“I like the ambition,” he said. “Do they have any chairs here for us to practice on?”
“Unfortunately, no.” Sadie toyed with the single long feather dangling from her ear. The colors matched her blue and purple hair. “But I’ve got some tape to mark out where the chairs would be. Might not be such a bad thing, give Remi a chance to find her feet before we tell her that she needs to dance en pointe on a chair without kicking the head off someone who’s paid to come and watch her.”
“She’ll be fine. More than fine,” he said. “I have a good feeling about her.”
Sadie snorted. “I bet you do.”
“What?”
“I see the way you look at her. It’s been a while since you were infatuated with someone.” She grinned. “But I know that look.”
Their conversation halted as the sound of footsteps echoed in the stairwell. The cast wasn’t due for another half an hour, so he could guess who it was. As a slim woman rounded the corner, dressed in all black, her dark hair slicked back into a small bun, Wes sighed. Lilah.
No doubt she’d come to talk rather than simply to get a jump on her warm-up.
“Sadie, Wes.” She nodded. “Can I have a moment?” she asked him.
“Sure.” He looked around for somewhere to afford them a little privacy, and Sadie nodded toward a door in the back corner. It led to a pokey kitchenette.
He’d known this conversation was coming. In fact, he’d been preparing for it, trying to figure out how to sweet-talk his dancer and soothe her ego enough that she wouldn’t walk out on him. Because Remi might be his shining star, but it wasn’t a one-woman show.
“So your email said you’ve found a new lead,” Lilah said as the door swung softly shut behind her.
“That’s right. I’m going to introduce her today.”
“Can I get some feedback on why I wasn’t considered for the role after Ashleigh left?” Her lips pressed into a line so flat and straight it was like someone had run a marker across her face.
He’d seen Lilah use that expression ever since she was thirteen years old, when she was an accomplished young dancer but not a prodigy. His mother had been determined to train her hard, see what she was made of. Lilah had blossomed under his mother’s tutelage and guidance, growing into a talented artist with poise, grace, and strength in equal measure. She worked incredibly hard—sometimes too hard, in Wes’s opinion. She could train the life out of a piece, drain that sparkle by concentrating too much instead of letting herself feel the music.
Still, when he’d been struggling for dancers to join his production, Lilah had stuck her neck out for him. She’d gone against his mother’s advice and auditioned for Wes. And he’d given her a role in the ensemble.
She wasn’t right for the lead.
“You were considered, Lilah. I thought long and hard about it.” Wes raked a hand through his hair, pushing the strands back, although they immediately sprang forward, stubborn as ever. “You’re an exceptional dancer. But I had something very specific in mind for the lead role.”
“Something very specific in that you weren’t looking for a trained dancer?” Her voice was ice cold.
“Who told you that?” Christ, if his mother was interfering again, he was going to lose it.
“You know what ballerinas are like,” she said with a shrug. “They love gossip.”
He wasn’t going to add fuel to the flames by trying to push Lilah to spill her source—her source who was clearly making shit up. “You’ll have the opportunity to meet Remi today. She is trained, and she was previously with the Melbourne Ballet Company.”
“But she hasn’t worked in New York? In America?” Lilah turned up her nose. “Do the Australian companies even compare with what we have here? I mean, where did you find her?”
If he let it be known that he’d found her working in a barre fitness studio, the cast would be up in arms. Dancers took their craft very seriously, and many of them looked at the trend of ballet-inspired workouts as a way to capitalize on their art form.
“It was a chance meeting,” he said carefully. “Now, I understand you’re disappointed. But I want you to know that I picked you to be in this show because I believe in your talent. The lead role required something specific, but this isn’t the last show I will do. And the lead role will need an alternate.”
Lilah’s expression softened. “Right.”
“We have a small cast, and any injuries or illness will leave a hole. I’m going to be pairing people up for the major pieces, so we’re covered if something goes wrong.”
“And you’re saying if I stop complaining, you’ll let me be the lead alternate?” A smile tugged at her lips.
“I’m saying if you work hard and stop complaining, I’ll consider it.” He shot her a look. “I expect you to play well with others, okay?”
“Fine.” She made a small huffing noise in the back of her throat. “But I didn’t agree to face your mother’s wrath so I could be shoved into the back line and forgotten about.”
“Trust me, Lilah,” he said with a sigh, “you make it impossible for anyone to forget you.”
“Your mother once told me perseverance was the only way to succeed in this career. I won’t get anything by keeping my mouth shut.”
He couldn’t argue with that. Ballet took discipline and hard work, but what a lot of people didn’t see was that dancers required a good deal of mental fortitude as well. Not only to get through the seemingly impossible physical demands, but also to deal with the constant competition and rejection.
Lilah would forge ahead of dancers with more talent simply because she had an iron will. Now, all Wes had to do was ensure that Lilah didn’t decide to use that will against him.
Chapter 8
“Once you’ve been with a guy like Wes, most other men will come up short. Literally and figuratively.”
—TheSnakeCharmer
“Mish, I’m so sorry.” Remi bit her lip as she paused at the address Wes had texted her for their rehearsal. She’d promised herself that she wouldn’t set foot into the studio without first telling Mish she was resigning. “I only found out yesterday.”
And since she’d been hemming and hawing about what to say, she’d left it until the very last minute to keep that promise.
“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me, Remi.” The pause on the other end of the line seemed to stretch on forever, and Remi bounced on the balls of her feet. “I just… I get it. This is what you want to do with your life. But if you were auditioning, you should have told me.”
“I know. I kept telling myself it wasn’t going anywhere.” Guilt clutched at her heart like a fist. “It was self-preservation…and it was completely selfish.”
Mish swore under her breath. “It’s lucky I’ve signed someone on for Midtown who’s looking for extra hours. You’ve really left me in the lurch.”
Two dancers streamed past Remi, bags bumping against their hips as they jogged up the stairs immediately inside the doorway. The door sat open long enough for Remi to watch them disappear up to the first floor.
“I don’t have any excuses, Mish. I know I screwed up, and I can’t even tell you how much I regret doing that.”
Mish sighed, the sharp sound cut off by a tiny meow close to the phone’s speaker. “Just make the most of it, okay? If you’re going to do this, then don’t be half-assed about it. And when you get famous, remember I gave you a job when you were struggling to get by on tips.”
“I won’t forget it, I promise.”
“Fine. I’m still mad at you.”
Remi swallowed and bobbed her head. “You should be.”
“All right, I’d better go. Looks like I need to start calling around to fill these hours.” Mish ended the call without giving Remi a chance to say goodbye.
She’d send a card and a giant box of chocolates by way of a
n apology when she got home. Deep down, she knew Mish would forgive her; they were friends as well as boss and employee. But Remi had some serious groveling to do. Hard-core groveling.
Then, she suddenly felt light as a butterfly. The studio was on West 127th Street, which might have been the farthest Remi had ever traveled up Manhattan. The street looked a little run down, and she’d almost walked right past the building.
Stifling an excited grin, she pushed the door open and started up the stairs. The previous evening had filled her with a strange sense of déjà vu as she’d run through her old routine. Classical music had blared through her speakers as she’d sat cross-legged on her floor stitching elastic and ribbons into her new pointe shoes, softening the toe box with her hands and darning the platform until she knew it would support her the way she wanted.
Voices floated down from the studio, and Remi’s heart thudded in her chest. What would her castmates be like? Would they welcome her with open arms? Would they ask questions she didn’t want to answer? Excitement turned to unbridled panic as she climbed the last few steps.
All you have to do is make sure you don’t repeat your mistakes. That’s it. Just dance. Easy peasy.
For some dancers, auditioning and the stress of not knowing whether they’d gotten their desired part was the tough bit. But Remi knew the world beyond auditions was fraught with opportunity for failure.
“Ah, here she is.” Wes’s voice stopped Remi in her tracks. She stood in the doorway leading to the studio, several pairs of curious eyes glued to her. “The final piece of our puzzle. Everybody, I’d like you to meet Remi Drysdale.”
There were a few waves, and some noticeably crossed arms. One woman in particular looked like she was trying to burn a hole through Remi’s head with the power of her narrowed eyes.
“Hi,” Remi said, hitching her bag higher up on her shoulder.
“We’re waiting on a few more people, but Sadie will introduce you around,” Wes said as he walked over.
He wore a pair of black sweats with Converse sneakers and a Yankees hoodie that shouldn’t have looked appealing in the slightest. Only, the fabric of the pants clung to his muscled thighs and sat snugly over his crotch. Holy moly…
Eyes up. Now.
“Come and see me after your warm-up and we’ll go through the paperwork.” He squinted for a second, studying her. Thankfully, he didn’t ask why she’d suddenly turned into a human furnace.
“Sure.”
In her nervousness, Remi instantly forgot the names of everyone Sadie introduced her to. She remembered what it was like when she’d first joined the company back home. Everything was overwhelming, but she would settle in. She would develop relationships with the other dancers. After all, they were all professionals.
By the time Sadie had walked her around the room, the final members of the cast had arrived, and they all spread out across the room, warming up their muscles and tendons with TheraBands and lacrosse balls. Almost all were classically trained ballet dancers, from what Remi could tell, but they also had a female hip-hop dancer who’d joined them to warm up, though she wouldn’t be taking part in the class immediately after. She seemed friendly but looked a little out of place in her bright-orange sweatpants and chunky sneakers.
“Everyone take a spot at the barre, please.” Sadie clapped her hands together and then grinned at Wes, who was standing on the other side of the room. “Ahh, makes me feel like I have a class full of eager students again.”
She ran them through a standard warm-up of pliés, tendus, rond de jambes, and port de bras. The exercises increased from slow and gentle to more demanding.
“That’s it, two demi-pliés in fifth.” She walked around the room, stopping to help the dancers correct their technique and turnout as they needed it. “And up, two, three, four. Take a slight bend and then down, two, three, four. Now forward, sweep the hands around and back up. Rise, two, three, four. Legs together!”
Remi let the instructions wash over her, falling into the music as she had done time and time again. It was shocking how quickly it all came back—the way her legs moved, the way her hands formed softly curved shapes as she swept them through each position. It was like she’d never left.
Her body became malleable. Ready for more.
They moved to the center to work on their jumps and allégros and Remi felt Wes’s eyes on her the whole time. It was like the morning he’d walked into her class, only now their roles were reversed—she was the one performing for him. Here, in the small studio, his eyes cutting through everyone else to lock onto her…the intimacy settled like a hum in her bloodstream.
When the class was finished, Sadie asked everyone to change into their pointe shoes for some adage, but Wes called Remi over. She grabbed her things and followed him to a door in the back of the room, aware that people were watching them. Well, one person in particular—the brunette who’d been staring at her earlier.
“Is it all coming back?” he asked, dropping into a seat at a small table in what appeared to be a mini-kitchen.
“It is.” She took the seat across from him. “I don’t know how I stayed away so long. Teaching barre was great, but it’s not the same.”
“Well, we’re glad to have you on board.” He leaned back in his chair, interlacing his hands behind his head. The action stretched his chest and shoulders out, and Remi had to force herself not to drool.
Down, girl.
“I’ve, uh, got all the paperwork you asked for in your email.” She dug the file out of her backpack and cringed. “But you have to promise not to laugh.”
He raised a brow. “Well, now you’ve got me intrigued.”
“I have a…rather unconventional name.” Unconventional was putting it mildly. There weren’t a lot of people who knew it either. It was a piece of information handed out on a strictly need to know basis.
“Remi?” An adorable crinkle formed between his brows. “Unless that’s not your real name.”
Best to get it over with. She slid the file across the table and he flipped it open. A second later, his mouth twitched.
“I said no laughing,” she warned.
“Reminiscent Sunburst Drysdale.” He looked up, doing his utmost to keep a straight face. It was a valiant attempt. “Hippie parents?”
“Got it in one.” Heat crept into her cheeks. No matter how many years passed, she still hated her full name with the fire of a thousand suns. Or should that be the fire of a thousand sunbursts? But her parents would have been devastated if she’d changed it. “I grew up being force-fed hemp seeds and kale. My parents are…unique.”
“Sounds like it would have made for an interesting childhood.”
She snorted. “If you think spending weekends doing macramé is interesting, sure.”
“Don’t tell me, ballet was your rebellion.”
“My grandmother used to take me to classes and recitals. She was the one who pushed me to pursue it as a career.” The loss stabbed her in the chest as painfully now as it had the day she’d passed away. “My parents aren’t fans of the whole discipline and giving-up-your-life thing.”
“I see.” He nodded. “Well, I’m glad you’ve got a rebellious streak then.”
Something about his tone made excitement unfurl low in her belly.
“This is your chance to ask any questions before I throw you to the wolves.” He grinned. “I’ve told Sadie to take it easy on you today, but that’s it. One day’s grace period is more than I give most people.”
“And why are you being so generous with me?” Was that a hint of flirtation in her voice?
What happened to keeping things strictly business, huh? Cut that out. Now.
He chuckled and the sound slid down her spine. “I don’t want to scare you off.”
“You won’t,” she replied. “I don’t scare easily.”
“Must be bec
ause you grew up in a country where everything wants to kill you.” He flipped her folder closed and leaned forward on his forearms.
The action closed the distance between them, and she reveled in the details of him up close. A slender ring of dark gray lined his blue irises, and a tiny dimple formed in his cheek when he smiled. Details that were like the final dusting of sprinkles on a perfectly iced cupcake.
“No questions,” she said. “I’m ready to throw myself into work.”
This was her chance to make all the painful rejections and mistakes worth it. The chance to prove to all the people who’d abandoned her back home that she could push on and rise above the rumors and the gossip and the judgment.
Remi would not screw up this opportunity.
* * *
Is the Anaconda flying solo?
By Felicity Morgan (Spill the Tea society and culture reporter)
Rumor has it that Wesley Evans and his upcoming Off-Off-Broadway debut have stalled due to a lack of financing. Now, we know that Evans isn’t hard up for cash. His mother and father are entertainment industry royals, and the family boasts real estate in some of the most prestigious buildings in the city. Their ballet school was also recently named one of the top dance education institutions in the country, beating out the Joffrey Ballet School for the first time ever.
With connections like that, why would Evans require funding for his project? Should we take this as a hint that his parents aren’t supportive of this creative venture?
A source close to the Spill the Tea’s society and culture team has revealed that Evans recently stormed out of the offices of prominent Broadway investor Leonardo Marchetti. The property mogul touted as a “guardian angel of the arts” has invested in some pretty outrageous shows in the past (anyone remember that quirky My Brother Joyce, which involved the singing dog?) but it appears that Evans has failed to impress.
Despite announcing that details for the show would be available sometime this month, Evans’s website remains curiously devoid of information. His social media reveals little else, having gone quiet in the past week.
Bad Reputation Page 9
