Chapter Two Allegra
Two
Allegra
It takes a solid thirty seconds for David to call for me to enter his office after I knock on the door.
Normally I wait until I get home to shower and change, but today I made use of the locker rooms after rehearsal.
I even took a few minutes to apply a thin layer of makeup, doing my best to appear fresh and natural.
I close the door behind me and wait for him to offer me a seat at one of the chairs in front of his desk before I fold myself onto the cool leather.
“How was rehearsal?” He doesn’t bother to remove his eyes from the screen of his computer as he asks the cursory question.
“It was good. Great. The ballet is going to be fantastic, as always.” I try to hide my nerves with enthusiasm, but I don’t know that I’m succeeding.
“Glad to hear it. The masses do love the drivel.”
I wouldn’t exactly call Swan Lake drivel, but I’m not about to start this conversation with an argument.
After a couple of clicks, David finally closes his laptop and turns his full attention to me. “So. What is it you wanted to speak to me about?”
I clasp my hands together tightly. “I wanted to let you know that I am planning on auditioning for the role of the courtesan in your new ballet. I’ve been with BNY for ten years now, and I have learned so much from you and Brianna and everyone here, and I think I’m ready for a principal role.
I know I am.” I suck in a deep breath and hold it until my lungs burn, watching for any hint of reaction.
He frowns. Then he frowns some more and leans back in his seat, putting distance between us. “You are planning on auditioning for the role of the courtesan?”
I nod, not really sure why that information is so shocking. I haven’t hid my desire to move up in the company, and a brand-new ballet is the perfect time for that to happen.
He cocks his head to the side, studying me like I’m a map and he’s a man too stubborn to stop and ask for directions. Which he undoubtedly is. “Now, I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, Allegra…”
I wait for him to finish, second-guessing my decision to not ask Brianna to sit in on this meeting because nothing good can finish his thought.
“You’re a very skilled dancer. Your technique is impeccable. You turn well, your turnout is great, and you have good feet.”
“But?” With the accolades he’s listed, I should be at the top of the class, not lingering as a soloist after ten years.
“But I don’t know that I could ever believe you as a woman who makes her living having sex.
Not just makes a living at it but loves it.
Thrives on it.” He leans forward, his arms resting on his desk as his eyes bore into me.
“There’s a certain kind of energy that vibrates off a woman like that, and I’m not sure it’s something you could portray. ”
My cheeks flame, the heat so immediate I feel like I just stuck my head in an oven. What the hell am I supposed to say to that? “Well, that is the challenge of performing a role, right? Taking on the qualities of the character that we might not possess ourselves?”
His mouth presses into a thin line. “Sometimes, yes, mere acting is enough. But this is the kind of role a performer needs to feel in order to truly embody it, to capture what I’m trying to capture. I’m not sure you have it in you.”
“Are you saying I’m not sexy enough for this part?” I wish I could imbue my words with strength and incredulity because truly the audacity of this man is unmatched. But instead I sound as weak as I feel in this moment.
“I would never say something like that to one of my dancers, Allegra. That would be completely inappropriate.” He holds my gaze until I can’t stand it any longer and look away.
“Right. Of course.”
“However, hypothetically speaking, if you wanted some advice before auditions, I would say you should think about embracing your sexuality. Maybe exploring opportunities that have been presented to you that you might have turned down in the past. Going out of your comfort zone.”
My stomach spins and I have to swallow the bile that rises in my throat.
So much for him not remembering his drunken request and my adamant refusal.
“Right. Got it.” I push myself out of the chair, moving quickly to the door to hopefully disguise my shaking thighs.
I don’t bother closing the door of his office behind me.
I don’t bother stopping back at the locker room to grab my bag.
I make sure I have my keys and my phone and I fly through the hallway of the building, rushing down the five flights of stairs and out into the cool, crisp air of the early evening.
I practically sprint through the streets of New York, dodging businessmen and -women on their cell phones and tourists taking up the whole damn sidewalk, making it home in record time. Making it home in just enough time to fall on my bed before I completely lose it.
Shame and humiliation burn through me and I curl in on myself as the tears flow steadily down my cheeks.
I replay the conversation over and over in my head, wishing, hoping that I misunderstood something. That what he said is different from what he really meant.
But the more I think on his words, the worse they feel.
Despite the careful wording, David’s meaning is one hundred percent clear.
He won’t consider casting me as the courtesan because I refused to have sex with him.
And he’s going to wrap it all up like I’m the one who is falling short, like I don’t have it in me to be this character when really what he means is I can’t be sexy because I didn’t want to have sex with him.
It’s so beyond inappropriate, I almost laugh. But nothing about the situation is funny, not really.
Once I’ve cried myself out, I sit up, wiping under my eyes, my fingertips coming away stained black.
I know my tears are justified, just as sure as I know I can’t let myself drown in them.
I need to figure out my next step. Lucy would tell me to go straight to the board and who cares if it costs me my career.
Bethany would tell me to quit on the spot, try to lure me back to the real world with temptations of paid vacations and a job that doesn’t demand permanent damage to my body.
My mom would probably tell me that’s just how directors talk to their dancers. She wouldn’t come right out and tell me I should have slept with him when I had the chance. But she would probably be thinking it.
I have no one I can go to who will fully understand. No one who can give me the kind of logical advice I really need.
My phone chirps with a text.
Bethany: Are you home yet? Want me to come by on my way to the show? We can share a cab!
Shit.
The last thing I need to be doing tonight is going to watch a bunch of meathead dudes rip their clothes off for screaming bachelorettes.
For half a second I consider bailing, but there’s no way I could do that to my sister.
She’s made accommodations for my schedule on more occasions than I can count, even scheduled tonight’s festivities weeks ahead of the wedding so it wouldn’t interfere with performances of Swan Lake.
Me: I’m home, but I still need to change and do my makeup. I’ll meet you at the theater?
Bethany: Don’t be late! You don’t want to miss the opening number!
I think calling it an opening number is probably giving the whole thing a little too much credit, but I keep that to myself, giving her message a thumbs-up before dragging myself off the bed and over to my tiny closet.
I have a couple of dresses that I normally wear to our company galas, but they seem a little too stuffy for a bachelorette party at a show called Six Pact. Luckily, I find a short black dress shoved in the back. It isn’t all that exciting but it will have to do.
I do a quick makeup job, thankful for all the stage makeup training I’ve had over the years.
My naturally wavy blond hair falls down my back when I pull it out of its typical bun and after a dab of frizz control crème, I decide to just let it be.
I slip into knee-high black boots and throw on a light jacket and am down the stairs within twenty minutes, hailing a cab I can’t afford so I’m not late for my sister’s big night.
Her crew is at the front of the line by the time I hop out of my cab, and I rush over to them just as they’re shown through the entrance of the theater.
From the outside, it doesn’t look much different from any of the other brick buildings in the area, but once we duck inside, it’s all dim lights and fog machine haze.
There’s a lingering smell of sweat, but it isn’t the overpowering kind, and it’s laced with the scent of booze and cologne.
It isn’t until we are shown to our table, mere feet from the stage, that my sister spots me. Squealing, she wraps me in a giant hug; I have to fight back the tears because I didn’t know how much I needed one of her signature embraces after the day I’ve had.
Music is already pumping through the room, but Bethany doesn’t hesitate to shout over the noise. “Are you okay?”
I nod, leaning in for another hug under the guise of wanting to speak directly into her ear so I don’t have to yell. “I’m good! It’s your bachelorette! Are you so excited?”
Her smile beams as I pull out of her arms and tug her down into a seat facing the stage. A server comes over minutes later and the group of women—most of whom I don’t know—orders multiple bottles of alcohol for the table.
I grab the server’s elbow before he can leave, noting how firm his arms are.
“Can I just get a sparkling water with lime, please?” I wait for the chiding, the teasing because I don’t want to drink at a place that so clearly calls for being intoxicated, but he doesn’t say anything, just nods and jots down my order with a smile.