Lana felt tears rising, like nausea, in the back of her throat. She could only nod in reply.
Alice grabbed her glass of wine, only now noticing the carrots she’d sent to the floor. With her free hand, she stabbed a finger in their direction.
“I’ll take care of that later,” she said to Lana, her own voice trembling. “Please do not clean it for me.” With that, she left the kitchen, hurried up the stairs. A moment later Lana could hear the thump of her bedroom door shutting.
She stood there in the now silent kitchen, still frozen into place. Then the tears began. She crept up the stairs and made it to the safety of her own room before the deluge commenced. She headed straight to the little tub chair that felt like a pair of arms holding her close. Whenever she sat in it sideways, legs tucked in, it gave her that precise feeling, these two strong arms, like Gil’s but not. Gil, who was spending the night in a fancy hotel tonight with the woman he still publicly referred to as his girlfriend. Gil, who’d extended the invitation to Julia, not the other way around. She curled up in the chair, squeezed her eyes shut and cried.
Five minutes later a tap sounded at the door. Lana froze, mid-sob, horrified. “Yes,” she called out in a high, phony voice.
“Can I come in?”
This was Alice’s house; of course she could. “Yes,” Lana managed. She knew she should straighten up, pretend to be fine, but she couldn’t move from her huddled position.
Alice entered, saw her and stopped short. “That was the chair I had in my bedroom all through my teens. And the way you’re sitting is exactly what I would do.”
In response, Lana could only sniffle and offer a hiccup.
Alice came closer. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry. My impatience was about me and my stuff. It had very little to do with you.”
“Thanks for saying that.”
“It was rude of me.”
“This is your home.”
“That’s no excuse.” She sank to the bed and sat facing Lana. “Look. The mom thing. I owe you an explanation. You see, when I was a kid, I lost my mom.”
“Like, lost her in a crowd?” she asked stupidly.
Alice’s expression didn’t change. “No. She died.”
She stared at Alice in horror. Oh, God, how many times had she brought up Mom? Asked Alice whether her own mom was the same, simply as a way of making conversation? Dozens of mom references. Dozens of gaffes, over and over. Could she have been any more of a bull in a china shop?
Before she could begin to stutter her way through an apology, Alice lifted her hand.
“Wait. It’s not some ghastly tragic story that’s haunted my life. You are not irreparably damaging my psyche by bringing up moms. Marianne, my stepmom, has been like a mother to me since I was thirteen. I couldn’t have asked for a better second mom. I’ve called her ‘my mom’ for years. Decades. Really, I’d even stopped thinking about it until recently. Until…”
Here she hesitated.
“Until I showed up,” Lana finished.
Alice paused to ponder this. “You might be right.”
“I’m sorry,” Lana whispered. “I’m so sorry.”
“Oh, it’s not you. I think it’s just what happens at my age.” Alice spoke slowly, her expression pensive, as if she were figuring this out for the first time. “The stuff you thought you’d successfully run from, well, damned if it doesn’t show up at your front door. Literally, in this case.” She chuckled, good mood restored, but Lana only felt worse.
“Anyway,” Alice said, “I don’t talk about it much—the truth is, I’ll go out of my way to avoid discussing it—but I thought you should know. I’ve had an atypical experience in the mother department. And I’ve never considered this before, but maybe I’m a little envious of you and your closeness with your mom.”
Oh, if Alice only knew.
Alice rose but made no motion to leave. Instead she angled her head and studied Lana. “Are you okay? Did I say the wrong thing?”
“No,” Lana managed.
“Well, what’s going on, then? And don’t tell me you’re fine. Because you’re not.”
In response she could only shake her head.
Alice sat back down. “Tell me.”
“I’m scared,” she said. A great sob escaped and suddenly she was crying to Alice, babbling how she felt so ungrounded and worried, about her own mom’s welfare, about how it no longer felt like Kansas City was her home, but neither did San Francisco feel like home. And Gil, so reliable at times, so flaky other times, like this weekend, so how much could she count on him? And the way she kept annoying Alice; what would she do if Alice kicked her out? She’d have nowhere to go. She’d end up just like Coop.
Alice looked sad. “Were you really thinking I’d kick you out? Because you made me irritable?”
Lana wondered if admitting to the truth would hurt or help her case. But Alice had taken her silence as an affirmative.
“Oh, Lana,” she said softly. “I would never, never do that. I may be prickly, but I’m not a monster. I’m on your side here, even when I don’t act like it.” She gazed down at the comforter, tracing the nubbed pattern with her finger. “I’m sorry. I wish I could be a bigger person about this all. Sharing a house. Having functional relationships. It just doesn’t come easily to me.”
“You’ve been the greatest to me,” Lana said. “Really.”
A dubious expression crossed Alice’s face. “Well, that’s considerate of you to say. But anyway, know that this is your home for as long as you need it. Until you find some place you like more.”
Lana refrained from telling her she’d probably never find a place she liked more. She didn’t want to frighten Alice, who’d just bought her some time with her soothing words.
“So,” Alice said. “You’ve got a week before you start performing. How are rehearsals going?”
“Okay, I guess. I’m only dancing in the corps in the first program, which I suppose is good because it’s less pressure on me. But aside from that, in class and around the other dancers, I feel, I don’t know.”
“Yes?” Alice encouraged.
“I feel so alienated,” she whimpered. “Like no one likes me.”
“Oh, sweetie.” Alice moved over to the ottoman by Lana’s chair. “It just takes time. The first season with a new company is mostly about getting into the groove.”
Lana drew deep breaths to keep further tears at bay. “And I’m worried that Autumn Souvenir, the ballet for Program II, isn’t going well. And the répétiteur has only got two more rehearsals with us before he heads back to Paris.”
“Who are the other two demi-soloists with you in Autumn Souvenir?”
“I’ve got just the one partner. Javier Torres.”
Confusion crossed over Alice’s face. “Wait. That would make you the lead pas de deux couple. Not part of the demi-soloist trio.”
“Right.”
Alice’s eyes grew round. “Oh, boy. That’s big. Wow. That’ll put you on the map here.”
“Only if I do it really well.”
“You’re right,” Alice admitted, which sent a jittery rush of anxiety through Lana’s gut.
They sat there for a long moment, Lana unspeaking, Alice offering soft “wow”s to herself, as if still processing it all. “Okay,” she said finally, in a stronger, take-charge way that immediately calmed Lana’s nerves. “Tell me what the problem is.”
Lana drew a deep, cleansing breath. “It’s like I said. There’s this undercurrent, this feeling that we’re not getting along. I mean, it’s not obvious. The opening pas de deux is fine. The variations and the coda are fine. It’s that adagio in the middle. We’ve got the steps and basic intention down. It’s just that there seems to be an impasse over the dynamics in one of the lift passages, that has everyone frustrated. During group rehearsal sessions, the second cast leads are practically jumping, there behind us, in their frustration, like they’re sure they could do it better. They’re both principals—I’m sure they
could, too. And even the répétiteur is showing his frustration with it. With me.”
“Who’s the répétiteur? Any chance it’s Denis Rousselot?”
“It is.”
Alice looked pleased. “Oh, that’s good to hear.”
“You mean you know him?”
Alice began to chuckle. “Yes, I’ve worked with him. Great guy, even though he likes to get all Paris Opera Ballet and shout at his dancers.” She gave the ottoman a pat. “Tell you what. I’ve been bad about not ever stopping by to say hi to him. Maybe I’ll drop in on your next rehearsal. That is, if you want. Sometimes a fresh pair of eyes can provide some new perspective.”
Lana’s relief increased. “That would be great. You don’t mind? The next rehearsal is on Sunday afternoon. Two o’clock, for two hours.”
“Okay. Maybe I’ll swing by around three.”
“I can’t tell you how much I’d appreciate that.”
Alice rose. “Well. Here’s to my first visit to a Ballet Theatre rehearsal in eight years.”
It all went as planned. Even without Alice, the first hour of the rehearsal ran smoother. The entire cast of thirteen dancers was rehearsing together for the first time and the added presence of the demi-soloist trio and the corps dancers took a little of the pressure off Lana, made her less aware of the Cast II leads and the understudies, watching her critically. Yet sure enough, when it came time for the tricky partnered lift passage, the unease arose.
As if on cue, Alice appeared at the door.
Denis was delighted. “Mais non, c’est pas possible. C’est toi! You little bitch,” he exclaimed, arms out, striding toward her. “Twice now I have been here staging work, these eight years, and they tell me you are right here, in the same building. But you don’t stop by to say hello to your old friend, Denis?”
He’d enveloped Alice in a hug even as he spoke, bestowing kisses on her cheek before pulling back to regard her critically. He announced that she looked wonderful, that being plus grosse suited her, that she was belle come une femme maintenant, pas comme une fille. Lana supposed it was a compliment and not the insult “gross” sounded like, because Alice was pink-cheeked and smiling and even—God, who knew?—responding in careful French, which made Denis’ smile broaden.
“Oh, you are most decidedly the college graduate now, yes. The educated career woman. Bien fait, ma fille. And now here you’ve returned to your old place of stomping. What brings us this good fortune today?”
“To see you, of course, Denis. Well, and, at the same time, to stop by to see my housemate here,” she said, gesturing to Lana, which caused heads to turn her way. Alice peered closer at the corps dancers and gave a little cry of recognition. “Delores! And Joe! Familiar faces, oh how great.”
More hugs, exclamations of pleasure, and now the older dancers and Denis were all talking at once and Lana learned how Joe had been a newbie the year of Alice’s accident, but Delores had been part of Alice’s circle of corps dancers in her early days and oh, the number of stories they could tell you about those early Anders years. And Ben, too. Before his back problems, when he was still dancing, burning up the stage, teasing the ballet masters before he switched camps and became one himself. What a shame he wasn’t here right now, enjoying this little reunion.
Alice turned and surveyed the other dancers. She squinted at Courtney. “You look familiar,” she said, a note of coolness creeping into her voice. “I think we once chatted. In the restrooms on the administrative level.”
“I’m not sure,” Courtney stammered. “You don’t look familiar. It might have been someone else.”
Alice hesitated, then offered Courtney a quick, uninterested smile. “Maybe you’re right,” she said. She turned back to Denis. “Alors, Monsieur Rousselot, I hope you’ll allow me to sit and watch. Maybe share my humble opinion on a few tricky passages Lana might be struggling with.”
“Oh, yes.” Denis nodded vigorously. “Thank you, thank you. This is a fine idea.”
He and Javier discussed and agreed upon the most troublesome spot, the very one Lana herself had worried about. Denis cued the accompanist to start the music sixteen counts prior. Lana and Javier waltzed their way to the center, Lana bourréed her way into a prep, a partnered pirouette turn. Afterward, her leg swung back into an attitude, Javier promenaded her around and lifted her out of the attitude, up over his head. Whoosh, like an autumn leaf picked up by the wind. She slithered down the length of his body. He caught and sustained a hold on one leg, stretching it into a 180-degree extension. One more gravity-defying toss upward, propelled by the extended leg, before he dipped her into a fish dive and lifted her back up.
It was not bad. It was not, however, performance-ready. Lana knew it; they all knew it. From the corner of her eye she saw the dancers in the second cast exchanging private looks, head shakes.
“Well, Alice?” Denis asked. Lana bent over, trying to catch her breath, hands on her thighs, face down. The corps members banded off to the side, murmuring to each other.
“It’s too rigid there in the middle, isn’t it? It’s like Lana isn’t trusting Javier.”
Denis issued a big, theatrical exhale. “Thank you, Alice! She won’t believe us. She thinks we’re picking on her.”
“Lana,” Alice said. “Here’s my take. It’s like you’re closing yourself off to Javier as you slide down. It’s not physical so much as mental, I think.”
Lana pondered this, sighed and nodded.
Alice turned to Javier. “And you’re intimidating her.”
Javier and Lana protested at the same time that he was not.
Alice shook her head. “I see what I see. Lana, try this.” She paused to do a few stretches, adjust the yoga outfit she was still wearing from her morning class. Afterward she held out a hand to Javier, a command, really, and Javier took it.
“You’re close, here, see?” She bourréed, positioned herself and executed a surprisingly sharp double pirouette. “Then the promenade. And the grand jeté lift.”
There was a ripple of laughter as Alice slapped down Javier’s attempt to lift her fully overhead, with a quip that she wouldn’t subject him to the torture of her extra thirty pounds over Lana.
“Now, when he brings you down,” Alice called out, “cling to him. Not with your arms or legs, but your body. Like your torso is Velcro’d to him. It’s like being in love. The thought of separating, even for a minute, is enough for this, this thing inside you to seize up. So, you see, it’s something in your core that tries to stay. It’s not the arms at all.”
Alice demonstrated the slow slide down Javier’s chest one more time, this time with the music, dancing it full out.
It was uncanny to watch. Lana could feel the intensity in the air, the magic between Javier and Alice. For a moment, watching them, she could almost believe the two of them were in love. There was something so sweet and yet desperate about the way Alice adhered to him. Javier hooked her leg and raised it high; Alice could still manage a good extension, Lana noted. She’d lost none of her ballet dancer’s grace. He dipped her, held her close, tenderly, before releasing the leg and his grip around her waist. It was beautiful to watch. It made Lana want to cry.
The spell broke a moment later when the music ended and Alice became just Alice again, readjusting her top, slapping Javier on the shoulder, telling him he was a sport, working with an old mare like her. She stepped back from the center. Denis cued the accompanist and Lana and Javier took the combination again.
This time it was so much better, so smooth, so right, that afterward everyone burst into applause. Denis looked almost tearful in relief, and even Javier was smiling as he told Lana the change was significant, that the weight redistribution had made everything fall into place.
They ran the adagio and coda movements straight through, acclimating to the presence of both corps dancers and soloists in the same performing space. The second cast, set up behind them, took their turn with the corps dancers as well. Denis looked up at the clock fi
nally and exclaimed that their time was up and wonderful rehearsal, everyone.
As the women eased off their pointe shoes, Alice and Delores started joking around with Denis about a long-ago bet they’d had, that Alice had lost and never made good on. Alice insisted the time had come to pay up and that they should go out for a beer. Right then. The chance might not come around again.
“Denis, call Ben,” Alice said. “Tell him he has to join us too.”
Denis whipped out his phone, punching in numbers. A moment later he was grinning, telling Ben there was trouble in the rehearsal room, some riffraff that needed to be dealt with. He listened, chuckling at Ben’s reply.
“The culprit’s name is Alice Willoughby,” he continued. “Yes, you are so right. Too long, n’est-ce pas? We are all going over to Murphy’s. I believe your presence is now mandatory.” More laughter, and he pocketed his phone a moment later, smiling.
“Allons-y, tous,” he said. “Let’s go drink.”
Denis insisted Javier join them, and Alice turned to Lana.
“You’re game, too, right?”
Lana shook her head. Gil was back; Gil who’d explained his way out of the “misunderstanding” of who’d invited whom to L.A., and now wanted to take Lana someplace special. She was supposed to meet him in twenty minutes.
Alice caught her eye. “Now, Lana,” she said in a mock-scolding voice, “what could possibly be more important than us?” She held her arms out wide, as if encompassing the whole room, the whole of the WCBT. She was smiling but Lana saw the warning note in her eyes. She understood this was not an invitation Alice was offering her so much as an assignment, to get to know these long-established dance people better.
“We won’t take no for an answer,” Alice said.
She meant it.
“Maybe I can make a phone call,” Lana said. “Delay my plans for an hour.”
“I think that would be a splendid idea,” Alice said. “Make it two hours.”
The teacher had spoken.
The student complied.
Chapter 15 – The Article
Off Balance (Ballet Theatre Chronicles Book 1) Page 19
