Chapter 4
CHAPTER 4
S arah
The curtains slide closed. I stay posed, frozen for several seconds, the cacophony of applause echoing through the hall. Robert pulls me to my feet and hugs me before we run off stage.
“Oh babe! That. Was. Awesome.”
“I know! We killed it!” I smile. The show came out amazing, even better than last night. I slip out of my pointe shoes and into my slippers, then touch up my makeup and polish off half a bottle of water.
“Ready?” Robert asks me.
“Let’s do this,” I tell him, nodding towards the door. I run into Bella on the way to the foyer. “Bella! You were amazing!”
She beams, her blush showing even under her heavy stage make up.
Like the previous evening, the foyer is brightly lit up. Saturday nights have a higher attendance, so it’s even more crowded than last night, ushers squeezing past tuxedos and gowns. A small space has been cleared for a sized down version of the orchestra, which is cycling through a series of Tchaikovsky’s more famous pieces.
“There you are!” I hear Chandler’s voice carrying over the din of conversation. I paste my best smile on my face and spin around.
“Sarah, may I introduce David?—”
I chime in pleasantly, “LeBlanc. Nice to see you again.” In his mid-fifties, by far his most memorable feature is the greasy combover desperately trying to hold onto ground like a vanquished country after a war.
“Sarah, thank you for agreeing to meet with me today,” he purrs, taking my hand and kissing the back of it.
Gag .
“Of course, I hope you enjoyed the show.”
“Very much so.” LeBlanc swipes two flutes of champagne off a passing tray and hands me one.
Fuck it. I’m off tomorrow.
I take a large sip and paste the smile back on my face. LeBlanc casually steers us towards the outdoor patio, conveniently forgetting that all I’m wearing is a leotard, tights, and some tulle, and it’s late October in New York, not exactly the warmest city in the world.
“As you know, I’ve contributed to the company for years now,” he tells me.
I just nod along and have another sip.
“What I’d propose would be to change to a more specified, let’s say patronage, for a certain talented young dancer.”
I decide to equivocate. “Mr. Chambers did mention that you have been one of our biggest supporters for years. The company is very grateful.” I shiver and step closer to the building to get out of the evening wind.
Unfortunately, this pulls me out of sight. LeBlanc follows, stepping just too close for comfort. “As a sponsor, I’d make sure you had all the support you need, including eliminating that ridiculous trip back and forth to Brooklyn every day.”
What the shit?
“How the hell do you know where I live?” I ask.
He steps forward and rubs the backs of his fingers down my bare arm. “I’m a powerful man. I know many things. That shoe box you call an apartment by the Navy Yard is hardly appropriate for my ballerina.”
“I’m not your anything. This conversation is done.” I twist to walk away, but he grabs my arm. “Ow! Let go!”
“The conversation is over when I say it is?—”
I chuck the champagne at his head. It’s not a gentle splash of beverage. I throw the whole thing, glass and all, right at his face.
“You bitch!” he bellows, but I’m already moving, fast, back into the foyer.
I crash into Chandler. “Ah, Sarah?—”
“No fucking way,” I tell him, loud enough to turn a few heads in our direction. The room quiets, and I look over to see a soggy LeBlanc stagger in from outside, a small cut on his cheek bleeding.
Chandler stutters, looking back and forth between us.
“No,” I repeat, making a beeline for the door.
Robert materializes behind me. “Oh. My. God.” He squeals. “That was amazing. Tell me everything.”
“That presumptive, chauvinistic pig grabbed my arm when I tried to leave, so I threw my glass in his face.”
“Doll, I think you’re supposed to throw the drink and keep the glass when you do that.”
“My way worked just fine.”
He whistles. “Oh, yes it did.”
I grab my bags from the cast area and head to the bathroom. I’m not feeling terribly secure without some additional locked doors. I hear Robert post up outside the door.
“Now what?” he asks.
“Now, I go home, take at least two showers, and get very drunk.” I open the door. Robert is standing there with his hands on his hips, tapping his foot.
“Hmm. Yes to the end, no to the rest. We’re going out.”
“What?”
“I know for a fact you have a spare outfit in that big ass bag of yours.” He waves his hand at my Nike gym bag. “We’re going out, getting fabulously drunk, and forgetting that creep.”
“Robert—”
“Don’t you sass me on this point. You are not ending this fantastic premier on a shitty note.”
I can’t help smiling at his no-nonsense expression.
“It was a good night,” I concede.
“Absolutely!” He takes the bag from me and starts to rummage through it. “Ah-ha! Here we are!” he proclaims as he hands me my backup outfit.
I take the clothes from him, shaking my head at his characteristic, over the top enthusiasm. It’s just hard to be in a bad mood with Robert on your team. The clothes are a simple set of black block heels, dark wash jeans, and a black halter top. I spruce up my makeup a bit and pick out the remaining feathers from my hair. The bun will stay because I have so much gel and hair spray in it, my hair won’t move without a serious shampooing. I pull out my favorite necklace, a tiny gold ballet slipper with a little pink gemstone in it. My mom gave it to me when I was a little girl and I’m usually wearing it whenever I’m not dancing.
Robert claps his hands. “Perfect!”
“Where are we going?”
He hums, tapping his finger against his lip contemplatively. “Option A, or Option B?”
“Ummm. B?”
“Oh, excellent. To the car!” He leads us down the hallway, doing a remarkably good impression of Jack Sparrow.
An hour later, we’re well on our way to Atlantic City.
“Remind me why we’re going way out here?” I ask.
“Because you picked option B, which is to go to the new nightclub my cousin’s girlfriend is bartending at, and that’s in Atlantic City. It’s part of that casino they renovated a few months ago. Supposed to be super bougie.” He stops to wink. “Plus, she’ll hook us up with drinks and get us on the VIP list.”
I smile. “Thank you for this.” I gesture around the car. “I’m already feeling better.”
“Anytime doll, anytime.”
The parking garage is full, but we find a place around the corner and walk.
“Shortcut time!” Robert calls as he begins to sashay down the alley, running between the garage and the casino.
“Robert! This is a stupid shortcut. Do you not watch crime TV?”
I’ve caught up to his longer stride as we come around a blind corner. Robert opens his mouth to reply, but only a shocked squeal comes out.
In front of us, there are two men in suits, and a third on his knees. One of the standing men is holding a handgun.
I grab Robert’s arm and pull him back out of sight. I hear a shout from the other side of the corner.
Crap. They saw us.
There is a large roller dumpster against the wall. I push Robert behind it. He tries to speak, but I put my hand over his mouth and shake my head.
The shouting gets louder. I bolt away from the dumpster and start loudly running down the alley. They saw someone, we can’t both disappear.
See me. Chase me .
“ Stop! ” a deep voice yells.
I glance over my shoulder and see one of the men behind me, gaining ground.
Oh, shit.
In addition to being loud, my high heels are slowing me down, but I can’t stop to unbuckle them now. I run like the hounds of hell are nipping at my proverbial heels.
I’m almost to the end of the alley. The back street we parked the car on is up ahead. I don’t have the keys, but at least it’s not a dark fucking alley. As I burst out of the shadows, something grabs me, and a hand crushes against my mouth.
My feet kick empty air as I’m snatched completely off the ground, one hand clamped over my mouth, the other arm wrapped around my middle. I’m pulled back into the darkness of the alley. I try clawing at the hand on my mouth but realize it’s covered by a supple leather glove. I work on sinking an elbow into the person behind me.
The first man catches up. “Oh, looks like you caught a wildcat.”
I manage to sink an elbow into the ribs of the man holding me. He grunts but doesn’t release his hold. I can feel his warm breath against my neck when he speaks into my ear.
“Oh, you’ll pay for that, kitten.” His voice is deep and rich, and it sends goosebumps down my body.
“Marco,” he tells the other man, “get the car.”
He must be on the phone, since I hear a one-sided conversation. A one-sided Italian conversation.
Moments later, tires screech. A sleek black car pulls up. The trunk pops open.
The hand is still over my mouth, so what actually comes out is a pathetic whimpering and “nuuuhhhh nuuuhhhh nuhhhhh” sound as he walks me closer and closer to the trunk.