Chapter 4 #4
Fair enough. She had him there.
“Would a professional barge into the men’s room and yell and swear at a colleague?”
“No, a professional would go to Peter and tell him that you’re making it impossible to do my job.” She glared up at him, frustration and defiance all over her face.
Justin’s stomach lurched. She really had him there. If she went to Peter, Justin could kiss the tour goodbye.
“Why haven’t you, then?” he asked.
She shifted slightly, her shoulders dropping and her fierce green gaze wavering slightly behind her glasses. “Because I don’t want him to think I can’t do this. But if I have to…”
“You won’t have to,” he said quickly. “I’m sorry. Really. I… I don’t like talking about myself. Especially not to—”
“To people you don’t trust. Person you don’t trust.”
He gave a small shrug, and she sighed. She was right. He might have been impressed by her persistence, but he didn’t trust her. And he wasn’t going to bare his soul or tell even the press-friendly parts of his story to someone he didn’t trust.
“Can you at least trust that I want this to work? For my own sake, if not for yours?”
Justin said nothing, and Ivy sighed again. She dropped her arms to her sides and fiddled with her pen. “I’m sorry about that review. I’m sorry for what I wrote, and I’m sorry I hurt you. And your mum, and your dance teacher.”
“Really?” Justin raised a skeptical eyebrow.
“Truly. My boss at the paper—my ex-boss—he liked a review ‘with teeth,’ something that had a point of view. He said we were there to help readers understand what they were watching, and to tell them if it was any good. Not to do PR for the performers. Which is ironic, given where I ended up,” she muttered, rubbing the back of her neck.
Justin sat down on the bench and looked up at her as she went on.
“I guess I never stopped to wonder how many people those teeth would cut. Maybe if I had I would have written it differently. I could have written about your performance without singling out a part of your body, or calling you a childish name. But honestly…” She squeezed her eyes shut as if bracing herself, then looked him in the eye.
“I wrote that review and moved on to the next assignment without looking back. Obviously you didn’t have that luxury. ”
“No, I didn’t.” Justin had read and re-read that review, and he’d never forget the words, or how small they made him feel.
How they seemed to mock all his work, and all his pride at being promoted to principal.
How they seemed to prove all his childhood bullies right. “The ax forgets, the tree remembers.”
“Yes,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry. Please, believe me.”
“I believe you,” he said. He didn’t forgive her, but he believed her.
“I can’t un-write it, but I can write something that helps now. If you work with me a little.”
“But it’s not just to help me, is it?” he said, before he could stop himself.
“No, it’s for both of us,” she admitted. “Because we’re on the same side now. Like it or not.”
He nodded. She was right. Like it or not, Ivy Page was his only ticket off his boss’s shit list. He wasn’t going to New York without her.
And if he didn’t go to New York… He wasn’t old yet, but he wasn’t young, and there were always younger dancers waiting in the wings, watching for their chance to stand out and impress Peter.
And an overseas tour would be the perfect opportunity to do that.
“I can figure out how to like it,” he conceded.
“Yeah?” she asked, hopefully.
“Yeah. Or at least, not actively hate it.”
“That’ll do for now.”
He nodded. “You want to apologize for the video, too?”
She raised her eyebrows. “I—well, I mean—”
“Ivy, it’s fine. I know you were just doing your job.”
She let out a nervous laugh and nodded. “Well, now my job is to make people forget they ever saw it.”
“Right. So, do you want to try that interview again?” he said, managing to keep the dread out of his voice at the thought.
“I do. But maybe we can do it somewhere you’re more comfortable? Like a neutral territory? Or a place you really like to spend time?”
Justin nodded. “That’s a good idea. I’ll think of something.”
“Thank you,” she said gratefully, just as the sound of loud voices came through the locker room door. She glanced hastily over her shoulder, then turned back to face him. “I should go before someone finds me in here. Not very fucking professional,” she said with a nervous laugh.
He smiled at her, and for a moment she looked down at him, relief and what looked like hope on her face. It felt like a fresh start, a tentative truce.
“I’m going to get changed,” he said after a minute, putting his thumb in the waistband of his tights.
“Right, of course, I’m going,” she said, her eyes widening. Her gaze swept over his chest again, and then she turned and headed for the door.
“It’s boysenberry, by the way,” he said, before she could pull it open.
“What?”
“My favorite ice cream flavor. Boysenberry swirl.”
“Oh.” She cocked her head, looking pleasantly surprised. “Um, mine too.”