The Unraveling

Chapter Thirty-Two

It’s been almost a month, and I’m living on borrowed time. I just know it.

When the pictures came out, they were blasted all around the Internet. The good news was that some gossip sites were applauding my whole look, calling it iconic and mistress-chic .

The bad news is fucking everything else.

Somehow, no one at the company has mentioned it. Not that they don’t know. All the girls are looking at me like I’ve got slut written across my forehead. Even Sarika is being chilly to me. I swear I caught her shaking her head at me when I walked in the first day.

But I haven’t gotten a text or an email or been summoned to Charlie’s office. And I haven’t heard a word from Alistair.

Something is way, way off.

Arabella is the only one to acknowledge it, coming up to me halfway through the second week of rehearsals, and saying, “My condolences for your career, cari?o .”

I shrug these thoughts off and focus my attention on the rehearsal in front of me. It’s a painfully slow rehearsal, putting the ballet together with the full cast. The room is packed and smells like sweat, and it’s basically a walk-through, piecing it all together before they start to run the ballet from beginning to end.

It’s Saturday, the last day of rehearsals before opening night. Arabella is cast to dance as Manon Monday night, and I’m scheduled to make my debut Wednesday night. Today was supposed to be Arabella’s stage run, but she’s called out sick and they have given it to me. We’re about to begin rehearsals when Kiki, the rehearsal coordinator, finds me warming up.

“Jocelyn, may I speak to you for a moment?”

Her voice is small and wary.

Here it is. I knew it was coming. I’m going to be fired.

“What’s up?” I ask, launching off the barre and walking toward her. I can feel the eyes of the girls around us.

“Charlie wants to see you in his office.”

“Right now?”

“Tonight, after rehearsal. He won’t be in the building until then.”

“Okay…um. Do we know what it’s regarding?”

She gives me a look that says yes , but her voice says, “No. Sorry.”

“Okay. Thanks, Kiki.”

She gives a tight-lipped smile and then heads off. I see her take in a deep, relieved breath.

Well, that’s it. I’m definitely going to be fired. Today is the last full run-through, and then…I’m out. I’m sure of it.

So, this is it. I have nothing to lose. This rehearsal could be my only chance to dance Manon .

We’re called to the stage. I’m determined to give it my all.

I start the first act slow and steady. I’m young and na?ve like Manon, excited for the future and falling in love with Des Grieux, played by Luca. Our first pas de deux is amazing. It’s miles away from the first rehearsal almost four weeks ago. We’re connected deeply. I have a personal fondness for him, just like everyone does; it’s not a physical attraction, but it works to serve as chemistry for our characters.

Luca can see in my eyes this is going to be different, and I can see in his that he’s ready for it. We move as one.

Manon and Des Grieux are in love, and yet she is swayed by the allure of money. When her brother gets her alone, he presents a wealthy gentleman who gifts her ridiculous jewels. I almost laugh out loud at the mirroring of my life in this moment, and it comes across in my performance of Manon’s pure giddiness at being swept off her feet and taken away.

The first act ends with Manon becoming the mistress of the wealthy gentleman, leaving behind her love, Des Grieux.

We take a ten-minute break here and everyone is very happy with Luca and me so far. It can be hard to tell with ten staff members watching and writing notes and an even more critical audience of about forty dancers watching from the wings. A few dancers from the first act receive notes in the break, but not me. I catch Isabella’s eye as I grab my water. She gives me an encouraging smile. I realize with a start that Charlie is there. Despite what Kiki said. He’s very much in the building, and he’s watching.

His expression is unreadable.

I turn away. Now is not the time to focus on them. It’s my time.

Act two begins and we fly through it. This act is, by far, the most fun.

It’s set in a brothel and the dancers go wild. Honestly, it’s because they finally get to act onstage how they act offstage .

Manon arrives at the brothel with her patron, and they capture everyone’s attention. He has transformed her into an elegant woman. She is no longer the na?ve young girl from the first act. She is mature, sophisticated, worldly.

Until she sees Des Grieux.

Luca has this character down perfectly. Playful, authentic, genuine.

Des Grieux ruffles her hair and in doing so, he reminds Manon of her young, innocent self. He actually cares for her.

The act ends with them trying to run away together and instead, Manon is arrested and accused of being a prostitute by the wealthy gentleman she dumped. She and Des Grieux are sent on a boat to what was, at this time in history, the French territory of Louisiana.

When this act ends I am confident. I don’t even look to the front of the room. I know I’m killing it.

This final act, though. This is the one to make or break the ballet. This is Manon’s death scene. Done poorly, it makes the entire show feel like a melodrama. Done well, it’s a devastating tragedy.

—

Luca comes over to me in the wings. “God, you are incredible tonight.”

I smile, feeling my own sense of loss as I prepare to say goodbye to the role. “You too.”

He smiles back, then squeezes my hand. “You ready?”

I look up at him. We hold eye contact for an extra beat, then I say, “Yes.”

He comes close to me and whispers, “I’m here so that you can fly. You’ve got this.”

Tears brim in my eyes and I give him a quick kiss on the cheek before we go out.

Here we go.

The final pas de deux is here. The ending of the ballet.

Des Grieux has just rescued Manon from the jailer who was raping her. He kills him to protect Manon. And now they are lost in the swamps. Luca gently pulls me up from the ground. I face him and slowly rise en pointe. He holds my waist firmly with one hand and my chin with the other.

The music slowly builds with a cello’s slow, low note held for several measures. It releases into two quick pizzicato notes. My head falls back as the music crashes into the banging of the timpani and the clanging of the cymbals.

Manon has a disease from the journey. If Des Grieux can just get her out of the swamps, he feels he can save her.

I feel dizzy myself.

Memories of my own mother swirl in my mind, mixing sickly with the realization that I have already lost Mimi, even though she’s still, physically, here.

Jordan. I lost him, too. I pushed him away.

I break away from Luca as Manon is supposed to, my entire body nearly convulsing with the sadness.

Manon runs a big circle around the stage, lost, trying to find her way.

Des Grieux calls to Manon and she runs to him and he catches her in the air. It happens again and again. Manon is losing her mind to fever.

The music undulates with melancholic chords; piercing notes on the top feel like cries for help.

My mother did not have the tools she needed to have a different life. She used sex. She used her body. She looked for comfort. Security. All she wanted was to be happy. All she wanted was for me to be happy. She was flawed. But I never got to tell her I knew she was more than that.

I move across the room en pointe, Luca helping me to float like a feather and guiding me to safety. We pause; then, as the music builds, he spins me and my leg opens just enough for his hand to slide under my right thigh and dip my whole body like a bow. Feet in the air as the point curves down to my head, close to the floor.

My mom was trapped. An endless cycle of bills swallowing her whole. Just when she might have been able to break free, she had me. Then I became her focus. Once I was taken care of, Mimi became her ward.

She never stood a chance.

When I’m lifted up, I pull away from Luca for the last time and bourrée fiercely to the far corner before the final throw in the air.

I finally see it. I finally understand why my mom wanted to come to New York with me. It was a way to change her life.

I run to Luca and feel as if I’m riding a wind at my back, and as I jump, I press my hands into his shoulders and propel myself up in two revolutions and he catches me around the thighs.

I’m pencil straight and dead still as I raise one arm up in the air above me, my body elongating into a long, stretching line.

The music is now crashing like an angry ocean, despite my stillness.

This moment is not about Manon and Des Grieux. It has transformed, and I feel that it is deeply about myself and my life.

I tilt my head to the sky following my arm and release my curled-up fist.

I know, deep down, my meaning. My future.

My head falls back and with that, my body collapses and Luca catches me and lowers me to the ground.

And then he does something that’s not in the choreography. He lies down beside me and squeezes my hand and lets me and Manon have the moment instead of trying to wake Manon, as he is supposed to. Luca seems to know.

The music finishes and the room is deadly silent.

I lie with my eyes closed, at peace. A low rumble starts, almost like a downpour has begun outside, but it’s not coming from above.

I open my eyes and sit up. The dancers around the room are stomping their feet and starting to stand. The staff are standing and clapping. They whistle and cheer for us.

No one saw that coming. Not even me.

—

After rehearsal I take a deep breath in my dressing room and gather my thoughts. I know I just did the best performance of my life. And my colleagues and boss saw it. When I get fired in about ten seconds, they can all remember me that way.

I walk through the hallways and past the lounge to the stairwell to go up to Charlie’s office. I’m trying to ignore the looks I get even though they are in appreciation. It’s a strange feeling to finally be accepted on my way to being fired.

—

Iarrive at Charlie’s office and knock on the door. There’s no answer, so I knock harder.

“Come in.”

Even through the door, I can hear how serious his voice is.

When I go in, he gestures at the chair on the other side of his desk.

I sit.

“I assume you know why you’re here.”

I nod. “Yes.”

He sighs. “Jocelyn, I’m in a tough position. Today’s run-through was exceptional. There’s no doubt about it. Truly transcendent. And yet I have to ask you this. Have you been sleeping with your donor?”

I expected him to chastise me, not simply to ask me if it happened. Time to lie.

“God no,” I say, looking as flabbergasted as I would be if he’d asked me if I liked licorice.

“You’re not lying to me, are you?”

Go big or go home. Literally. Except I have no home.

“Of course not.” I shrug, trying to look natural. “Mr.Cavendish asked me to accompany him to an art show. We went there, and then he took me to the Seven. He didn’t tell me where we were going, and we had only just gotten there when the paparazzi showed up.”

He looks at me like he finds all this very hard to believe, but I look impassive.

“You do understand how completely inappropriate and unacceptable it is to have an affair with your donor, do you not?”

“Of course I do. I would never do that. I worked my whole life for this career. I wouldn’t give it up to sleep with some old married guy.”

My stomach twists a little at my own words.

He stares at me, and then gives a slightly humorless laugh before saying, “Right. Well, Mr.Cavendish reached out and told me that the photos were unfortunate, but not representative of any foul play.”

My heart lifts. Oh my god, am I really going to get away with this?

Why hadn’t he answered me? We could have gotten on the same page with our alibi. Instead I spent a month in a state of horrible suspense.

I shrug, as if none of this is a big deal, and say, “Well, there you go.”

He narrows his eyes. “You’re awfully flippant. Your career is on the line, Ms.Banks.”

He’s right. I’m shrugging too much. If this really was a complete misunderstanding, I’d be panicked. Nervous. Everything I’m trying to pretend I’m not.

“I know it seems that way,” I say. “It’s just that I’ve seen this before. My friend at my old company got skewered by the press once for some terrible false story that went around. I can’t control it. I’m here to dance, not to fight the free press.”

Damn. That was pretty good.

He flicks his eyebrows. “We have been deciding what to do with you this week. I wanted to meet with you first thing Monday morning, but no one could agree what to do with you. We were ready to fire you…but that performance today. You blew me and everyone away. This meeting was supposed to go a lot differently.”

“I understand,” I say, trying not to overplay my hand.

“Jocelyn, you’ll be performing opening night on Monday night instead of Arabella.”

My heart lifts, but my stomach turns sour. What the fuck. I’m shocked. My mouth nearly falls open. I was not expecting him to say that.

“That’s a dream come true,” I manage to say, the first honest thing I’ve said since I arrived in his office.

“Right. Well.” He shakes his head. “The thing is, and judging from today, especially, you’re the best dancer for the role. And if you’re telling me the truth”—his eyes land on mine and I try to look comfortable—“then it would be wrong to take this role away from you.”

My jaw wants to stay clamped shut, but I give a breezy smile and say, “I agree.”

I’m trying to use charm to fool this man, who is clearly too smart to trick. At least completely.

“And if you’re lying to me,” he goes on, “then this is completely unethical.”

I nod and say, “I understand.”

“I’ll leave you and your conscience with that,” he says. “But congratulations. Now go.”

Holy shit. Holy shit.

“Thank you for having faith in me,” I say.

I leave the office and run quickly to the bathroom, where I catch my breath and rub my face hard. Fuck.

I don’t like lying. But I can’t lose this job. I can’t. It’s what everything has been for.

I hate how I feel right now. Guilty for lying. Embarrassed for being caught. Ashamed for doing something so wrong. Confused. A little betrayed by the entire experience of being in London. And very scared of how Arabella is going to react when she hears the news.

—

Iput in my headphones as armor and put my songs on shuffle. The song that comes on is “The Other Woman” by Lana Del Rey. The irony is not lost on me.

I let it play and walk through the hallways toward the stage door exit, through the girls, ignoring the many sets of eyes looking at me.

I push open the door to the outside, and I feel a tap on my shoulder and turn to see Arabella.

“Congratulations,” she says.

“On…oh, on Manon .”

“Yes, of course, what else would I mean?”

She has a hand on her hip and she’s arching an eyebrow at me.

“I’m just out of it. Long week. Thanks for the congratulations.”

“It’s sort of funny, isn’t it?”

“What?”

“You replacing me for opening night, when my helping you is how you even got here.” She laughs. “I mean, if it weren’t for me, you might be working at a burlesque show by now. I saw you dance that night with our friend David. I think you’d be good at it.”

I can’t tell if she’s kidding or being mean or both.

“You’re right, I owe you,” I say.

“You’re right, you do,” she says, smiling. “So come out with us tonight. Yeah? We’re going to this very cool new spot. I won’t take no for an answer. You can buy me a drink for getting your career back.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” I say.

“Oh, please.” She pouts her lip. “That’s so mean after all I have done for you, no?”

“Ha. Right, um…” I feel my ear throb from the memory of her biting me. A reminder that she cannot be trusted.

“Come on, just for a bit,” she says. “And fine, I’ll buy the drinks. You know, as evil as you may think I am, I can recognize when someone is the better dancer for the role. Have I ever done anything but help you?”

Somehow, for the most part, she’s right.

“Come on, it’s Saturday night. Live a little since you have all day tomorrow off.”

“Fine, okay, sure, yes. Just for a bit.”

She smiles devilishly and says, “Great. I’ll meet you at nine. I’ll text you the address.”

Her smile turns to a grin and I nod.

Fuck.