3. Principal at a Price #2
And the worst part isn’t even what he said… it’s that I didn’t say no. I froze, then ran, like a scared dog with its tail between its legs.
In the studio, dancers are already at center—stretching, adjusting shoes, and running quiet tendus to the muted counts of the pianist.
Sofia slips past me without another word, her water bottle still in hand. I wish I knew what she was thinking.
There are girls in this company who would kill to have this kind of information. They’d run straight to Margaux, pretending to be concerned, casually reminding her of the contract.
And what Sofia overheard… is definitely not in the contract.
My legs carry me to the back of the room on autopilot. I drop beside my dance bag and reach for my snack, but my hands tremble so badly I drop the bag of almonds twice. When I finally get it open, Soren’s voice slithers through my head. “You looked like a whale up there.”
My throat locks up. I zip the bag shut and shove it away.
I’m barely on my feet when Julian’s voice cuts through the air, low and smug. “Well, look who finally decided to rejoin the commoners.”
I don’t look up. There’s no way I can deal with him right now. Though of course, he doesn’t stop.
“Everything alright, Ellie? Or were you just off receiving some artistic feedback?”
A few dancers nearby glance our way. A few of them even snort. Heat surges up the back of my neck.
One day… One day I’ll bury this little weasel’s head in the sand.
I straighten slowly, biting the inside of my cheek. “Maybe try minding your own business for once, Julian.”
He grins, unfazed. “Touchy.” He exaggerates a grimace. “You know, stress shows in your port de bras.” He shrugs, like he’s doing me a favor. “Just looking out for you.”
I turn away before I say something I can’t take back. The room is too warm, the lights too bright. I take my place at center, but my focus is shattered into too many sharp, fractured pieces.
Just breathe, I tell myself. Everything will be fine. It has to be.
Maybe Soren doesn’t mean what I think he means.
Maybe the rumors aren’t true.
Who am I kidding?
Of course they’re true. I just witnessed it with my own eyes.
Soren propositioned me in exchange for a promotion.
And I didn’t say no.
And Sofia, my only friend in this place, heard the entire thing.
The stage lights aren’t lifted yet, but my nerves are already buzzing like a live wire. I can’t shake what happened with Soren this morning. I should’ve been brave. I should’ve said no and gone straight to Margaux.
Would’ve, could’ve, should’ve? None of it can save me now. All I can do is gather myself enough to get through tonight’s performance.
After rehearsals, Sofia slipped down the hallway, vanishing in the direction of Margaux’s office.
Would she say something?
I tell myself she won’t. Maybe she’s going to warn Margaux of Soren’s behavior.
Maybe.
I dab concealer under my eyes with more force than necessary, trying to steady my hand. I haven’t stopped shaking since rehearsals.
My dress clings uncomfortably to my ribs, and I can’t tell if it’s from sweat, fear, or this stupid corset.
A sharp knock sounds on the dressing room door, followed by a steady voice. “Miss Montgomery.”
I hurry to open it. Will, Margaux’s right-hand man, second only to Soren, stands.
“Come with me, please.” He doesn’t wait for a response before turning down the hall toward Margaux’s office.
I have no choice but to follow.
The intensity of the room reduces my resolve to liquid.
As I step into the hallway, attention settles on me. Dancers’ faces flicker with confusion as Will and I pass. Whispers follow, low and sharp, like tiny pricks against my skin.
We walk in silence. The corridors are too clean and way too quiet. The walls already know, haunted by the situation about to take place.
Will stops outside the door with ‘Margaux Lefevre - Artistic Director’ engraved in silver on the glass. My mouth goes dry.
Margaux sits behind her desk, glasses perched on her nose, one perfectly manicured hand resting on a closed folder. A crystal pen balances between her fingers.
Sofia sits across from her, legs crossed, hands folded primly in her lap. Her expression is unreadable, and she doesn’t look at me when Will and I enter.
Margaux doesn’t invite me to sit, and Will closes the door behind me with a soft click that sounds like a gavel.
I stay standing. My fingers curl tightly at my sides. I can’t stop staring at Sofia, but she still won’t look at me.
“Eleanor,” Margaux finally greets, her voice cool and clipped.
“This won’t take long.” She glances at the folder beneath her hand but doesn’t open it.
“It’s been brought to my attention,” she continues, drawing out each word like a thread she planned to unravel, “that there’s been…
impropriety. Between you and one of our artistic staff members. ”
Unease coils in my stomach. This can’t be happening right now.
“What?” I manage to choke out.
Her eyes lift sharply. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t insult my intelligence by pretending you don’t know who I mean.”
I turn to Sofia, silently willing her to look at me. But she doesn’t. She studies her fingernails instead.
“Are you serious?” I ask her, my voice rising in disbelief.
Sofia finally looks at me, but her eyes are void of apology. “I told her what I heard,” she says simply. “You didn’t say no.”
“I—” My breath catches. “You know what he was doing. You heard him.”
Margaux raises a hand. “Whether or not something was offered is not in question, Eleanor. The issue is whether you were complicit.”
“I wasn’t,” I blurt out. “I was—I was panicking, I didn’t even respond—”
“But you didn’t say no.” Sofia states, her voice full of conviction.
Her comment stings like a splash of salt in a fresh wound. How could she?
My hands tremble. “You weren’t in the room Sofia. You have no idea what happened.”
Margaux stands then. Slow. Deliberate.
“We hold our dancers to the highest standards of conduct, Eleanor. You know this. There are lines that cannot be crossed, no matter how blurred you claim they were. What happens between dancers and directors—especially when career advancement is involved—has consequences. For everyone.”
“Oh, really?” I spit, defense thick in my voice. “What will happen to Soren then?”
But she isn’t listening to me anymore. She continues on as if I didn’t just ask her a very important and very reasonable question.
“You’ll finish tonight’s performance,” she continues. “Then your contract will be formally dissolved. You are not to speak to the press nor to other company members about this situation. If you do, legal consequences will follow.”
It feels like I’ve been ripped from reality. I can’t feel my legs, and my breath can’t catch up to my lungs.
Margaux turns to Will. “See that she gets back to her dressing room.”
Will nods, then lightly takes my elbow to guide me out.
She doesn’t meet my eyes when she adds, “break a leg tonight, Eleanor.”
Will escorts me to the dressing rooms. Everything’s suffocating.
The air is heavy with foundation powder and lingering hairspray.
I sit motionless in front of the mirror, eyes locked on my own reflection, but all I can see is her—Sofia, sitting pretty in front of Margaux like she hasn’t just thrown me to the wolves.
My lower lip trembles, and I bite down hard, tasting a hint of blood.
Don’t cry. Not now.
Someone knocks on the door again, softer this time. “Five minutes,” calls a runner’s voice from the hallway.
Outside of the dressing rooms, I hear the orchestra warming up.
Violins tuning, the low roll of the timpani.
The performance will begin with or without me.
They’ll let me dance tonight because the audience has paid, and my understudy has already been bumped to fill in elsewhere.
But once the curtain falls… I’ll be forgotten.
Just another girl the company chewed up and spit out.
I glance back at the mirror one last time. Soft pink lips. Dusty rose shadow. A flush of color on my cheeks. The delicate cluster of flowers tucked into my hair. I look every inch the tragic heroine. A girl with as much to mourn as Giselle.
Let them watch. Let them applaud. Let them say I was brilliant. Right before they erase me.
The applause still rings in my ears as I step offstage. My chest heaves beneath the corset, every inch of my body buzzing with exhaustion. I danced like my life depended on it. Because in a way, it did.
Who knows if another company will take me? In this world, rumors spread like wildfire. One smudge on your name and poof—every opportunity vanishes.
And let’s be honest, it’s only downhill from here. The Metropolitan Theatre of Ballet is one of the best in the country. Anywhere else is a step down.
I’ve given this company everything. Five years gone. Just like that. Every ounce of grace, perfect line, or emotion I didn’t have the words for poured out and evaporated under stage lights. And now it is over.
Back in the wings, a few dancers offer polite nods as they pass, but most rush to the dressing rooms to wash the night away and greet their families.
I pull the flowers from my hair, each pin catching slightly like my body doesn’t want to let go.
When I reach my vanity, a note is taped to the mirror, written in Margaux’s signature stationery.
Make sure your station is cleared before morning. Return your keycard to the reception desk. Thank you.
No name. No signature. Just a polite erasure.
I read it twice, then crumple it in my hand and toss the note in the trash.
I grab my dance bag, shoving everything that’s mine inside.
Tears blur my vision. Sofia is my only friend here… or so I thought. How easily she had the power to ruin my life in a split-second decision, so gracefully unaware of the damage she caused.
Why would she do this?