The Music and the Mirror

by Lola Keeley

  “Don’t get me wrong, I am thrilled there’s officially one girl not after my boyfriend.”

  “It’s not official, we’re not—”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure.” Delphine zips up her hoodie. “Not just because you look like an actual cartoon princess, but because I know Victoria. I know what her flings look like—everyone kept at arm’s length. This is something else. Anna, she hasn’t even attempted a lift in twelve years.”

  Anna’s heart pounds against her rib cage. It’s the reality she’s been trying to deny to herself with each thrilling second. It does feel like more. Not that she can afford to dwell on that.

  “Lunch?” Anna asks with a sigh.

  “Sushi,” Delphine says. “Come on, I know a place.”

  “Jesus!” Anna walks into the changing room after David’s picky session correcting all the minor faults from the previous night’s performance. She’s tired, she’s sore, and it’s all going to be on stage again tonight, with nowhere to hide. A bunch of girls bundle in behind her, not caring why Anna has stopped short in the doorway. “What are you doing here?”

  “I dropped Mom at the airport, and Irina has physio, so I came to see my little sister,” Jess says, completely unfazed by sitting in the midst of a dozen stripping dancers. “You’ve got time to get a drink before the show, right?”

  “A soft one, yeah. Let me just have two minutes in the shower and I’ll be right out.” Two minutes hot, two minutes cold. Washing yet again with the creamy shower stuff that’s supposed to have lotion in it, stopping her skin drying out from multiple showers a day.

  Anna takes her time, letting the rest of the room clear out, but Jess seems perfectly patient by the time she comes back out to get dressed.

  “Tough rehearsal?”

  “No tougher than any other day so far. You hungry? I can’t eat much this close to curtain, but some fruit maybe.”

  “I don’t know.” Jess shrugs beneath her denim shirt. “What goes well with your sister keeping secrets from you?”

  “Jess…”

  “No, you’d tell me if you could, right? But the fact you can’t kinda tells me exactly who we’re talking about here.”

  “I’m not talking about this,” Anna snaps. “I’m still waiting for an explanation of whatever the hell was up with Irina. What are you getting into, Jess? I know she’s on more than prescription drugs.”

  “Spiral fracture. She showed me the films. If your doc here finds out, she’s done. Her own doctor is giving her enough to get to the end of the season, he swears she can do it if she’s careful.”

  “But if she can’t, if she doesn’t make it…” It would seriously imbalance the program, wouldn’t it? But then injuries can strike anyone, anytime. There has to be some contingency. As loyal as she feels to Irina for no tangible reason, Victoria does deserve to know what she’s dealing with.

  “And what about you?” Jess asks. “You ready to make the big confession yet?”

  “Who says I have anything to confess?” Anna is getting a little exhausted at playing Mata Hari. She’s not even getting sex out of all this subterfuge yet. And, oh God, the thought is enough to have her face flushing again. Jess is going to know, and there’ll be no denying it.

  “Like I said, there’s only one reason you wouldn’t be able to just tell me. Which means you’re hooking up with your boss.”

  “Shush!” Anna warns, looking around for any lurkers. “Are you trying to ruin my entire life?”

  “So dramatic. This isn’t high school. Besides, everyone already hates you for your promotion.”

  “And if there is something happening between me and Victoria, you know that means I have to tell her about Irina, right?” Anna doesn’t particularly want to have that conversation, but Jess pulls her into a hug for suggesting it.

  “I’m actually surprised you haven’t already. I didn’t think you were that close to Irina.” The hug ends and Jess steps back to lean against the lockers. “Or is there some kind of bro code for ballerinas?”

  “No, but nobody wants to be a snitch.”

  “I just don’t want her to get any more hurt. You should hear it when the drugs wear off and she tries to do even basic moves. I don’t know how to help her, other than this. She won’t let me.”

  “I’ll probably see Victoria tonight,” Anna decides.

  Jess grins at her.

  “Not like that, you perv! We’ve only… You know what? No details for you.”

  “Come on, I owe you that soft drink. Let’s get it before you have to go put all your stage crap on.”

  “Don’t you ever go home?” Victoria asks from the door of her office, pulling her reading glasses off to let her eyes rest.

  “I’ll go home when you stop giving me enough work for three assistants,” Kelly says. “Need something?”

  “How’s the house?” Victoria asks.

  Kelly’s frown is as much an answer as the number of seats filled. “Derek came by, said the old-timers were arguing in the foyer about whether they’d seen this exact production last season. Doesn’t bode well, does it?”

  “No. All the more reason to shake things up post-Nutcracker, right?”

  “That will keep the lights on, yeah.” Kelly gets up from her desk to file something in the archive room. “Full cast went on, by the way.”

  “On the second night? I should hope so.”

  “Anna Gale was looking for you, wandered up in full makeup and costume, everything but her shoes on.” Kelly’s voice is muffled, but Victoria homes in on every word.

  She opens her mouth to tell Kelly that of course Anna is an exception to the no-disruptions rule, but both the fact of even thinking such a thing, and the impression it would create, stops Victoria in her tracks.

  “Fascinating,” Victoria calls back instead, aiming for nonchalance and missing. “When are they off?” she asks, like she doesn’t have the show’s run time etched in memory from last night, ready to pounce at the perfect moment. Only to be so deliciously pounced on in turn. If she had sense, any kind of self-preservation, Victoria would call her car and head home right now. Or at least to the nearest bar.

  “In about ten.” Kelly returns with her purse and coat. “You need anything?”

  “Leave a note with Stage Door for Anna to come up when she’s done?” Because it’s just a little less desperate than jumping her in a corridor.

  Between the curtain calls, a shower and change, and Anna’s own unique way of taking her time, Victoria estimates she has a half hour to make herself presentable—starting with losing the exercise clothing she’s been working in all day.

  The moment Kelly’s footsteps reach the stairs, Victoria yanks a black dress from the rack in her office, freshening up as she changes. The tiniest hint of makeup and pulling her hair down into loose curls seems work-casual enough that Anna won’t notice extra effort. A splash of perfume at her wrists, behind her ears. A bigger splash of vodka, neat. Three pills, because recommended doses are for amateurs, and Victoria is ready.

  She sits back down at her desk, leafing through some newly printed sheet music, and waits.

  CHAPTER 27

  If anything, it was a relief earlier when Kelly barred the way to Victoria. Just seeing her outline through the frosted glass had been distracting enough, and Anna needs to be incredibly careful with the subject she’s broaching.

  Her heart still skips a beat later in that giddy little way when Leonard at Stage Door calls her over to give her a note. Not Victoria’s manic scrawl, but something legible from Kelly, just letting her know Victoria is available in her office post-show. Anna’s all cleaned up and ready to go, so it’s a challenge not to take the stairs three at a time as soon as the invitation is extended.

  At least she has a plan. It might not be a foolproof plan, but if Victoria is willing to meet her at least part of the way, they can find a solution where everyone is happy and nobody has to quit.

  “Hello?” she calls out, walking into the darkened rec
eption area. A lamp or two is on in Victoria’s private office in the back, and Anna is drawn to them as readily as any moth. Thank God she didn’t opt for the sweats she wore earlier to hang out with Jess, though suddenly her choice of pale shirt dress and denim jacket feels a little exposing, even though it’s only her legs on display.

  They certainly seem to be the first thing Victoria notices from behind her desk. She picks up a glass, containing what Anna would bet isn’t water, and throws it back. Then there’s a long, appraising gaze from ankles to the hem of her short dress. Anna spends her days dancing in what barely counts as underwear, but only now does she feel underdressed, almost bare.

  “I was just thinking about you,” Victoria tells her, the warmth of the lamplight giving the room the air of a confessional. She gestures vaguely for Anna to sit.

  Anna drops her bag at her feet and does as indicated. Only when she’s sitting does she slowly cross her legs, in the tamest homage to Sharon Stone ever conceived. Still, it holds Victoria’s undivided attention.

  “What, um… Can you tell me what you were thinking about?” There’s heat in Anna’s cheeks, but not as much as she would expect. She’s getting used to being around Victoria.

  “It’s not important.” Victoria sets her glass aside and leans forward, bridging her fingers in front of her. All business, but the gleam in her eyes over those dark-framed reading glasses suggest pleasure is the order of the day. “I’m reliably informed that you wanted to see me earlier. Pre-show nerves?”

  “No,” Anna lies, because she gets the butterflies before every show and is sure she always will. “And no offense, but you don’t seem like the ‘there, there’ type, anyway.”

  “You have been paying attention.” Victoria is mocking, but only gently. Her smile is playful, and Anna finds herself wishing it would never vanish from her face.

  “There’s something I need to tell you,” Anna interrupts, getting a raised eyebrow in return. “It’s about Gala Performance, and Irina. I know she’s struggling with some things, so don’t you think we should have a strong understudy, just in case? That way she can have a lighter rehearsal load. I mean, we both know all that Vaganova training lets her pick up anything ten times quicker than everyone else.”

  Victoria stands, leaning over her desk with her palms suddenly flat. She’s far too graceful when she moves, because Anna keeps finding herself mesmerized. “Not content with instant promotion to principal, now you want to be ballet mistress too?”

  Anna can’t sputter out a correction quickly enough, and Victoria continues.

  “Did you have someone in mind? Don’t bring me problems, Anna. Bring me solutions.”

  “Just like that?” Anna leans back in her seat, bouncing her foot a little. She risks a small smile when Victoria glances down again. It’s almost too easy, in this post-kiss world, knowing that this heady crush is at least partly reciprocated. “Okay, since you asked… What about Morgan?”

  A frown is to be expected, maybe even an eye roll. One thing Anna doesn’t expect is a laugh, sudden and melodic.

  “That’s funny?” she asks, trying not to pout.

  “Oh, if you only knew… Of course we’ll have understudies, this is a professional company. They’re traditionally junior soloists. Morgan’s in the corps.”

  “So was I,” Anna counters, and Victoria raises that damn eyebrow again. “I mean, so am I. If I can be both, why can’t she?”

  “She’ll understudy more than one part. What if she goes on for you and steals your ‘plucked from obscurity’ storyline, hmm? It’s one thing to replace Delphine or Irina, but you need that media splash.”

  “That’s a risk for me to take. But the only thing that will keep me off that stage is if I can’t dance it. If it gets to that point, I’ve got no business being out there anyway. It wouldn’t be right, with what people pay for their tickets.”

  “Then I’ll think about it.”

  “You will?”

  “Yes.” Victoria moves away from her desk, fiddling with some brochures on the low counter against the back wall. Framed posters hang above it, some of her best-reviewed triumphs. “Was there anything else?”

  Is that an invitation to go over there? To kiss her again? Anna can’t be sure. She stalls, remembering that Victoria had asked her to come up. “Did you want to see me for something specific?”

  “When I heard you came looking for me,” Victoria sighs, “I assumed you wanted to pick up where we left off last night.”

  Anna’s stomach does a backward somersault. “Would that be so bad?”

  “No, but it would be distracting. Things get murky when we don’t keep it professional. It makes me an easy target for whatever Rick is plotting.” Victoria looks hurt even as she says it. She sits at her desk and picks up a book of Tchaikovsky’s sheet music without turning a page. Her reading glasses are pointedly pushed back up her nose with one finger. “We have so much to do, and there’s everything at stake. This way we stop the…process before anyone gets hurt.”

  “Victoria, no, this isn’t what I want—”

  “It’s what I want.” Victoria has a way of closing down a discussion that Anna usually envies. Tonight it just makes her angry, powerless in the face of Victoria’s stubbornness. “You can see yourself out.”

  “Can we talk about this tomorrow?” Anna pleads, heading to the door with dragging feet.

  “No,” Victoria answers quite firmly. “There’s nothing more to discuss. Morgan will understudy.”

  Anna slips out of a side door without caring if it’ll set off an alarm somewhere. She always walks faster when she’s sad or angry, and now she’s a perfect mess of both, so it takes hardly any time to get home at all.

  She stops at the store four blocks down a side street to pick up something to snack on, settling for an overpriced protein bar and a bottle of water. Only as she’s hesitating outside her building does she make the decision to do it.

  “Marcia?” She picks up after about ten rings, and it only just occurs to Anna that her foster mother may have been in bed. “I’m sorry, I can call tomorrow.”

  “Anna, what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong, it’s just… There’s a box in my room at your house. It’s all packed and ready to send. I was going to send it ahead when I next came home, but do you think you could mail it to me? You’ve got my address. Please don’t send it to Jess’s place.”

  “Okay, but I’d feel better if you told me why you sound so sad, sweetheart.” Marcia is fussing with papers as they talk, no doubt leaving herself a note as a reminder.

  “It’s just hard sometimes,” Anna tells her as she walks. “I think a little extra home comfort will help, and that box has some things I miss.”

  “Whatever you need. I’ll ship it tomorrow, right after lunch.”

  “You’re the best,” Anna tells her before hanging up and wiping away a stubborn tear.

  “Anna’s on to you, you know.” Victoria is waiting for Irina the next morning. “And I checked with Kim. You’ve been missing all your appointments except sports massage.”

  “I don’t like her rough little hands,” Irina replies, a little too quickly, a little on edge. “And she smells like diesel fuel too.”

  “She does not. You only say that because you don’t like her motorcycle.”

  “There are many things I don’t like.” Irina groans, leveraging up from the bench she’s lying on. “Don’t ask me, Vicki. Your insurance people won’t be pleased if you know.”

  “Let me pay you off. I’ll get the money from some incidental budget, Irina. I can put in some calls, get you a job lined up for after surgery. It might have to be Miami or something, but at least you’ll get some heat in your bones.”

  “Won’t stop them fracturing.”

  “Shit.”

  “You’re lucky, just doing the muscle. No illusions there. When it goes, it goes. Bones try to hold together.”

  Victoria grimaces as she sits on the vacated side of the benc
h, staring at Irina’s hunched back and her wild hair. “Lucky isn’t really the word I’d go with.”

  “I hear you were dancing.” Irina levels it as an accusation.

  “Some lifts, barely a hop, skip, or a jump. Don’t believe everything you hear. Or I’d have to start believing the things I hear, and they’re not good at all. I want you to take at least two weeks, give it some semblance of healing. I can keep you in the rest of the season that way. If you keep doing what you’re doing just to rehearse, you’ll never make it.”

  “Two weeks?” Irina blows out a shaky breath, like it’s worse than she thought. “And when I come back?”

  “Everything you’ve already been promised. I need you for Gala Performance, Irina. Let me get you there and the send-off you deserve. I haven’t forgotten how you stepped in for me, how you kept the press away when I was at my worst.”

  “I was a star in my own right. But you’re welcome.”

  “That kid is worried about you.” Victoria tries for uninterested, tries to make Anna sound so much less than she is.

  Irina turns around to give the full benefit of her skeptical expression, sweater slipping to bare her shoulder, pale against the blood red of the fabric.

  “Doesn’t seem like regular hero worship for you,” Victoria adds. “Is it serious, with her sister?”

  “Anna is no child. And Jessica is…as good for me as she is bad. She wants me to bow out, but she does everything to keep me in our little game here. What more could I ask?”

  “I mean it about the two weeks.” Victoria squirms away from the personal chat, knowing what comes next. “If I hear you moved any further than bed to bathroom, I’ll fire you.”

  “I have every faith. Go, tend to your sheep. I’ll be back.”

  “At least time is on our side.”

  “Even if you’re still the only stubborn American who wants to stage La Bayadère with a company that’s barely large enough to perform it. The big European companies will watch their backs.”