Kept

Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

S arah

The orchestra begins Tchaikovsky’s soft, almost melancholic notes as the curtains slowly part. The lights raise, and I feel the eyes of the audience on me even though the bright glare prevents me from truly seeing them. I know this music by heart, my body moving on instinct.

Of the ballets my company will perform, Swan Lake is my favorite. The music is stunning, evolving throughout the story from mournful to dramatic and back again. Everything about the opening scenes lets the audience know they aren’t here for a cheerful little fairytale that ends in a neat and tidy box. It really doesn’t matter if you’ve seen it before, since every company director seems to put their own spin on it. Our company’s signature is an extended introduction, where the audience meets Odette before she gets turned into a swan. Throughout the season, we also do both traditionally accepted endings, depending on which night the performance is on. More than anything else, I love that it’s real, and painful, and full of sorrow. It’s life set to music.

I feel alive on stage. The music, the heat from the overhead lights, the soft noises my pointe shoes make against the polished floor all blend into a soothing backdrop where nothing exists outside of this moment.

The first scene ends, and I hustle off for a wardrobe change.

“Oh my god!” Robert squeals, clapping his hands. “You’re amazing.”

I’m already peeling out of my first costume. It’s nothing he hasn’t seen before, and Robert couldn’t care less about seeing me halfway naked. First off, he’s my dance partner and my best friend. Secondly, he’s flamboyantly gay. He hands me my tutu right as I’m pulling the white leotard up my arms. I slip into the tutu and Robert works on pinning the swan-esque head piece into my hair. He’s already dressed and ready to go in his Prince Siegfried costume.

“Thank you!” I pant, reaching for a bottle of water. Quick changes are much easier with a companion.

“Anytime, love.” A particular note from the orchestra sounds, and he bounces up. “That’s me!” He sashays towards stage right and disappears from view.

“You were beautiful, Sarah,” says a soft voice.

I turn to see our newest member, Bella, standing nearby. She joined the company a few months ago, but this will be her first major production.

“Thank you. How are you feeling?” I ask.

“Mostly excited, slightly nervous. Which is probably about where I’m supposed to be on premier night with a new company. Thank you so much for all your help settling in.”

I nod. “You’re welcome.”

She smiles. “Seriously though, most principal dancers aren’t as helpful. Honestly, they are downright catty.”

I laugh. “That’s because most of them are pretentious twats that have had everything handed to them by mommy and daddy and haven’t worked a day in their entire, perfect lives.”

Her jaw drops.

“Sorry, was that my outside voice?” I wink, and we both suppress a giggle. I add a little hair spray to her bun and she scampers away. Bella, like almost everyone else, will have multiple roles, and later on she will play the black swan. In a pinch, whoever plays Odette can also play the black swan, but our company splits the roles so that there is, essentially, a backup dancer in case of illness or injury. In addition to her choreography being done to match my character’s style, we really do look alike. Bella is a couple of years younger than I am, but we are both petite, even by ballet standards, with fair skin and blonde hair. She’s a perfect fit to play my “evil twin” in the performance. She’s also a sweetheart and a talented dancer.

The rest of the show is flawless. After a brief retouch of hair and makeup, the cast relocates to the lobby, where a small meet-and-greet has been set up, complete with hors d’oeuvres and champagne passed out by ushers. Mostly, it’s a chance to rub elbows with the more wealthy patrons in hopes that they will continue to financially support the company.

The cast members spread out, strategically positioned throughout the foyer with ushers ensuring no paying hand is free of a glass and that no glass is empty.

The production director materializes at my side. In his late fifties, thin and well over six feet tall, he manages to give off the vague impression of a giraffe dressed in a tuxedo.

“Wonderful show, Sarah,” he tells me.

“Thank you, Mr. Chandler.”

An elegantly dressed woman, probably in her eighties, stops to give me a small bouquet of flowers. She gives me air kisses on each cheek before moving on.

“Tomorrow night is the other ending, yes?” he asks. As the production director, he acts more like an administrator for the company, since there are a slew of artistic directors and choreographers that handle the more intricate parts of the performances.

“Yes, the tragic ending. One of each for opening weekend, and then we switch back and forth all season, minus the Halloween special, which is always tragic. Jean hasn’t decided which ending he wants for the finale this season.”

“Which do you prefer?”

“The tragic ending.”

He turns to face me, blinking slowly behind his oversized glasses. “That’s a bit depressing, don’t you think?”

“Well, that is why they call it tragic .”

He clears his throat. “Ah, yes. Well, in regard to the fundraiser after the performance tomorrow, Mr. LeBlanc is requesting a private autograph signing.”

Sighing, I turn to face him. “Excuse me?”

Chandler looks down and suddenly becomes extremely interested in picking a nonexistent speck of lint off of his dress shirt. “You know he’s one of the biggest donors to the school.”

“I’m aware.”

“Sarah, he was discussing a sponsorship program for some of the principal dancers, and so?—”

“And you’d like to use us to milk him for as much money as possible?”

“Sarah, as you know in this economy, with interest in the performing arts decreasing, funding is becoming increasingly difficult.”

I sigh. He’s not wrong, unfortunately.

Chandler stops fussing over his shirt and looks at me. “He would like to sponsor you. Not directly of course, but through the company.”

I start to open my mouth to retort, but he waves a hand to quiet me.

“It’s not uncommon for patrons to sponsor dancers, and you know that. For Christ’s sake, many companies have sections to solicit sponsorships for dancers on their websites.”

I try to resist the urge to gag, thinking about the sleazy LeBlanc and numerous sexual innuendos that he slips into every conversation. “He is aware that he’s sponsoring a dancer, right? Not purchasing one?”

Chandler huffs as if this is the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard.

Whatever. It’s not you he accidentally cops a feel on every chance he gets.

“Ah!” He catches sight of an attractive middle-aged couple, the woman obviously quite pregnant. “Mr. and Mrs. Brown are here. I’ve been meaning to speak with them.”

He slinks away, off to secure more donations for the company. While I certainly understand the concept, LeBlanc makes my skin crawl.

Robert calls my name and waves me over for cast photos. One of his better ideas, Chandler has set up to print them on site for autographs. After another hour of socializing, I’m slipping into my sneakers and street clothes for the trek to the subway station.