The Music and the Mirror

by Lola Keeley

  “Just us today.”

  Anna’s heart skips just a little. They’re going to talk, then. “Just us.”

  Victoria’s skin is crawling by the time she makes it back to the parking lot. She knows, rationally, it isn’t her fault. Who knows better than she how random bad luck is? Some things can be avoided with correct warming up and self-maintenance, by being especially vigilant over the condition of shoes and whether the floor is sprung enough. Others? Well, no one sees those coming.

  Why the hell did she insist on tagging along in the ambulance? It’s not something she would ever have offered, save for with a close few. Victoria suspects it’s Anna’s influence, or at least the impulse to get far away after snapping at her. Empathy doesn’t come easily to Victoria, and despite having catastrophic injury in common with Gresham, she hasn’t found herself to be any great comfort. She should have let David come as he suggested.

  If she keeps being snippy inside her head, if she keeps blasting the anger in a handful of different directions, then Victoria won’t have to acknowledge the creeping dread that being back in a hospital has instilled. It’s not nausea; that’s too faint and polite a sensation for how it affects her. Her legs seem to have replaced their bones with lead, and sweat prickles along her hairline even though the temperature is downright cool. The smell of antiseptic that doesn’t quite mask the indignities of what they do here reminds her of the studios. No matter how they’re aired out, or how they’re cleaned, the bad scents get into the brickwork somehow.

  At least Morgan has a private room. The orthopedic surgeon who’d greeted them on arrival had whistled quietly on cursory inspection, and that had only set the girl off wailing again.

  No one will speak to Victoria about Morgan’s’ condition without a family member present, and too tired to wait for her car service, she flags down a taxi. Hours have passed without her entirely realizing, and the evening rush is almost calming, the last flurry of patrons making their way to the Theater District. Texts from David confirm the rest of stage rehearsal went off without incident, so at least they won’t end up canceling a performance.

  The thought of the bottle of red waiting on her kitchen counter revives Victoria as she enters her building and calls the elevator. She’s so preoccupied with unearthing her keys that at first she doesn’t see the unexpected visitor waiting on the doorstep of her apartment.

  “Oh.” She sighs. “It’s you.”

  “Expecting anyone else?” Anna replies, scrambling to her feet. “Morgan’s phone is off, so I just wanted to find out how everything went.”

  “How long have you been sitting out here?”

  “Not long. Your neighbor took pity on me and let me use her bathroom after an hour or so. Seriously, how is she?”

  “Well, the IV drugs will have kicked in now that she’s out of surgery. I didn’t get a prognosis, but it’s pretty bad.”

  “Do you know what happened?”

  Victoria knows how easy it would be to turn her away at the door. Long day, early start, all the reasons any sane person would accept at face value. The thought of letting Anna walk down the hall is what brings tears to her eyes, so she closes them for a moment and lets Anna ramble.

  “The stories in the locker room this afternoon were wild. I had tea with Irina—we went to this Ukrainian café, which was just… Anyway. She wasn’t watching what happened, so I’m not sure what went down exactly.”

  “I wasn’t there, either,” Victoria reminds her. “But I’m reliably informed she landed awkwardly. It could have been just a dislocation—her hip is weak, after all, but I don’t know. Come on, we’re not standing out here all night.”

  “I don’t have to come in,” Anna says. It’s clearly a lie. She looks three seconds away from charging the door.

  Victoria unlocks it and nudges it ajar.

  “It’s just you seemed upset when you left, and I thought it might bring back some crappy memories,” Anna continues. “I’m sure loads of other people already checked on you, but I wanted to see for myself.”

  “Did you?”

  “And, uh.” Anna reaches into the pocket of her denim jacket as Victoria returns her keys to her purse. “Give you back your scarf.”

  “You remembered.”

  Their eyes meet as fingertips brush over the exchange of silk. Truthfully Victoria would have been sorry to see this one go. It’s a classic for a reason. With practiced hands, she unfolds it with a flick, whipping it quickly into a long braid of sorts. The spark from earlier reignites, and there isn’t water enough in New York to put out the blaze now. Feeling playful, Victoria puts the twisted scarf around Anna’s neck and pulls her close.

  “Inside,” she instructs.

  And just as surely as if she’d commanded a sequence of steps in the studio, Anna is unhesitating in doing exactly as she’s told.

  It’s sophomoric, really, to camp out in someone’s building. But Anna can’t bring herself to feel stupid over it, not now that she has Hermès around her neck and Victoria’s mouth on hers.

  “Listen, if this is just because you’re upset over Morgan getting hurt…” Anna just has to say after kicking the door shut behind them.

  “I barely know the girl. It’s tragic, especially if her career is over, but why would that affect anything I’m doing tonight? Do I seem unduly distressed to you, Anna?”

  “God, I still love it when you say my name right.“ Anna groans. “I’m just trying to be a good person, okay?”

  “Life is short. These careers of ours desperately so. Don’t you want to feel alive for a while? Something beyond rehearsal and dead composers and tulle?”

  Anna kisses and kisses again, because she can. Only when she charts a course for Victoria’s throat does she ask her question. “Is that how I make you feel?”

  “Yes,” Victoria says, barely a whisper, and Anna has goose bumps from the sultry sound of her voice. “Yes, you do.”

  She yanks Anna’s jacket down her arms, exposing the almost-bare shoulders her camisole straps barely interrupt.

  They’re making their way slowly down the hall toward the bedrooms; Anna remembers that much from her brief tour. She lets her jacket fall to the floor as Victoria kicks off one shoe and then the other. Their kisses are more frantic now, openmouthed and almost pleading.

  Anna presses Victoria back against the wall before they turn the corner, and it gets her a pleasant hiss of surprise in response.

  “I imagined this,” Anna tells her, hoisting Victoria up, and her legs wrap instinctively around Anna’s waist, more tightly with her good leg than the injured one. “Every time I lifted you.”

  Victoria rakes her fingers through Anna’s loose ponytail, letting her hair down.

  “Every time you touched me to straighten my leg or elongate my arm.” Anna leads them into the master bedroom as Victoria smiles down at her.

  “Well, why settle for imagination? I think reality is going to be a lot more fun.”

  CHAPTER 33

  The voice in her head that’s been telling Victoria she’ll regret this is quiet now.

  How could she hear it anyway over the excited rasp of Anna’s breathing as she discovers the lace thong beneath Victoria’s simple black pants? Or the echo of her own moan against the high ceilings when Anna unhooks Victoria’s bra with practiced ease, mouth replacing that lace as though choreographed.

  “Oh God,” Victoria pants at the first hint of teeth.

  Anna isn’t quite the ingénue she expected. The faint echo of a growl resounds in Anna’s throat, and Victoria realizes she may be getting much more than she bargained for. She expected nice. She expected gentle. She didn’t expect all that sinewy strength to have her pinned to her own mattress, but hell, she’s not complaining.

  Anna’s mouth is hot and insistent, peppering Victoria’s skin as each new inch is undressed and exposed. The kisses and nips and delicate sucking in different places, all of it is as relentless as the repetitions Anna performs at the barre most days. T
hat curiosity, that burning need to impress, it’s all being turned on Victoria’s body, and damn if she isn’t almost helpless against it.

  That is not, however, what they signed up for when this offstage dance between them began. The enthusiasm can be reined in, diverted, almost controlled—something Victoria is more than familiar with. She instructs Anna seamlessly in the studio, so her simple “no” brings everything to an instant, breathless halt. “Not like this,” Victoria continues.

  Anna scrambles off her, awaiting direction.

  “You’re still a little overdressed.” Victoria leans back on her elbows, right in the center of her bed. If she were staging it, she’d frown at the lighting, but she only managed to fumble for one lamp as Anna carried her in. “But take your time. This isn’t the locker room; no need to rush.”

  What she’s trying to say is, This isn’t work, I’m not your boss, and you’re free to go, but that would be ruining a moment they’ve already let slip too many times. Anna doesn’t need to be here right now, and she’s choosing it anyway. Victoria’s had enough sacrifice for one career, and she’s not giving this up.

  Her resolve is only strengthened by the way Anna shimmies those skinny jeans down her legs. The camisole takes a bit longer, fussing with the hem and affecting to be shy now, standing at the side of Victoria’s bed. Only when Anna looks at her, right before her face disappears behind the silky material for a moment, she’s anything but shy.

  This is the girl Victoria knew was in there all along. She’s magnificent.

  They’re down to lingerie, Victoria’s black and matching, Anna’s far more cotton and at least in the same general end of the color spectrum. It doesn’t matter one bit as Victoria beckons her back down on to the bed, those long, honey-blond curls falling around them like a waterfall as they kiss and kiss, languorous and teasing in turn.

  “Now.” Victoria leverages with her good knee, flipping them over. Anna’s hair spreads out in a halo around her head, but there’s nothing angelic about the flush on her cheeks or the redness of her lips as she bites down on her lower one. “You have choices, Anna.”

  “I do.” It’s not a question; it’s an agreement on the facts.

  “You can either watch…” Victoria straddles Anna’s hips, slipping one hand beneath the lace of her own underwear and palming her breast with the other. She hisses as she pinches a hard nipple, still faintly damp from Anna’s mouth on it moments before. “Or you can let me put you through your paces. What’ll it be?”

  Yes, it’s controlling, but it makes Anna whimper like she’s halfway gone, and that gets Victoria even wetter.

  “Anything you want,” Anna responds, and it’s so goddamn reverential that Victoria almost believes herself the queen of her nicknames.

  And what better way for a queen to pass the next hour than to discover just what Anna can do under her command? Somewhere between sucking on the perfect lines of Anna’s obliques and slipping a third finger inside her, Victoria actually feels dizzy with want. Anna is unrestrained here, thrashing against the sheets when Victoria doesn’t let up after the first orgasm, fingers thrusting Anna into a second, stronger one, and halfway to a third before she gasps for mercy.

  Not that it takes her long to recover. Anna is careful in how she moves around Victoria, gentle at first in how she tips her back against the pillows and parts her legs like a gift to be savored. Which isn’t to say that Anna rushes: in that position she has access to all of Victoria’s body, touching her like she’s tracing sheet music at first. She’s especially careful when skimming her thumb over the white scar tissue on Victoria’s knee, and it’s the first spot she chooses for her mouth to replace her fingers.

  Victoria’s never been shy about what she likes and how she likes it, but Anna doesn’t need direction in the way others have.

  Anna listens and watches and responds, sensitive to how much, and how hard, and more, more, more. She goes down on Victoria like she’s just grateful to have been asked, licking Victoria into a fist-biting half scream of a climax, and not letting up until Victoria’s crossing her ankles behind Anna’s back and riding out the waves until her clit can’t bear to be touched.

  Anna seems to like it when Victoria pulls on her hair, and that’s’ how she guides Anna back up for a forceful kiss where she can taste herself on those pouting lips. The relief of weeks and months of longing is better than any drug she’s ever been prescribed, so Victoria holds Anna close and pulls the sheets halfway over them while their heartbeats return to normal.

  “Can I stay?” Anna whispers, even though Victoria’s head is resting against her shoulder and the arm wrapped around her waist could almost be described as possessive. “I mean, since you actually invited me into your bed this time and all.”

  “I’m comfortable” is all Victoria gives by way of response, and it’s enough to have Anna smiling at the ceiling. The sheets are rumpled, heavy over their legs.

  Anna’s are still trembling faintly, and that only makes her smile wider.

  “I can hear you grinning,” Victoria accuses.

  “Just working my cheek muscles,” Anna says, barely holding back a snicker. Her stomach rumbles lightly. “It’s still early. I could go get something?”

  “They invented phones, didn’t they?” Victoria grumbles, halfway to a nap. “I’m sure you have some millennial app for that sort of thing.”

  Anna wants to pinch herself. She’s in Victoria Ford’s bed and they’re drowsily ordering takeout. Naked. She feels like she could vault the Statue of Liberty, and at the same time could sleep for a week.

  “What do you like?” She nudges Victoria gently with her elbow. “Come on, you have to eat too. And don’t say something boring like a salad. I think we’ve decided we’re giving in to naughty things tonight, right?”

  Victoria sits up. It’s practically an invitation for Anna to drag her gaze down those delicate lines again, the very slightest of curves.

  As a dancer, Victoria always looked impossibly fragile. Her frame is still tiny in a way that belies her actual height, from the narrow shoulders to her tapered waist, but with those years away from the everyday rigor of dance, she’s softer around the edges in a way that makes Anna’s mouth water.

  “I could murder someone for a cheeseburger,” Victoria confesses, clearly amused at how Anna’s so thoroughly distracted. “If you can keep your eyes on the phone long enough. I draw the line at eating in bed, though.”

  “Fine,” Anna sighs, putting plenty of drama in it. “I know a place that’s gonna blow your mind.”

  When Victoria rolls her eyes, it seems fond, and that’s more than Anna could have hoped for.

  Victoria can’t quite believe what she’s seeing in her own living room, never mind what she’s doing. Dressed in nothing more than a short kimono robe that isn’t even tied properly, she’s somehow been dragged into a picnic on the floor. The tablecloth that was on the perfectly serviceable table by the window is spread out over her Persian rug, and they’ve demolished cheeseburgers and waffle fries, washed down by more than a bottle of red.

  It’s bliss, and she has no idea how it happened.

  As dinners go, this is a considerable upgrade on the debacle with Rick and Liza. The burgers are insanely good, and Anna is smug at Victoria’s obvious enjoyment of them. It’s relaxing, in a way Victoria hadn’t expected. She’s a little boneless from an unexpected series of orgasms. Anna, always so keen to wait for direction in rehearsal, started off the same way in bed.

  With a little encouragement, enthusiasm had completely taken over. Victoria knows she’ll be walking funny tomorrow, and not just because of her busted knee. Even that isn’t really hurting, between her early painkillers and the endorphin surge. More than the stress release, she’s actually…happy.

  Well, if Big Pharma could bottle this, they’d never go out of business. It’s about as elusive as a cure for the common cold, in Victoria’s experience. Satisfied, yes. Fulfilled, certainly. That kind of contentment is mea
nt to be temporary, a resting place to push onward and upward to the next achievement. Happiness for its own sake? Victoria is skeptical of it even existing, and yet it appears to be happening to her anyway.

  “Do you think if we called the hospital and pretended to be a cousin they’d give us an update on Morgan?” Anna asks, having seemingly been lost in her thoughts and the application of barbecue sauce. “I’m not above a little fraud, in case you didn’t know that about me.”

  God, must she be so charming? “I’m sure we’ll hear. I’ll check my phone once we’re done with this, and then it’s back to the real world.”

  “Or we could not check our phones…”

  Victoria smiles, slow and with a flash of teeth that says she’s hungry for more than takeout. Anna crawls across the rug toward her, very much the willing prey.

  “You do have good ideas occasionally,” Victoria muses.

  Anna kisses her soundly enough to shut her up for quite some time.

  Victoria’s finally sated by the time they make it to her little museum-cum-mausoleum. Anna comes against the wall, with Odile’s costume at her back, before setting Victoria on the display cabinet and kneeling before her. They have to be much more careful this time—Victoria’s tender in ways she didn’t expect, but the trembling detail of Anna’s touch is exactly what she needs.

  Afterward, Victoria makes no protest when Anna scoops her up and carries her back to the master bedroom.

  When Victoria emerges from the en suite, freshened up and vaguely ready for bed, she’s surprised to see Anna perched on the edge of the bed.

  “Are you waiting for something?”

  “Oh.” Anna shifts her position, uncrossing her legs like she’s getting ready to bolt. “No, right, I get it. I’ll just, uh, find my clothes.”

  “I said you can stay,” Victoria reminds her. “I don’t know where you got the impression I would throw you out before the sheets had settled anyway.”