by Lola Keeley
Oh God. Of all the idiotic things to do, but…Victoria is hugging back. Like “she forgot her parachute but they both jumped out of a plane” levels of hugging and holding on.
It’s unexpected that Victoria would be the one to hug tighter, but Anna revels in the squeezed closeness of their bodies. This is the kind of comfort she’s been silently crying out for, and now she’s getting it from the unlikeliest source.
They’re interrupted by Irina and Kim on their way back to the physical therapy suite in tandem. Victoria springs back as though caught kicking puppies, shamefaced for a split second until the usual superior expression slips back into place.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Anna promises, slinging her bag over her shoulder. Her toes sting in an agonizing little cacophony of aches and pains, and she’s glad for Victoria’s offer of the car. Every part of her wants to look back, especially when Kim keeps walking and Irina stops to talk with Victoria, but a moment later the doors are sliding shut.
“I’m feeling homesick,” Irina says. “What next? A push down the stairs? Or more classic, perhaps? The fly crew just forgot to tie that rope, or the batten came loose… Squash the poor little ballerina for a moment?”
“You’re being melodramatic.” Victoria tries to wave off her concern “This isn’t the Bolshoi, Irina. These girls don’t take it that seriously.”
“Not like you and me.” Irina winces as she pulls away from the wall she’s leaning on. She nods back to the now-closed elevator and the departed Anna. “That’s why you’d have been a hit in Paris, Vicki. The obsessives make the mark. Now you’re chasing after the boo-boos of the new kid? You didn’t put your coffee down when Morgan dislocated her hip, and that was some screaming.”
“She’s back dancing.”
“Barely. And we both know that once it goes…it goes again. Until it doesn’t set back quite right, and then it’s off to unemployment.”
“What’s happening with you and Anna anyway?” Victoria asks, looking around for eavesdroppers. “You’re supposed to be befriending her, but I hear things—”
“I can’t have a little friend of my own?” Irina says with a sneer. “Jess is none of your business, and none of Anna’s, either. You’re not in charge of me outside of these walls, and barely within them.”
“Defensive?” Victoria smirks. “Oh Irina, you’ve got it bad. When you don’t care, you brag about your little conquests as though they’re part of your treatment. You must like this other Gale.”
“Don’t speak of me liking a Gale after I catch you holding one in your arms,” Irina warns her. “I hear things too. Like why brokenhearted girls might be lashing out at your new pet of the month.”
“You’ve got proof it was her?”
“I wouldn’t tell you if I did.” Irina leans in, and Victoria sees the dilation in her pupils. Overmedicated again. High, to be accurate. “Snitches get stitches, isn’t that your lovely phrase for it? Not that I’m the only one who might know.”
“I’m going to enjoy firing her.” Victoria smooths out her black pants and shirt, crumpled from all the kneeling and hugging. Her neck feels bare without its scarf, and she scratches absently at the tendon on the left side. “It would save me a lot of maneuvering with Rick if I had proof. Or a witness.”
“You won’t get either. Unless you dangle a promotion that one of the kids jumps for.”
“Go see Kim.” Victoria feels the fire roaring in her veins again. Teresa won’t have gone home with any kind of ailment. She’ll be somewhere nearby to bask in her seeming victory. “Clearly you were on your way down before you stopped to mess with me.”
Irina gives one of her joking salutes, but she lets it fall quickly, face suddenly serious again as Victoria walks away. “Hey, she’s okay? Anna?” she calls after Victoria.
“She will be.”
“Jess, it’s not that bad.” Anna eases herself onto the sofa, kicking her taped-up feet on top of the pillow that’s been with her since she first moved in with Jess and Marcia. She brought it to the sleepover the night her parents died, and it’s been with her ever since. “I’m sure you get the same crap with all your divas.”
Jess pulls a beer from the fridge, bringing one for Anna, who ignores it when she puts it on the table. “Bitching is one thing. Sabotage is completely different. Now, I know you think it’s this Teresa girl, but sometimes the people who make their beef obvious aren’t the problem.”
“Oh, you think Delphine Wade made peace with me just so she could crack a martini glass or two into some satin? I’m not that important.”
“Don’t rule anything out. Did Victoria call the cops?”
“No, it’ll be handled internally. I’m not rocking the boat, not this soon.” Anna changes her mind and twists the top off the beer. Time to change the subject. “How’s it all going…with Irina?”
Jess takes her time about her next mouthful of beer. She doesn’t usually drink before a show. There’s only an hour before she’ll have to be back at the theater and yelling at the crew.
“Good, Anna. Like…way better than I expected. She has some stuff she’s working on. You know this is her last season, but she wants to try for one more. We talk about stuff that I don’t get to talk about, with anyone. And my Russian is rusty, but I get to use it with her.”
“You can talk to me about anything. Well, not in Russian.”
“No, I mean…she doesn’t know me already. She just wants to find out, you know? And she is so gorgeous.”
“And yet she seems to like a total dork who did her junior year abroad to study Chekov.”
“Hey! Not that weird in a theater degree.”
“It’s a little weird,” Anna argues. “And there’s nothing to worry about? You know how some dancers, with the pain and all—”
“Totally under control.” Jess shuts it down fast, draining the rest of her beer. “You know, if you’re really okay, I need to get my ass into work early today. Anything else I can get you?”
Anna raises her beer to show she’s okay, reaching for her laptop to cue up something to watch. “Thanks for checking on me. You’re not bad, as big sisters go.”
“Wow, such praise. You’ll call me when Victoria asks you to help hide the bodies, right? I know this guy with a van.”
“I’m very pleased everyone wants to go avenge my injured feet,” Anna says with fake solemnity. “I’m sure she’s being very professional about it.”
“Nowhere?” Victoria hisses.
Kelly puts the clipboard to her head in exasperation.
“She’s not anywhere in the building. And we’ve tried calling her at home. Even sent an intern over with some migraine medication as a courtesy. No answer.”
“This is not acceptable. Surely the fact that she’s going into hiding proves—”
“There’s always the cops. Behavior like this is a crime, Victoria, and it could escalate. Do you want to explain to Rick why we’re suddenly uninsurable?”
“And the police crawling over the building for a catfight won’t make an even worse impression? Be serious, Kelly. Something about you should be.” She gestures to Kelly’s brightly colored dress.
“My money’s on Teresa comes in tomorrow like nothing happened.” Kelly straightens up and adjusts her cardigan over the dress. “You have the rest of the night to come up with a legal, professional solution.”
“Do you need me to help?”
“You’ve been quite unhelpful enough for one day,” Victoria says with a sigh.
“You know I live for your performance reviews.” Kelly returns to her desk, flipping through stacks of paper for whatever is next on her never-ending list.
The evening is ticking by, and Victoria loses herself in paperwork before the restlessness of a grudge unsettled has her in motion again. After grabbing her purse and jacket, she hesitates over the cane. It has been a particularly long day, and her knee hasn’t forgiven her for all the fussing over Anna.
As her driver approaches Victoria�
�s building, he makes the signal to pull up in front while they’re sitting in slow traffic. “Actually.” She taps him on the shoulder. “Can you leave me across the street?”
She’s going to check on Anna. Isn’t that what any responsible boss would do?
CHAPTER 19
Anna seems genuinely stunned as she opens the door, opening and closing her mouth while the words refuse to come. Taking pity on both of them, Victoria motions to be let in.
As Anna stands aside, Victoria takes in the view of what was once briefly her home. Personal touches everywhere already. Tendrils of kindness and a fondness for twee decorating items are evident on every wall and surface, down to the warm blankets that drape the sofas.
“How are they healing?” Victoria asks. She should have brought something—a bottle of wine perhaps. Except that would confuse a perfectly valid check on an injured employee with something social.
“Fine, I guess.” Anna hobbles a little on her way back to the sofa.
She moves the blanket and pillow she’s clearly been using for comfort, and Victoria sits on the space she freed, propping her cane on the arm of the couch. Anna looks unsure for a moment, before sitting next to Victoria.
“You haven’t changed the dressings yet,” Victoria points out with a tut of displeasure. Didn’t she give the lecture about infection? She must have saved too much of her temper for that idiot boy. “How’s the arm?”
“My arm?”
“From Prince Smarmy trying to yank you off the floor.”
“Fine,” Anna says. “One good thing about these shoulders is that I’m practically a guy on upper-body stuff. Did you—”
“Nothing yet.” Victoria turns away so Anna won’t see the disappointment on her face. “But tomorrow is another day. I’ve been told my temper is like wine, all the more potent for having some time to breathe first.”
“I can believe it. Can I get you a drink? And then I’ll change the tape and gauze,” she adds when Victoria attempts to interrupt. “I’m lucky—a few Band-Aids will probably do it.”
“Do you have vodka?”
“For my toes? I was going to just use some antiseptic.”
“To drink, Anna.”
She nods in understanding and hobbles into the open-plan kitchen to retrieve two glasses.
Expecting a barely touched bottle to be unearthed, Victoria’s a little impressed when a half-full one is yanked out of the freezer. “Should I be asking you for ID before you pour that?”
“I’m not that young,” Anna calls back. “And you can talk. You probably still get carded at bars.”
“Only from men trying to hit on me. I’m pushing forty. But that was a decent attempt at kissing ass.”
“It wasn’t. You really don’t look it.” Anna’s half-smile over her shoulder is a little daring, so she can’t be feeling entirely sorry for herself. “Ice? It’s pretty cold already.”
“Contrary to popular opinion, that’s not actually what I’m made of. Neat is fine.”
Anna passes her the drink, settles back on the sofa, sitting stiffly to make sure only her heels make contact with the floor.
Victoria sits primly, knees pressed together, nursing the tumbler on her lap. She takes a testing sip, and the warmth in her throat is welcome.
“What you said, earlier,” Victoria begins, and then stops. She sees the tightrope stretch out in front of her, knowing what she’s exposing herself to by starting this line of discussion. “That feeling might not go away for a while. That you could have lost everything, I mean.”
Anna’s brow is furrowed, but it relaxes as she apparently begins to comprehend.
“That it was the moment your career ended,” Victoria finishes.
“But it didn’t.”
“No,” Victoria says. “It didn’t, this time. I’m not trying to scare you.”
“You usually are.”
“Being okay helps chase the feeling away, but just don’t expect it to be instant. That’s all I wanted to say.”
“What about when you’re not okay?” Anna takes a sip, as though rewarding herself for being brave enough to ask. “What about when it really is over in that moment? I mean, I guess you don’t know until afterward; when you see the doctor, when they’ve tried everything.”
Victoria shakes her head. “You know. Right then and there.” She taps short nails on the side of the glass. “It’s different.”
“My teachers always told me to prepare for it. Once they realized I wanted to go pro, anyway. Even Marcia—my foster mother—did the math for me one time, when I had to choose between college or training.”
“The math?”
“I can’t explain it as well as she did, but… The more years you dance, every year that passes you’re much closer to the end of it all, even without the freak injuries or accidents. That, at best, with luck and conditioning and good genes, no ballet dancer gets further than about fifty percent of their life before they have to give up. That’s locked in from the start.”
“Our careers aren’t just short.” Victoria drains her drink, wishing Anna had brought the bottle. “They’re brutal too. There’s no compassion in how it ends. If you’re lucky, like that handful, you’ll quit while still dancing your best. Or in that first slight decline, before it’s too late. That’s the best any of us can hope for.”
“That’s not what you got.” Anna sets her glass aside and reaches carefully to put Victoria’s beside hers on the table. “You should have had another ten years, maybe more.”
“And end up like Irina?”
“She’s happy.” Anna can’t help defending her, loyal to a fault. “Or happier than she would be without it.”
“That really depends on how you define happy.” Victoria shouldn’t be here. Anna’s seen the opening now and is going to keep pressing. And there’s a genuine concern Victoria won’t hold out against those startling blue eyes, clear and filled with compassion. She stands, and the pain is down to a dull ache once more. “Don’t forget to do those dressings.”
“Wait! Um, please?”
“I have things to do.” Victoria pulls back from the hand Anna extends, allowing it to brush the cuff of Anna’s jacket and no more. “I’ll see you tomorrow. We’ll keep you off your toes for a day or two, but there’s plenty of work we can do.”
“Victoria—”
“Good night. I’ll see myself out.” Victoria moves quicker than she expected, buoyed by the painkillers and the vodka. She’s outside before Anna can catch up to her.
“Nope,” David says the minute he sees Anna enter warm-up. “You’re on the injured list, Gale.”
“Only for pointe work,” she argues, grasping the strap of her bag. “I’m not going to just sit on my butt all day.”
“Round here we call it an ass,” Delphine mocks gently, patting Anna on exactly that as she strides past. “How are those feet, newbie?”
“Well, they’re still in working order,” Anna says. “I’ll be careful, I promise,” she adds for David’s benefit. “I won’t even put my pointe shoes on, but I’ll keep up with the class.”
“I suppose it stops you adding a muscle twang to the list.” David sighs. “But if I get grief for this from Victoria…”
“You won’t.”
Anna scurries to take her regular spot next to Ethan. He’s smiling over at Gabriel but snaps back to pay attention when he sees her.
“You okay?”
“Not you too,” she groans. “What’s the rumor mill saying?”
“That you lost three toes.” Ethan grins wide, enjoying the drama. “That the blood sprayed up the entire eight-foot mirror. That you collapsed on top of Victoria, pinning her to the ground.”
“I did not!” Anna protests, loud enough to draw attention from half the room. She gives a nervous wave until they all look away again, before turning back to Ethan with a hiss. “Who told you that last one?”
“Actually, I made that one up. Did you really get in a fight with Mike?”
“He got in one with Victoria.”
“And now he’s toast.” Ethan begins his stretches, and Anna follows suit. “It’s never dull around you, I’ll give you that.”
“Sometimes I really wish it was.”
A stack of tedious paperwork keeps Victoria behind her desk, but it means she’s exactly where she wants to be when Teresa makes her move.
“Knock, knock?” she says, although the door is wide open. It’s one of Teresa’s more irritating attributes—her need to always play for cute when it doesn’t suit her.
“Oh, there you are.” Victoria puts her phone down on the desk. “You know, I felt bad about the other day. Did you get the painkillers and water I sent over last night?”
“I…I crashed with a friend.” Clearly Teresa isn’t expecting to be accepted back into the fold that easily. Whatever little performance she’s been working on won’t be necessary. “My place is all the way in—”
“Brooklyn,” Victoria finishes, her smile fake and tight. “I remember.”
It’s enough for Teresa to blossom under the attention.
“What’s all this I hear about someone blowing out yesterday? I miss all the good drama.”
“Well.” Victoria gestures with a tip of her head, as if Teresa should come closer and hear the real story. “You know Mike, don’t you?”
Teresa doesn’t commit to more than a nod. “He hits on everyone, yeah.”
“Well, apparently he’s quite the prankster. Thought he’d welcome the new girl to the company with a bit of broken glass.”
“He…he did what?”
“Oh, I know it was him.” Victoria sighs like she should have seen it coming. “Although honestly? She won’t be out for long, but I think he did me a favor.”
“A favor?” Teresa grips the edge of Victoria’s desk.
