by J Q Anderson
I stared down at my white knuckles wrapped around the bed’s metal rail while a new determination expanded within me. I thought about that day in the studio, a million days away now. The day when Madame kicked me out because I couldn’t keep going. I had obeyed and gone home, feeling defeated and beaten up by the injustice of it all. I now realized she had been testing me. Sure, an ankle injury was tricky, it could go either way, and handling it right required maturity. But for the first time since I started ballet, I knew. I really understood the life I had chosen. The right choice was to always keep going, to do what reasonable people weren’t willing to do. To keep pushing, keep dancing. I thought of all those nights at the studio rehearsing until my muscles burned, all the painful hours I had spent coercing my battered body to cooperate while other girls my age had fun, and parties, and friends and boyfriends. No. No. This was it. The threshold. The hell if I had come this far to let Verónica take my spot at the final hour. I had already given up everything for my career. I was here to perform.
“Help me find my clothes.” I turned unsteadily to the small closet.
“Cams, babe. Nobody wants you to come back more than me, but this…is nuts. They said to wait till this evening.”
I ignored him and pulled up my jeans. They were looser.
“Are you listening?” he said.
“Tomorrow’s closing night,” I said as I stepped into my UGGs.
“You can’t dance. You’re sick.” He squeezed my shoulders gently.
I met his eyes. “Oh, yes. Yes, I can.” I shrugged his hands off and pulled on my sweater.
His expression changed and he nodded slightly. It was as if he were looking at a stranger. “You sure about this?”
“Let’s go.”
Deciding to skip the paperwork, we scurried down the hallway. I had no idea what releasing yourself from the hospital would involve, but I didn’t want to find out, and time was slipping through my fingers. Marcos’s muscular arm held me against his torso. I kept my chin down as we hurried to the elevators. My head was spinning wildly and my pulse raced. I focused on each step, using the lines of the floor tiles for guidance. One more step, one more, keep going. You can do this. I felt so weak. My legs were about to give when Marcos finally opened the exit door, and the gelid noon air of New York shook me awake.
After a quick shower at the hotel and a heavy dose of ibuprofen, I walked into rehearsal, still holding onto Marcos’s arm. Verónica’s eyes narrowed, scanning me. I made sure I kept my shoulders back and my chin up. I had concealed the circles under my eyes, but I still felt weak, my stomach swimming in a mixture of drugs and acid from the coffee I had downed at the hotel lobby. At least the pills did their job, and my headache was now a dull pain. I looked around for Federico and Madame, but they were nowhere in sight. I hurried across to the dressing room, waiting for someone to grab my arm and tell me to go back to bed, that obviously I wasn’t up for it. But no one did. And it occurred to me that everyone in the cast was likely focused on concealing their own injuries. There was a lot at stake for them, too, and nobody would question whether or not I was fully recovered. It comforted me to think I was simply a part of this huge puzzle, and they needed me as much as I needed them. Except for Verónica. She wasn’t having it, and as soon as I stepped out of my dressing room, she intercepted me.
“You’re back?” she spat out, trying to mask her infuriated tone. “We have tomorrow covered. Federico’s decision,” she reinforced. “Just…chill.”
“No. I’ve got it covered. You go chill.” I grinned. “Excuse me,” I said, stepping around her.
The next evening, armed with cold medicine, Papá’s pills, and a few shots of wheatgrass, I sowed the ribbons on the unique custom shoes embroidered by Anna. I had been saving them and, finally, it seemed like the perfect night to honor her and all my hard work to become a prima. An image of Sebastián pulling me off 9 de Julio after I bolted across to save them crossed my mind, and I smiled. It seemed like a million years ago.
I gave my last time on the New York stage everything I had, my bottled-up dreams spilling free.
I went through every variation in a sort of drug-induced trance, except it was my adrenaline that kept me going. My head burned and every muscle ached with fatigue, but I fought hard so no one would see it. As Madame always said, our own suffering was private. The audience wanted perfection and smiles.
At the wings, between dances, I bent over, my temples pulsing as I caught my breath. A girl from the corps handed me a chilled bottle of water, and I downed it.
“Are you all right?”
“Thanks.” I said, nodding, then leapt back onto the stage in sync with the music. An overall fire ran through my muscles. I ordered my body to obey and followed the variations without stopping to assess the pain that screamed from my ankle or the feverish sweat that covered my limbs. I was in charge.
The final act came, and Marcos and I danced one last time for the scene of Princess Aurora’s wedding. He smiled, and a feeling of triumph sang in my veins. We had done it. I smiled back, on a high of adrenaline and meds. It was as if I were dancing in someone else’s body.
When the curtain finally fell, I bowed to the audience, bursting into applause from behind the lights of the stage. For the first time, I truly felt like a professional dancer. Pain ravaged my muscles, but I had pulled it off. This was the life of a dancer. The public didn’t pay to see that you were just like them. They paid for the illusion, the dream that you were untouched by the ugliness of the world.
For our last night, Federico had organized an over-the-top farewell that said, Oh yeah, I’m at the top. Everyone in the ballet world was there. Baryshnikov greeted us and Nata and I joked: You again? It was a grand party. The tour was over, and it was time to go home. A sense of nostalgia flashed through me. Despite the hurdles of the trip, this was New York City. Being here kicked ass.
Madame intercepted me as I stepped out of the ladies’ room.
“Camila, do you have a moment?”
“Of course.” I had noticed that since we had gotten to New York, she no longer called me by my last name. Had I earned her respect? She ushered me to a small sitting area in the corner, away from a group of tipsy guests. She straightened invisible wrinkles on her black velvet gown, and her steady green eyes gazed into mine.
“Sit,” she ordered, and I obeyed. “Andrew, Federico, and I have been talking with Manhattan Ballet this week. Andrew is quite impressed by your potential.”
“Really? I’m…flattered.”
“You should be. Andrew is a great director. This is out of the norm during a tour, but Andrew is thinking about asking you to join Manhattan Ballet.”
“What? Me? Why?”
“Why not you?” She frowned. I searched her eyes. Was she delusional?
“B-because…there are others that are so much better. Nata—”
“Nata is an established principal at the Colón. She’s part of our legacy,” she said calmly. “Your career, on the other hand, is just starting. This would be the right time for you to make a move like this.”
“I…I don’t know what to say. I’m…stunned.”
“Camila,” she said, placing her languid, gentle hand on my shoulder. “Professionally, this is a unique opportunity for you.”
“It’s huge….But what about Federico? He’s given me a chance, I can’t walk away like that.”
Madame shook her head. “He and I have talked about this. The Colón can’t offer you the same exposure as Manhattan Ballet, and though he resists, he knows that.”
I chewed on my bottom lip, processing.
“If this was happening to me at your age, I wouldn’t hesitate,” she said.
“I just…” I looked into her deep green eyes. The usual hardness was replaced by a new sense of respect, as if she were no longer talking to the struggling dancer with incorrigible habits. “Madame, I thought you didn’t think I really had it.”
“I’m hard on my dancers, hardest on the
ones with the most potential.”
“But you don’t mind if I leave the Colón? You’re letting me go?”
She placed her hands on mine and gripped firmly. “Foolish girl. I will miss you dearly. It’s not every day I get to work with a dancer with your determination. You have grown tremendously. But I know what this will mean for your career. I have to let you go.”
My throat tightened, the ache strangling a whimper that was fighting its way out.
“I would have to move here.” I wrinkled my forehead.
“Oh, for Christ’s sake, child. Of course you would have to move here. Listen to me.” She squeezed my hands again. “You have been preparing for an opportunity like this your entire life. You work harder than most dancers in the company, and you just proved it yesterday by fleeing the hospital to rehearse and perform on closing night. Or did you think I wouldn’t realize you were dancing with a fever?”
I looked at my feet to hide the burn in my face. Did anything ever escape this woman?
“What does Federico think?” I said.
She waved her hand dismissively. “Federico is like most ballet directors. Territorial, narcissistic. I love the man, but it’s the truth. This is your chance, Camila. And you can’t let guilt or fear decide. But if you don’t take this, then you are not the dancer I thought you were.” She gave my hand one last pat and stood, turning back to the party.
When I finally got to my room that night, I felt completely drained. I had briefly spoken to Andrew during the party, and we had made an appointment for the next morning.
I was up most of the night thinking, imagining myself as a New Yorker, walking the city streets to work every morning. But as I considered the great career path this could mean for me, a part of me still felt hollow. Was I not ready? Was I being a coward? This would be a big change. Maybe I had to just go for it, maybe these feelings were normal, and they would eventually settle once New York became my home. I tossed and turned. But the more I envisioned my life here and the more I tried to convince myself this was the obvious next step, the heavier my chest felt. For everything New York had to offer, Sebastián wasn’t here.
“It will mean hard work,” Andrew explained after laying down his proposal from behind his large, mahogany desk. “You would be starting slow, I’ll be honest. Most of the main roles will go to the principals this year, but we can arrange some solos for you until we post casting for the new season. We can formalize things then.” We were sitting in his office, a corner space on the fourth floor with a stunning view of Central Park.
If I accepted, I would join Manhattan Ballet right away. The season was half over, so I would only have a few days to fly home to get my stuff. In Buenos Aires, the Colón ballet was off for the summer, and Federico wouldn’t offer contracts for another month.
“It’s such an honor to even be considered.” I bit my lip, my pulse sprinting. “Would it be okay to have a day or so to think about it? It’s a big decision.”
“Absolutely. I’ll be out tomorrow, so why don’t we touch base Tuesday morning?”
I agreed.
My heart pounded against my chest as I closed the door behind me and pulled out my phone. There was only one person who could help me think this through.
“Is it normal that I’m freaking out, Mamá? What should I do?” I said as I dodged a group of tourists dressed in Hawaiian shirts of ridiculously bright colors over their winter clothes.
“It’s a fantastic opportunity,” Mamá said. “And, honestly, it may not come around again. Some dancers wait years for a chance to dance in New York, even as a starting soloist. But only you can make the right choice for you. You have to listen to your gut, Cami.”
“But you did it. New York was home for you.”
“Yes, it was. For a few years, anyway. But this is about you. Ever since you were little, you’ve told yourself and everyone else that once you made it to New York, you would be a professional. I know how much this means to you. How much it always has.”
“I know. And now that I’m here…I’m not sure what comes next.”
“Look. Every once in a while, it’s good to stop and reassess your goals. This is the time to do that. Think about what you want to get out of your career, honey. New York is no longer the last stop, now it’s a diving board. What is it you want? That will give you the answer you’re looking for.”
“I’m scared, Mamá. The truth is, I hate it here. I thought it would be fun, that I would love everything about Manhattan. But it’s cold and gray, and everything’s different. I really don’t see myself here.”
“Cami, there’s always an adjustment period. Besides, it will be spring soon.” I heard her smile through the phone.
Later that morning, I told Nata and Marcos about my conversations with Madame and then with Andrew. As it turned out, Marcos had also been offered a position as a principal with Manhattan Ballet.
“And?” I said, sounding harsh without meaning to.
Marcos shrugged. “Don’t know yet.”
Sitting beside me on the bed, Nata reached for my arm. “What do you want, Cami?”
That question again. “I’m not sure anymore. I was convinced this was what I wanted, to live in New York, dance for Manhattan Ballet, but now I don’t know. It doesn’t feel right to be here, you know?”
“I do know,” Nata said. “I was terrified when I first came to Buenos Aires. I cried for days. I hated it. Now I wouldn’t go anywhere else.”
I went for a walk in Central Park, but after ten minutes, I couldn’t feel my toes, so I grabbed my swimsuit and switched to the hotel’s Jacuzzi. As I swirled my toes in the steaming water, I let the thoughts loose in my head. Why was it suddenly hard to just say yes to New York?
Staying here would also mean working with Chris. I was relieved I hadn’t let things move forward that night, but interacting with him on a regular basis would be awkward. Shit. I had no clue what to do. What I did know, though, was that my career choices couldn’t be about Sebastián, or Federico, or Chris, or anyone else. What did I want?
Tuesday morning, I sat facing Andrew, the massive width of his desk separating us in space and in rank.
“What do you think?” he said, leaning back in his chair and interlacing his fingers behind his head.
“I think…” I spread my palms on my lap and took a deep breath.
“I know it’s a bit of a slow start, but you can grow. It is a great opportunity. But, if you’re not ready…”
“I would be honored to join Manhattan Ballet. Christ, this…” Tears of overwhelming joy and exhaustion rushed to my eyes and I didn’t bother stopping them. “This has been my dream ever since I can remember. And now…it’s finally here. I’m sorry.” I wiped my cheeks with my hands. “I sound like a little girl.”
“Not at all. You’ve got talent, but you’ve also worked hard. Or you wouldn’t be here. You have every right to enjoy this moment. So, is that a yes?”
“Yes. Yes! I would love to dance for Manhattan Ballet. Thank you so much, Andrew. I’ll give it everything to make you proud.”
“Fantastic. I’ll see you back here in two weeks. Eight a.m. Go ahead,” he said, nodding. “Go celebrate.”
I stepped out in a daze and bumped into Chris, who was waiting outside of Andrew’s office. “Pardon me.” I looked down as I sidestepped him, angling to the exit.
“Wait,” he said. “I was hoping to have a word with you.”
“I…I have nothing to say to you.”
“Please.”
“Sorry, I’ve got to go.”
“One minute of your time, is all. I just need to say something to you.”
I gave him a stern look. “What can you possibly say that would make what you did—what we almost did—any less horrible?”
“Nothing,” he said, hanging his head. “But I need you to understand. Please, have a coffee with me.”
“Another time.” I turned, hurrying to the exit.
“Camila.” He caught up with
me. Dammit. “We can’t leave things as they are…We might be working together. Am I wrong?” That stopped me in my tracks. Crap. He had a point.
We sat at a small café around the corner. It smelled of freshly ground coffee and chocolate pastries. I avoided his eyes and focused on the people coming in. Mm, cute top.
“Camila, I love Ivette,” he said softly.
“You have a funny way of showing love. And commitment.”
He sighed. “I deserve that. Look, I’ve never loved anyone like I love her. She used to be a dancer with the Royal Ballet, and we fell in love quickly. But five years ago, she fell during a rehearsal and that was it. Her spine suffered severe injuries, and after three surgeries, they told her she would never walk again.”
“I’m sorry,” I said sincerely.
“The thing is, I still love Ivette as much as I did when she could walk. But she’s changed. She’s not full of light like she used to be.”
“That’s understandable.”
“When I met you, you reminded me so much of her. There’s something pure about you. Despite the sadness I saw in your eyes the other night, you’re so full of life, and genuine. It’s almost as if the ugly parts of the world can’t touch you. And I…I was selfish.” He focused his eyes on his empty cup. “For one moment, I wanted to feel that joy again. I’m so sorry. I would understand if you reject Andrew’s proposal. It would be…inconvenient, I guess, to see each other every day.” He looked down at his interlaced hands on the table. He seemed vulnerable, hurt, and I understood the sadness I had seen in his eyes before. He was just a man, someone in pain, and the anger and disgust that I had felt for him dissipated.
“All right. I accept your apology. And…I also accepted Andrew’s proposal.”
