Chapter Twenty-Six
I’m so excited that I have to practically tie my ankles together to keep from showing up to rehearsal an hour early. It’s how most people describe Christmas as a kid. Joyful, almost frantic anticipation. And the little rendezvous with Luca didn’t hurt giving me a great sleep.
I still get back to the theater early. I have to stop myself from walking at top speed from the flat to the studio.
After getting changed and doing a short Pilates practice and some other warm-up exercises, I wait in front of the elevator, shivering a little from excitement.
When the doors open, I feel my gut sink.
“Jocelyn!” Arabella gushes, stepping out and toward me.
My ear throbs as a reminder that she can’t be trusted.
“Arabella.”
“ Cari?o , I thought about you all day yesterday. We’re like Spanish lovers, aren’t we? So much passion between us. We’re here, we’re there.”
She laughs, flippant and confident. I recall the first days I knew her, when I thought she was so glamorous and interesting. Sort of like a more sexual Holly Golightly. Now her erratic mood swings feel more like those of a kid who’s been prematurely prescribed psychiatric medication.
Girls push by us and get in the open elevator.
“Are you coming in?” asks one of them, the girl Anastasia, who I met on that first night at Arabella’s.
“No, we need a minute,” says Arabella.
They let the doors shut, and I see them look at each other just before they close all the way.
Fuck. I do not want to do this with her before rehearsal. She’s first on the basic for Manon , so I was hoping to just stare at the back of her head the whole time and learn the steps from her, never having to actually interact.
“I’m sorry, Arabella,” I say, reluctant to give her anything, but knowing things work best when Arabella is happy. She leans on the wall, arms crossed, waiting for me to go on. “I shouldn’t have implied that you”—I look around, making sure no one is listening—“fucked for your roles. I know you’re good. I know you didn’t do that, and I shouldn’t have said that.”
I hit the button again for the elevator.
“Of course, darling! I forgive you. I said we’re like lovers, aren’t we? So we get heated. I like this fiery side of you that’s coming out. It’s sexy.”
It’s not a completely accurate reporting of what happened. It’s not as if we were arguing and things escalated. She bit me, for fuck’s sake. After having more than one tantrum at me. And I snapped and said her rude words back to her. That’s what happened.
I think of her and Cynthia, who scream at each other more than speak. I wonder why Cynthia puts up with it.
The elevator dings and then opens again.
“Well, see you.” I give a little wave and step into the elevator.
She gives me an amused, puzzled look as the doors shut again.
“God,” I whisper to myself.
Thanks to the little run-in, I don’t get to rehearsal early at all, arriving right at three. I open the door to studio five, seeing that the earlier rehearsal has dispersed and the dancers are grabbing their things and dance bags and starting to rush off to their next rehearsal, break, or costume fitting. There is always something next.
I set my bag down and quickly get ready. Pointe shoes on, warm-ups off. Today, I’m in a drapey lavender chiffon practice skirt that hits right below my knees. I take a few stretches, breathing deeply, trying to release the stress of the conversation with Arabella.
After a few minutes, I glance at the clock on the wall. It’s three oh five. Where is everyone else? There are only stragglers putting their warm-ups back on or stretching while scrolling their phones before heading off. None of the dancers who should be here, are here.
There are three other women learning the role of Manon. They should be here with their partners. The room should be abuzz with all of us. Am I in the wrong studio? I must be, right?
I go over to the pianist. “Excuse me.”
She looks up from the notes she’s writing on the sheet music. “Yes?”
“Am I in the right place for Manon and Des Grieux rehearsals? It was supposed to be three to five, but I don’t see anyone here who should be. Except you, obviously.” I laugh awkwardly.
She smiles politely. “You’re in the right place. It actually begins at three fifteen. Union rules, there has to be some space between rehearsals. I don’t know what good that does, I’d rather get home fifteen minutes early if we’re taking time somewhere.”
“Right. Okay. Well, thank you.”
Just then, the doors swing open.
Isabella, who is setting the ballet, and with her is Luca.
I knew he’d be here, of course, but I didn’t expect the little lift of glee I feel when I see him. Not romantic feelings, more like the feeling of having a secret with your very best friend.
“Hello, Jocelyn. Please forgive us for running a little late. Or at least, it’s late to me, I usually prefer to be early. I’m glad to see you do, too.”
“Of course,” I reply. “I was a little confused at first,” I confess. “I thought the other dancers would be here by now.”
She looks confused, and then, understanding, she says, “Oh, no, dear. It’s just you and Luca. I need to catch you up.”
Luca smiles at me, and I smile back.
I breathe out a sigh of relief, glad I’ll have a chance to be caught up, and gladder that he is my partner. I know he’s an incredible dancer, and I know for certain now that he has a very gentle touch.
“I’ve danced the ballet before, so I’ve got you, Jocelyn,” Luca says softly.
“Thank you,” I say.
“All right.” Isabella claps. “Let’s go ahead and start with the act one pas de deux between you two.”
My heart skips a beat. I can’t believe I’m Manon. It keeps hitting me.
“So,” she goes on, “Jocelyn, you’ll start sitting in the chair. You’ve been watching him dance. Luca, let’s go to where you end your solo on your knee in front of her.”
We take our places. I vaguely know the steps, from having studied a million videos online and having been given a brief rundown, but it’s pretty difficult to know it with one hundred percent certainty without having a partner to learn it with.
“So, Luca, remember when you offer your hand to Manon to come dance with you, you’re both shy at first. You have this immediate, intense attraction to each other, but it’s so strong and overwhelming that it scares you. You’re young and you’re nervous. It’s the transcendent, deeply affecting feeling of…how can this stranger see my soul already? Hear my heartbeat already?”
Her words echo through the studio as she circles us.
“You feel like you finally found each other. By this point, here, go to this arabesque position, Jocelyn. Luca, hold her waist just so …yes, just like that, and pivot her slowly to face you.”
I think of his hand on my waist last night. You like that?
We do as she says, Luca’s eye contact deeply penetrating. He’s got these sharply blue eyes that see right through me. It’s like he’s cast a spell, and now my mind is swirling with complicated emotions around Alistair and Jordan.
Isabella goes on.
“This moment, this position, is when your souls connect. It’s that blissful, whirlwind feeling that you get when you meet someone and you just know . It is love at first sight, it is the anticipation that pain might lie in your shared future, but that it’s one that you, neither of you, can avoid.”
I take a deep breath. She seems to be describing exactly how I felt when I met Jordan. I felt completely drawn in. I was so sure I had finally found my person.
Why did he never call?
I refocus on Isabella’s voice.
“These moments are very important to your characters. First your hands touch, there is electricity there, then this arabesque moment when you come so close to kissing—”
Luca and I bring our faces together. He smells like peppermint and sweat. In a good way.
Now Alistair, that kiss, is in my mind.
Luca, his tongue inside me.
Christ, I need to focus.
“And with that, you both let your walls drop. Now, again!”
We go back to the beginning and start from the top of the pas de deux. Luca moves me and holds me with expert strength and grace.
My mind will not shut up . It’s whirling and swirling.
“Yes, Jocelyn, that’s it!” she says, her voice rising and filling the room. “Feel like you’re flying. Keep that torso strong but let your arms be free. Okay, Luca, you can run a bit faster with her up in the press lift.”
We try it again and again and again. And I don’t mind at all. I’m so glad to be back in the studio, back in the arms of a strong, sexy man that I know I can trust.
After an hour, we’re both damp with sweat. My muscles are burning. It feels incredible.
“Okay, I think that’s looking good,” says Isabella. “Go ahead and take your five-minute break. Jocelyn, do let me talk to you for a quick moment first.”
I catch my breath and go over to her. “Thank you so much for this,” I say. “No role has ever meant more to me.”
“Of course. You’re a gifted dancer. I was watching you last week in class in Swan Lake and your movement intrigued me. I felt like I could see your thoughts with every gesture. And”—she shrugs—“that’s Manon.”
I give an uncomfortable laugh. “Yeah. That’s what this music and everything makes me feel, too. I feel like I really connect with it.”
She gives me a kind look. “Of course, it’s perfect for the performance and I’m delighted to have found someone who can play Manon with all the inner turmoil and who seems to understand the inner conflicts so deeply. It’s great for the role, but how is it for you? How are you, Jocelyn?”
She puts a hand briefly on my arm and then lets it drop, waiting for me to respond.
There is so much compassion and care in her tone and in her expression. I feel completely naked in front of her, almost a little embarrassed to be so completely empathized with. The only person who has ever really treated me like this is Mimi. She did everything a mother was supposed to do. And now that she’s gone, I realize it’s been quite a long time since anyone has treated me with this brand of support.
“I’m okay,” I say. Unexpected tears threaten to appear and then overflow, so I blink a few times and clear my throat. “I’m a little rocky sometimes, but I’m mostly okay. My donor actually…”
I start to tell her that he’s moved me into his apartment, but I get a strong feeling that’s crossing the boundaries a bit and Isabella might be concerned.
“What about your donor?” she asks, noticing my pause. “Is everything all right?”
She’s on alert. A woman wanting to make sure everything is on the up-and-up for another woman. I appreciate it, but of course since I desperately want Alistair, it’s conflicting.
“He’s been really supportive,” I say. “That’s all, he’s just been really great, is all.”
“He? I thought Clementine Cavendish was your sponsor.”
“Oh, right, well, it’s the two of them. She and her husband. But I haven’t met her yet, so. It’s just been A—Mr.Cavendish.”
Mister? Is that actually weirder than calling him Alistair?
“I see,” she says, seeming to be picking up on the fact that something is a little off.
I’m in a dizzying mental spiral, so I just put my fingers to my temple and say, “I’m sorry, I’m going to run to the bathroom quickly.”
What I’m not saying is that I want to fuck my donor, I miss my ex, and my dance partner spent an hour eating me out last night.
She is silent for a few seconds, and then she says, “Okay, why don’t you take an extra five minutes, go freshen up? We’ll resume at four twenty.”
“Okay,” I nod. “Thanks. Sorry.”
Oh my god, I’m being so weird . It’s just my guilt. Guilt has always made me a mess. When I did anything wrong as a kid, any little lie or extra piece of candy snuck, I was a complete wreck while I waited for my mom to figure it out. I always knew she would, and I dreaded it.
I go to the bathroom, and look in the mirror. My cheeks are pink, my skin dewy.
Everything is fine. I don’t know why I’m freaking out. I need to just calm down and enjoy the fact that I’m Manon. It’s all okay.
I was born for this part. I need to be calm and collected and not spiral out about everything else in the world that I can’t control.
On my way back up to the studio, I see Mary Simon with a woman I vaguely recognize. She has dark blond hair, she’s very thin, and—oh, fuck.
Clementine Cavendish. She isn’t as blond as the pictures I’ve seen, and she’s even thinner and prettier in person.
Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck .
The flashing memories from the other night are pulsing in my mind. I try to push them out of my head, but now that I shouldn’t, all I can think of is his lips on my neck. His hands cupping my breasts. The way he tasted. Me living in his bachelor pad.
I wonder if she knows.
The two women walk toward me.
“Jocelyn,” says Mary. “How lovely to see you again. I heard about the role. Congratulations. I knew I had a good feeling about you.”
“Thank you so much,” I say. “I’m very excited.”
“I’m sure you are. Please, let me introduce you to Clementine. I understand you’ve only met Alistair thus far, yes?”
His name being said aloud, in front of Clementine, puts a grip around my heart. Like an alarm sounding at the door of a store when you know you have a stolen lipstick in your pocket.
“That’s correct,” I practically whisper. Then, “Hi.” I hold out my hand. “It’s so lovely to meet you.”
I force myself to let my eyes meet Clementine’s. God, she is so strikingly beautiful.
“Wonderful to finally meet you, Jocelyn. I’ve come to see your rehearsal. I hope that’s okay.” She smiles. “From what my husband tells me, you are very talented.”
My husband. My husband. The words feel like a slap. I practically want to snap back with, I know he’s your husband, why do you keep reminding me?
Oh my god, does she know? Did he go home and say I made a move on him? Oh my god. Oh my god.
“That’s so great,” I say, overcompensating. “I’m so thankful to you—and um, and to your husband both for supporting me. I only just started learning the role.” I’m getting even more nervous. “So, I hope the rehearsal isn’t going to be too boring for you.”
“Oh, no, I love it.”
Clementine has an effortless cool to her. A strong, clear voice with a slightly Americanized English accent. A relaxed posture. A comfort in her own skin that I only have when I’m dancing.
“Well, lead the way,” says Mary, when I stand there a few seconds too long in stunned silence.
“Right, of course, yes, follow me,” I say.
I have no idea how I do it, but once we start rehearsing again, I manage to block out Clementine, and all thoughts of her husband.
I focus only on Luca and Isabella. We move on to the bedroom pas de deux.
I do a pretty good job of ignoring them until the door opens and Alistair comes in. Mary waves him over.
I stumble at the sight of him.
“Fuck, sorry,” I say.
Luca has caught me, and now he says, “My fault. Let’s go again.”
I regain my composure. I could dance in my sleep. It shouldn’t bother me that he’s here. It’s fine. It’s fine. But right now, I feel like the world’s worst person having slept with a married man. I hate myself.
But I’m a little off my game. No matter how hard I try to concentrate, I can’t do it. I keep slipping. I’m not hitting my marks.
Luca makes it look good, making up for my lack, just like he’d do onstage if something happened. Of course, Isabella’s job is to be hyperobservant, and she notices.
She keeps stopping us and saying, Focus, you two, let’s try that bit again . Which is generous, because I think we all know it’s me, not Luca.
At the end of rehearsal, Isabella dismisses Luca, who gives me a commiserative look before leaving.
Isabella lowers her voice so the Cavendishes and Mary Simon can’t hear.
“Is everything okay?”
“Yes,” I say. “I’m sorry. It’s just that I hadn’t danced in a while, and it’s just…personal stuff.”
She scans my eyes. “You’re extremely talented, Jocelyn. But you have to get it together. Whatever’s going on, you have to find a way to leave it outside the studio. I have empathy for your situation, I understand you just lost your mother and things are tough. Unfortunately—”
“I know,” I say. “I know, it won’t happen again. I know.”
“That was so fun,” says Clementine, standing from her seat, Mary and Alistair following suit.
My heart in my throat, I smile as she approaches.
“No wonder my husband can’t stop talking about you. You’re fantastic.”
My eyes flit to him and I smile politely as he avoids my gaze. “Thank you.”
“I can’t believe that was only the first rehearsal. Wow.” Clementine looks me up and down, like someone might if they had just bought a fancy new car and she’s kicking the tires. “He was right. You are special.”
I shift my dance bag to my other shoulder for something to do. It’s weird and hard for me to imagine what it’s like when Clementine and Alistair talk about me. As I live in his clandestine bachelor pad and allow him to give me the most intensely sexual kiss of my life.
“Thank you so much,” I say. “That’s very nice to hear. I’m glad you’re both happy.”
“Definitely,” says Clementine. “Definitely. All right, well, we have a party we need to get to. Congratulations on your role, and I can’t wait to watch it all come together.”
She shakes my hand, and I say, “Thank you, me too.”
“Good to see you again,” says Alistair, reaching out his own hand. I take it, shocked to find that there’s a piece of paper hiding in it.
I try not to let my surprise show, and say, “You as well.”
We break our grasp and he turns to follow Clementine. I look at Isabella, whose eyes are on my hand. She raises her gaze to mine. It’s questioning, not accusatory. She’s not sure what she saw.
“Good to see you,” says Mary.
I’m desperate to look in my palm, read the note, but I wait, of course, until I have disentangled from the situation in the studio, going all the way to one of the bathrooms instead of the dressing room where someone might see me.
I unfold it.
Meet me in Mary Simon’s office in 10 minutes xx