by Staci Hart
“Not this time.”
“What, you’re not trying to be good, are you, Trick?” Cooper needled him.
“Depends on your definition of good. I’ve got a six hour job in the morning.”
“Well, I hope she’s hot.”
“It’s for a dude.”
Cooper sniffed. “This is exactly why I’ll never take over my dad’s company. Responsibility doesn’t suit me.”
Rose made a mock pouty face. “Aw, Coop. The playboy life is lonely, isn’t it?”
He laughed, but I knew it was more true than he’d ever let on. “Don’t hate. I’ve got plenty of people I can call.”
“Ha. Like Astrid?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Lily’s sister and I have an arrangement. We run in the same circles. It’s convenient. Surprisingly, models and playboys get along very, very well.”
Rose snorted.
Cooper turned to me. “Speaking of sisters, when does Maggie get here?”
“Thursday,” I answered.
“Still need me to pick her up?”
“Yeah, but don’t tell her. I’ll be in class, and she wouldn’t wait for me to come get her. Said she wanted to ‘dive in’ to New York.”
Rose made a disapproving face. “You’re a control freak.”
My brow dropped. “Why, because I don’t want my baby sister lugging nine suitcases through the subway? Alone? Not fair, Rosie.”
“If she wants to, then let her.”
Cooper shook his head. “I’m siding with West on this one. Pretty little thing like Maggie, alone in New York?”
I eyed him. “Keep talking like that, and I’m sending a chaperone.”
“Don’t worry. Your sister’s virtue is safe with me.”
The rest of us burst out laughing.
“What?” He asked innocently. “I can be good. I just choose not to be."
I chuckled. “Well, watch yourself, or I'll choose to break your face."
3
BITCHES AND BALLERS
Lily
THE AFTERNOON SUN SHONE THROUGH the high windows in the studio as the pianist began the Stravinsky piece again. We were rehearsing Apollo for the show that night, and our ballet master, Ward Stewart, stood with a stern look on his face and arms folded across his chest, salt and pepper hair neatly combed. He called instructions, counting and correcting as we went through the piece. He was one of the most insatiable masters in the company, and the one I worked with most often.
I wound around Blane with Jenni and Nadia in my wake, the three of us threading in and out of each other’s arms in waves around him. Blane was Apollo, and we were muses — muse of poetry, muse of theater, and my part, muse of dance. It was the coveted spot, the muse that Apollo chooses in the end for the pas de deux.
The roles I’d landed since my promotion a few months ago still shocked me — as hard as I’d worked to get where I was, I’d never expected it. Or, I guess I should say that I expected it eventually, but I never felt entitled to it, or like I was good enough to actually have it for my own. I’d apprenticed under Isabell Lamont, and after she injured herself last season, she decided to retire. The day I walked up to the rehearsal schedule board and saw my name next to Firebird, I almost hit the floor. No one auditioned for a promotion. It was given based on merit and could happen to anyone, at any time. The day it happened for me was a flagstone in my life.
In any case, I was still a new principal, and Nadia had seniority over me, but here we were, dancing together, and I somehow had the bigger part.
It wasn’t something she’d let me forget, either.
No one was surprised that Blane landed the part of Apollo with his golden hair and eyes like the sky. He was built like a Greek god, and with the grace of one, too. The pas de deux with him gave me life. But rehearsals were never easy with Nadia, and the part required absolute synchronicity between the three muses.
I dropped under Nadia’s arm again, and she squeezed my hand, locking her wrist so I couldn’t twist. My ankle faltered, and I almost fell.
“Tighten up, Lily,” Ward shot, eyes hard.
I glared at Nadia as I passed her, but she only smiled, and I pushed the rage away, focusing on the music and my body. I raised my leg in an arabesque, then Nadia, then Jenni. I bourréd away, then Nadia, then Jenni, and when I bent with my arms arched in fifth position over my head, they followed. We danced behind Blane around the studio before lining up next to him, and he leaned forward with the three of us against his back, our legs extended at intervals behind him.
The music ended, and Ward brought us around to give us closing direction. The tension hung between us — Nadia on one side of me and Blane on the other. We curtsied and bowed before making our way over to our bags as the pianist started up again. Blane and I would be staying with Ward, and Jenni and Nadia would leave for their next rehearsals. I grabbed my water and took a drink as Jenni sat and pulled on her warm-up booties.
I looked over my red-cheeked reflection in the mirrored wall. “God, I’m a sweaty mess.” I shook my head. “I think I even have crotch sweat.”
Jenni laughed. We’d always been friends — from being in the same class at SAB to dancing in the corps together. We’d even been promoted within a month of each other, both as soloists and now principals. She was my constant in the company, and in a world where the pressure and competitiveness of our jobs so often ripped friendships apart. She was a beautiful dancer and a gorgeous woman, with raven hair and creamy white skin that I’m almost positive didn’t have a single freckle. She also had the longest, most graceful arms I’d ever seen.
She zipped up her bag. “Steamy crotches happen to the best of us.”
I patted down my face and chest with a towel from my bag. “Reasons to wear a skirt, number one.”
“The poor guys can’t even avoid it.”
“Nothing like some sweaty balls in tights to get the old libido going.”
She chuckled, and I sat to untie one of my shoes.
“My shoe’s dead. Look at the shank.” I bent it, and the leather buckled in the arch. “Man, I just got these from the shoe room this morning.”
“Ugh, I hate that. Will you have time to go before your next rehearsal?”
I sighed and pulled off my other shoe. “I’ll have to make time.”
She shook her head as she took a drink. “Only Ward would whip us so hard as to kill a pair of shoes in an afternoon.”
I chuckled. “Sacrificing satin and leather, one concerto at a time.”
She giggled and glanced behind me, jerking her chin. Nadia was standing close to Blane at the far end of the room, a little too close for my comfort, and I felt my cheeks heat up when she touched his arm. Nadia and I actually looked a lot alike — same build, both with long, blond hair and blue eyes — but while I tended to fall a little closer to cute than foxy, Nadia had that stone-cold model sort of face. Harder, skeptical. A little pinched.
She said something to Blane I wasn’t able to hear over the piano, and he pulled his arm from her grip. I couldn’t read his expression before he turned to his bag, putting his back to Nadia, and she spun around scowling, her narrowed eyes connecting with mine. I met her glare with one of my own, hoping I looked like I couldn’t be ruffled, even though my heart clanged against my ribs. She didn’t even sit as she took off her shoes in a huff, stuffing them in her bag and leaving in a whirl.
“What’s her problem?” Jenni asked.
Me. I shrugged. “Who knows. The diva rests for no one. Where are you headed next?”
Jenni zipped up her bag. “Rehearsal for Four Temperaments and then for my solo for tonight.” She shook her head and glanced back at Blane. “You are so lucky to be partnered with Blane so often. And to dance Swan Lake with him, too? I’m so freaking jealous. I’ve wanted to dance Odette since I was seven.”
My cheeks were still hot as I dug around in my bag for my flats and gave her the canned answer I kept on hand for when someone brought up the partnership. “We’r
e only paired because of our height.”
She shook her head. “No way. You are so in sync. Your lines are always perfect. It’s sort of a remarkable thing to watch the two of you dance together.”
I thought my heart might burst at the compliment. “Thanks, Jenni.”
She smiled and raised an eyebrow. “Plus, you get to look at that ass every day.”
I snickered. “I swear to God, when he wears tights, my uterus screams his name.” I pulled on my booties and hopped up. “Ward, I need to grab another pair of shoes from downstairs.”
He frowned. “You don’t have a spare?”
“No, sir,” I answered, wishing I’d grabbed more than one pair that morning. “These are brand new, and I blew out my backups yesterday.”
He nodded, though he was clearly not pleased. “Quickly.”
I curtsied. “Yes, sir.” I gave Jenni a wave, and Blane caught my eye as I hurried to the door, giving me a smile that erased the unease from delaying rehearsal.
I hustled down the hallway lined with gigantic orange crates full of props, wigs, and costumes, the same that crowded almost every hallway of the building. NYCB had over four hundred ballets in our repertory, and that much stuff just takes up a ton of space. We had an entire crate just full of fake mustaches and beards. Seriously.
When I hit the end of the hall, I took the elevator down to one of my most revered spots in the entire theater.
The shoe room was a place of worship — a quiet space packed with shelves that housed thousands of handmade shoes for the dancers in the company. On average, we went through a pair of shoes per day of rehearsals, and many of us wore brand new shoes for performances. Each pair was special, because each would play a part in our success.
That room was full of possibilities. Full of dreams waiting to be made.
I made my way through the aisles until I came to my stall, marked with my name. I looked up like I always did, taking a moment to appreciate the stack of shoes — my shoes — handmade by Freed of London to my specifications. I’d tried a dozen makers’ shoes when I apprenticed until I found the right fit, the perfect balance and cut. The moment I found my maker, whose stamp was branded into the shank of every pair of my shoes, it was like the moment when Cinderella put on that lost glass slipper.
I grabbed two bags of shoes and turned to leave, stopping dead when I looked up.
Nadia stood at the end of the aisle with her hands on her hips and a smile I could only equate to a Disney villain. “Hey, Lily.” My name from her lips was venom.
“What’s up,” I said in lieu of a greeting, picking up my feet.
She shifted to block my path as I neared her. “What’s going on with you and Blane?”
I met her hard gaze with one of my own. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t bullshit me, JuicyFruit. Everybody knows you’ve got a thing for him.” She snickered. “God, you watch him with those big puppy-dog eyes of yours. Do you really think he could ever be interested in you?”
I kept on glaring at her, imagining that I could light her bun on fire by sheer will of mind. “Well, you set the bar pretty low.”
But she was unshaken, just stretched her slimy smile even wider as she looked down her nose at me. “You know, he’s always made fun of you, ever since the first time he saw you. It was so pathetic in high school, watching you trip all over yourself when he was around.”
Humiliation and anger slipped over me, but I’d never let her know. “Too bad he’s not interested in you anymore.”
Her eyes narrowed, even though her smile stayed in place. “Just don’t get comfortable, Thomas.”
A burst of adrenaline shot through me. “Maybe you should just let him go. Seems like he doesn’t want you anymore.”
Nadia edged closer. “Fuck you, skank.”
She’d boxed me in — I’d either have to slink away and go the long way around or get physical. I chose the latter, plowing through by way of slamming my shoulder into hers. “Grow up, bitch.”
She didn’t respond as I hurried out, and I think we were both a little surprised by my reaction. I wasn’t one to pick a fight, but you come at me, and I’ll bite. My nerves hummed as I blew down the hall and to the elevator, thankful that she didn’t follow me. I was already in trouble with Ward — pretty sure murdering Nadia in the shoe room wouldn’t help my case.
By the time I got back to the studio, Ward was already working with Blane. He gave me a nod as I opened a bag of shoes and dropped them on the floor to step on the toe boxes, then sank to the ground next to my duffle bag. I picked up each shoe to break the shank before digging out my sewing kit and pink darning thread.
First was the elastic across the top, then the satin tendon ribbon with a small strip of elastic that would lay against my ankle for give. Every stitch was sure and quick — something I’d done thousands of times. Once I’d scored the bottom and covered the toe and shank with resin, I was ready to go. Seven minutes was all the process took. Jenni and I raced once.
Ward stopped the pianist and instructed us to set up for the beginning of the pas de deux. Blane’s eyes were on me as I approached, and he smiled as we got into position, slipping his hands around my waist, pressing his chest against my back. Ward turned to the pianist, and Blane took the opportunity to whisper in my ear.
“Tomorrow night. My studio. You in?”
The weight of his hands on my hips, the pressure of his fingertips against my skin demanded every bit of my attention. Nadia didn’t matter. She could want him all day long, talk shit, threaten me. But in the end, Blane wanted me.
My smile threatened to take over my face at the thought. “Definitely in.”
West
Sweat rolled into my eyes that afternoon as I dribbled in front of Patrick, who stood between me and the basket. The spring sun was high, though there was still that little chill in the air, like winter hadn't quite decided to let go. Not that I was complaining -- not after a couple of hours on the blacktop.
Patrick's arms were wide, his body low enough that he would grab the ball if I didn’t make a move soon.
“Come on, West. What are you gonna do? Stop being a pussy and take the shot.”
“You sure are eager to lose,” I panted just before I spun and took off around him. I made it to the basket and jumped, tossing the ball in a hook shot that bounced against the rim and through the hoop. “BOOM,” I shouted, throwing my hands in the air as I jogged around Patrick. He bent over and wiped off his face with the hem of his shirt, shoulders heaving, shooting me an amused smile as sweat dripped off his hanging hair.
Cooper laughed as he got up off the bench. "Live it up. That was your last win." He picked up the ball and dribbled, somehow looking determined and lazy all at once.
"In your dreams, pretty boy." I walked over to my water and took a long drink, pouring some on my face. I sloughed the excess off my beard and pulled out my hair tie, knotting it up fresh again.
Patrick hung his hands on his hips and walked over to the bench. "Don't talk shit, Coop. He's got four inches on both of us."
Cooper smiled, dribbling between his legs. "Yeah, but I'm lightning fast." He spun around and made a practice shot.
I chuckled as the ball dropped into the hoop.
He jerked his chin at me. "You ready for this, bitch?"
I grabbed the ball as it bounced and shrugged, dribbling. "I dunno, you're not gonna cry if you lose or anything, are you?" I made a shot of my own, and it banked into the hoop.
Cooper scoffed as he trotted around and grabbed the ball. "One time. It happened once, and there was something in my eye." He shot and missed.
Patrick snorted.
“Right.” I snagged the ball and ran to the three-point line to shoot. The chain hoop clinked when the ball passed through.
Cooper grabbed it and dribbled low. “Game to seven. Check.” He tossed the ball to me, and I tossed it right back before he took off.
He made it to half court, a
nd I turned, putting my back to the hoop, arms out, bobbing in front of him. I watched his eyes and knew what was coming. When he faked, I headed him off and stole the ball, dribbling back to the three-point line to make a shot. It bounced off the rim.
I groaned, and Cooper and Patrick laughed.
“Streak’s over, stretch.” Cooper recovered the ball, and we made our way around the blacktop. I covered him until he broke away, running up the court to shoot. The ball sailed through the air, but I jumped, stretching to tip the ball before it could get far.
“Told you, Coop,” Patrick called from the bench as I recovered the ball.
I dribbled back to the three-point line, laughing. Cooper wasn’t amused.
His eyes were narrow as he covered me. “I can’t wait to see Maggie on Thursday.”
I dribbled lower, brow dropping with my stance. “You don’t stand a chance, dick.”
“You sure about that?”
My answer was a shoulder to his chest as I charged past him and went for a layup. A layup that I made. I spun around and pointed at him. “You keep your hands off my sister.”
Cooper laughed. “You’re too easy, man.”
I grabbed the ball and dribbled back to the three-point line with Cooper all over me. He stole the ball at the first opportunity and tried for a jump shot that I palmed, turning once I hit the ground to make a jump shot of my own.
I crowed when I made it. “How’s that for easy, motherfucker?” I threw my hands up. Cooper grabbed the ball and tossed it to me.
“Goddamn you, you tall son of a bitch.”
I leered, dribbling. “How’s Astrid? I saw your picture in Us Weekly at the grocery store last week.”
He covered me. “What's the matter, Shakespeare getting a little tedious? We were on page twelve, so I'm glad you took the time to flip through it in the checkout line."
I tried to juke around him, but he stayed in my way. “I don’t know how that’s worse than you knowing what page you were on.”
Patrick laughed, and I spun around and took off, only a step ahead of him but with enough room to take a bank shot. I missed. Cooper ran for the ball as I watched on.
