*
The following week, Ana forced herself to complete the exercises her physical therapist had outlined for her. It was the first time she’d done the assigned homework, and she paid for it now. The exercises didn’t come easy, but she accepted full responsibility for how far behind she was in her own recovery. However, as days passed one after another, she couldn’t just sit around any longer. She’d lose her mind. Maybe it was time to start taking back control. Well, what little she could take back anyway.
“You will be instructor,” her father had said to her decisively at dinner just a few evenings prior. He’d taken to flying in once a week to check in on his invalid daughter, which was fine with her. It was actually kind of nice seeing so much of him.
“I don’t really see myself in that role,” she answered politely, and passed him the cardboard container of Pad Thai from the delivery place down the street.
“Nonsense. You have never tried. My friend, Genevieve, is freelance choreographer. You remember, yes? She teaches classes to the young people in midtown on her days off. I’ll arrange to have you sit in this week.”
“That’s not necessary.”
He raised his gaze to her in exaggerated question and then made a show of looking around the room. “What? You have a tight schedule or something I do not know about? A very pressing agenda of things? You go to class. If you hate, you hate. We won’t know the hate until you go.”
She shook her head in annoyance, but recognized his valid point. Not only did she not have a tight schedule, she had no schedule. “Fine. But only because you’re being difficult.”
He laughed. “Yes, I am the difficult one, Kotik. Pass the jump rolls.”
“Spring rolls.”
“That’s what I said.”
Genevieve Drescher had been more than agreeable to Ana sitting in on one of her classes. In her late forties now, she’d spent her career as a successful ballet dancer with a variety of companies, having toured the country twice.
“While I love working with professionals,” she told Ana as she prepared for class, “this is honestly my favorite part of the week.”
“And why is that?” Ana asked, very much trying to understand the draw to teaching over dancing.
Her eyes warmed. “There’s nothing like watching the spark of passion when it hits a young dancer for the first time. Many of the kids take the class because they simply enjoy it. They’ll go on to other things. Sports, the mall. But in the midst of the group, there will be one or two who you know won’t be able to live without it.”
Ana nodded, remembering that feeling from when she was a kid. Dance had consumed her thoughts from the time she woke up until she went to sleep each night. It felt like she simply couldn’t learn fast enough. And while she wasn’t exactly eager to sit in on the class, she found herself looking forward to maybe catching a glimpse of that spark…
As the Wednesday-night class filed into the dance studio in a symphony of preteen chatter, Ana observed from a metal chair along the wall. She watched the young dancers unpack their dance bags, stretch, and move into a series of barre exercises. Genevieve moved among them offering adjustments, critique, and encouragement. Ana studied the faces of the young students and was immediately transported back to that time in her life—when the world seemed full of such amazing possibility. Dance had been exciting. Not that it wasn’t now, but there’d been an element of wonder that had worn off along the way once ballet had turned into a mechanism of ambition and not just a study in artistry.
What she wouldn’t give to be in that phase again now.
“So what do you think?” Genevieve asked her on the break.
“It takes me back in a big way.”
“I thought it might.”
She gestured to the students. “They’re so young and impressionable. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but several of them hang on your every word.”
Genevieve nodded knowingly. “It’s inspiring, no? They’re hungry.”
“They are. That one,” Ana said, pointing surreptitiously at the redhead she’d watched throughout most of the class, “is really quite excellent. She should stick with it.”
“We’re working on it. Boys and Facebook are my biggest competition. Sorry. I think it’s Twitter now. Or is it Instagram?”
“I sadly wouldn’t know. Even if I were the age they are now, I still probably wouldn’t. But perhaps mine was not the best path.”
“What do you mean? Look where it got you,” Genevieve said.
Ana nodded and raised her braced arm. “Exactly. Look where I am now. I put all of my eggs in the ballet basket. Maybe a little diversification isn’t such a horrible thing in the long run. There might have been room for Balanchine and Facebook in my life. In fact, I bet there was. I just didn’t realize it at the time.”
“See? You have more wisdom to offer than perhaps you thought.”
Genevieve strolled away but her words lingered. She was right. The accident and its effect on Ana’s career had provided her with rather startling perspective.
“Are you an instructor, too, ma’am?”
Ana glanced to her right. The talented redhead stared at her in anticipation. “No, I’m not.”
“Oh. A dancer?”
“Yes. Well, kind of.” She gestured to her braced arm. “I’m injured and have to take it easy for a while.”
“Gotcha. I’m sorry.” The girl offered a sympathetic smile, but the genuine kind. “I sprained my ankle last summer and couldn’t dance for six weeks. It blew.”
“When did you start dancing?” Ana asked. “You’re good.”
“Thank you. Uh, back when I was six. My mom enrolled my older sister and me at the YMCA. She hated it, but I counted the days until we got to go again.”
Ana smiled in solidarity. “I used to do that, too.”
“With Ms. Genevieve?”
“No. New York. Until I was hurt, I danced with the New York City Ballet.” Whether that part of her life was over or not, she wore the accomplishment like a badge of honor.
“Are you serious? You’ve danced with City Ballet?”
“For close to nine years. I ended the fall season as a principal.”
You couldn’t wipe the grin from the girl’s face if you tried. “I can’t believe I’m talking to you right now.”
“You are, so listen to me when I tell you that if you stick with it, you have the potential to do the exact same thing. I watched your work during class.”
“I do? You’re serious right now?” The girl looked over her shoulder, perhaps to see if her friends were close by to hear.
“You do. But there’s a slight rigidity to your movements. You’re very angular and precise, but you need to learn to soften and feel the music more. Trust your performance instincts.” Ana felt a bit like she was channeling Natalie’s words, but that didn’t make them any less true.
“Got it. Not as rigid.” There was a new energy to the girl that hadn’t been there before. “Anything else? This is good.”
“Practice. Not just when you’re in this room. At home, you should be working on flexibility, turnout, anything that will prepare your body to do what it needs to when you walk in that door.”
“I can do that.”
“It won’t be easy. There are nights when your entire body will ache, but trust me, it will all be worth it in the end.”
“I’m not afraid of a little pain.”
“Good. But don’t forget to carve out some time for yourself as well.”
“For me? Okay.” A pause. “What do you mean?”
“I mean for friends, movies, chatting on the internet. Whatever it is you like to do to decompress, because that stuff matters, too.”
“Got it. Wow. Okay. This is so cool. Will you be back next week?”
Ana considered the question and heard her father’s voice echoing in her head. What? You have a tight schedule or something? Shaking off the impulse to come up with an excuse, she faced the girl. “I will
be. Yes.”
“Awesome. And thank you!”
“No problem.”
Genevieve brought the class back into session and the girl headed off to her position at the barre. But she turned back once last time. “What was your name?” she asked in an exaggerated whisper.
“I’m Ana.”
The redhead pointed at herself. “Roberta.”
Ana smiled and mouthed the words, “Nice to meet you.”
*
Well past dinnertime, in a rehearsal room at 42nd Street Studios, Natalie was finding herself slightly out of her comfort zone. Okay, a total lie. Way outside.
“Just remember that when you head upstage, Tonya will be waiting there for the quick change.” This was approximately the seventy thousandth piece of information that Ricky, the stage manager, had provided her that day. She was a quick study, but this pace was kind of insane.
Natalie attempted to commit this to memory, but as her brain no longer worked after her eight hours of intense rehearsal, she wrote it down instead. “Wait. So this is the second quick change or the first?”
He stared at her like she was a very sweet six-year-old trying his patience, and she was starting to realize that she was perhaps no Jenna McGovern. “It’s the third.”
“Right, right, right,” she said, and flipped through her notebook until she found the first two. “I guess it’s been a long day.”
“It’ll be even longer tomorrow. See you at ten.”
“Right. Awesome. Bye, Ricky. Thanks for today. Sorry if I—”
But he was already gone.
God, she was a failure. A failure who would never dance again after this job came to an end. Maybe it had been reckless to imagine she could handle such a monumental role. The entire show practically rested on her shoulders, and what was worse, Jenna had gone out on a limb to arrange the introduction.
She was in panic mode, and as she walked home, she wished more than anything for someone to talk it through with. She sent Helen a Mayday text and waited for the reply.
Meet at McKenna’s in an hour? Helen sent back.
Perfect, she replied.
Snagging a seat on the steps in front of their building, she decided to use the time before Helen arrived to go over her notes for the day, a habit she’d picked up from Ana. Her thoughts automatically drifted back to their first joint rehearsal for Aftermath and the tension that had been layered between them. She smiled remembering how she’d peppered Ana with questions as she warmed up, annoying her no end. If only then she could have imagined what Ana would come to mean to her, she would have skipped the rehearsal and made out with her instead. The harsh reality of the way things had ended up rang loudly like a god-awful alarm clock to the daydream. She blinked purposefully and forced her attention to her notes, ignoring the always-present pang of regret.
She had to find a way to be better tomorrow.
*
The afternoon had been a good one. As Ana headed home following Genevieve’s dance class, her spirits were higher than they’d been in a long time, which had her moving with a spring in her step. God, it felt good to feel energized again, and all from sitting in on a class!
But it was being in the midst of ballet again that had done it. Spending time in a room full of aspiring dancers, while not exactly the professional world, was like water to her thirst. She’d missed it even more than she’d realized. Maybe there was something to this education thing.
Maybe, maybe, maybe.
The concept had her cautiously excited.
As she rounded the corner to Fourteenth Street, she paused at the sight of Natalie sitting on the steps to their building, starring straight ahead as if lost in thought. The image was strikingly similar to the one she’d walked up on the night Natalie had first confessed her feelings.
The night they’d made out in the elevator…
That seemed so very long ago now.
“Hey,” Natalie said as Ana approached. Her eyes seemed sad, as if she had a lot on her mind.
“Hi,” Ana said back. And then, maybe because she couldn’t help herself, or perhaps it was her good mood, she paused there a moment more. “You waiting for someone?”
“No. Well, yes, Helen, but not anymore. We were going to have a chat, but she had to cancel. Something about an emergency fitting at Lincoln Center.”
“Ah. Been there.” Silence fell and Ana released a breath. “Well, anyway, have a good night,” she said, and continued up the stairs until Natalie’s voice stopped her.
“I know I’m the last person you want to talk to, but I’m drowning a little at work and was wondering if…”
She closed her eyes, made a decision, and turned back to Natalie. If they were going to continue to run into each other this way, she needed to find a way to get past the blatant pain and discomfort these encounters brought with them. Maybe facing them head-on was the way to go. “What’s going on?”
Natalie raised a shoulder and let it drop as tears touched her eyes.
Whether she wanted it to or not, Ana’s heart ached at the sight.
“I’m not getting it,” Natalie said, her voice morose, clogged with the need to cry. “The choreography for the show. The stage manager looks at me like I am the biggest casting mistake in history, and I’m terrified he’s right, that I’m going to be this…very public embarrassment.”
“No. Stop that.” Ana took a seat on the steps next to Natalie, invested now.
“Stop what?”
“Allowing yourself to think that way. You can’t admit weakness.”
“Yeah, well, what am I supposed to do when that’s what I’m dealing with?” Natalie asked.
“My father used to tell me that you have to eat a hippopotamus one bite at a time.”
Natalie tilted her head. “What does that mean? Is that Russian?”
“You would think, but no. It means you can’t overwhelm yourself with the breadth of the situation. You focus on the bite in front of you. So what’s most pressing?”
“The choreography, I guess. But stage management is throwing things at me like quick changes and spacing intricacies, and it’s too much to juggle until I get the steps down.”
“Then you put the brakes on the rest. You have to advocate for yourself.”
Natalie nodded. She seemed calmer now. “I can do that?”
“Of course you can do that. You need to communicate with them. Trust me, they want you to get it just as badly as you do.”
Natalie gave her shoulders a little roll. “Okay. Yeah. I’ll talk to Ricky in the morning.”
“Channel your inner rebel. We all know she’s in there.”
Natalie laughed wryly. “What’s left of her.” She seemed to shift her focus. “What about you? What’s your first bite?”
She raised her brace. “Getting out of this thing.”
“How long are we talking?”
“If I buckle down and get serious, maybe a couple more weeks.”
“Wow. That’s really great.”
“I know. I just have to be more diligent.” They were smiling at each other, Ana realized. How had that happened? And Natalie’s hair was longer than she’d ever remembered seeing it, and she had that little spark in her eyes again. Ana was shocked, if not a little jarred by how they’d fallen back into a former rhythm once they got to talking about work.
But that’s all it is, really, she reminded herself. Convinced herself was more like it. At least, she tried. If their easy camaraderie truly was just a work thing, why were alarm bells clanging loudly in her brain? “I better head upstairs. Enjoy your night.”
“You too,” Natalie said.
As Ana climbed the stairs, she didn’t have to look back to know that Natalie was staring after her. She could feel it all over as the telltale shiver she used to relish moved through her body as a potent reminder.
Chapter Twenty
There was class today, Ana thought upon waking a week later. She wiggled her toes as the rare January sunshine str
eamed through her bedroom window at precisely 7:03 in the morning. Smiling against its golden glow, she pulled the covers tighter around her as she stretched.
Genevieve would be teaching the Wednesday afternooners again, and Ana looked forward to contributing. Not only that, but Ana had been given the green light to begin going short segments of her day without wearing the brace. Though it was a tiny battle win, it offered her a glimpse at the light at the end of the tunnel. Her arm felt stiff, but the pain was only about a fourth of what it had been a month ago, which had to be a sign that recovery was actually taking place.
Forcing herself to fully commit to waking up, she reached for her phone and focused on the screen. Her breath caught at what she saw there. A text message from Adrienne that read, I heard Natalie killed it last night. And damn it, she’d included a photo of Natalie in full costume coming off the stage from her first performance in Elevation. Apparently a stage manager had snapped it to commemorate the moment. She tossed her phone as if she’d been burned and stared at the ceiling, willing herself to return to the stasis of just a few moments ago, before complicated reminders of Natalie once again trumped all. Not able to help herself, because she was apparently a glutton for punishment, Ana retrieved her phone and stared at the photo for just a moment longer. Natalie looked stunning. They hadn’t wigged the show, so Natalie’s own hair, longer than even the last time she’d seen her, fell around her shoulder in tousled waves. Her lips were bolstered with a deep rose lipstick, and her eyes were overdrawn with a silver and charcoal shadow.
However, the best part of the photo by far was the radiant smile on Natalie’s lips.
She looked so alive, as if she’d just conquered Everest, and perhaps she had. “Proud of you,” she said quietly to the photo, and then, annoyed with herself for the temporary betrayal, set the phone down for good.
*
“We have to quit meeting like this,” Natalie said from the stoop outside the building. It had become a new favorite spot of hers.
Ana approached and offered her a small smile. “It’s true. We must.”
First Position Page 24
