Irresistible You

by Celeste O. Norfleet

  Richard, her pas de deux partner and friend was on loan from the British Ballet Company in London. Born and raised of British and Caribbean parents, he was an enigma in the dance world. He was a straight man, who took full advantage of his status. Like a child in a candy store, he had spread his favors around and granted private audiences with most of the women in the troupe and among the dance patrons in a great number of companies around the world.

  His shameless reputation preceded him. And when Juliet took the summer to guest dance in London he was the perfect tour guide and gentlemen. So when the Capitol Ballet Company issued a special invitation for him to perform in Washington for the season he jumped at the opportunity. Juliet reciprocated his kindness on this side of the Atlantic.

  Although he and Juliet had been friends since they met in London, she never fell for his particular charms. Hence, after months of attempts to seduce her, he finally gave up and instead became her friend.

  “But do I care?” he continued.

  “You’d better,” Juliet said as she returned to his side. “The company needs the cash.”

  “Ah, but you’ve forgotten, this isn’t my company,” he said, with a similar smile plastered across his face. The pair took one last bow as the curtain came down. They hurried off stage, replaced by the dance company’s soloist dancers, Vanya Kastavah and her pas de deux partner, Damon Hall.

  Juliet and Richard stood in the wings gently dabbing the perspiration from their brow and neck, careful not to disturb the delicate stage makeup. They watched as Vanya and Damon bowed to the generous applause.

  Richard peered over Juliet’s head and looked into the prime orchestra seats and the center parterre box seats. “Is your illustrious congressman here yet?”

  “You know perfectly well that he’s a senator,” she corrected dryly. “And I have no idea. He said he might show up tonight if he can get away.”

  “I don’t see him.”

  She peeked around the heavy curtain then squinted out at the applauding crowd. The house lights were still turned down so the visible audience was relegated to only those sitting in the very front rows. “They all look like a bunch of faceless mannequins from here.”

  “Now, now, go on there, that’s not the right attitude. Where’s your gratitude? This is your public, they adore you. Just look at their faces.”

  “You look at them, I’m exhausted. All I can think about right now is my pillow and about fifteen hours of sleep.”

  “I know you’re not missing the fundraiser tonight.”

  “What’s one more fundraiser? Let them use Vanya. I’m sure she’ll be delighted to play diva for the evening.”

  “Our black Russian princess would absolutely love that. She can’t wait to fill your tutu and become the principal dancer.”

  “She needs a hell of a lot more than what she has to fill this tutu. Her feet are questionable and her technique could use some serious work. Not to mention she’s got a major anorexic thing going on.”

  “Hold on. Do I sense a catfight coming on?”

  “Hardly, Vanya is the least of my worries. She’s so far out of my league she needs the psychic hotline and a bloodhound to find half the skills I’ve already forgotten.”

  “You two are so much alike to be such mortal enemies,” Richard observed.

  Juliet smirked and shook her head then turned to him. “Mortal enemies, mortal enemies, seriously, where do you get these dire proclamations from?” she asked.

  “Sorry love, I was watching the BBC again.”

  “You’re mental.”

  “Of course I am, and you adore me for it.”

  Juliet chuckled and shook her head. She focused her attention back on stage as she watched Vanya go through her usual post performance ritual. “Vanya does remind me of myself at that age, so hungry for the spotlight yet still needing to grow up emotionally.”

  “You need to mentor her.”

  Juliet’s sudden burst of unexpected laughter even caught her by surprise. She quickly caught herself and continued to wipe the perspiration away.

  The curtain fell again cueing Vanya and Damon to leave as the chorus hurried onto the stage. The curtain rose, the chorus took their bows, stepped forward and bowed again just as the curtain lowered a third time.

  The crowd continued to roar. Juliet took Richard’s hand as Roger Payne, the stage manager, beckoned wildly for them to return to their position at center stage. As the red velvet curtain rose again, they skipped down stage then to each side giving the entire audience full view for one last curtain call.

  Juliet stepped forward and bowed gracefully. As she returned to Richard’s side the pair took several steps forward, separated, then opened their arms and saluted the conductor, the orchestra and the assembled dancers behind them. When they came together again the conversation continued. Together, they took two steps forward. He took her hand again and they both bowed.

  “Still, she’s breathing down your neck, Love. She attended every gala and fundraiser this season and is seriously sucking up to Phillip Waverly.”

  Juliet pulled a single rose from her bouquet and handed it to Richard. He took it and gracefully bowed to her. “So let her, I’m tired of being trotted around like a show pony, just to please a bunch of moneybags.”

  “Hey, don’t bite the hand that feeds us. Beside, some of those moneybags aren’t half bad.”

  “You didn’t?” Juliet said just before they parted and stepped aside. Vanya and Damon returned to the stage and the chorus hurried off.

  Each single performer took a solitary bow then Damon took Juliet’s hand as Richard took Vanya’s hand. Each man bowed to his dancer then they returned to their respective partners.

  “Beg your pardon?” Richard said as soon as he and Juliet were reunited.

  “Don’t play innocent with me, you know the rules, never, never touch the purse strings. Just make sure that the powers that be don’t find out,” she chided him then begged for an answer. “Which one?”

  “A true gentleman never kisses and tells.”

  “Since when were you a gentleman,” Now alone on stage they prepared for the final bow sending the roaring audience into hysterical applause.

  “You are in a seriously nasty mood, PMS?”

  “Shut up.”

  “Ooh you are cheeky tonight,” he shivered jokingly. “Sounds like you’ve still got some Carmen left in you.”

  “Carmen ain’t got nothin’ on me,” she boasted.

  “Apparently not,” he said.

  She circled around him going further down stage. After a deep bow and curtsy, they stepped back and waited until the final curtain fell.

  As soon as the edge of the curtain hit the floor, Richard leaned over and kissed her forehead. “Will I still see you at the fundraiser this evening?” he asked emphasizing each word, making his meaning clear knowing her tendency to change her mind when it came to public appearances.

  “I promised Patricia that we’d go tonight,” Juliet said as she began moving her mouth animatedly to relax the strained muscles from her smile.

  “Good, I’ll see you later then,” Richard said. Juliet nodded.

  As soon as Richard walked off, the lead wardrobe mistress, Nadine Palmer, hurried on stage to meet her. “You were wonderful Juliet.”

  “Of course I was,” Juliet said confidently.

  Nadine shook her head not at all surprised by the remark. “Your friend Patricia Franklin called twice and Senator Kingsley regrets that he is unable meet you this evening,” Nadine said as she took the two flower bouquets and handed them to her assistant. She wrapped a thick terry robe around Juliet’s shoulders and handed her a soft white towel.

  “Thanks,” Juliet smiled tightly then responded automatically, while waiting for the inevitable. It came as expected.

  “Oh, before I forget to mention it, that last pirouette at the end of act two, scene one should have been a full rotation longer. It should have been two triples not a triple and a double.” Sh
e turned to walk away then paused and returned. “Oh, one last thing, your final fouettes were noticeably weak. You were clearly winded. You need to focus on that in the future.”

  Juliet continued to pat her face with the towel, “I’ll make sure to work on that,” she sneered sarcastically.

  “Just a thought,” Nadine said nonchalantly.

  “You might want to keep your thoughts to yourself next time.”

  “I wouldn’t count on it. We’ve known each other too long for that,” Nadine said as she smiled smartly, turned to walk away headed in Vanya’s direction.

  Juliet smirked, pulling her lips tightly to one side, a look that usually caused even grown men to steer clear. Few people had nerve enough to criticize her performance let alone comment on a particular step that was missed. Nadine was the exception.

  Just fifteen years her senior, they had known each other since Juliet first began with the company. Nadine, a former chorus dancer with lead potential, had taken the position as wardrobe mistress when an injury had ended her promising career on stage. Unlike most she had remained in ballet and had forged an unusual bond of friendship with Juliet.

  Both had a biting wit and a determination and respect for excellence. Yet it was Juliet who had gained the reputation as an arrogant, temperamental, difficult and a volatile prima donna. The titles came solely because of her desire for perfection. She expected the best of herself and of others around her. Only when time was being wasted and the quality of the performance was being compromised did she become aggravated.

  But never did she show her annoyance without just cause. No matter what others said about her, she knew her craft. She had the talent, ability and skill that made and kept her a star performer and a principal ballerina on stage and off.

  At five-foot-seven she was of average height with an overactive metabolism that no matter how much she ate, she always maintained her target weight of one hundred and fifteen pounds. It was the perfect weight to perform the arduous jumps without straining or breaking her dance partner’s back.

  By the time Juliet had dabbed the sweat from her face, Nadine and her assistant had scurried off in another direction leaving her alone at center stage.

  As if in slow motion, Juliet looked around her. A lonely sense of loss gripped her. Nadine was right, the routine required a longer pirouette, but she was just too exhausted. Another turn and she would have fallen on her behind. She looked up at the rafters then to each stage wing. How was she going to survive the rest of her life without this world? This was all she knew and all she ever wanted. She looked down at her trim neat body. It had betrayed her. At the age of thirty-two her life on stage was over.

  Suddenly the stage around her was a bustling hive of activity. Grips and backstage hands quickly removed the scenery as the stage crew and attendants secured the lights and prepared for the next performance the following night.

  Juliet walked through the backstage throng, greeting and being greeted by the ensemble performers, dancers and visitors. They all congratulated her for another brilliant performance. The frozen smile returned on cue as she accepted the accolades while moving closer and closer to her dressing room.

  Juliet noticed her young rival, a Russian-born dancer named Vanya Kastavah, standing on the side stretching out her long thin legs. At nearly five feet three she was all legs, willowy thin and pasty from her heavily applied makeup. Always sullen and brooding she insisted on perfecting the role of tortured rising star. One would hardly guess that her mother was a plump African-American woman with a fun loving gregarious personality of a cheerleader.

  Juliet smiled as she witnessed Vanya’s heated glare and the childish roll of her eyes as she refocused on her stretching her leg. She grabbed her towel and stomped off. Juliet nearly burst into laughter at the juvenile display.

  She shook her head with pity. Apparently Vanya had a lot to learn about this business, about life and about her. Her recent antics in order to bring attention to herself were truly pathetic. She was a child in a woman’s body who used it to her singular purpose, to dance center stage as the Capitol Ballet Company’s prima ballerina. Juliet shook her head. Youth was truly wasted on the young.

  As Juliet continued walking to her dressing room, the aptly named backstage manager, Roger Payne, appeared at her side carrying his usual clipboard and pen. With mousy blond hair that always needed to be trimmed and his wire-framed glasses falling off his nose, he had a heart of gold. At twenty-five, this was his first real job out of college. He had fish-belly-colored skin that freckled like polka-dot wall paper every summer and an impossibly wide-eyed, rose-colored view of ballet that was incredibly naïve. He gave credence to the dream she once coveted before the reality of life as a dancer came along.

  “Juliet,” he quickened his step to keep pace with her long stride. “Your friend, Patricia, called and said she’d call again later. Also Senator Kingsley called, he sends his regrets. He won’t be available this evening. He was detained on Capitol Hill.”

  “Yes, thank you, I heard,” she said as she brushed him aside and continued walking.

  “One more thing, Chester’s looking for you.

  “What else is new?”

  “There’s someone he wants you to meet.”

  “I bet,” she smirked without breaking stride.

  “He said that this was important.”

  “It always is,” she muttered.

  Chester Banks, the company publicist, had been after her since the day he’d been hired. It seemed his sole purpose for life was to drive her crazy and get her to participate in as many of his fundraising events as humanly possible.

  “They’re on the way to your dressing room.” Roger stopped. Juliet stopped. He knew that would get her attention.

  She turned to him. “Who’s on their way to my dressing room?”

  “Chester and his guest, the sponsor of tonight’s performance,” he said.

  “He’s taking someone to my dressing room?” Juliet said slowly, enunciating each syllable gradually. The look in her eye was unmistakably fierce.

  Roger shifted the clipboard awkwardly. He’d recognized that look instantly. He had just lit her fuse, and an explosion was imminent. He just hoped that he wasn’t anywhere near when she blew.

  Juliet had a reputation for being short-tempered on her good days. But after a performance, she could be an absolute tyrant. And now Chester had crossed the line by invading her private space. Roger took a step back and threw his hands up in surrender. “Hey, don’t shoot the messenger. I’m only giving you a heads-up.”

  She glared at him a moment longer then continued her quick pace. “Thanks messenger,” she said cynically and walked away.

  Knowing how Juliet hated being paraded around like a glorified show dog, he didn’t take offense. “One more thing, I need to know what time to expect you this evening. Phillip has several major patrons that have already asked to meet you tonight. Chester says that it’s extremely important that you be there this evening. What time?”

  “How about quarter past never,” she said as she was engulfed by other dancers hurrying down the hall to the dressing rooms. “But I might be late.”

  Juliet smiled to herself. This was one of the few fundraisers that she actually planned to attend. Her friend Patricia was dying to get out of the house and this was the perfect opportunity so she readily agreed to go with Juliet. But she refused to let Roger, or anyone else know just in case she changed her mind.

  “You have to be there tonight. It’s important.” She heard him call out after her. “You know as soon I tell him you’re not going, he’s gonna have a fit, don’t you?”

  She waved her hand ignoring Roger’s usual paranoia and turned down the labyrinth like hallway into the belly of the theater. Turning the last corner brought her to the dressing room door with the painted star. She smiled at the familiar sign of respect. Her name was proudly painted just above the golden star: Juliet Bridges, principal dancer. Using the soft white towel, she w
iped the perspiration from her top lip then pat at her chest and hung the towel around her neck as she entered. She gasped aloud.

  Chapter Four

  He stood with the most perfectly smug smile she’d ever seen. With her mouth still open, she stepped into her dressing room and held the door open behind her. She tilted her head to the side as she assessed the intruder standing there. He hadn’t changed a bit. He was still tempting as sin and just as gorgeous.

  Standing there like he owned the world, she couldn’t help but remember their first meeting. It was in New York nearly ten months ago and without a doubt the most memorable night of her life. But questions remained. How did he find her, what was he doing here and what did he want?

  She never expected to see him again. But she was wrong. She’d seen him many times since then, in her dreams and in her fantasies. He haunted and enticed her, but she refused to give in. It was a one-night stand, nothing more, nothing less. They’d agreed to only give first names and occupations that night. She told him that she was a dancer, but she never specified. She knew that since they’d met in New York, he’d naturally assume that she was on Broadway.

  One night was all they promised each other. But she knew before the words left her mouth that there was something special about that night. The night the lights went out and they had spent the evening together in a hotel room. They’d touched each other somehow. In that short span of time there was something that had drawn them together.

  She could see when she looked into his eyes that the possibility of more than a simple attraction was there. A kind of love, a peculiar bond, whatever it was, it was strong and only got stronger over time. That’s why she had to leave when she did. She felt it too.

  But one night was all she could give him. The circumstances presented themselves, and they had spent a glorious night in each other’s arm. When the lights came back on she’d left. Never looking back, never stopping to reconsider, but always regretting what might have been.

  She watched as he stood across the room staring motionlessly, wordlessly. He hadn’t been holding flowers. That was different. They all brought her flowers. Why, she had no idea, but they did. The dressing room already looked and smelled like a mortuary. Randolph was the worst. He’d sent her enough flowers in the past two months to fill a dozen florists ten times over.