by M. J. Duncan
“Have you chosen the music?” Mallory asked, getting to what she saw as the heart of the matter. It was, after all, why she was meeting with Devereaux in the first place
“It will be a collection of pieces by Katja Halonen. Not a full ballet score, of course, because she tends to work in shorter pieces, but it should be—”
“Incredible,” Mallory murmured as a frisson of excitement ran through her. Halonen was on her way to becoming one of the biggest names in modern classical composing, and she had never had the opportunity to perform the Finnish genius’ work.
“Exactly.” Devereaux grinned. “That’s also why I’d like Clara to conduct at least one performance. She’s fantastic with modern composers.”
“Will the orchestra be accompanying me, or will the entire thing be a true solo?”
“Yes.” Devereaux smiled, clearly responding to both parts of her question. “The orchestra will accompany you for most of the ballet, but even when they are providing some depth to what you are doing on stage, you will still be the one doing the heavy lifting. Especially during the pas de deux. I’m not going to lie to you, Ms. Collingswood, what I’m envisioning will be no easy task to pull off, but if we do…” She sighed and shook her head. “It will be a performance people will be talking about for the remainder of our careers. Any more questions?”
Mallory leaned back in her chair as she mentally ran through everything she had just learned of Devereaux’s plan. “Assuming I agree to this, will you be able to work around my obligations to the LSO?”
“Of course. As I told Clara, I have no desire to steal you from them. We should be able to find a rehearsal schedule that is amenable to all parties involved. Clara seemed to imply that afternoons would work best with your schedule there?”
Mallory nodded. In the past, she had filled the time between morning rehearsal and evening performances with recording work for musical scores for films, television, and video games, but if she decided to take the role Nina was offering, it wouldn’t be difficult to substitute ballet rehearsals for the contract work in her schedule. “Afternoons are best for me, yes. Though, depending on my performance schedule with the LSO, that could change.”
“Perfectly understandable. That won’t be a problem,” Devereaux assured her. “I’m envisioning a run of four performances spread through the back half of the season—from January through June. Nothing is set in stone yet, of course, but that would translate to roughly six-to-eight-weeks between performances. This will lessen the impact on each of our respective institutions’ regular schedules while simultaneously keeping interest high as there will not be a performance every week. People want what they can’t have, after all, and doing a short run spread over several months should drive up ticket sales.”
Mallory took a deep breath and let it go slowly. She was interested, of course, there was no way to not be after what she had just heard, but the project was daunting. Not just in terms of the music she would be required to perform—which was, in and of itself, a formidable task—but combined with having to actually dance… It would be the most challenging project any musician had ever undertaken. And committing to something like that required more than a few minutes’ consideration. “When do you need an answer?”
Devereaux picked up her glass. “Within the week? I understand that this is something you will need to think about. But I also think I know of a way to help make your decision a little bit easier.”
“How so?” Mallory asked as she reached for her drink.
Devereaux smiled, an almost predatory gleam settling in her eyes as she leaned forward. “Come by Covent Garden tomorrow, Ms. Collingswood. Let me show you what we could do together.”
Mallory took a sip of her drink and nodded as she set the glass back down. She was intrigued by the project, and she didn’t see a reason to pretend otherwise. “I have a meeting at ten tomorrow morning with my section leads to go over the music selections for the beginning of the season, but I can do something in the afternoon.”
“Say…half-past three, then?”
“Sure,” Mallory agreed. She had planned to spend the afternoon trying to plow through the small mountain of work she needed to do to get ready for the LSO season, but if the meeting with her section leaders went as quickly as she hoped it might, she would still have a few hours to herself before she needed to be at the Royal Opera House. She much preferred to work at home but, she figured, it would probably do her good to be seen around the Barbican before the season began, anyway.
“Excellent. Do you know how to find our stage door?”
Mallory shook her head. “I’m guessing it isn’t on Bow…”
“No, it’s not. It’s on Floral, not far at all from the underground entrance. It’s under the bridge that connects us to the school next door and is clearly marked, so you really can’t miss it.”
Mallory nodded as she fixed the location Devereaux was describing onto her mental map of the area. “Perfect.”
The stage door to the Royal Opera House was exactly where Devereaux had told Mallory it would be, and she glanced at her watch as she reached for the handle on the unassuming metal and glass door tucked into a shallow alcove off Floral Street. The back entrance to the theatre was only a few minutes’ walk from the Covent Garden underground station, and she filed that information away for later in case she actually ended up accepting Devereaux’s offer.
There was a small office just inside the entry, with a wall of wooden mail cubbies that ran along the length of the space, and a television mounted near the ceiling toward the furthest corner that displayed running security footage of everyone who entered the building. The walls were a soft off-white, the linoleum a gleaming industrial gray, and there was a small black sofa pushed up against the wall opposite the doors. It was not unlike any of the other artists’ entrances she had used during her life—though she was willing to wager that this one saw far more traffic from fans after performances than the ones at the symphony—and the nerves she had been pretending didn’t exist all morning calmed at the familiarity of these unfamiliar surroundings.
She took a deep breath as she schooled her expression to one of professional expectation, and made her way toward an opening in the windows. A brunette in a cute summer dress noticed her approach, and she smiled politely as the woman made her way over toward her.
“May I help you?”
“Yes, hello. I’m Mallory Collingswood. Nina Devereaux should be expecting me.”
“Right, I remember seeing something about that,” she murmured as she picked up a clipboard. “Collingswood, you said?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you, Yvette, but I’ve got her,” a new voice called out, and Mallory instinctively reached for the strap of her violin case. It was something of a nervous tic, a subtle way to ground herself in an unfamiliar situation, and she bit the inside of her cheek as she turned to face the new arrival. The woman appeared to be in her late twenties, with dark red hair that draped flatteringly around her shoulders. Her impeccable makeup, black pencil skirt, jade green blouse, and four-inch black heels looked like they had all been pulled directly from the pages of a fashion magazine, and she smiled warmly as she offered Mallory her hand. “Serena Bowers. I’m Nina’s assistant.”
“Pleasure,” Mallory murmured as she shook her hand.
“Right, well, Nina is just finishing up a call at the moment, so she asked me to come collect you and bring you up to Fonteyn Studio, so you weren’t kept waiting.” Serena motioned toward the hallway behind her. “Shall we?”
Mallory nodded. “After you.”
“You’ll enter through the stage door every day,” Serena explained as she began leading the way along a narrow hallway that eventually sloped into a slight decline to take them below street level.
“Right,” Mallory murmured as she looked at the framed photographs on the wall. They were strikingly similar in lighting and composition to the ones at Higher Ground which, she figured, made sense given Le
na’s former profession.
“We’ll take the lift up to the rehearsal studio,” Serena explained as she pushed her way through a set of swinging doors to a more utilitarian section of the theatre and made her way toward a set of lifts with gleaming steel doors.
Mallory nodded as she followed Serena into the lift and made her way to the back of the car. Once the doors closed, she had nothing to distract her, and she bit the inside of her lip as she waited for the lift to reach the fourth floor.
“All of our rehearsal studios are on this level,” Serena shared as she turned left out of the lift. The hallway was wide and empty—a rare moment of tranquility that was sure to be lost once the season began in earnest the following week. She led them past the first empty studio and around a corner and, after passing three more closed doors, said, “Here we are.” She waved demonstratively at a set of white doors painted to match the corridor that had narrow windows running the length of them near the handles. “Fonteyn is one of the smaller studios that we usually utilize for solos and pairs rehearsals,” she shared as she pulled the door open and motioned for Mallory to go on ahead of her.
“Wow,” Mallory breathed as she took in the space. The first thing she noticed was the room’s high ceiling and the absolutely stunning skylight that took up the majority of it, filling the room with as much natural light as possible. Sconces were set above the mirrors that lined every wall of the studio—no doubt to compensate for London’s typically overcast weather—and she was surprised to find that the floor was a pale gray linoleum instead of wood. An upright piano occupied the corner of the room furthest from the door, making her wonder if live music was really a standard part of the ballet company’s rehearsals.
“The floor is sprung,” Serena explained as she gave a small jump, which was impressive given her heels, “so you will notice a bit of a bounce to it, but it’s more to cushion the impact from jumps and save our dancers’ joints than to propel anyone into the air.”
“Right…” Mallory was in the middle of saying when the door to the studio opened, drawing both of their attention. Her eyebrows lifted in surprise as she watched Nina Devereaux glide into the room. She hadn’t really known what to expect from this meeting, but it certainly wasn’t to see Devereaux in a leotard and track pants with a pair of black ballet slippers on her feet. Between the clothes and the way she had pinned her hair back just so, to keep the shorter strands from falling into her face, she looked like she was prepared to take the Covent Garden stage that night and set the world on fire with her brilliance.
“I’m sorry for keeping you waiting,” Devereaux apologized as she strode across the studio to a small sound system. “Please, feel free to set your things anywhere beneath the barres,” she continued as she began fiddling with the dials.
“Do I need my violin?” Mallory asked as she made her way toward the side wall.
“Not yet.” Devereaux nodded once to herself as the distinctive pop of speakers turning on echoed from the four corners of the room and spun the small remote that Mallory guessed worked the sound system in her hand as she turned toward her. “I believe I promised you something of a demonstration, did I not?”
Mallory nodded. She set her things on the floor against the nearest wall and nudged them beneath the barre. “Where should I…?” Her voice trailed off as she looked around, unsure as to what was expected of her. Was she supposed to take part in this demonstration, or just stay out of the way and watch?
“There is fine. I want you to get an idea of the bigger picture, so we’ll adjust to you.” Devereaux smiled and looked at Serena. “Could you take a position like we discussed earlier and pretend to be Ms. Collingswood?” When Serena nodded and bent to pull off her heels and set them aside, she turned her attention back to Mallory. “I had hoped my principal you would be paired with would be back by now, but I’m afraid you’ll have to settle for me,” she said with a playful, self-deprecating sigh.
Mallory chuckled and dipped her head in a small nod. She had looked into Nina’s career a bit more after their meeting the night before, and she had no doubt that there were hundreds of ballet aficionados who would give their right arm to see the Queen of London Ballet dance again.
Her response seemed to please Devereaux, because she winked and asked, “Shall we?”
Mallory waved her right arm as if to say, The floor is yours.
Devereaux used the remote to turn on the music, and Mallory leaned back against the barre as she watched her direct her assistant with a look and a small wave of her hand. Her steps matched the deep, throaty notes of the violin that cascaded over the room, and it wasn’t hard at all to imagine her commanding the main stage at the Royal Opera House. Everything from the lift of her chin to the set of her shoulders and the outturn of her feet was regal, poised, and almost otherworldly, and Mallory found herself holding her breath as she stopped behind Serena.
The tempo of the music shifted to just below a full allegro, drums and woodwinds taking the focus off the violin yet still allowing it to shine. Devereaux’s chest lifted with a breath, and then she began to dance. Her left hand stroked the length of Serena’s arm that was extended away from her body, fingers lightly curled around the invisible neck of a violin, her shoulders and hips moving in opposite directions as she became the human embodiment of the melody.
Even if she hadn’t done any research into Devereaux’s career and had walked into the room knowing absolutely nothing about the woman, she would have known, just by watching the way she moved now, that she was in the presence of greatness.
It was so, so easy to be swept into the music and the movement, her eyes and ears taking everything in at once. Devereaux’s hand curled around Serena’s as she pushed up onto the ball of her left foot, her right leg lifting behind her. Serena, who had been standing on flat feet that were about hip’s width apart moved then, joining the dance as she slid her right foot behind herself, initiating a turn for both Devereaux and herself as the music slowed and deepened.
Mallory’s jaw dropped as she imagined what just that one turn would look like on stage, with an actual violinist playing and a ballerina on pointe—because she had no doubt that the dancer would absolutely be on her toes for this—being led into the turn.
It would be fucking incredible.
They made a full circle before Devereaux’s heel dropped, and then leaned forward, their left arms reaching away from their bodies in a strong line from their shoulders as Devereaux’s right hand found Serena’s back shoulder. She popped up onto her right foot in a way that suggested the dancer would, once again, be on pointe, her weight shifting with a slow roll of her hips and shoulders to guide her upright.
The dance continued, Serena supporting Devereaux through a series of turns and holds and pauses exquisitely timed to the music. Mallory was reassured to see that, in this preview, at least, there did not seem to be anything too complicated required of her stand-in. It would be a step beyond her comfort zone to be so animated while playing, as she usually moved just enough to cue the orchestra to follow but, with enough practice, she knew that she could do it.
And, as her eyes traced the shapes and lines Devereaux and Serena were creating together, she found herself eagerly anticipating the opportunity to do something like it herself. This was an entirely sublime fusion of art forms, dance and music married in a way to enchant both the eyes and the ears, the heart and the mind, and she wanted in on it as much as she had wanted anything in her life.
The movement in front of her slowed as the pair reached what must have been the end of the prepared demonstration, Serena’s shoulders relaxing as her arms fell to her sides and Devereaux spun away from her to level a pleased smile in Mallory’s direction.
“There will be no lifts, obviously,” Devereaux said as she pulled the stereo remote from her pocket and turned off the music. “And there will be sections where you two will be moving separately, but the majority of the time you will be together. It’s all about the lines, you see, a
nd as your hands will be occupied with your violin, it will fall to the other parts of your body—your shoulders, hips, elbows—to support the dancer.” She set her hands on her hips. “What do you think?”
“That looked amazing,” Mallory replied honestly.
“Do you envision any issues with the idea I’m presenting here? I will be the first to admit that I know very little about the violin beyond how to dance to it.”
Mallory pursed her lips as she considered the question, appreciating the opportunity to offer her opinion and grateful that—so far, at least—this project seemed like it would be a true collaboration. “The bowing will need to be adjusted to the dancer’s position so that she’s not getting stabbed in the face. The holds off the support arm—the one holding the neck of the violin—could also be difficult depending on where they land in the music, but otherwise, it’s absolutely do-able.”
“And, if we incorporate those changes and remove any other obstacle that might hinder you…?” Devereaux arched a brow, the left side of her lips quirking with the beginning of a smile.
“I think I would be a bloody idiot to turn this opportunity down,” Mallory admitted with a little laugh.
“I think so, too,” Devereaux agreed with a triumphant smirk.
“And you’re sure you can work around my LSO obligations?”
“There is very little I’m not willing to do to see this ballet make it to the stage.” Devereaux looked at Serena. “Did Thierry bring up that contract I asked him to draft yet?”
Serena nodded. “It’s on your desk.”
“Excellent.” Devereaux turned back to Mallory. “Shall we head down to my office, then, to discuss the finer details of the project?”
“Of course,” Mallory agreed as she bent to gather her things.
Devereaux’s office was on the floor below the rehearsal studios. It was large and airy, with oversized windows and soft white walls that amplified the natural light. Mallory took a seat at one of the upholstered armchairs that faced the expansive mahogany desk that was littered with paperwork as Devereaux made herself comfortable in the leather executive chair opposite her.
