to choke on it. Natalie coolly passed her a glass of water.

  “You knew about that?” Ana asked, clearly floored.

  “You’re my daughter. It is my job to know the things.”

  “So spies,” she stated. “That means you employ
ed spies to check up on me. Who was it? Bill? I don’t even think he knew.”

  “He knew nothing. Useless. Henry is good man, though.”

  “Henry from shoes?” Natalie asked, struggling to keep up.

  “Henry from shoes,” Ana affirmed. “He always was very intuitive and apparently a spy.”

  “So,” Klaus said, taking the reins back and looking to Natalie, “she must think you are very special. Me? I am not so sure.” His stare was hard and laser sharp when he said the words, and Natalie knew that this was going to be an uphill battle. Klaus Mikhelson was gruff and imposing with an air of entitlement. He wanted the best for Ana. He just didn’t seem to think the best was Natalie.

  Perfect.

  She drew a breath. “I hope one day I can find a way to change your mind.”

  “No. Doubtful. Ana needs person who understands her drive. A person who can mirror her, how you say? Ambition. No blessing!”

  Natalie looked to Ana, not sure where to go from there.

  Ana raised a finger, a fire in her eyes. “I didn’t ask for your blessing.”

  “I am the papa. I give the blessing.”

  “If this were 1943 maybe,” Ana countered, standing up to him. “But you can’t just—”

  “No more arguing. No blessing.” He raised his hand to the passing bus boy. “The check, please! On me, of course,” he said to them both.

  The dinner had been a roller coaster that Natalie, for one, couldn’t wait to disembark.

  Later that night at Ana’s apartment, she looked on with acute concern as Ana iced down her feet. She was quieter than usual, content to live in her own head, but Natalie wasn’t ready to let her deal with whatever was going on alone. “So do you think he’ll come around? Your father, I mean.”

  Ana’s eyes were sorrowful when she raised them to Natalie. “He’s pretty stubborn, but never say never.”

  “I know his opinion matters to you.”

  “It does. More than it should.”

  Natalie’s throat felt tight. “So after tonight, does that make you want to—”

  “Change my mind about you and go screaming for the hills?”

  Natalie nodded, waiting to hear the words that could clobber her in every way. Better to know now, however. “Yeah, I guess that’s what I’m asking. Be honest. Does your dad’s opinion of me make you want to rethink things?”

  Ana stared at her a moment before shaking her head. “He may be stubborn, Natalie, but I am, too. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

  The magnitude of relief that hit rivaled a last-minute stay of execution, and the comparison was eye opening. “But the dinner made you sad. I can tell.”

  Ana took a moment. “The dinner didn’t go as well as I had hoped, but it’s not just the dinner. There’s just been a lot of difficult going on lately.”

  Natalie understood that Ana had been masking her injury more than she’d originally let on.

  Once Ana finished icing her foot, Natalie held out her hand to her. “Come talk to me. Please?”

  Ana took a seat next to her on the couch and Natalie pulled Ana’s legs across her lap, which brought Ana close to her. “Tell me about tonight. What happened?”

  The telltale tears that touched Ana’s eyes told Natalie her intuition hadn’t been wrong. “It was awful,” Ana said, allowing the tears to fall freely. “And as I’m sitting here, I don’t know what I’m going to do. The pain tonight was overwhelming, like nothing I’ve ever experienced, and my shoes started to die midway through the ballet, making it that much worse.” She shrugged. “I was helpless to the situation. The pain markedly affected my performance, and I was modifying steps just to get through it.”

  “No one noticed. I guarantee it.”

  “My father would have. He barely said three words about the show, if you hadn’t noticed.”

  “I’m less concerned about him and more concerned about you.”

  Ana nodded, lifting her arm and then helplessly letting it drop. “I’ve never been this scared in my life. I guess that’s the only way to say it. I don’t know what’s going to happen and I don’t have a solution.”

  “Okay,” Natalie said, mulling this over. “You have two days off. You’ll rest that foot and see where you’re at.”

  “I have rehearsal for Nutcracker tomorrow.”

  “No way. You call out. You have to.”

  Ana nodded, looking more defeated than Natalie thought possible. It was heartbreaking to witness. She pulled Ana the rest of the way into her lap and kissed her cheek, her chin, and with her thumbs wiped away the tears. “I’ve got you, you know that?”

  Ana took a moment with the sentiment. “I’ve never had that before.”

  “Well, now you do.” Ana stared at her hands, seeming to contemplate the concept. “Do you want to sleep? Are you tired? Tell me what you need.”

  “Can we veg with the TV first?” Ana asked in the softest, most adorable voice possible.

  Natalie nodded and tucked a strand of hair behind Ana’s ear. “I was hoping you’d say that.” They snuggled up on the couch and zoned out to HGTV, occasionally making fun of the really rich homebuyers. When their eyes were too heavy to continue, they headed to bed. Natalie held Ana and played with her hair as she fell asleep. While her own thoughts about Ana’s injury were less than hopeful, she did everything in her power to make Ana feel safe and cared for that night.

  They would deal with the rest one step at a time.

  *

  The next morning Ana awoke warm and cozy in her own bed, and smiled as the sunlight streaming in from the window touched her face. She realized when her senses floated back that the covers had been tucked intricately around her, as if someone had truly taken the time. But a glance to her right showed her that that someone was gone, which was a total shame. Ana reached across the bed to where Natalie had slept the night prior, but found the space cold, signaling that Natalie had been gone a while. After a quick shower and cup of tea, Ana stared at her cell phone knowing what she had to do. Her foot was still incredibly tender to walk on, and Natalie was right. Dancing on it now, on a non-show day, would be a bad idea.

  Before she could change her mind, she called the designated company line and let the assistant who answered know that she was under the weather and needed to use a sick day. It meant she’d have some catch-up to do later, but she’d danced the Sugarplum Fairy many times in the past and could rebound easily enough.

  With time on her hands now, she decided to explore Natalie’s possible whereabouts. She knocked softly on Natalie’s apartment door, but was greeted with a rather loud, exasperated, “Come in!”

  Ana entered and paused because it looked like a flour bomb had gone off in Natalie’s apartment. Billowy white flour dusted the floor, the countertops, and the cabinets and all but completely covered Natalie herself, who stood over a mixing bowl looking like she might kill someone. “Hey, there, Julia Child. What in the world happened in here?”

  Natalie regarded her with wild eyes. “There’s a potluck before the show tonight and I signed up for chocolate chip cookies, which I figured couldn’t be that hard, right? But apparently they are because my first round was a bunch of flat and hard paperweights and my second was a gooey mess of awful and I might cry.”

  Ana inclined her head in sympathy, but bit her lip to hold back her smile. “Have you never made chocolate chip cookies before?”

  “Would you believe no?”

  Ana took in the wreckage that used to be Natalie’s kitchen. “I would. Want some help?”

  Natalie stood a little taller. “Actually, no. I can do this. It’s a matter of principle now. Me versus the cookies.”

  “You versus the cookies?”

  “Uh-huh. We’re in a standoff. A chocolate duel, and I’m not going down like this. Do you feel me?”

  “Right. Okay. I’ll be over here.” Ana took a seat nearby at the kitchen table. “Reading this magazine. Hey,” she said, holding up a copy of Pointe Magazine. “
I’m a little surprised to see this here.”

  “Why?” Natalie asked as she measured a teaspoon of vanilla, spilling extra into her bowl.

  Ana winced, but refocused. “Because it’s super conscientious of you to study ballet on your off time.”

  “I’m not a total slacker, you know.”

  “I never said that. You got up early to make cookies for your colleagues, which is hardly slacking.” Natalie cracked an egg and Ana frowned as tiny pieces of shell crumbled into the mixture. “So how would you say it’s going over there?”

  Natalie glanced up. “Fine.”

  “Really? Because it looks a little concerning from where I’m sitting, and I say that with only support in my voice. See?”

  Natalie shrugged and Ana watched as she blinked back tears. Natalie was near tears and it was over cookies. How was that possible? She learned more about this girl every day. She was anything but predictable. Ana leapt to her feet and covered the short distance to the kitchen counter. “Do you know one thing I’m really good at?” Natalie shook her sad little head, and flour plumed around her as a result. Ana laughed and swatted the cloud into submission. “Making cookies. In fact, I happen to excel at it. You see, when you don’t grow up with tons of friends, you occupy yourself in other ways.”

  “You’re brilliant at baking, too? Of course you are. You’re good at everything. You should run the world.”

  Ana took Natalie’s chin and turned her face toward her own. “Do you remember what you said to me last night? You said you had me. And that goes both ways, okay? So let me grab my apron and we will knock out some delicious cookies for the potluck.” She headed to the door. “We won’t even need that many. These are dancers. They’re all watching their weight.”

  “More for me, then,” Natalie said. When Ana glanced back, Natalie’s smile had returned, and that was everything.

  Five short minutes later, and they were under way. Ana had selected her green Christmas Tree apron, and though she brought an extra for Natalie, it was refused. “Aprons are for wusses,” Natalie told her.