Chapter 3
THE PARTY
Clara
Despite being shaken up from my interaction with the director and Emily, I managed to execute my performance perfectly. Sometimes, the audience fuels my dancing to another level, and tonight was one of those nights. The audience cheered during our pirouette sequence, and I nailed the last triple. My heart races from the adrenaline as I run off stage, wiping sweat from my brow.
“That felt so good,” Gabby squeals, grabbing my hand and giving it a tight squeeze. This variation is the most challenging because we have to be in sync the entire time, and, despite the issues with Emily, we didn’t miss a beat.
“That was so much fun!” I laugh as I follow her through the wings and down the stairs to our dressing rooms. As much as I love the tutus and stage makeup, I always look forward to taking it all off. Normally, I would just change into comfortable leggings and a sweater to go home, but tonight, I have a beautiful dress to don.
The Fall Gala is one of my favorite events. Not only does it mark the start of the new season, but we get to wear our fanciest gowns. It’s a star-studded event, and all the who’s who of New York will be there.
Each year, we are matched with donors to sit with during dinner so we can gush about the company and help keep their donations flowing.
When I first joined the company, it made me incredibly nervous to sit with strangers and answer their questions about anything related to the company or ballet. Now, though, I actually enjoy it. The longer you’re with the company, the higher your rank, the bigger donor you sit with. It’s an honor of sorts, and it’s a surprise every year.
When I get to my dressing room, the first thing I do is sit and take off my pointe shoes. Ballet itself may be beautiful, but it takes a toll on our feet. Luckily, I don’t have too much pain from dancing en pointe, but I still cannot wait to let my feet breathe. My hands move to the bobby pins keeping my hair in place, and after what feels like an hour, I’ve finally pulled them all out. I wipe all the stage makeup off my face and then take a quick shower; it feels good to rinse off all the sweat. Were it any other night, I would have luxuriated, enjoying the warmth and letting my muscles relax.
Time is short, as our variation was one of the last, so after I shower, I forgo blow drying my hair and instead pull it into a low, messy bun. I like to keep my make-up simple when I'm not performing, so after applying some tinted moisturizer, adding eyeliner, mascara, and a little highlighter, I'm feeling mostly ready to go. I add a rosy lip gloss for the final touch before reaching for my dress. Long beads dangle from the black silk gown, the halter neckline accentuating my shoulders–classy and sexy. When I look in the mirror, I hardly recognize myself, the look so different from my daily leotard and tights, the dress accenting every curve of my shape.
I’m putting my heels on when I hear a knock at my door.
“Come in,” I answer quickly, figuring it’s Gabby to tell me to hurry up.
“Clara?” asks a deep voice, and I freeze. I know that voice, and it’s the last one I expected.
I rush to the door, pulling it open to see Mr. Ratton in a tux, holding a bouquet of stunning white roses. As much of a cad as our director may be, it's easy to see how dancers fall at his feet. He’s over six feet tall and looks like European royalty, with blonde hair perfectly coiffed and a long nose he uses to look down on the rest of the world. Ever since I started with the company, I’ve been incredibly intimidated by him.
“Mr. Ratton - I wasn’t expecting you!” I say, thrown off by his presence. He’s never visited me in my dressing room before.
“Excuse my intrusion, but after your performance, I wanted to deliver these flowers to you myself. You were magnificent tonight,” he says as he hands me the flowers and kisses me on each cheek, as is customary in the ballet world.
My stomach flutters at his praise. I know the performance felt good, but I’m surprised to see Mr. Ratton here, figuring he would be busy making his rounds with the principal dancers or rushing off to the gala. He’s never visited my dressing room before, and it feels odd to be alone with him.
“That is so kind. Thank you, sir. I really love that variation,” I say shyly, biting my lower lip.
“Well, if you keep this up, you’ll be seeing more roles headed your way. In fact, it seems like one of our patrons was also quite taken with your performance and has requested a last-minute change to seat you at their table.”
I glance up at him, surprise widening my gaze. “That’s wonderful. I’ll do whatever you need.”
A predatory smile curls his lips, and my gut curdles. “Whatever I need?” he asks as his demeanor shifts. He takes a step towards me, moving like a starving tiger that’s just found its next meal. My heart picks up wildly, my palms starting to sweat. I’ve always tried to make sure I’ve never been alone with him, for fear of his reputation. Now, here I am, alone in my dressing room with a man I don’t feel I can reject.
“For the gala, of course,” I clarify, taking a small step away from him. “I look forward to this evening every year, and I know how important it is to represent the company well.”
“What if I needed more than that, Clara?” he says slyly as he closes the distance between us. Only the bouquet separates our chests now, and I try to shrink back while avoiding eye contact. How do I tell him no without risking my future, the career I’ve worked so hard for?
“I, um, I don’t know what you mean, Mr. Ratton,” I stutter, feigning innocence to buy time. I really need to figure out how to get out of this situation, but all that’s going through my mind is how to use those damn flowers to keep distance between us.
He reaches out a hand and trails a finger down the side of my face, making me flinch. I avert my eyes, trying to angle away from him, my entire body screaming at him to back off, but he seems to neither notice nor care.
“You are such a pretty, innocent little mouse, aren’t you? You don’t need to be nervous around me,” he says, which is a complete lie. I’ve never been more nervous in my life. “I have your best interests at heart. There’s so much I could teach you–I only want to help you blossom.”
As he speaks, he moves his finger from my check, down my neck, and then traces my collarbone slowly. I hold my breath, trying my hardest not to shake. He has to know how uncomfortable I am. This is so inappropriate, and I want to scream, but I’m completely frozen.
“Mr. Ratton, I don’t think you and I are talking about the same thing,” I say as I raise the bouquet higher, forcing his hand off me.
His fingers wrap around the bouquet as he begins to pull it out of my hands when suddenly, my dressing room door flies open, and Gabby bursts inside. I feel myself internally sigh with relief at her intrusion.
“Clara, we’re late, hurry up! It's time to… oh, Mr. Ratton, hi.”
His jaw ticks as he steps away from me, turning to face Gabby. “Hello, Gabriella. I was just delivering these flowers to Miss Stahl and updating her on a slight change to her table tonight.”
“Are you ready, or should I meet you there?” she asks, giving me a look with her eyebrow quirked, like she knows something’s wrong.
I answer quickly before Mr. Ratton has a chance to interject.
“Stay! I was just about to leave too,” I say, pleading with my eyes for her to please not leave me alone with him. I take the opportunity to grab my coat and move further out of his reach.
Thankfully, he doesn’t try to follow. “I was just leaving. I have a few more…errands to run before I leave for the gala, but Clara, be sure to make an extra good impression. He is one of our top donors.”
“Of course, sir,” I say, avoiding his leering gaze.
“Well done tonight, both of you.” He nods and then leaves swiftly, and I collapse into my chair with my head in my hands, trying to fight back tears. Sometimes, this dream job is a nightmare, and I find myself questioning if this is where I’m meant to be. I make a mental note to look into what other companies are hiring when I get home tonight. It might be time to move on, even though it grieves me to walk away from all my hard work here.
Gabby looks at me with wide eyes filled with fear. “Was he just coming onto you?” she asks. I lift my head, trying to think of the words to explain what just happened, but only tears come.
“What did he do?” Gabby asks softly. She comes closer and kneels in front of me; I’m so freaking thankful she showed up. My mind races with horrible thoughts of what would have happened if she hadn’t.
“He came onto me, and I froze instead of telling him no. I don’t know what to do from here, Gabby. He wants to help me “blossom”. How am I supposed to tell him “no, thank you” without getting fired or demoted?”
“This isn’t your fault, Clara,” Gabby insists, grabbing my hand. “You weren’t expecting him to show up and corner you like that.” I know she’s right, but I’m terrified he’ll do it again. “Come on, let’s fix your makeup and get going. You’ll feel better once we find some champagne. Don’t let him steal your night.” She smiles widely at me, willing me to take some of the joy she’s offering.
She’s right. If I skip out, I’m just letting him win. I refuse to be his prey, to let him think he has any control over me. I may not be able to yell at him, but I can protest in quiet.
“Okay, let’s do this.” I dry my eyes carefully and re-apply my mascara. Following Gabby out of the theater and into the brisk, autumn night, I walk across the street to the gala venue. I hold my head high and throw my shoulders back as I enter the foyer, promising myself that I won’t let Mr. Ratton ruin the joy of not only this evening, but of my future.
Next to me, Gabby gasps in delight at the gala’s beauty. The theme is a magical woodland forest, and the foyer drips with crystal chandeliers and gold foliage. It’s obvious no expense was spared. Gabby grabs my hand and drags me over to the champagne fountain, where we grab glasses and cheers, clinking the delicate crystals together carefully.
“To us,” Gabby toasts.
“To us.”
“Let’s go find our tables. I’m so curious about who your mystery patron is,” she says, practically dragging me down the steps into the ballroom.
“You and me both!” I’ve never had a donor request me before, and I’m incredibly flattered. We head over to the seating assignments, all listed on copper leaves dangling from crystals on a majestic tree. I find my name and see I’m at table three, while Gabby is unfortunately at table seven, on the other side of the room.
We part ways, promising to meet up on the dance floor after dinner. As I meander around the tables on my way to mine, I scan the room. I stop at table seven, where I sat last year, and say hello to Mrs. Bennett. A widow in her eighties, she adores the ballet and has attended this gala every year for nearly five decades. I had so much fun getting to know her last year. She sends me the sweetest notes after performances, and I just adore her. I give Mrs. Bennett a hug, chuckling with her about how I’m jealous she gets to sit at Gabby’s table.
Reluctantly, I leave them behind to find my own seat. I shuffle through the ballroom, giving nods and tiny waves to the other attendees. When I finally arrive at my table, my eyes lock on the most handsome man I have ever seen.
Time seems to stop as we take each other in. Is this the donor who requested me? I swallow roughly, having expected some elderly gentleman, not this man who looks like he could be on the cover of GQ. His piercing gray eyes and strong jaw give him a severe look, which perfectly suits his black-on-black suit. His reddish-brown hair is slicked back on top, but it has a slight wave to it. I can see his muscles bulging under his sleeves, the fabric pulled taut against them. He practically oozes sensuality and broodiness as he sits with his leg crossed over his knee, trailing a finger around the rim of his crystal glass. He’s like a modern Paul Newman, and I am nothing more than a salivating fan girl.
“Hello, you must be Clara. I’m Delano Hoffman.” His voice is deep and smooth, and, to my surprise, he has a slight British accent.
“Yes, that’s me. I’m Clara. It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Hoffman,” I stutter, cursing myself for sounding like a babbling idiot. My cheeks feel like they’re on fire under his stoic gaze. Glancing around the table, I realize he’s the only one seated, the other chairs empty.
“Please, call me Delano,” he says, standing to pull out the chair next to him for me. “My grandfather should be back from the bar shortly.”
“Is he the only other joining us this evening?” This could be a very awkward dinner with just three people. I’m not the best conversationalist, often dreading uncomfortable silence so much, I start blurting out silly jokes.
“Him and my grandmother,” he says, and I can’t help but wonder why they would have requested me, of all the dancers.
“How lovely for you to accompany them. I don’t always see many family members at these events. You must love the ballet.”
“No,” he says abruptly as he takes a sip of what I assume is whiskey.
“No?” I ask, trying not to sound offended.
“No, I have never loved ballet. In fact, I have never enjoyed it.” He pauses, tilting his head slightly and pinning me in place with his gaze. “Until tonight.” He looks deeply into my eyes, and I’m suddenly squeezing my thighs together from the heat on his face. My stomach flutters, and I have to clear my throat to focus on the conversation.
“Do you go to the ballet often?”
“Only when I must for business purposes, such as tonight.” He takes in my eager gaze, and, after a moment, he continues speaking. “My grandfather and I own a luxury hotel chain, and supporting the arts is important to him. My mother was a dancer, and I think they do it to keep her memory alive.” Something vulnerable flashes in his eyes before he looks away from me and steels his expression again.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” I say softly, unsure of what else to say. I can’t imagine my parents not being in my life—the thought alone has me teary-eyed.
“It’s alright. My parents passed away when I was quite young.” He throws back the rest of his drink quickly, as if washing away the memories. The air suddenly feels heavy between us as I try to think of what to say next.
“So, you must be quite close to your grandparents, then?”
“Yes.” A man of few words, indeed. Not that I mind—super extroverted people tend to drain me—but I don’t want this evening to be awkward. I really need it to be fun after the dressing room incident.
“Oh, hello, deary,” a sweet, frail voice sounds behind me. His grandmother, I presume. I stand up so as to formally greet her, smoothing my hands down the front of my dress. She’s an elegant woman, dressed in an emerald velvet gown. I can see the resemblance to Delano–they have the same hazel eyes and high cheekbones. She greets me with a kiss on each cheek, a gesture I return.
She introduces herself as Marie Hoffman, and her husband, Mr. Hoffman.
“Please, call me Fred. I hope our grandson hasn’t been boring you,” he says with a wink. Delano snorts derisively and rolls his eyes, but he gives his grandfather a slight smirk. I have yet to see him smile fully, and I find myself confusingly desperate for it.
“He’s been a perfect gentleman so far,” I assure him before biting my lip.
“You were stunning on stage tonight, Clara,” Marie says.
“Thank you; you’re too kind. It’s a pleasure to meet you both,” I say with a little bow. It’s awfully formal, but truly a habit.
We take our seats, and Marie asks me all sorts of questions about me and my career. I tell them how I grew up in North Carolina and moved to New York at sixteen after receiving a scholarship to the company’s trainee program. I’ve been here ever since. When Fred asks me questions about the company and our esteemed director, I have to fight the urge not to shiver at his name.
Delano remains quiet but attentive as he listens to my stories. Every time I make eye contact with him, my heart races, and I swear my cheeks heat. I’ve never had this reaction to anyone before, and I don’t know how to handle it.
I’ve had a couple of boyfriends over the years—some serious, some not—but all ended eventually, for one reason or another. There were guys who didn’t like my grueling schedule, guys who were just fun but not relationship material. This career really isn’t conducive to a stable relationship, but I don’t mind being alone. I enjoy my space and quiet time.
Still, there’s just something that draws me to Delano; no one has ever left me so breathless after one, little conversation. It’s overwhelming, and I can’t help but wonder if he feels it too. Do I actually find him this alluring? Or is it just because my emotions are all over the place tonight?
One thing is for sure: he definitely piques my interest, and I find myself insanely curious about the mysterious man next to me.