Chapter 1 #2
I groan again, the combination of the reminder of all the duties yet to come and the relief of finally reaching my front door overtaking me. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Love you.”
“Love you too!” she chirps before I disconnect the call and shove my phone back in my pocket.
As the front door of my studio opens, its arc swinging wide, I barely manage to catch it before it slams into the counter of my “kitchen.” It takes only about four steps before I’ve crossed from the door into my “bedroom.” My full-size bed is covered by a plain white duvet.
Two white pillows sit at the top. The whole thing rests against a plain white wall.
I don’t spend a lot of time here, so decorating has never been a priority.
I promised myself when I made principal, I would invest a little more effort into my living space.
Maybe even try to keep a plant alive. But right now I don’t have the time or the funds to care.
I toss my ballet bag near the front door and drag myself straight to the bathroom, unable to think about touching anything when I’m still covered in a day’s worth of sweat.
The water flows over me, and I let out an unholy groan as the pulse beats against my aching shoulders.
I spend more time than I should underneath the stream, wondering what kind of announcement could be awaiting us tomorrow.
Wondering if I totally blew my shot at principal by turning down David’s advances.
Overall, things in the ballet world have gotten much better in recent years when it comes to the wildly unbalanced power dynamics between directors/choreographers and dancers.
I know that, were I to report David’s behavior, it would be taken seriously.
Just as I know it would likely be the end of my time with Ballet New York.
Not that they would fire me, obviously. But I would be ostracized—emotionally and mentally pushed out, if not technically.
And besides, it’s not like he really did anything so terrible. Yes, he propositioned me, but he didn’t persist, at least not much, after I said no. And as of now, saying no hasn’t caused any sort of harm.
I probably need to stop worrying about it. David was so drunk, he probably doesn’t even remember.
I reassure myself of this as I tuck myself into bed, curling up with my iPad to watch the latest episode of Vanderpump Rules.
Somehow the drama of drunk twenty-five year olds constantly banging their co-workers feels tame in comparison to the drama of the ballet world.
But I allow myself to forget about dance, about promotions, about directors with wandering eyes, about everything.
I’m ten minutes early to the company meeting the next morning, wanting to find a seat well within David’s eyeline.
I want him to be thinking about me in connection with whatever this new project is.
Want him to start seeing me in a leading role, even if I have no idea what said role will entail. Whatever it is, I’m ready for it.
We gather in the largest of the rehearsal rooms, crowding into the space, the chatter echoing around us as we wait for David to grace us with his presence.
Lucy, one of the few in the company I would call a friend, plops down next to me on the floor, automatically extending her legs into a stretch, her dark hair falling over her face as she leans forward. “So what are the odds this whole thing could just be an email?”
I smile, but it’s tense. Not for the first time, I wish I could have a little sliver of Lucy’s ease.
A Japanese-American woman with bright eyes and bolder sass, she’s perfectly happy with her place in the corps, and in general, doesn’t stress about things like castings and contract renewals.
She dances because she loves it, says she’ll do it for as long as it makes her happy, and when it doesn’t, she’ll stop.
The thought of no longer dancing, no longer being a part of this company, is enough to make the cup of oatmeal and banana I ate after my workout do pirouettes in my stomach.
David strolls into the room one minute before the meeting is due to start.
A white man in his midfifties who danced as a member of the company for years before taking over as director, he’s finally let his hair go gray and somehow it makes him look younger than when he was dying it a too-dark brown.
He’s still in impeccable shape, his presence looming both literally and figuratively.
He doesn’t need to call for our attention; the moment he strides to the center of the room, flanked by his assistant, Brianna, the chatter dies down.
He takes a minute to look around, like a king surveying his subjects.
For today at least, his smile seems to indicate he doesn’t find us lacking.
He claps his hands together once, leaving them joined in front of his chest as if in prayer.
“I know we all have busy days ahead of us, so I won’t waste any time.
As you know, I have been wanting to include more original pieces in our upcoming seasons, and after our board and our season ticket holders see what I’ve come up with, I can only imagine they’ll be demanding more. ”
Lucy rolls her eyes and doesn’t even try to hide it.
I elbow her in the ribs without moving my eyes from David.
“Picture this.” He spreads his hands wide, painting the visual for us.
It’s the most excited I’ve seen him in ages and our last performance received a nearly perfect review in the Times.
“A courtesan, destitute and desperate for a chance at a better life. A penniless writer with nothing to offer her but his love. A prince, richer than she can imagine but cruel and heartless. And the impossible choice she must make.”
“So the plot of Moulin Rouge?” Lucy mutters under her breath.
A quick glance around the room and it’s clear that more than one person has caught on to David’s not so original idea.
But no one dares to question his brilliance.
When we don’t burst into applause and cheers, he continues to try to sell us. “Think about it. Ballet is grace and elegance, technique and precision. But ballet has never been sexy. Not until now.”
“Has the man never seen anything performed outside of Lincoln Center?” This time Lucy’s muttering isn’t so under her breath and a few people around her giggle.
And I mean, she’s not wrong. It’s a little ridiculous to claim that ballet has never before been sexy. But in David’s mind, and probably in the minds of most of the people paying our salaries, it’s a groundbreaking idea, one that will push all the boundaries.
“Because the choreography of this piece is going to require a different set of skills, I will be holding auditions in six weeks. And as usual, Brianna and myself will be watching during company classes and rehearsals to see who is standing out.” His eyes flick briefly to me.
“I want to see who is willing to go the distance and give this piece what it needs.”
It’s a glance so quick I could have imagined it. Or maybe he’s just looking at everyone. But I can’t help but feel the look was too pointed to be in my head.
But I don’t focus on that. I focus on what he’s just said.
Auditions. There are going to be auditions for this ballet.
Normally David doesn’t need to audition us—he sees us dancing every day.
He knows what we can do, what we’re capable of.
But if there are going to be auditions, then I have a chance to make myself stand out, stand above the rest of the company.
Of course, I have no idea what he means by “a different set of skills” but whatever it is, I will make it happen. I’ll learn how to tap dance if that’s what it takes.
David dismisses us, giving us a ten-minute break before we’re set to begin class. He’s headed for the door, and I know this might be the only chance I get.
I catch him in the hallway. “David? Do you have time for a quick chat at some point today? I just have a couple of questions.”
He glances at me over his shoulder, not bothering to stop walking away. “Come to my office after rehearsal this afternoon.”
Brianna, David’s assistant and right-hand woman, calls after him. “Is this a meeting I should be there for?”
“No need,” David responds, pushing through the door at the end of the hall and letting it slam behind him.
Brianna looks at me. “Would you like me to be there, Allegra?”
I know why she’s asking. She can act as backup—or as a witness—if I feel like I need it. But I shake my head. “No. It’s nothing big. Shouldn’t take more than a few minutes.”
I rehearse what I want to say to David as I spin across the floor, nearly losing my balance as I come out of my turns.
Being distracted during class and rehearsal is probably not the best way to go about securing a lead role, but tomorrow I will be back to my dedicated self.
And when I meet with David this afternoon, I will assure him I will do whatever it takes to be his leading lady.