Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
A week-and-a-half later, the lobby of the Opera House was full to bursting, the queues at the concession stand stretching all the way back to the floor to ceiling glass windows that looked out over the harbour.
The smoke that had hung in the air in the immediate aftermath of the fires had largely been swept out to sea, and the sky was a clear forget-me-not blue over the sparkling water that surrounded the building on three sides.
All around Ivy, audience members chatted and snapped photos of themselves, or else browsed the silent auction tables, jotting down their bids in hopes of winning backstage tours or a private ballet class with an ANB principal.
Ivy looked down at the long list on her clipboard, making sure she hadn’t missed anything.
Yes, she’d chatted with the freelancer who was reporting on the benefit concert for the Morning Sun.
Yes, she’d met up with the fashion influencers who had agreed to post about the show and escorted them backstage to film their videos about today’s costumes.
Then she’d found the fitness influencers and made sure they had space to film their posts about ballet-inspired workout exercises.
All their posts would include links to the donation site so that hopefully their hundreds of thousands of followers would contribute to Rebuild Hillstone.
The last week had been a flurry of activity to rival their ten days in New York City.
Once Justin had decided that he wanted to raise money to help his hometown and that he wanted a good chunk of it to go towards building a new church hall for Miss Mary’s classes, he and Ivy had sprung into action.
But they’d quickly been overwhelmed by how much work it would take to throw together a full-length ballet performance, and advertise it properly, in the space of barely a week.
They’d hardly slept the last few nights, and despite the excitement buzzing around her, Ivy had been suppressing yawns all afternoon.
Still, they’d done it. In a few hours, the Opera House curtains would rise on ninety minutes of ballet performed by Justin and his colleagues at ANB, as well as some guest artists from other companies.
They’d begin with a Welcome to Country by dancers from the indigenous dance company that also had rehearsal studios and offices on the wharf that housed ANB, and then Justin would say a few words about the devastation of his hometown and so many neighbouring communities.
They’d written and rehearsed his remarks a few nights ago, Ivy tapping away on her computer as he tried to find the right words to express some of his complicated feelings about Hillstone.
And then, even though every person in the audience had paid a hundred dollars to be there, Justin would ask them to open their wallets again.
If her calculations were correct, by the end of the night they’d have raised several hundred thousand dollars, more than enough to build Miss Mary a new place to teach, this one made of something sturdier than timber.
The rest would be distributed throughout the town to rebuild parks, playgrounds, and the local pool.
It had been easy enough to attract corporate sponsors once Em and Missy had gotten their firms on board.
The fires had been all over the news, and companies were keen to be seen doing something to help, especially if it involved a one-off contribution and not an ongoing commitment.
Ivy had played up this angle when she talked to them, and had been shocked by how effective it was.
Promoting the performance itself had been easy, too.
Ivy had clipped the news footage of Miss Mary teaching those kids at the evacuation center and spliced it with footage of Justin performing in New York City.
Justin had recorded some audio about how Miss Mary had insisted he try ballet, and about how much meaning the art form had brought to his life.
Ivy had sent the video out to all the usual press suspects, and they’d all been eager to tell a positive story after almost two weeks of round the clock footage of leaping flames and burned-out homes.
The papers wanted a feel-good story, so Ivy handed them one.
And once they’d announced that Heather Hays, the company’s beloved American star, would be using this benefit performance to return to the stage after her maternity leave, the tickets basically sold themselves.
With Alice still away, Heather had agreed to dance “If Love” with Justin to open the show, and they’d been rehearsing for half an hour or so every day this week, heeding Shaz’s instructions for Heather to take it easy.
Ivy had loved watching Justin dance the piece with Alice, but Alice was still in Las Vegas with Izzy, and she never passed up a chance to watch the great Heather Hays.
A warm xylophone sounded from speakers in the ceiling, indicating that the performance would begin in ten minutes. The crowd began to drift towards the theatre doors, and the people at the back of the concession queues gave up and peeled off.
Justin was excited about all these paying spectators, but the audience members he was most eager to perform for were the kids from the evacuation center, the ones who’d taken their first ever ballet class using folding chairs in the middle of a crisis.
Those kids, along with Miss Mary and any other Hillstone child who’d expressed interest and gotten their parents to sign a permission slip, had arrived at the Opera House on a chartered bus a few hours ago.
Justin and Ivy had been waiting to greet them as they tumbled out of the bus, eager to see the huge white sails of the iconic building in person, most of them for the first time.
Last to get off the bus was Miss Mary, who’d climbed down the stairs with a careful grace that revealed her ballet training and a stiffness in her joints borne both of age and a lifetime of dancing.
She was slight and sinewy, with wiry grey hair swept back into a French twist above her long, elegant neck, and she was wearing a long ochre-coloured linen shift dress that had wrinkled somewhat on the drive.
Her face split into a delighted grin as soon as her eyes found Justin, and she held her arms out to him in a gesture that was half greeting, half request for a hug.
“Our hero,” she said, approaching him.
Justin shrugged, even as he smiled back at her. “Hardly,” he said. “Just doing what I can to help.”
“And you’ve done it beautifully,” she beamed. “We’re so grateful.” Justin’s cheeks had turned pink, and he ducked his head as he gave her a brief hug, curling his upper body so he could properly embrace her.
“Everyone,” Miss Mary called to the kids who were milling around, “this is Mr. Winters, who arranged for us all to be here today. He grew up in Hillstone, too. He used to be a student of mine, and now he’s a professional ballet dancer who gets paid to dance all day and travel the world performing.”
Some of the kids looked up at Justin with obvious awe on their faces. Others were playing with their phones or fidgeting with their backpacks.
“Hi.” Justin waved, clearly somewhat uneasy with all that praise. Even though it wasn’t anything but the truth, Ivy thought.
“We’re all very excited to be here,” Miss Mary said to him in a loud, didactic voice that was intended for the kids rather than for him.
“And we’re going to be on our best behaviour all day.
Isn’t that right?” She looked around at the kids, and the ones who’d been playing with their phones stuffed them back in their pockets and backpacks.
Justin’s face twisted into a sardonic smile and he spoke to her in a low voice. “As if they’d dare misbehave for you, Miss Mary.”
Her eyes twinkled with amusement, though the rest of her face retained its teacherly seriousness.
“Not all these kids are as devoted to ballet as you were. Most of them just learned last week what a tendu is. But they’ve all been through something hard in the last few weeks.
And I know you know a few things about dancing through the hard stuff.
I’m very proud to introduce them to you.
” She smiled at him, pride and affection all but radiating off her, and Ivy felt her heart ache for Justin—for the boy he’d been when Miss Mary first met him, for the man he was now.
She felt that same pride and affection, and, if she had to guess, a fierce protectiveness that Miss Mary also shared.
Ivy couldn’t do anything about what he’d been through as a kid.
She hadn’t known him then. But she knew the man he was now.
And she could love that man, and hold him as he healed at last and—
Oh. Oh. Ivy pulled in a sharp, sudden breath, and Justin glanced over his shoulder at her, eyebrows raised in question. She shook her head and gave him a bland, reassuring smile, wondering if her face conveyed any of what she was really feeling.
The word had flitted into her mind as she watched him and his former teacher, and she’d welcomed it inside without question, like holding the door open for a friend dashing in from the rain.
She was falling in love with Justin Winters.
If she kept watching him, learning him, holding him, she would love him.
She could feel it happening, could see its inevitable arrival like the predictable progression from first position to second to fourth.
He was so utterly loveable, with his kindness and his pride and his sly sense of humour.
The way he listened to all the things she said and didn’t say.
She was falling, and she didn’t want to stop.
Miss Mary looked at her then, and Ivy had the uncanny feeling the woman was assessing her, taking her in from head to toe, from her sleeveless black dress to her low-heeled mules.
She’d bought them the other day, especially for this afternoon, and had been stunned by how comfortable she felt when she wasn’t teetering around on the balls of her feet all day.
Now she pulled her shoulders down and, almost unconsciously, pulled her neck and spine long, just as she had hundreds of times when ballet teachers turned their gazes on her.
“You must be Ivy. The elbow grease behind this operation,” Miss Mary said. “And a former dancer, I see.”
Ivy smiled and nodded in confirmation. Her traps would never keep that secret.
Now, though, she found she didn’t mind. She had been a dancer, once, and then a journalist and stiletto enthusiast. Then a PR person, though hopefully not for long.
What came next, she didn’t know. But she knew that she’d find a way to succeed at it—or she wouldn’t, and she’d still be alright.
Her parents would still love her, her brothers would still call her golden and tease her about her love life. And Justin would be there.
He was here now, explaining to Miss Mary that Ivy had helped entice a TV crew to film some of the kids’ visit today, which he was hoping would result in yet more donations to the rebuilding effort.
God, he was a good man. A complicated one, with stuff to work out.
But he was good, and always trying to be better.
Miss Mary clapped her hands together in delighted anticipation. “Let’s get started.”
She gathered the kids into a tight clump, and they set off.
Justin walked them around the building, telling them about what it was like to perform here and making sure none of them hurled themselves over the railings into the harbour.
After a backstage tour of the theater and a Q&A with a few of the dancers, they’d been treated to lunch at the casual restaurant downstairs, and were now installed in prime orchestra seats that during the normal season went for over $200 a pop.
Because Justin wanted them to be there. Justin wanted them to see that this is what ballet could be, and what ballet could do for them.
He wanted ballet to open the world up into something vast and full of possibility—instead of making it claustrophobic and full of fear, like Hillstone had felt for him.
The five-minute xylophone tone sounded. Ivy tucked the clipboard under her arm and made her way to the door closest to her reserved seat.
An usher handed her a program—Connie had done a great job designing it in the space of one frantic day—and she thanked him.
For a moment, she hovered at the door, taking in the stage and the orchestra pit, the humming anticipation that filled the house.
In a few minutes, the lights would dim and the dancers would claim their places on stage.
Then the music would unfold itself from the pit and the dancers would begin to move, transporting the audience beyond this place and time.
She would miss this part of the job, watching Justin and his exquisite colleagues perform, knowing how much work went into every stunning movement and every still moment on stage.
Whatever job she did next, it wouldn’t come with free ballet tickets.
Then again, company members could secure seats for the friends and loved ones when they were performing, so she’d still get to watch Justin dance.
And unlike now, she could meet him at the stage door and congratulate him with a kiss without worrying who saw her or what they thought of her.
The idea of it made her heart race with hope, and a sparkling happiness fizzed in her chest.
Ivy walked to her seat, feeling as though she were floating, and not only because she was finally wearing comfortable shoes.
She waved at Connie and Oliver, who were already seated at the end of her row.
Oliver gave her a thumbs up and mouthed, We did it!
The house manager began to turn the lights down slowly.
Ivy slipped into her seat, silenced her phone, and sat back, ready for the curtain to rise on what she and Justin had built together.