The Music and the Mirror

by Lola Keeley

“You think he’d call on Liza?” David folds his arms across his chest. “That would be low, even for Rick.”

  “She’s taken everything else I want,” Victoria reminds him, only to be startled by the sudden reappearance of Anna in the studio doorway, with a brown bag of something clutched in her hand. “Don’t just stand there, Anya.”

  “I can wait if you’re in a meeting.”

  Victoria jerks her head to indicate the girl should come in.

  “I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I asked the cafeteria guy and he said coffee,” Anna continues, removing a tray with two steaming to-go cups from inside the crumpled paper. “I hope that’s right.” She hands one over to Victoria.

  David gives the girl one of his trademark stares, clearly fascinated.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Jackson,” Anna plows on, fussing with the plastic top on her coffee cup. “I didn’t know you’d be here. But you can have my latte if you like? I haven’t touched it yet, I swear. Pumpkin spice?”

  “That won’t be necessary.” A smile twitches at David’s lips for just a second. He reaches in his pocket and pulls out a folded wooden fan, handing that to Anna instead.

  When he places it in her upturned palm, she almost drops it.

  “Victoria’s going to show you the fan work at some point today, and I think you deserve a head start. Don’t let her work you too hard, Ms. Gale.”

  Victoria takes a sip of her latte. It’s her exact order, down to the extra shot and soy. Anna must have sought out the building’s one competent barista.

  “Well?” Victoria demands as Anna looks on expectantly.

  David departs with a wave over his shoulder, and Anna looks down at the fan she’s clutching.

  “I suggest you finish your drink before we get that fan involved.”

  “Of course,” Anna slurps a mouthful from her cup, the bright smile restored by sugar and caffeine. “Almost done.”

  “That…” Anna pants. “That was it this time. Right?”

  “Your arms are a mess.” Victoria enjoys how that last hopeful smile falls. “I told you to move with Spanish flair. Instead you’re giving me the chicken dance.”

  “My hands are on my hips,” Anna protests, taking up the stance again, back ramrod straight at least. “Where else can my arms go? They’re still connected to my shoulders.” She hesitates, as though Victoria might suggest Anna dislocate them next. It wouldn’t be Victoria’s most unreasonable demand of a dancer.

  “Perhaps if you stopped grabbing on to your hips like they’re the last chopper out of Saigon…” Victoria sighs when Anna’s change in grip is barely perceptible.

  Catching sight of the rack of costumes in the corner, Victoria seizes on her solution. She strides across and rifles through the rustling fabrics until she finds a suitable handful of black tulle. Crossing the room to where Anna is choking down more water, Victoria tosses the tutu at the girl’s head.

  Anna looks up and catches it in the nick of time.

  “Well, put it on already.”

  Anna is on her feet in an instant, yanking the material up over her knees and hips. Only when it’s in place does she run her fingers reverently over the satin trim.

  “Now place your palms flat—lightly—on top of the tutu. Classical form, Anya. Wrists down, not jutting out like you’re hailing a cab.”

  “But—”

  “No,” Victoria says with a huff, because they’re so close to something that even Rick can’t pick apart with his mansplaining. Without thinking, she steps in and wraps her fingers around both wrists, pushing them into position with no small amount of force. “Here.”

  The girl goes rigid under her touch. Victoria can almost feel Anna vibrating with new tension. When she’s sure the position will hold, Victoria steps back with a reluctance she didn’t expect. She touches her dancers daily, wrenching legs higher and arms lower, aligning hips and tilting chins. This is no different.

  “Better,” Victoria says.

  Anna sucks in a relieved breath.

  “Now, once more without a mistake, and we’ll get that boy up here to start wooing you. Don’t let all of this fall out of your head to make room for Juliet.”

  “Do you think we’ll be ready for Saturday?”

  “You say that like you have a choice.” Victoria pauses, hands on her own hips now, and stares Anna down. “Again!”

  “Is she gone?” Ethan whispers from where he’s facedown on the studio floor, two long hours later.

  “Yeah.” Anna grunts, letting her arms take the strain as they’re draped across the barre, holding her up. “You were so good!”

  “Me?” Ethan pushes himself up to sitting. “She yelled at me, start to finish. You, on the other hand… You’ve been holding out on me.”

  “I’m nothing special.”

  “I’ve danced with a lot of girls. You’re the first one that made it genuinely effortless to lift. Seriously, I feel like some kind of circus strongman over here.”

  “You smell like one too,” Anna teases. “Or at least like you’ve been hanging out with circus animals. I don’t think I’m much better. Tell me there are showers somewhere nearby?”

  “Changing room is nearest. You ready for Gabriel and Delphine tomorrow? That’s before I even get into the whole Irina deal. I’m not too proud to admit that lady terrifies me.”

  “I don’t have a choice,” Anna replies, and it’s not as mournful as it might be. Something in the way Victoria’s never happy and never quite lets up makes Anna feel like she can dance right through the floorboards if she has to. “If I’m going to do…all that stuff, I have to be perfect.”

  “Well, you’re already my favorite Juliet. Although I’m more of a Mercutio man myself.”

  “Of course you are. Let’s get out of here before she changes her mind and makes you pick me up again.”

  Victoria pauses just inside the studio door, surveying the condition of her dancers.

  Irina is tucked into a corner, legs extended and an ice pack on her ankle as she prepares a new pair of shoes with the usual brisk determination. She scores the sole and trims the leather with a box cutter, strokes firm and decisive. Now and then, the former prima glances toward the center of the room where Delphine and Gabriel are still stretching at the portable barre, their movements slower and deliberate now, more maintenance than working up a sweat.

  Which leaves Teresa hesitating at the piano, watching Ethan and Anna with a frown. Not that either of them is aware of being watched. The boy is sneaking glances at Gabriel, which Victoria can hardly blame him for. It would be like walking past Michelangelo’s David every day and not turning his head. It seems Mr. Bishop is aware of the attention, as he hikes his shirt for a moment, flapping the cotton to get some cool air against his rippling abs. That’s enough to make Ethan falter in the hamstring stretch he’s been pretending to do.

  The intrinsic drama of the familiar company members makes Victoria forget Anna for a moment, so it’s a jolt when Victoria’s gaze finally settles on her. Flushed in the cheeks, Anna is grinning to herself about something as she tightens the knot in her hair and pulls a pale peach cardigan on over cooling deltoids and biceps. Victoria frowns at how it matches the leg warmers today—too cutesy by far. The leotard and tights are a shade of brown Kelly would know better than to provide, so Anna is persisting with her own wardrobe.

  Victoria claps her hands, making everyone but Irina jump.

  “Teresa, you’ll stay for this,” Victoria says. “There’s too much to get through, and I need a musician, not a jukebox.”

  “I already cleared my day,” Teresa says with a happy sigh, throwing herself back down on the piano stool and leafing through her folder. “Anything you need, Victoria.”

  The ass-kissing is barely worth an eye roll by now, but Victoria musters a valiant effort all the same.

  Anna has snapped to attention, beaming at Victoria like she’s glad to see her. It’s surely a sign that she wasn’t worked hard enough yesterday.

&nbs
p; “Irina, you’ll start us off.” Victoria gestures to the center of the room for Irina to take position.

  Gabriel rolls the barre away. He and Delphine take up spots by Ethan and Anna to watch.

  “Delphine, Gabriel, I’m assuming I don’t have to reinvent the wheel here?”

  They nod in unison, confident in their own prowess. Victoria can take at least some of the credit for that.

  “Then Anya. Solo first, then we’ll take another pass at the kids from Verona. You’ll try very hard not to ruin my entire season. Won’t you?”

  Every head in the room turns to Anna. This time she doesn’t wilt. She looks like she might, her gaze darting toward her feet, but she holds her head up and squares her shoulders. With a subtle splash of showmanship Victoria wasn’t expecting, Anna places her hands perfectly as they rehearsed yesterday, her wrists positioned as though Victoria’s hands were still holding them in place.

  “Yes, Victoria,” she answers, solemn in her sincerity.

  “Fine.” Victoria dismisses the earnestness. “Irina, I don’t recall the Bluebird taking place horizontal on the floor. It might be Sleeping Beauty, but Florine is awake at least.”

  The Russian curse that comes Victoria’s way is as familiar as it is impenetrable.

  “You really want to throw me in Rick’s face first?” Irina demands, standing straight and still in closed fourth.

  “All the better to forget how you piss him off by the end. Investors expect my biggest names, darling. They don’t care what an ass Rick was to you when you first took over from me. Whenever you remember how to hit the keys and make noise, Teresa…”

  The twittering, trilled notes begin, and Irina moves as though compelled by some unseen magnet. Her timing has always been uncanny, and she hums the notes under her breath, hiding the startling soprano only a select few ever get to hear. Not many know that before the Bolshoi pulled Irina into their ranks, Mariinsky courted her for both ballet and opera alike. Victoria can’t help wondering what it might have been like to have the choice, to have a path available without the pain Irina has to shoulder now.

  Delphine and Gabriel pay polite attention, but Anna and Ethan are rapt as Irina moves her arms with trademark grace and rattles through the piqués on the downbeat, turning what could be the steps of a flamingo into art with scarcely any effort. The échappés and passés are as effortless as breathing, and Victoria remembers why she could almost have danced this one in her sleep.

  “Less fluttering!” Victoria snaps as Irina comes out of the pirouette with her hand motions loose. “You’re in love with the bird, but still human.”

  “Yes, tell me the story some more,” Irina says with a snort as she comes to the end. “You’re always trying to find yourselves in the narrative. The dance tells the story for you, if you let it.”

  Anna snorts, and Victoria shoots a glare over her shoulder to silence it.

  “From the beginning,” she announces, turning to warn Delphine and Gabriel. “Your Rubies had better not be this rusty.”

  It’s not as though Anna is stupid. She knows dancing third after Irina’s variation and then the well-oiled smoothness of Delphine and Gabriel is supposed to make her nervous. If she can’t handle it here, in a quiet studio with a handful of the people supposed to be her peers, then how can she cope with a paying audience? So it isn’t allowed to matter that she feels queasy, and the floor beneath her feet no longer feels quite solid enough. She is not messing this up on her first real shot.

  Ethan smiles at her, probably relieved his head isn’t on the chopping block yet. The notes for Kitri’s big moment start to play, and Anna gives one more nervous glance at her colleagues. Nobody is feigning disinterest this time; they’re watching her like hawks.

  But the music does everything Anna needs. Her cue comes toward her, a gust of wind at her back that pushes her into motion exactly as directed. Every lift onto her toes is aided by the lilt and sway of the melody, and if it’s just a fraction faster than it ought to be, well, Anna can handle that, too.

  She steps, she spins, she defies gravity at certain moments. It’s like one of those fairy tales she loved as a child—a lucky princess with enchanted feet, or magical slippers. There’s no need to count, or chant anything like a mantra. Victoria catches her eye as Anna moves toward her, and that might even be the hint of a smile on her face.

  That’s all it takes to make her stumble. The easiest of distractions, not fixing her spot on the wall before a fast turn, and Anna lands too heavy, missing a handful of steps while she rights herself. There’s no chance to pick back up. A clap of Victoria’s hands and the music comes to a halt.

  “Again!” she shouts across the studio at Anna. The music picks up from the start, and Anna takes up her position. She’ll get it this time. She just has to.

  “You.” Irina grabs Anna when they’re in the hallway, and for a moment Anna is absolutely terrified. Irina’s curly hair has come loose from her bun, and with the exertion and the glassy sheen to her eyes, it’s a lot like being grabbed by a madwoman.

  “Yeah?”

  “You can dance,” Irina proclaims. “Vicki, maybe she’s not so wrong about you.”

  “Thank you.” Anna heaves in a sigh of relief. “Oh God, really? I have no idea how I’m actually doing, but it has to be perfect tomorrow and—”

  “Apparently you can also talk.” Irina sniffs, then raises a hand to her nose where a trickle of blood is starting to escape.

  “Irina!” Victoria calls out as she approaches them. It’s enough to make Irina look trapped, and Anna reacts before she can think, pulling off her favorite cardigan and pressing it to Irina’s face as a makeshift compress.

  “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!” Anna wails, summoning every bit of amateur dramatics she’s ever participated in. “Irina, I just didn’t see you and I was swinging my arm like an idiot.”

  “Yes,” Irina agrees after a stunned moment. “Like an idiot.”

  “I hope it doesn’t bruise,” Anna pleads.

  Victoria doesn’t seem fooled, judging by the shrewd crinkling of her eyes, one that shifts when Irina turns to her with a questioning look.

  “I have some great concealer if it does. I can get you some…”

  “Have Kim ice it,” Victoria says. “You probably need a shot of something anyway. And Anya? Be more careful. This is a ballet company, not a playground.”

  “Of course.”

  They both stand still until Victoria is down the hall and out of sight, whatever she wanted from Irina apparently forgotten.

  “Thank you,” Irina grunts, pulling the soft wool away from her nose. “I suppose now I owe you one, hmm?”

  “No! That’s not why…I just thought you needed some first aid. No biggie.”

  “Sure,” Irina says with a slow grin. “Hidden depths, malenkaya. You want to come meet the famous Kim? You’ll be bringing an ache or a pain to her soon enough.”

  “I could meet Kim,” Anna agrees, nodding even though she wants nothing more than to crawl home and sleep. “What’s a…malinky?”

  “Little one,” Irina explains. “Not in height, perhaps. But in status. Here.” She hands back the cardigan, blood soaked into one sleeve. “Tomorrow, you’ll come to my place, pick out something to replace it.”

  “Oh, that’s not necessary. Victoria gave me a bunch of things and I—”

  “I’ll get you ready. You have to look the part too.”

  “Then…okay. If you think that will help?”

  “Yes,” Irina replies, leading the way down to the physical therapy department.

  CHAPTER 10

  She has a bag in her locker with the silver leotard and most expensive-looking matching tights from Kelly’s selection. There’s the basic hair-and-makeup stuff she’s been doing since she got past glitter spray, but Anna knows she doesn’t know how to do anything special with that by herself. Passable is the best she can hope for. Part of her still can’t believe Irina offered help so freely yesterday, even though
they’d also had a perfectly nice late afternoon talking about stretches and injury prevention with Kim in the PT suite.

  There’s a part of Anna that’s still waiting for the pranks and backstabbing. Every other company seems rife with it, and Metropolitan has its own urban legends of dropped scenery and accidental shoves down staircases, predating Victoria and Irina.

  Can Anna really trust that because a few people have been nice in her first week that they won’t turn on her? That every step she takes out in front, into the warm glow of attention, doesn’t make her a target for jealousy and bitterness?

  She rests her forehead against her locker door, skin damp and hair still wet from the brisk, cool shower. Something gnaws at her, something like a gut feeling telling her Victoria wouldn’t stand for that crap. Not just because Delphine threw around some grudging credit, but because Victoria demands the same excellence in behavior that she does at the barre. It’s not a feeling of safety, exactly, but Anna thinks it might be something like trust.

  “Malenkaya!” Irina strides into the room. “Unless you wish to dance in your towel, you should get moving.”

  “So we’re still on?” Anna grabs for her clean pair of jeans and a sweater to guard against the chill that’s creeping into the New York air today. “I just wanted to check—”

  “Still on,” Irina confirms. “You have a hat? You can dry your hair at my place.”

  “Sure.” Anna pulls her favorite beanie from her bag and throws it on the pile. “I brought some options for tonight too. I’ll be dressed in two minutes, I swear.”

  “Meet me in the lobby. It’s not so far.”

  Anna yanks clean underwear up her legs and hurries to put on the rest of her clothes.

  “You’re late,” Victoria says with a huff, opening the door to Kim and her giant bag of torture devices. “Does that mean I get out of the physically impossible parts this week?”

  “I’m late because you don’t want anyone knowing I come here on a Saturday,” Kim reminds her. “I had to hide out in that overpriced bakery while three people who know us both stopped hanging around in the street.”