4. Celeste
Chapter 4
Celeste
Saar
You were fantastic! Congratulations.
Cora
I wish I’d been there.
Let’s have lunch today.
Saar
My flight leaves tonight, so we’re good. @Celeste?
Cora
She’s probably still sleeping.
Saar
Partying all night after that amazing performance.
Let’s meet at one at your place @Cora.
Cora
(kiss emoji)
I groan as I turn around in my bed, my body screaming. It’s no wonder, after dancing and then crying and raging all night.
I ignore the missed calls from Jose and all the messages from my colleagues. Missing the party last night is the least of my issues.
I don’t respond to Cora and Saar, because if I canceled, they would come over. With it being Saar’s last day here, she’ll insist on meeting up. Getting out of that one is impossible.
I don’t feel like dragging myself out of bed. Or across the town to Cora’s bistro. Or to the theater tonight.
Or anywhere.
Ever.
My visa has always been tied to my work. A cabaret I used to work at had taken care of the renewals. I never needed to keep up with the paperwork.
Paperwork gives me anxiety.
Offices cause hives.
Officials make me want to curl into a ball and roll away.
Maybe that’s why I didn’t stay on top of Reinhard. Not that knowing why would help at this point.
Ever since the night my mother died and the police barely acted, I don’t trust the system. Because ignoring it will make it go away. Magnifique, Celeste.
My stomach growls, and I shuffle out of my bed and reach for the fridge in the kitchen corner. I can’t afford more than a shoebox of an apartment. Everything is at arm’s length. On a morning like this, it’s a welcome problem.
The state inside my fridge is not as welcome. I bang my forehead against the door. With the busy rehearsal schedule, I neglected to grocery shop. Merde.
I force myself to stretch my limbs for twenty minutes, because I might be unemployed after tonight, but my body is still my only currency.
Dressing up in a white button-down shirt and dark green slacks that flare up at the waist, I decide to quit the pity party.
I was in a similar predicament almost a year ago, and an opportunity opened up. This time will be the same.
I smile at myself in the mirror. Fake as fuck, but it’s all I have at the moment, so it will have to do.
It takes me another fifteen minutes to get to Chelsea, and when I enter Cora’s bistro, I find the girls laughing at something.
Even Cora, who is usually very busy, is sitting at the table with Saar, relaxed. Her shiny ginger hair, usually tied in a ponytail, is blown out .
The scene pushes tears to my eyes. I’ll miss this.
Stop it!
“Sorry I couldn’t make it sooner.” I walk over, and they jump up.
“The woman of the hour.” Cora kisses my cheek, her red curls tickling my face. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t be there last night. But things are looking up, and I might be able to take a night off and see you dance on the stage.”
Cora took over her father’s bistro after he fell ill, only to discover the entire business was in a very poor state. She’s been working hard to help it bounce back.
Saar and our mutual friend Brook, who now lives in Portugal, started frequenting the bistro before their classes at my dance studio. Just before I had to close it, Cora became a regular in our tight group. Not that she has much time to see us outside of this little, charming place.
My dance studio used to be just up the street. Another dream that evaporated.
Stop it!
I quickly move to kiss Saar, because I don’t want to break the news right away. It hurts that I can’t even enjoy last night’s success, because it’s over before it even had a chance to settle in.
“I’m going to miss you.” I squeeze Saar’s hand before we sit down .
“I’m going to be back soon. I can’t stand the hectocity of work for too long.”
Saar is a model who works mainly in Europe, owning apartments in Milan and London. She misses Manhattan, but declines most of the offers to work here—a decision she made to avoid her parents as much as possible when she first started modeling at fifteen.
“Hectocity is not a word.” Cora chuckles.
“It should be. The point is, we’re going to hang out soon. All the time. Until you get sick of me.”
“About that—” I start.
“What can I get you?” A woman I haven’t seen before in a black apron with the bistro’s logo smiles at me.
Her raven black hair is styled in a pixie cut that looks like it was shaped with children's scissors during a daring DIY moment. Her almost-black eyes draw attention.
But her glasses? They look like something you’d grab off a drugstore rack—cheap and not all that cute.
She is slender and so petite I immediately imagine her spending hours in front of a mirror practicing ballet.
“You’re new.” I smile.
Her tanned face turns red, and her eyes dart to Cora, who takes over. “Celeste, I’m proud to announce that I finally hired someone to help me here. This is Lily. Lily, these are my friends, and they’ll be getting on your nerves regularly. And Celeste always gets an oat milk latte.”
“Nice to meet you.” Lily fists her hands and turns.
“Actually, can I have two of your delicious croissants?”
“Of course.” She dashes away.
“She looks a bit scared, but I’m sure you must be relieved to have hired her.” I’m thrilled to see Cora relaxed for once.
“She is a bit nervous, but I have a good feeling about her.” Cora takes a sip of her coffee and winces. Licking her lips, she adds, “I’m sure she’ll get the hang of it.”
“Of course she will.” Saar crosses her legs, looking effortlessly beautiful in her jeans and a white tee, her blond hair in a messy bun. “Celeste, you must be exhausted and excited after last night. Congratulations. The whole performance was amazing, but you stole the show.”
All for nothing.
Stop it!
“What’s wrong?” She immediately picks up on my mood.
Out of my two friends here, I’ve known her the longest. We met when I choreographed a fashion show shortly after I arrived in Manhattan .
At that point, I hadn’t picked up any jobs. I was all nerves, and we bonded together after I gave her a Snickers bar.
We lost touch and reconnected again last year, around the time I met Cora.
“I’m dancing for the last time tonight.” I sag into my chair and blink rapidly. Merde, saying it out loud for the first time cracks the carefully forged no-more-self-pity veneer.
“That’s bullshit. You were outstanding, they would be crazy to let you go!” Saar raises her voice, and several patrons look at us.
“What happened?” Cora frowns.
“My visa happened,” I grumble.
“Wait a minute,” Saar says. “You have a work visa tied to your job. That was the reason you needed a job last year. So if you have a job, the visa stands.”
“Except that it needs regular renewals, and my boss missed the deadline for that. As of tomorrow, I’m a tourist here.”
“Okay, so you’ll miss a few shows, but you’ll get back to it as soon as the renewal kicks in.” Saar plays with a napkin.
“I was let go because the theater can’t employ me illegally. They’re giving the role to my understudy. They won’t wait for me.”
Lily, the new waitress, approaches with my order, her hands trembling as she places the tray with my coffee and pastries in front of me.
The deafening silence around our table is probably not helping her composure, and as she pulls her hand back, she tilts the saucer, and some of my latte soaks my croissants.
“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry,” she chants, her eyes wide with horror.
Cora jumps up and rushes to the counter.
“It’s okay. I was going to dunk them, anyway.” I grab Lily’s wrist and try to smile at her, to calm her down, though smiling is the last thing I feel like doing.
Cora returns with a rag and wipes the table. She walks Lily back to the counter and talks to her in a hushed voice.
No one speaks before she returns. “It’s going to be okay,” she says as she sits down.
“Lily or me?” I hate the defeat in my voice.
“What are the options to get your visa renewed, or apply for a new one?” Cora asks.
“This website is anything but user-friendly, but it looks like the process is lengthy and requires an employer to apply on your behalf.” Saar speaks as she swipes up her phone screen with her finger.
With my bureauphobia, it hasn’t even occurred to me to check the government website.
“My boss is glad to get rid of me.” I sigh .
“Then he’s an idiot, especially after last night.” Saar puts her phone down. “Besides, there are other types of visas.” She takes a sip of her drink, staring at me over the rim of her cup.
“Are you going to offer me your insufferable brother again?”
Saar means well, and I’m sure marriage might be a reasonable solution here. But Caleb van den Linden is the last person I would want to pretend to live with—or even like—in public. And I most definitely wouldn’t want to owe him a favor.
As much as Saar thinks it’s a good idea, Caleb dislikes me enough to refuse, even though he loves his sister and normally wouldn’t say no to her.
“Yeah, it might be difficult after our last dinner, but Cal isn’t planning to marry for real. Definitely not now, when—” she stops herself. “Never mind. He’s available, and you know he’s on a mission to fix all my father’s mistakes.”
“I never asked, what did your father do to Celeste?” Cora looks at Saar.
“My older brother Finn’s wife used to take burlesque classes at Celeste’s school. One night, Celeste asked Paris, my sister-in-law, to cover for a missing dancer.”
“It was my key gig, and one of my dancers canceled, so Paris let me talk her into it. Only right after our performance, Saar’s father barged backstage and wreaked havoc. He was upset about the mother of his grandchild ‘stripping.’”
Saar rolls her eyes as Cora gasps.
“His words,” Saar says. “The irony is that he was there because he was fucking one of the dancers. Who was younger than me. He almost cost my brother his fiancée, and the club fired Celeste.”
Cora flinches. “Your father is—”
“A conniving, cheating piece of shit,” Saar sums up matter-of-factly. “Yes, that he is, and worse.”
“After I got the gig at The Pulse Stage, the problem was solved. I doubt Charles van den Linden even knows I was the casualty of his vendetta.” I take a generous bite of my croissant.
“But his son knows, and he would want to help.” Saar points at me, raising her eyebrows.
“I wouldn’t go as far as want .” I wipe the pastry crumbs from my lips. It could be a simple solution, but the price seems too high. The man is an insufferable playboy.
“What’s with the two of you, anyway? I only met him a few times, but he’s handsome, rich, and funny.” Cora shrugs.
“I agree. A convenient marriage might be the best and fastest solution.” Saar grumbles, “I’m sure he’d do that for me.”
“I want to marry someone who wants to be with me. Call me a romantic. Your brother is one of those guys who asks for a number and never calls, and then pretends not to know the girl.” I take a sip of my latte and stop myself from spitting it out.
Shit, Lily has a steep learning curve. I don’t know the girl, but there’s an aura of desperation around her that I sympathize with—I guess birds of a feather. I want her to succeed.
Saar snorts. “I doubt Cal has ever asked for a number. He just gets them. He oozes charm naturally, poor women. Though I don’t understand why he’s a dick around you. Perhaps that’s a sign.” Saar shrugs.
“What sign? That we should stay away from each other? I agree with that.” I finish my second croissant.
“No, like, you know when we were kids, and a boy who liked you would bully you?” Saar stirs the spoon in her almost-full coffee mug. I guess she gave up after the first sip as well.
“That’s the most fucked-up idea of romancing.” Cora snorts.
“And we’re not in kindergarten anymore,” I add.
“I’m curious, though, why do you hate my brother?”
“Have you heard him talking to me?”
“I have, but I also heard you talking to him, and the razzing is mutual. ”
I don’t know what to say to that. I’m usually not riled up that easily, but Caleb is a man who makes me feel challenged—and not in a good way. Besides, the last thing I need in my life is to be one of his women.
“Isn’t that a good set-up for a fake marriage?” Cora pushes her mug away. “I mean, you’ll get hitched with clear rules, and an expiration date.”
I swallow around the lump in my throat. “And kill each other in the process?”
“You can minimize your interactions.” Saar leans forward, propping her chin on her hand. “Think of your career, Celeste.”