CHAPTER FOUR
SHE STARED BLANKLY OUT her window, eyes stinging. Her hands sat in her lap, her knuckles aching from the tight hold they had on each other.
They were angry with her. Of course they were.
Neither of them had said a word. They had gotten into Beverly’s car and drove out of the lot like they couldn’t wait to get away from her.
Amber had chosen. She had chosen wrong. She could only imagine what they thought of her. She had put them aside when they had stuck up for her. She had been summoned and like a moth to a flame, she could do nothing but follow. Even when doing so left her wounded. The car rolled to a stop, pulling Amber out of her thoughts. The ominous pause tugged her chest lower into her stomach. She remained unmoving as Nigel rounded the vehicle and pulled open the door.
“Amber?”His weathered voice was hesitant, soft. He had left her to her thoughts for the whole ride here when usually they bantered or made small talk during their drives. He probably felt guilty for causing her trouble.
She felt bad for putting him in a tight spot with her friends. He was simply doing his job and she couldn’t fault him for that. She wouldn’t have forgiven herself if her actions had cost Nigel his job, but it was difficult to swallow that she had ditched her friends. Amber pushed out a smile to ease him, though she was sure it was dull and drew herself out of the car. She squeezed his arm in thanks then watched Nigel walk around to the front to take the car into the side garage. At this point she was only stalling for time.
It was sad to admit she didn’t want to walk into her own house. The house before Amber held no appeal, its walls bare of comfort, its corridors devoid of laughter or framed memories. The two story home had been a lovely purchase. Amber liked it because it had a garden and was a roof over her head. Her mom liked it for its modern aesthetic and because it held no memories of her father. It was a clean slate for both of them.
Amber punched in the code for the front door and stepped in. Her shoes echoed against the polished porcelain tile in the foyer, emphasizing the emptiness of the space despite the chaise and artworks. She paused to pull off her jacket and boots, the smooth tile sending a chill through her socked feet as she continued through the house. Underneath the archway, she paused at the low voices coming from the living room. Recognizing her mom’s, Amber debated her next route. Was she ready to face her mother? A second voice drifted through the air, answering to her mom. Nigel had said she was with a guest but Amber hadn’t known anyone would be coming.
“No need to eavesdrop, Amber. Come in.”
Amber jumped at her mom’s voice. Shutting her eyes for a quick prayer, she entered the living room. Her gaze landed first on her mom seated in the armchair across the room. The ends of her hair framed her strong chin, her eyes bright in the afternoon light streaming in from the large wall of windows to her left. Her mom wore a blue power suit today, paired with black red bottoms that matched the deep red of her lips. A stunning neckpiece graced her neck, drawing the eye to its slender curve. Amber was thankful for genes. She wanted to look as effortlessly beautiful as her mother did in her late forties.
“Hi, mom.”
Mallory hummed in response to Amber, sweeping an eye down her frame. She held herself still as her mother leaned over to pick a teacup and saucer from the center table.
“How was school?”
“Good,”she said.“You asked Nigel to pick me up?”
“I did.” Her mother met her eyes. Blue on blue. It was subtle but Amber could feel the challenge behind that look. She tried to ignore the gleam that shone through.“I assumed you’d like to meet our important guest,”her mom finished.
The woman seated on the sofa opposite her mom was the Director of the Fleur Elysian Ballet Theatre, a prestigious woman who had once danced under the same company as her mother and who now modeled prominent dancers under her instruction. Helena Meusall’s petite features turned up into a small smile. For all the years Amber had known her, that was the most expressive the woman had been.
“Hello, Amber. It’s good to see you,”she spoke, her voice even and calm, rippling with strength. Amber smiled back. Despite Director Meusall’s reserved nature, she had always been kind to Amber and was a good teacher who supported her and her dancing. Many of Amber’s performances had been choreographed or taught to her by Director Meusall despite her busy schedule as the head of an outstanding ballet company.
“Hello, Director Meusall. It’s been a while. How are the twins?”
“Good, thank you. They are still looking to drive me crazy.”The fondness in her accented tone widened Amber’s smile. The Director’s twins were adorable but could cause trouble like it was their jobs. Everyone at the theatre loved it when they came around.
“We’re all caught up then," her mother cut in. She turned to her daughter. “Amber, go change into a practice outfit. Wear one of your longer skirts. Helena would like to see you in the ballet studio.”
There was an edge to her mother’s voice that made her pause. When neither woman spoke, Amber clutched her things and exited the room. Upstairs, she collapsed onto her bed. Her heavy sigh filled the bedroom, hovering in the silence for a second. Her thoughts ran to her friends and her mood dipped again.
Had they gone to Riong’s? Were they enjoying themselves without her? How mad would they be when she faced them tomorrow? How would she face them?
Amber shook herself before her thoughts went too far. She ran a hand through her hair and stood. She could wallow in her guilt later. For now, her mother had given her an order. She needed to focus.
Dance steps and positions flitted through her mind as she changed. Amber pulled her earrings out and twisted her hair into a low bun, her hands well versed in the movement. Opening a drawer in her closet, she picked out a pair of pointe shoes, noticing that they were getting a bit worn out. She would need to break in a new pair soon. The thought pulled a groan from her. That would be a pain on her toes for a while. As she tied the ribbons, she wondered what Director Meusall’s visit was about. She and Amber’s mom may have been two of the best ballerinas under their company but they were barely friends. Her mom sometimes dropped by the theatre to watch her practices with the class or privately with the Director but they hardly spoke all those times. In fact, Amber had witnessed only a handful of their conversations and it always revolved around the theatre, an upcoming performance or her.
Her mother had mentioned Director Meusall wanted to see her in the studio which meant she would be dancing a few variations. Maybe the Director wanted to check on whether she had kept up well with her lessons. After the outcome of the competition, Amber needed to prove she was at her best.
She made to cross the room when her gaze caught on her reflection in the full length mirror. Before her was a girl with eyes of ice and pale hair, the pink skirt over her leotard and leggings framing a slim figure honed by years of dancing. She looked into the blues reflecting at her. Her father had once said her eyes were the best part of her because whenever he looked at her, he saw her mother. His two greatest treasures. Would he be happy now if he saw how empty they were, sitting in her face?
Amber turned away, shutting out the echo in her chest and headed for the ballet studio. Her mom had gotten it done to continue her practices even while she was home. The floor was vinyl hardwood and allowed Amber to glide effortlessly across the room and perform jumps without fear of slipping. At one end, a barre extended from one wall to the other. Adjacent to it was a full wall of mirrors, built in speakers and two armchairs.
Amber had opened up the windows, set up the speakers and done her stretches when her mom and Director Meusall walked in. Her mom took a seat while the Director remained standing, her eyes on Amber.
“Let’s begin with the barre.”
Amber nodded at the order. She began with a series of combinations, from plié , tendu and fondu . She ended in a grand battement and awaited her next order.
“Again.”
The instructions came and Amber followed, her movement fluid and familiar. Director Meusall nodded her approval and told her to step away from the barre as she changed the song over the speakers. Amber didn’t recognize the tune until the Director pulled a folding fan from her bag and handed it to her.“ Don Quixote, Kitri Act III. Visualize this as the stage. I want the right steps, the right expressions. Everything. Are you ready, Amber?”
“She is,”her mother answered. She folded her hands in her lap, her voice clear as she said.“She’s known this dance since she was fourteen. Show her.”
Amber smoothed her palms on her skirt, taking a deep breath. She may have learned the steps at fourteen and danced it at fifteen but it had been a while since any of that. She took a moment to recall the steps of Kitri’s scene. The story of this ballet was a popular one. A nobleman decides to become a knight to revive chivalry. He takes the name Don Quixote and travels across the town where he meets Kitri, mistaking her for a beautiful woman in his dreams. Kitri escapes from Don Quixote with her love and after a series of adventures, the young couple get married.
Amber flicked the fan in her wrist as the director pressed play. As the intro began, Amber tipped her chin and placed on her smile. She did as she was instructed, visualizing she was on stage with her mother and Director Meusall as her sole audience. It was one of the first dances her mother had wrung out of her amidst tears and struggles. Now, Amber wanted to impress Director Meusall but she wanted to impress her mother more. She wanted to show her she could still recall the steps, following her teaching. If nothing else, she wanted to hear her mom say she had performed it well.
At the rising, Amber leaned into the music. Muscle memory took over, leading her into each step. She rose onto her pointes, stepping into the coupé. Her smile turned genuine with the movements as she realized she remembered it more easily than she thought.
But right as it sunk in, she heard her mother’s voice.
“Arms, Amber. Raise them.”
She blinked, pulled out of rhythm but quickly did as said. She rose her arms and centered her core, trying to flow with the music as blood rushed into her head. Was she not getting the steps? The answer came in the form of another order from her mother.“Center yourself. Hold the attitude.”
She continued on, feeling her heart race. She forced her smile to stay on so she wouldn’t give her mother another thing to correct. As she did an arabesque , another sharp remark came.“To your right diagonal, Amber. You missed the step at the–”
“Mallory.”Her mother’s name was a blunt knife that effectively cut into the rising tension. Director Meusall continued,“Let her finish.”
Amber felt grateful for the interruption but it was too late to do anything. The music came to an end and she barely landed in her ending position in time, feeling much less confident and cheerful than when she’d started. The room fell into silence, both women staring at her. One with a calculating gaze, the other a cold one.
Her mother grimaced.“Who taught you that dance?”
Amber blinked. “You did.”
“No, I didn’t. I would never teach such nonsense.”
“I’m sorry, I was trying to get my footing and I–”
“That shouldn’t be an excuse. How many years have you been dancing, Amber? How many?”She stayed silent. Her mother wasn’t asking for an answer. She was making a point. Teaching a lesson. Amber dropped her eyes, wishing the lesson didn’t have to hurt so much.“Seven years and you can’t perfect an arabesque . There is no excuse.”
“She was doing fine before your instructions. You weren’t supposed to say anything. I wanted to see how she did it on her own.”Director Meusall tipped her chin, her eyes narrowed. She stepped in front of Amber’s mom, pulling her eyes off Amber.
“Well, you saw it, Helena. I would assume you’re as unimpressed as I am, or maybe your teaching has dulled with age.”
The former prima ballerinas faced off right there, their gazes clashing and words cutting. The air grew stiff, the setting sun’s rays casting long shadows of the two women across the hardwood floor. Amber shrunk back, wishing she could shut her eyes or her ears, whichever one would pull her out of this uncomfortable situation. She was the one at fault. No one needed to be blamed for it.
Director Meusall retorted,“If I recall your words correctly, that dance wasn’t learned under my wing but under yours. Yes?”
Her mom glared, her red lips pinched tightly.“That may be true but it was under your institution that she came a measly second in that competition. You and I both know the judges only awarded her that performance because we were her mentioned mentors and not for that … mediocre performance.”
Her heart gaped, torn apart by the woman who shared her blood. How could her mom say something like that? With Amber standing right there? She wanted to sink right through the floor. She had trained and practiced relentlessly for that competition. Sure, her mother hadn’t celebrated or even acknowledged her win at the competition but knowing her mom saw all her hard work as mediocre … it hurt so much more.
“Mom–”A weak protest left Amber’s lips, jerking both women’s heads to her as though they were reminded of her presence. Director Meusall gave a regretful sigh but her mother didn’t spare her a second glance.
“I think we’re done for today. I’ll take my leave,”Director Meusall said, her eyes on Amber’s mom.
“You can see yourself out,”was her only response.
The silence stretched after the Director’s exit, both of them stuck to their positions across the room. Her mother moved first, her back to Amber as she faced the windows.“You should’ve done better. You could’ve done better.”
“What?”
“Fix it, whatever that dance was supposed to be. Those kind of slip-ups will never get you anywhere in a dancing career.”
“Mom, please. I don’t–”
“Did you think Helena showed up here at random? She was watching every step, studying you as she will everyone who shows promise when passing through her theatre and dancing on her stage. That little show was not promising.”
“I’ll get better. I’ll practice the steps.”
“Ha!”Her mother whirled on her, her eyes blazing as she stepped towards Amber. “You think that is the answer? You think practicing the steps is the only thing you need to do? You need to have the passion, the spirit. Not some tacked on talent you inherited from me!
“Not everyone in the industry will bow to you because of who your mother is. If the only reason you have come this far is because of my success, then you need to put more than simple effort into performing because it will make or break your future and you will not be an embarrassment to me in my own house, Amber. Do. You. Understand?”
Her head jerked in response. She made sure to keep her eyes downcast. Her mother would only get angrier if she saw her tears.“Yes, mom.”
Her mother leaned away, her gaze still burning into Amber.“You will practice those steps. Every single Act until it is nothing short of perfection. I won’t accept anything less.”
Then she spun on her heel and left, missing the sight of the first tear that escaped. Amber’s knees weakened in her mother’s absence and she let the floor catch her as she fell, the agony in her chest weighing her down. Why did it have to hurt so much? She could taste her tears, smell her despair, feel her sorrow so acutely, it was as though she’d been stabbed right in the heart.
Perfection, her mom demanded.
That ugly, cruel, bitter word.
Perfection.
That beautiful, idyllic word.
It would haunt her forever.
Perfection.
Would she ever be perfect enough to earn her mother’s love?