The Music and the Mirror

by Lola Keeley

  “Where do we start?” Anna asks, which is not unreasonable.

  Victoria steps into her side, grabbing Anna’s right arm and pulling it around Victoria’s tiny waist. Any idea she might be fragile is dispelled by the flex of her deltoid against Anna’s side.

  “Just get me off my feet,” Victoria instructs, and Anna achieves exactly that with some careful leaning and the power in her arms. “Okay, that was supposed to be easy, so don’t get too smug.” Right as she sets Victoria down, Anna’s stomach rumbles.

  They both pretend it didn’t happen.

  “Now, a little more effort.” In two steps, Victoria is free of Anna’s loose grip and standing directly in front of her. “Gabriel told you where to hold, yes?”

  “Well, that depends…” Anna trails off and puts her hands just above Victoria’s hips, fingers splaying across the soft black fabric of her top. To everyone who calls her an ice queen, Anna would argue the warmth she feels radiating beneath her palms right now. “I can take it from here.”

  “Can you really?” Victoria asks, honey-sweet, but her voice notably lower. The air is charged and it would only take the tiniest spark, but Anna swallows, hard, and concentrates on lifting Victoria easily off the ground, holding her tightly at the waist.

  Unlike Morgan, Victoria doesn’t stay still in Anna’s measured grip. Instead, Victoria plants her hands on Anna’s shoulders and leverages herself a few inches higher. Then—oh God, Anna isn’t going to survive this—those legs are wrapped around Anna’s waist and Victoria’s weight shifts.

  For a moment Anna thinks she’s losing her balance, and she fixes her gaze past tidied blond curls to maintain an upright position. She signed up for lifts, not being Victoria Ford’s personal jungle gym. Not that she could stop now. Not for a million dollars. All too soon, Victoria shifts again and releases herself back to standing.

  “You really are pretty sturdy.” Victoria looks almost impressed for the first time in too long.

  It’s an instant hit for Anna’s newest guilty pleasure, and already she’s twitching to do something more, something better. How can she not want to make a day where she’s really dancing with Victoria Ford even more memorable?

  “But that’s not really a lift,” Anna points out. “Not the speed and force we’ll be moving at. That’s just…gymnastics.”

  Victoria affects a shudder at the word, flashing a brief grin. “Patience. Ever heard sage advice about not running before you can walk? I’m teaching you to be a safe pair of hands, not just muscle. Speaking of which, can you flex for me? I want to see what we’re dealing with, if you need to change up your gym routine for a couple of weeks.”

  Her gym routine is currently not going to the gym other than the occasional steam room session to ease her aches and pains, along with a three-times weekly Pilates class to strengthen her core and vary her workouts.

  “Flex like…?” Anna isn’t sure what that means.

  “Bodybuilders, that kind of thing. Show me what you’ve got, new kid. I’m not as familiar with you as I am with dancers I’ve been watching for years. You know my job as ballet mistress isn’t just to teach you steps. It’s to choose the choreography that looks best on your body. You’re the canvas, Anna. My dances are the art painted on it.”

  “That’s a little pretentious, don’t you think?” Anna wants to die the minute she says it.

  Victoria actually laughs.

  “Two days of throwing us around and suddenly you’re too cool for a metaphor? What happened to ‘Yes Ms. Ford, no Ms. Ford, three bags full Ms. Ford’?’” She’s moving in close again, and Anna stands her ground.

  “You told me to call you Victoria, just like everyone else.”

  “But you’re not like everyone else, are you?” Victoria reaches out to untwist Anna’s tank top, right where it rests on her sports-bra strap. The skin beneath is sensitive, and Anna could swear she gets goose bumps. “Ready to take this up a notch? I need Delphine convinced in days, not weeks.”

  “I’m ready if you are. What’s next?”

  Three days of torture, and no end in sight.

  Victoria is delirious by the fourth, arriving caffeinated and underdressed and more sleepless than even she’s used to being. What possessed her to start this gender-defying idea for a show in the first place? Her entire career at risk, dangling by a single gossamer thread, and here she is working in the closest of quarters with the girl she can’t seem to get off her mind.

  Any hopes of denying it ended with that pathetic display with the Morgan girl. Clambering all over Anna like a failed audition for the Moulin Rouge. Morgan is a perfectly talented dancer, and she wouldn’t be in the company otherwise, no matter who her mother is. Still, Victoria doesn’t feel inclined to let any other little showmances develop. Not when they might distract Anna from being on top of her game.

  Not when they might distract Anna from Victoria.

  Yes, it’s ego, and not entirely without precedent. It’s hardly the first time a well-defined muscle has caught Victoria’s eye, but it’s never been coupled with such a sunshine-and-puppies attitude before. Whatever it is, the underlying trait somewhere that caught her attention, it all came to a head with the displays of loyalty. Now the very thought of any of those younger, intact women going after Anna is sickening.

  At least she’s resolved not to act on it. Teresa had been a mistake, and dipping the pen in company ink rarely works out. The usual excuses apply: that no one who doesn’t work the work and live the life can possibly understand the demands, the devotion. Victoria knows, especially now, that she can make it work with a civilian if she tried. The spaces were always there, carved out and set aside. The trouble for workaholics, for the born to be en pointe types like her, is that those spaces just become further homes for the obsession.

  So nothing is going to happen. If anything, these days of morning rehearsal should be putting Anna off altogether. It’s not hard to see her interest, even before the touching incident. Hours of barked commands and exertion and sweating should be making Anna long for someone freshly showered and completely unscarred, yet she still holds on a little longer and a little tighter than is ever strictly necessary.

  Trouble is, Victoria’s perfectly happy to be held.

  They’ve built up to some fairly impressive lift work considering the start from scratch. Anna is a natural, which goes some way to taking the insecurity and second guessing out of it. The praise spills over now and then, despite Victoria’s preferred coaching methods. Anna lights up with every muttered word that passes for a compliment, reinvigorated and ready to go again.

  And no, it’s still not dancing. It’s not the freedom to leap and spin and momentarily feel lighter than air, but damn if it isn’t close enough. In Anna’s steady embrace, Victoria can close her eyes and almost feel the buzz of an audience again. Lifted high—though not as high as with Rick or with David—Victoria rolls back the years and the injury, reminded only when Anna carefully sets her down again. A reproachful twinge comes from her knee each time, but the injections and lurking behind her desk the rest of each day is mostly offsetting the damage.

  In idle moments, Victoria wonders if trying this sooner would have made it easier, would have made her bold again. Was she really just waiting for this girl to come along and shake her from her self-pity? That seems unlike her, but then she’s never been easy to change. Perhaps it only happens with exceptional events.

  As Anna begs off to fetch more water from her bag, Victoria watches her go, hands on hips. Yes, she thinks as Anna chugs down water, careless enough to splash some on her chin, on her heaving chest. This is certainly exceptional.

  “Ready for Tuesday?” Victoria asks as Anna drains her bottle.

  It’s a change from their mostly silent work on lifting, and she seizes on it. Anna’s never been great at keeping quiet. “I think so?” she answers, not wanting to be cocky even though she feels it right now. She can’t keep the swagger out of her steps as she makes her way back to the
center of the floor that they’ve made their own. “I can’t believe it’s coming around so fast.”

  “It always does.” Victoria sounds maybe just a little wistful. “There’s nothing much you can do about it.”

  “Nothing?” This is not the motivational speech she assumed. “How is that supposed to be inspirational?”

  “Who said anything about inspiration?” Victoria seems bemused, reaching for a water bottle of her own.

  Anna is hypnotized, briefly, watching the lines of Victoria’s throat as she swallows.

  “Not everything is a lecture to make you a better person, Anna. Sometimes I’m just making conversation. You get the thrill of a live audience next week. Don’t take it for granted.”

  “I won’t. Hey, do you think I could bench-press you? Like, if I laid flat and tried lifting you like that?” She’s been dreaming about it for two nights now, but that is not an excuse for actually giving voice to thought. The blush is instant and furious; even on already-overheated skin she must be turning almost purple.

  Victoria chokes on her last mouthful of water.

  “There’s only one way to find out, I suppose,” she says after a minute of Anna fumbling for a way to take back her inane suggestion. “The bench over there will work. Unless you plan on dragging me down to the gym.”

  Favoring her injured leg as they move across the room, Victoria tuts under her breath with impatience at it.

  Anna doesn’t dare ask, but already she’s trying to think how she can be more careful in her handling. She lies down on the leather-coated bench, no doubt stolen from the gym, mostly used as an impromptu stretching location for stubborn knots and tightness.

  “How do we do this?” Victoria muses. “Should I straddle you and you turn me in the lift?”

  Anna almost swallows her tongue. “Well, uh…”

  “No, I think if you put your hands up and I lean over, then you just take over once I’m balanced.”

  “R-right,” Anna agrees, raising her hands and hoping she isn’t about to make a complete fool of herself.

  Then Victoria—with this fearlessness that’s emerged in how they work together, the same confidence Anna remembers seeing on stage—bends forward.

  Anna’s palms are flat and not shaking, which is a start. What she hasn’t factored in is where her hands will have to be to keep Victoria balanced. One on the plane of her chest, just below her throat. The other on the lower part of her abdomen. Well. Anna is calling it that. She is not thinking of any other strictly more accurate, pelvic terms for where she’s placing her hands.

  It works, and Anna giggles at the sensation of it. Victoria keeps perfectly still, rigid as a board, and it’s easy to support her this way. After a moment, Anna decides to risk a slow bend of her elbows, and then she really is bench-pressing her boss and director, though it’s much harder going than the lifts where she could use her legs to bear the brunt.

  “Satisfied?” Victoria asks, and it sounds almost fond.

  It’s a dangerous question, because Anna doesn’t see how she ever can be, carrying around this hopeless crush.

  “Sure, let me just put you down.” Anna is pleased, but she can feel the strain. No point messing up a pectoral or a bicep on a silly whim.

  “Gently,” Victoria reminds her, and Anna is as careful as she knows how to be.

  That’s not good enough for Victoria’s knee, unfortunately, and as soon as she needs to stand again, the damn joint crumples underneath her.

  Anna is in motion almost before Victoria hits the floor. “Oh God,” she gasps over Victoria’s short, sharp yelp. “What did I do? Are you okay? I can go get Dr. Sawyer.”

  “No!” Victoria hisses. “She’s already on my ass about doing this extra work with you.”

  “Then why—”

  Victoria cuts her off. “Because I wanted to.”

  Anna knows she could retreat, run off with another apology and bring someone else to help. Only that’s the last thing she wants, because if Victoria is going to need anyone for anything, Anna really would rather it be she.

  “I haven’t had a chance to move like that since…”

  “We can bring Morgan back in,” Anna offers.

  Victoria’s jaw tightens and her eyes flash darker for a split second.

  “Or we can not do that. Can you stand, do you need me to…?”

  She offers a hand, crouched in front of Victoria. But for the pain etched in the lines of her face, she might be any other dancer, resting on the floor with her legs splayed out to rest them.

  Victoria takes Anna’s hand, grip firm and sure. “I might just need a moment, okay?”

  “No rush.” Anna runs her thumb over Victoria’s knuckles, neither of them making a move to get up. “I’m so sorry. If I’ve hurt you, if I’ve made it worse, I’ll never forgive myself.”

  “Oh, Anna,” Victoria sighs.

  Instead of Anna pulling her up, there’s just the slow-motion fall of Victoria pulling her back down. Whether just reflex or by design, Victoria ends up on her back on the cold, worn floor, and Anna is sprawled on top of her, catching herself in time to prop up on her elbows, breathing harshly at the surprise.

  “Did you—”

  Victoria silences the question with a kiss. Just the pressing of lips as she leans up, drawing their bodies closer together. Those soft lips Anna’s been trying not to fixate on gently drag across her own as the kiss ends, and she’s chasing them, turning Victoria’s face back toward her for another kiss, then another. Openmouthed, a little desperate, someone whimpers into the fourth or maybe the fifth, and Anna is losing her battle to catalog the details. She wants to remember every second, but conscious thought is giving way to pure sensation, her body lighting up like completed circuits as Victoria’s hands start to wander.

  One at the base of Anna’s neck, ignoring that her hair is wet and her skin is slick. That pulls her farther down, taking the strain off Victoria. Her other hand skims Anna’s back, tracing the edge of her leotard and electrifying the bare skin with just the fingertips. If she thought she was overheating before, Anna sees now she had no idea how it feels to be on fire.

  The room is suddenly tropical, her hearing is tuned to every half-moan and swallowed gasp from Victoria. Just as Anna thinks she may try shifting position, there are footsteps and voices just outside.

  Victoria shoves her away and Anna rolls to the side, the move all but choreographed. The studio door doesn’t open, and the gaggle of noise moves on, leaving them sitting silently side by side, the only sound in the room their harsh breathing.

  It’s easy to tell from that reaction what will happen next. The letdown—harsh or gentle—and the warning never to cross that line again. Anna doesn’t need to hear it; she’s embarrassed herself enough for one lifetime.

  “I should get going,” Anna says. “We don’t have rehearsal now until Wednesday, right? I think it’s La B right through the weekend and on Tuesday night. So, uh, do you need a hand? Or I can go get Kim, not a problem.”

  Pointedly Victoria stands by herself, slowly but without a single wobble. Her expression is back to impenetrable, so clearly Anna made the right call, saving them both the awkwardness.

  “Off you go, then.” Victoria dismisses her with a flap of her wrist.

  Anna does as she’s told, lips still tingling and parts of her still clenching with need, despite the shock of interruption. It’s absolutely the right thing to do, but she can’t help wishing she hadn’t been quite so easy to send away.

  CHAPTER 25

  The first performance does come around too fast. As the afternoon ebbs away, Anna retreats to the rooftop that’s become something of a sanctuary. She’s joined by Ethan before long.

  “Hey, newbie,” he says with an easy grin. “Not planning to throw yourself off, are you? ‘Cause I’m pretty sure David will make you dance regardless. Can’t throw off the symmetry, you know?”

  “David’s not so scary,” Anna says, because she knows the way to his good g
races, if not his heart, is to bring coffee every other rehearsal.

  “Ah, of course not. Not to the girl who tamed the dragon lady,” Ethan says, teasing. “How’s all that going, by the way?” He puts a sneaker-clad foot up on the bench and stretches his quads, a little close for comfort give how much his running shorts ride up.

  Anna just turns away slightly. “I haven’t had solo rehearsal in a few days,” she admits. “First live performance took precedence; you know how it is.”

  “Yeah, you always get that last-minute flurry with the full dress and all. Everything else takes a backseat for a few days. Let the boss lady go do whatever she was up to in San Francisco, anyway, so maybe that will put her in a better mood.”

  “San Francisco?” Anna repeats, curiosity piqued. She’s been so good about not texting or calling Victoria since The Kiss, as she’s taken to calling it, capital letters very much necessary. “She didn’t say.”

  “I don’t think she needs your permission or anything.” Ethan ends his stretch on one leg and switches to the other. “Maybe she just wants to throw some rotten fruit at Liza Wade.”

  “They open this week as well?” Anna asks.

  “Yeah, last night. You nervous?”

  “Are you?” Anna can’t help hoping he is. “I mean, you’ve done it before…”

  “The nerves never go, man. When they do, you don’t care enough anymore, and it’s time to quit.”

  “Good point.” Anna picks up her phone, wanting to call Victoria and ask what the hell. She decides to get ready instead.

  “See you in the wings,” Ethan calls after her.

  Anna throws up a backward wave in acknowledgment, running through the choreography as she walks.

  “You’re prowling,” David accuses from where he’s checking off a list of cues with the fly captain. Victoria ignores him for a moment, knowing it’s important they have all heavy pieces of scenery accounted for and sequenced correctly. It’s been checked a dozen times already, but no one skimps on safety.