by J Q Anderson
I stood a few steps behind, chewing on my lip. She was right. But it was tough to envision a clear career path to New York when I was consistently cast as another faceless tutu in the background.
Nata’s head suddenly turned toward me, her eyes wide. Cutting through the group, she moved cautiously to me.
“Surprise, surprise. You got Giselle?” I smirked.
Her hands gripped my shoulders. “Yes. And you, my friend, are the understudy for Queen Myrta.”
“Right.”
“Camila!” she snapped.
I frowned, all the air leaving my body at once as I scanned the faces of the dancers behind her. Two girls from the corps scowled at me.
“You’re not joking.”
“Of course, I’m not joking.”
“Holy shit,” I mumbled. Inside my chest, a Brazilian Carnaval exploded.
Marcos was leaning on the studio door frame, arms crossed at the chest, a wide grin stretching his mouth.
“You did it, Cams.” He pulled me into his arms, and the world came to a stop. Every one of my cells was suddenly awake. I blushed furiously, feeling myself liquify. His smell, his warmth. It was all lethal. “Drinks later?” he said, kissing my temple as he pulled away. “We have to celebrate this one.”
“Yeah, later. Let’s go.” Nata ushered us to the studio where most dancers had already gathered.
Federico stood beside Madame, facing us from the mirror. He waited for the commotion to settle as everyone took a seat on the floor.
The epitome of a retired, decorated dancer, Federico was dressed in his usual black T-shirt and slacks, leaning back on the barre. His silver hair was the perfect length, somewhere between disciplined and artistic. His mouth was curved slightly at the corner, as if he were enjoying a private joke while those piercing blue eyes of his watched us with devilish amusement.
“Settle down, people. Time is an expensive commodity and we don’t have much. We will begin rehearsals for Giselle right away. Madame and I have chosen the cast carefully, so if you’re surprised or in any way disappointed with your role, I suggest you get over it quickly and put your energy in the work you have ahead. I will hear no complaints nor tolerate any grudges or attitude. Understood?”
I studied the other dancers’ faces. Several looked down, some with disappointment, but everyone nodded. For productions like Giselle, there was a lot of work to be done and no time for grudges. Besides, what was the point?
Federico briefly explained the schedule’s basic logistics. The demands of a production this large were extensive, so the company had two casts to accommodate the numerous performances. Dancing in First Cast was a privilege; it meant performing on both opening and closing nights.
I still couldn’t breathe. I had a standard role in the corps with First Cast but had also been given the understudy for Queen Myrta, an important solo role. Normally a principal would understudy, but nobody questioned Federico’s decisions—it would mean professional suicide.
Everyone took their places at the barre for the morning class with Madame Vronsky. As he headed to the door, I hurried to catch up with Federico.
“I…Thank you. I’m so surprised, and grateful. I promise I’ll make you proud.”
He nodded. “There’s a lot you haven’t shown us yet, and I’m confident the best is yet to come. It’s in your genes.” He smiled warmly, then walked out. A familiar weight pressed down on my chest at that last sentence. Madame paused beside me as she made her way to the front.
“Genes mean nothing, Navarro. You will have to work very hard. I hope you are well aware of that,” she said in a chillingly calm voice. “Now, I suggest you take your place at the barre before somebody else claims it.”
“Congratulations, Navarro,” a girl who was slightly my senior in the corps line said from behind me.
“Thanks.” I took a cleansing breath and thought of Nata’s words of wisdom. I had to believe I could do this. Straightening my back, I strode to my spot with my chin up. Yes. I would prove to Madame I belonged here. Whatever it took, I would do it. And I would show Federico that regardless of my genes, I was the best choice for the role of Queen Myrta. All I had to do was radiate grace in every single movement to make it look perfect and effortless. That was key. Madame always said things like “The public pays to see perfection.”
The day was a marathon: classes followed by rundowns of complex schedules, then rehearsals with the new choreographer where expectations were quickly laid out. Diving into the assigned roles as fast as possible and full focus during the first days were critical.
The last class ended, and the room buzzed with activity as the dancers dispersed, hatching plans for the night.
I was stretching one last time when I caught a glimpse of two Russian principals in the hallway. The Russian Ballet was on a one-week tour in Buenos Aires and was using the Colón’s studios to rehearse. I was dying to meet them, especially because my childhood idol, Irina Baranova, was the prima on the tour. I had tried casually running into her between rehearsals earlier that week, but in the theater environment, the Russian principals kept to themselves and didn’t mingle with the locals. Maybe I could get Nata to introduce me. I glanced over. She and Marcos were deep into the evening logistics with Diego and Carla, two new principals, discussing a new bar in Palermo Hollywood.
I listened to them absentmindedly, unwrapping the ribbons from my ankles. I honestly didn't get how they had it in them to go out after a brutal day like today. I winced as I plucked a blood-blotched piece of tape off my toes. They couldn't pay me to move another muscle. My plans for the evening were a shower and zoning out in front of the TV.
“Let’s check out that new bar first. Then we can loop back and hit the Roxy.” Marcos flicked damp strands of chestnut hair off his forehead. “That way we’ll also skip those stiff-ass kids from Zona Norte. Nico works the door tonight, so we’ll get in after two for sure.”
Carla rolled her eyes as she slipped into her sweats. “Marcos, you’re such a snob. Besides, if Nata and I go, we can get in anytime.” She gave him a smug grin.
She was right. A dancer in a short dress and killer heels was a VIP pass anywhere. Plus, Carla and Nata were ridiculously hot. It was a given they would get in wherever, whenever they wanted.
Marcos eyed me from the mirror. “What do you think, Cams?”
“I think…it’s Tuesday and you guys are planning to meet at two in the morning. That is so off my chart right now.”
Marcos tsked his tongue in dismissal and went back to the planning. As principals, these guys were used to partying and being up for class the next day. I, on the other hand, was a nobody with a lot to prove, so I only went out on weekends and carefully planned my hours of sleep.
“Nata. Your vote decides, then,” Marcos said.
Nata rolled up her leg warmers and tucked them into her bag. “Hm. The Roxy is lame before two a.m.”
“Fine. Get Cams to come. Her social life worries me.” Marcos smirked.
“Nope,” I said. “I’m going to bed.”
“Bummer. Chicks dig me even more when they see me with a hot girl. Guess these two hens will have to do.”
Nata stuck her tongue out at him, and Carla kicked him as she walked past. He gave them that smug-bastard grin of his and kissed my head before throwing his dance bag over his shoulder and heading out.
I watched him go, and the familiar longing coiled in my stomach.
Marcos Sánz. Sigh. I had vowed long ago that I wouldn’t date people I worked with, and Marcos was a threat to that vow. An experienced principal, Marcos was also the most sought-after dancer in the company. I was fascinated by the aura of greatness that radiated from him. His presence was striking: a dizzying combination of devilish arrogance and flawless grace. Confident and charismatic, he could instantly dissolve any girl’s resolve by flashing his South American-Zeus smile—which he did all the time. After that first day at the auditions, he had become my best guy-friend. Not my choice, but I went wit
h it.
A sweaty towel hit me on the face, snapping me back to the present.
“Hellouuu? Come along, Cami,” Nata said. “You need to get that skinny ass out. How will you meet the man of your dreams if you never come out with us?” Her deep blue eyes mocked me from the mirror.
Clenching my teeth, I threw my leg warmers and towel in my bag as fast as I could. I had already met the man of my dreams, and I really didn’t need new visuals of him making out with other women.
“Come on,” she went on, her tone softer at the realization she had put her foot in her mouth. “We’re going for a quick drink downstairs, and then everyone goes home to shower and get ready.”
“Thanks, but I’m sitting this one out. My feet are killing me. You guys go. I’ll take a cab home.”
The moment I stepped out into the damp evening, my plan to grab a cab evaporated. Shit. Rush hour. The streets glimmered in a sea of scarlet dragonflies blinking to a distorted symphony of horns. Ignoring my throbbing feet, I tossed my dance bag over my shoulder and set off to trek the ten blocks to my apartment.
By the time I got home, I was chilled to the bone. The blisters on my feet reminded me that walking home after work was never a good plan. I kicked off my sneakers, peeled off my sweat-drenched clothes, and stood under a scalding shower, letting the aches and fatigue melt away.
I was getting into my pj’s when Nata stormed in. While she showered, I heated up Thai leftovers and set the plates on the kitchen counter.
Dinner was our usual time to catch up on the day’s happenings. Now that the excitement had begun to settle, she asked how I was doing with the understudy news.
“I’m super thrilled and a bit terrified. Myrta’s so cool,” I said, squishing the last morsels of rice under my fork. “The ghost queen of the dead damsels. Hungry for revenge.” I smiled, but when I looked up at Nata, she was watching me with a pensive expression. Shit. I could never hide my feelings from her. My smile vanished and I exhaled. “Okay, I underplayed the terrified bit. I’m freaking out. It’s not only my first understudy for a principal role, Myrta is a huge deal. She’s dark, cryptic, and I feel like in order to fully get into it, I have to understand her first.”
“Are you wishing you had your heart broken?”
I shrugged. “You know I’ve never been in a real relationship. Marcelo Cavallieri in high school doesn’t count.”
“Of course he counts. He broke your heart.”
“It was a long time ago. I actually cared more about the humiliation of being dumped than I did about him.”
“I see…so you’re wishing somebody broke your heart for real?”
Nata wasn’t aware of how I felt for Marcos. Yes, I was familiar with the heartaches of unrequited love…but Myrta was also all about rage and revenge.
“Honestly, it would help at this point. I'm desperate. Federico’s betting his chips on me, and it’s obvious Vronsky has reservations about that decision. I feel the rope around my neck.”
“Cami, you are always your own worst enemy. Federico knows what he’s doing. You should trust that.”
“Giving the daughter of Inés Navarro a crack at it?”
Nata rolled her eyes. “Stop. You know it’s not uncommon for him and Vronsky to debate about who gets cast. She’ll come along. Whoever your mother is, you have what it takes and work harder than most of the principals in the company. She knows it.”
She left to get ready for the night out. While I did the dishes, I thought about Federico and wondered if his decision to cast me as Myrta had been an impulse, or if Nata was right and he actually saw potential I hadn’t discovered yet. I needed to nail this part. It wouldn’t be easy, and it certainly didn't help that so many of my coworkers would be perched on a wire waiting for me to screw it up.
Nata walked out of her room twenty minutes later, looking like a badass comic heroine. She was wearing a platinum, skinny dress and strappy sandals. Her waist-long, red hair was pulled back in a high ponytail, a single brushstroke of furious copper.
“You sure?” she said. “You have time to change still.”
“Totally, one million percent.”
She blew me a kiss, and I waved her off, glad to have the place to myself. Cuddling in a blanket, I surfed through the TV stations and stopped at Man of Steel. Perfect. Nothing like an evening with Henry Cavill to take my mind off everything.
I jolted awake, disoriented, and rubbed my eyes. What time was it? The rattling vibration of my phone against the coffee table jabbed at my nerves. Glaring at the screen, I snatched it up. Nata.
“What.”
“Oh, cool, you’re awake.” Her high-pitched voice blasted through the phone, making me cringe. A high tempo beat pulsed in the background. “Come over to the Roxy. It’s crazy here tonight!”
“Jesus, Nata. I was sleeping.” I sighed heavily so she could hear my irritation.
She ignored me and went on, “and oh my God, we met these Brazilians, and man, can they dance. Get over here. Now.”
“I’m in my pj’s, and it is two a.m. on a Tuesday. There’s no way in hell. Are you out of your mind?”
“Irina is here.”
I straightened. “What?”
“I don’t know how long she’ll be here. Hurry!”
I was fully awake. Irina Baranova, my childhood muse was at the Roxy.
Nata kept rambling, a bit buzzed, “I can send Alexei to get you. Grab anything you want from my closet.” Her slurry voice filtered through the deafening music.
“I’ll take a cab. See you in a few.” I hung up.
It was almost two thirty in the morning when the cab dropped me off at the Roxy. Nico stood crossed armed, blocking the door, and flashed a wicked smile at my solo appearance. He was Marcos’s cousin, and the kind of guy you wanted to know if you lived in a city like Buenos Aires, where nights were not an end to the day but a magic playground with a gazillion possibilities waiting. Without the right connections, there was no chance to get into the places that make the nightlife famous, like the Roxy. So, to us, Nico was our golden key.
His smile grew as I approached. “Hey. Camila, right? Looking sexy tonight. Here to give all those fools a run for their money? I warn you, Marcos showed up in very good company.”
“Cut it out.” I half chuckled to hide the way those words stabbed me. “Marcos and I are not together. Where is he?”
“He went in with Nata and the others about an hour ago. Came to check on him?” He winked.
“Yup. That’s it. I came to pull him out by the hair.”
“Second level!” he said as I walked into the club.
My favorite thing about the Roxy was the energy you felt the instant you walked through the door. The music vibrated from the walls, and you immediately became a part of it. There were three different levels—each with its own DJ and bar—so if you went from one floor to the other, both the music and the crowd changed completely.
Nata was surrounded by a group of what were, without a doubt, professional dancers. The Brazilians? As I got closer, I recognized two members of the Russian Ballet. The scene was beautiful and hypnotizing. They moved to the beat of the music, wrapping around Nata in sensual, effortless moves.
A few feet away was Marcos. Nico hadn’t lied. He was sandwiched between two girls in tiny dresses who looked determined to win his attention. The old dagger in my heart sank a little deeper. I looked back at Nata. She had clearly made a new BFF and was now tangled around him. When she saw me, she hurried my way, tugging her boy by the hand.
“Cami, this is Teo. Teo, meet Cami, my best buddy.”
Teo hugged me warmly and gave me a soft peck on the cheek. “Eai tudo bom? Great to meet you.” He winked. His mouth stretched into an infectious smile every time he looked at Nata.
“Great to meet you too.” I nodded, then turned to Nata. “Where is Irina?”
She gave Teo a soft peck on the lips. “I’ll be back in a sec.”
“Moving fast, are we?” I said as we reac
hed the upper level. She dismissed me with a quick flick of the hand.
In the dance floor, Irina’s platinum hair lashed about as she whipped her head to the beat of the music. Nata tugged me by the hand as we rushed over, nearly bumping into her.
“Irina, this is Camila. She’s going to be a principal with the company soon,” Nata blurted in her tipsy state.
“Nata!” I growled between my teeth. She pinched my back, her way to tell me to shut up.
Irina pulled me into her arms, a bit tipsy herself as she slurred something in Russian. She then held my face in her hand, crooning something else I couldn’t understand. Her eyes were glassy, her breath laced with sugar and rum. She then gave me a sly smile and bit her lip. I blinked, unsure what to say.
“She just invited you to her villa in the south of France,” Nata said into my ear while she gripped my arm to pull me away. “We’ll be back,” she said to Irina, who got lost in her dance again. Nata dragged me back to the Brazilians.
“Nata, you made me come all the way here, and I didn’t even get to talk to her. Jesus, what’s the rush?” I shouted in her ear. Nata shook her head, then turned abruptly, causing me to bump into her.
“She was hitting on you, big time. Be glad you don’t speak Russian.”
“Who cares? I just wanted to meet her. We could’ve invited her to the bar to have a drink with us.”
“Maybe later this week. We’ll get her after one of their rehearsals. I’ll figure something out. But you need training before facing a Russian prima.”
A Foo Fighters song started playing. Before I could protest, Teo and his friends gathered around us and quickly took command of the floor. I was suddenly surrounded by Brazilians and had a mojito in each hand. For a little while, I let myself go and not agonize about my self-imposed curfew. Brazilians have the power of making you believe there’s nothing in the world worth worrying about. I closed my eyes and surrendered to their spell.
After a few more songs, I decided it was time to go. I was parched and needed water. I spotted Irina dancing with two skeletal girls who had to be models, and I debated whether I should give it another try and make getting out of bed worth it. But Irina leaned to one of the girls and kissed her on the mouth. Oh, Do not disturb. I set off toward the lounge…and the exit.
