by Lola Keeley
“Wow.” Anna swallows her food, tasteless in her mouth now. “I don’t expect you to care about it as much as I do, Jess. But this is my dream, and it’s finally coming true. Here you are, telling me I’m just some pawn in a game. Like I don’t deserve any better.”
“I’m trying to protect you!” Jess hisses, glancing at the people who’ve started looking their way. “You work so hard and you’re so talented, Anna. Of course you deserve good things.”
“But I shouldn’t get my hopes up?” Anna wants to argue her corner, but it’s not like Victoria has given her much to go on. “I mean, I was happy enough just to be in the company. Anything else is just some crazy bonus, right?”
“Just wait and see,” Jess cautions.
“Right.” Anna sighs. “That shrimp looks really good.”
“You’ll have to give up some of your horde there, keeper of the dumplings. Sharing means it goes both ways. Even if you are somehow a principal.”
“If I am, I want my own bathroom.” Anna sniffs. “When is my bed coming anyway?”
“Whenever you find one on Craigslist?” Jess pulls a face at her lack of organization. “Hey, I am offering up my living room to give you somewhere to live. I can’t be on top of it all.”
“I’ll find something. Thanks, Jess. I really hope I’m not cramping your style too much.”
“Just don’t come in my room without knocking and we should be fine. Now eat up. I have a seven-thirty curtain and I need to stretch this off.”
“If you quit stealing my food, I can stop defending it long enough to chew.” Anna gets in a cheap shot of her own, but Jess shrugs it off.
CHAPTER 4
Eight was a very bad idea.
Victoria pushes her sunglasses higher on her nose and unfolds herself out of the open car door. She winces as her three-inch heel makes contact with the sidewalk, the power move seeming ridiculous now as she approaches the deserted building.
This would have been a lot easier without the hangover currently reenacting scenes from Stomp somewhere behind her temporal lobe, but she’s yet to conjure up the ability to sleep without a few stiff drinks before bed.
Besides. The girl might not even show.
There’s something in Victoria sure that she will, though, even from such a brief introduction. She’s always been a quick judge of character, and an even quicker a judge of talent.
Sure enough, when she approaches the stage door there’s a blond-ponytailed pile of comfortable clothing on the stone steps, clutching a Starbucks to-go cup like her life depends on it. Victoria’s tempted to mug her for it.
“You can tell time,” Victoria barks at her, and the pile of clothing elongates with a dancer’s expected grace, revealing long, strong legs and impressive arms. “That’s not a terrible start.”
“I was just going in,” Anna says. “Ethan said fifteen minutes to warm up, and it’s only 7:40, so—”
Victoria cuts off the hangover-irritating ramble. “Not in trouble. I have to unlock the door before you can do anything. Breathe, for God’s sake. Sort out your practice clothes and meet me in the studio. Start warming up while you wait.”
She leaves the girl stuttering in her wake and makes the short journey up to her office. The minute the door is closed, Victoria sinks into her chair and pulls off the heels, sending them rattling toward the wall, one after the other. She retrieves a pair of flats from her closet in the corner and breathes a sigh of relief when walking is a little easier. The damn cane is illuminated by the weak morning sunlight, practically calling to her. Victoria is tempted. She can already feel the twinges on either side of her knee.
No. Not today. First impressions are everything, and this Anna might be a breath of fresh air, but that doesn’t mean she gets to see even a second of weakness.
A sleepy intern appears with Victoria’s morning coffee and a bottle of water that she takes without a snippy comment for once. She makes her way through the complex to de Valois, named as a nod to the founder of the school where Victoria completed most of her training. She’s pleased to see Anna is already working steadily at the barre. From the glass panel in the door, Victoria watches with rapt attention as the clean lines develop with each repetition, joints and muscles working in a fluid rhythm that pleases her. Yesterday’s decision begins to feel validated by this alone.
It’s not easy to sneak up on someone alone in a studio full of mirrors with no music playing, but Victoria manages to startle Anna all the same. It’s a good sign for the girl’s focus.
Retreating to the piano stool, Victoria flips through the folder she’d wedged under her arm and sips at the coffee. After a moment of expectant silence, Anna goes back to her warm-up. When sufficiently heated, the pale gray hoodie hits the floor and the intensity of the movement starts to build.
“Most days,” Victoria begins to speak, and Anna’s motion barely stutters, “you’ll do your usual warm-up class before coming to me, depending on your personal schedule. Check for changes daily.”
Anna nods vigorously, apparently desperate to get something right. That eagerness will have to be worked out of her a little.
“The first week is a lie. Don’t get fooled into thinking it’s anything like this easy. You’ll still be in the corps for La Bayadère, since you need the practice. I’ll spare you Coppélia, though it’s not a favor, simply a matter of time.”
“Okay?” Anna hasn’t stopped, but now she’s turned into a new exercise, watching Victoria in the mirrors. “Are these clothes…?”
The tights are light, the leotard a faded navy. Kelly will come through with something more suitable, but the legwarmers are a little garish. In her flat shoes, Anna isn’t quite as commanding as she could be.
“Fine, fine.” Victoria sighs. “Work on keeping your hair fully out of your face. No partner wants to get whipped in the eyes with sweaty strands that got loose.”
“Partner,” Anna repeats. “Right.” She pauses to reknot her hair in a tighter bun on top of her head. The fingers move quickly enough, but she fumbles a little under Victoria’s close attention.
“Today I’m going to run you through everything and anything that comes to mind.” Victoria stands and moves closer, pleased when Anna only falters on one step.
Their eyes meet in the mirror, and Victoria supposes her own reflection doesn’t look too bad for this early and hungover. The Chanel sweater she picked out as a nod to autumn fits perfectly, and the cropped pants make her legs look as straight and whole as they ever did. “I need a feel for your technical ability and your fluency in terminology. Should I expect problems?”
“No.” Anna’s breathing just a little harder than before. Erratic drops of sweat appear along her hairline. “Has anyone ever told you that you kind of drown people in information?”
Victoria balks at the bluntness. Nobody’s spoken to her like that—outside of an argument—in years.
“Because I expect you to keep up,” she practically growls, and that briefest display of spunk retreats behind a sudden cloud. “Whoever taught you that routine has you doing everything in the wrong order.”
“I am?”
“Our classes will fix that,” Victoria barrels on. “Get your pointe shoes on, we have work to do.”
Anna scrambles for her bag and makes the change.
The shoes seem to be good quality stock shoes, though nothing like Victoria’s preferred Freed of London. Clearly, nobody has taken Anna to see the shoe room yet. Rick probably won’t have bothered to point out to her the few company perks, like the customized pairs Anna can now have made for her.
A moment later, Anna is up on her toes and taking the first few tentative steps. The boxes in her shoes don’t make much noise, so at least she smacked them or took a hammer to them appropriately in preparation.
“Well, let’s see your grand jeté,” Victoria demands, getting a disbelieving stare in response. “Before hell freezes over, preferably.”
“But…”
“But what
?” she snaps. Almost everyone fails this test.
“With all due respect, you just said my warm-up was crappy,” Anna talks down to the floor, cheeks flushing furiously. “And even if it wasn’t, I’m nowhere near warm enough for the big jumps yet.”
Victoria lets her twist in the wind. A whole minute elapses, and she never takes the glare from Anna’s bowed head.
“Well done,” Victoria says with the briefest of nods. “I can’t tell you how many experienced dancers would have carried on. While I want you to do everything I ask of you, and I expect you to push beyond any previous limits you may have, that can never come at the expense of doing something your body can’t handle. Are we clear?”
“Crystal clear.” Anna looks up again at last, her color calming and relief apparent on her face. “So what should I really start with, Ms. For…Victoria?” she corrects herself in time.
“Let’s see those tendus again.” Victoria directs her back toward the barre. “I want to find out where all your flaws are.”
“Well,” Victoria announces after a full hour has passed, grand jetés and all. “That wasn’t completely hopeless.”
“Thanks,” Anna gasps, bending double and clutching her hips. “I swear, I’ve kept fit all summer. That was just…”
“It was supposed to leave you like this.” Victoria crinkles her nose at the dishevelment. “The first few weeks in the corps will leave you wishing you were dead. Otherwise you’re not working hard enough.”
“Good note.” Anna sits heavily and grabs a bottle from her bag. “You know, it’s funny.”
“Funny?” Victoria repeats the word with appropriate disgust.
“Yesterday, when you called me into your office. I thought you were promoting me to principal. But I get it now.”
“You do?” Victoria takes a seat by the piano again.
“Because of my phone screwup, you just had to make sure I had what it takes. But don’t get me wrong, I am thrilled to be in the corps for La Bayadère.”
Victoria frowns at the slightly uncouth pronunciation.
“And if I can prove myself, I’ll gladly do Coppélia or anything else you want. Rick did tell us to expect two shows a night sometimes, and I’ll be ready.”
“You didn’t misunderstand,” Victoria corrects.
“No, my sister explained—she’s a stage manager on Broadway—that maybe you were talking about a solo or something. That would be amazing enough.”
“Do you think, Anya, that I offer private coaching to everyone? That I have the time or inclination to usher every corps dancer through their paces in person?”
“Well, I was kind of surprised,” Anna admits. “And it did sound like you meant it. Only this morning we’ve been talking about how inexperienced I am, so I figured I must have been wrong.”
“Your sister is not the director of this company,” Victoria snaps. “And the day we take advice from the performing monkeys down on Forty-Second is the day I quit this sorry business for good.”
“O…kay?”
“You’ll be my spring principal. If you’re being coy because of money or contracts or…something.” Victoria twists her fingers in disgust at the banal administration of it all. She is trying to be an artist here, for Christ’s sake. “Then I’m sure we can arrange something.”
“I get it. I’m sorry.” Anna holds her hands up in apology.
“Apologizing every five seconds is wearing, and not becoming in a principal,” Victoria warns.
“Wait, won’t the other principals hate me?” Anna asks, much too late.
It’s so comical, the widening of the eyes and the quivering lip, that Victoria almost laughs at the sight. She hasn’t seen this level of naiveté in years.
“Oh, not just the principals. The rest of the corps and all the soloists you’re leapfrogging too.”
“People will hate me.” Anna looks sick. “That’s not…”
“Are you backing out? Because I already deposed my prima for you. Do you think I want to go crawling back?”
“You already told Delphine Wade?” Anna gasps. “Oh, this is so bad. I have to explain to everyone that—”
“No one cares. Least of all me. Learn to handle it, because it’s part of the job. Not one of these people would get out of the way for you. If you want to be everything I can make you, you won’t get out of the way for them. Understood?”
Anna considers for a long moment. “Yes. Yes, it is.”
“Let’s not turn this into an after-school special.” Victoria almost groans at the solemnity. “I’ll put the rest of your time with me on your calendar. Pay attention because it will change every day. Kelly has your number?”
“She does.”
“Then go. Inflict yourself on whatever’s next on your schedule.”
“I did okay?” Anna asks.
It would be so heartbreakingly easy to shoot her down. A pointed silence would be enough, Victoria knows. She’s the master of them. Something in her allows a terse nod, one she regrets the second Anna all but skips out of the room.
Too soft. How will she ever learn if Victoria lets her off so lightly from day one?
Kelly is the next interruption, arriving with shopping bags that are no doubt intended for Anna.
“I can take them to David’s class for her,” Kelly says.
“Let me,” Victoria commands. “Speaking of which, when Rick signs off next week, we’ll have to look at Anna’s contract status. And the insurance.”
“That’s, wow…okay. She’s good, Victoria. I saw that much. Is this really the play you want to make?”
Victoria, after considering for just a moment, pushes off her stool and walks down the corridor to disrupt David in Studio C. He doesn’t like interruptions one bit, running his classes like a military boot camp. Victoria can respect that, but David, in turn, respects her too much not to let her get away with the occasional moment of bad behavior. He’s always had a soft spot for a diva. That’s why she picked him as her second-in-command.
The door is ajar, probably wise given the terrible ventilation in C and the warmth of early fall already building for the day. Victoria pushes the door enough to slip through, dragging the bags behind her. It’s Gabriel who notices her first, and Delphine isn’t far behind. In fact, Anna, deep in conversation with that cardigan boy at the back of the room, is among the very last to notice Victoria’s presence in the room.
“Victoria!” David strides across it to greet her, kissing each cheek with customary smoothness. “To what do we owe the honor? You have these lazy kids later, don’t you?”
“Mmm, I suppose I do.” Victoria can hear the whispers, low enough to not miss a word she says. “I have a little something for Anya. Can I borrow her a moment?”
“Anya?” David looks around until Anna reacts, stepping forward like she’s facing the firing squad. “Oh, is that the new girl’s name? Let’s move, then. Nobody keeps Victoria waiting.”
Anna shuffles forward, looking at David as though he can somehow save her from this.
“Kelly was going to bring these, but I thought I’d drop them off myself,” Victoria explains, thrusting the bundle of bags toward Anna. “Can’t have my newest principal underdressed. It’s mostly practice clothes, tights, leotards. But, knowing Kelly, there’ll be a few fun things in there too.”
“New principal?” David mutters.
“Anyway, I’ll see you later,” Victoria says, letting the wave of murmurs carry her from the room like an outgoing tide. She hasn’t lost her flair for captivating the room.
In the meantime, Anna might be starting to discover just what it’s like to be hated. And that, as much as anything else Victoria can teach her, is going to make her exceptional.
CHAPTER 5
Anna takes her time packing up after class.
She’s not exactly in a hurry to join the rest of the female company members in the changing room, not when they’ve done nothing but stare daggers at her every time they’ve made eye contact.
Ethan, to his credit, lingers over throwing his sweats and hoodie back on, waiting until the room is clear to whistle long and low over her haul. “Got yourself a sugar mama already?”
“No,” Anna snaps back at him.
He shrugs, not committing further. He does, however, root around in her new bag nearest to him. “Carolina Herrera.” He pulls out something black and gauzy. “This is McQueen, I’m pretty sure.”
“I thought they were just leotards,” Anna grumbles, rooting through the bags herself. “See? Just regular Elevé ones. But damn, there’s a lot of them.”
“Did I overhear right? What Victoria said about principal?” Ethan gathers some of the bags and hands them over. “‘Cause I mean, you sort of made out like you’re this newbie from the sticks, and I’ve been feeling sorry for you…”
“I am! She’s got some idea that I can do something in the spring, I guess? She doesn’t really give much in the way of detail.”
“Whoa.” Ethan stops her before they can finish walking out of the studio. “Anna, that’s a freaking huge deal. Congratulations.”
“You don’t hate me?”
“Oh, I totally hate you. But I’ll get over it. Just like most other people will, when you get to know them. You okay hitting the lockers by yourself?”
“I’ll be fine,” Anna says, marching off down the corridor. “I have the first studio rehearsal for Bayadére after lunch, so it’s not like I have a choice.”
“See you there!” Ethan calls after her.
Anna barrels on, trying not to wince at how exhausted she already feels.
Her delaying tactics at least have been mostly successful. When Anna enters the changing room she’s relieved to see the rest of the company has filed out again, off to smoke or make calls, maybe gulp down an espresso and call it lunch.
She wrestles with the oversized bags from designer stores, shoving them into her locker to take home later. That’s when she hears another locker slam.
Normally Anna knows better than to turn around and involve herself with someone else’s bad day. Maybe she’s just too desperate to get someone in this strange place to like her.
