Chapter 7
“Here you go,” Carly said, placing the jeweler’s small glossy bag carefully on the kitchen table. “Two wedding rings, sized, polished, and ready for the big day. Marcus, the jeweler said you should double check that they sized yours right, because they can resize it pretty easily if you need. Heather, the jeweler said you should have included more diamonds.”
Heather laughed and rolled her eyes. “He didn’t say that.”
“No, but it’s true. That ring needs more sparkle.”
Heather pulled the bag towards her and fished the two small boxes out. “It doesn’t need more sparkle,” she said, slipping the ring onto her left ring finger and admiring her hand. “It’s simple and understated, and it matches Marcus’s ring. I love it.” She leaned over and gave Marcus a kiss on the cheek, then slid the second box toward him.
The two rings did make a perfect set, Carly thought as Marcus opened his box. Marcus had chosen to use his late father’s wedding ring, a plain yellow gold band, as his own ring. Heather had chosen a two-tone braided band, which made it look as though Marcus’s ring had been wound around a white gold one.
Marcus put his ring on and rotated it a few times. Then he cleared his throat. “Fits just fine,” he said. “Thanks for picking them up, Carly. I know you probably didn’t imagine spending your holiday running errands for us.”
“Actually, that’s exactly how I imagined it,” she said brightly. “That’s what a maid of honor is for, right?”
“Right,” Heather agreed, “but you should take this afternoon off. Want to go to the beach?”
“Fuck yeah, girls’ day at the beach!” Carly almost shouted, and both Heather and Marcus laughed.
Carly took a deep breath as she watched the water sparkle and lap at the white-yellow sand. Shelly Beach was a small, sheltered cove surrounded by dense green forest. Sydney’s best kept secret, Heather had called it. It was a beautiful little haven on the very edge of the world. Looking out at the water, she’d never have guessed there was a city of four million people behind them.
“You’re never coming back to New York, are you?” she said, letting the breath out on a sigh. She said it to the water, and she said it with a smile, but Heather wasn’t fooled.
“I miss you, you know. A lot.” Heather put her arm around Carly’s shoulders, and even though it was too hot to be touching another person, Carly didn’t move away.
“I know,” she nodded. “I miss you, too. New York misses you. The company’s not … It’s just not the same without you.” Heather gave her a wistful smile and squeezed her arm around the back of her neck. Her palm was sweaty against Carly’s shoulder, and Carly didn’t care.
“I don’t miss the company. It never felt like home, even when it was my entire life. And I’ve got a new company now, and it feels like where I belong. But I’ll never have a new Carly. There’s only ever going to be one Carly.”
Carly nodded tightly, surprised to find that her eyes were watering. She’d known all this was true, but she hadn’t realized until she heard it out loud how badly she needed to hear her best friend say those words. Heather had her whole new life, with her fiancé and her secret beaches, and Carly’s life had stayed exactly the same, except that now her best friend lived on the other side of the world.
“How’s Melissa doing?” Heather asked, and Carly gave her a shaky smile. Now that Jack had left the company, never to be heard from again, his ex-girlfriend had really come into her own. She and Melissa weren’t exactly friends, because you could never truly be friends with someone who had cheated with your best friend’s fiancé. But they’d been cast in a few dances together this year, and Carly had come to enjoy Melissa’s presence in the studio. Certainly, now that Jack was gone, Melissa seemed more sure of herself. She was a consistent dancer, she listened closely when other people were talking, and she wasn’t afraid to tell a choreographer when a step wasn’t working or when she and the other dancers needed more rehearsal time.
“She’s doing okay, I think.”
“Just okay?”
“Better than she was. I think she was in pretty bad shape after Jack left. He casts a pretty long shadow.”
“Don’t I know it,” Heather replied with a humorless laugh.
“I think she might run for union rep, actually,” Carly said. “She’s organized, she’s opinionated. I think she’d be a good advocate for the other dancers.”
“I wonder who she learned that from,” Heather said, her tone arch but admiring.
Carly twirled an imaginary mustache. “Someone has to take my place as resident troublemaker when my knees finally give out. Mwahahaha!”
Heather chuckled. “Come on, let’s go cool off,” she gestured toward the water. They walked down the warm sand and dropped their bags, then stripped off their clothes and jogged into the water. It was blessedly cool after their walk under the relentless sun. Up to her waist, with the water lapping gently at her ribcage, Carly turned to her friend. Might as well tell her.
“Catherine’s changed the promotion schedule, and now she’s announcing before the spring season.”
Heather’s eyes went wide. “Oh, wow, that’s a big change.”
“I know,” Carly nodded, hitching her mouth up into a no big deal smile and trying to project the confidence of someone who had everything under control, even as a hot wave of panic rose in her gut. Time was running out before she walked away from ballet—or was pushed again. “But I’ll figure something out.” Please, God, let me figure something out.
Heather looked over at her, and even through the reflective sunglasses, Carly could tell Heather’s eyes were narrowed in skepticism.
“What?” Carly said defensively. “It’s fine.”
This time Heather pulled her glasses down so Carly could see just how little she believed her.
“Honestly, it’s—”
“It’s not fine,” Heather interrupted. “This messes up the whole timeline, and you’re freaking out.”
“No I’m not,” Carly said, too hastily. Heather lowered her chin and gave Carly her patented Heather Hays cut the crap look. Carly let out a sound that was half groan and half sigh.
“Fine, I’m freaking out,” she admitted. “But I’ll figure something out. I will.” Some time in the next two-and-three-quarter weeks, she would solve this problem, she told herself, trying to hold another small wave of panic at bay.
“I know you will,” Heather said soothingly. It was her Big Sister voice, which meant a Big Sister offer of help was coming. “But if you don’t, will you let me help? I could put in a good word with Catherine, at the very least. I have a pretty good relationship with her. She was very eager to mend fences as soon as she took over from Mr. K.”
“No, you’ve already done so much,” Carly argued. She didn’t want her best friend to have to swoop in and save her again. It had been hard enough last time to ask Heather to put her own career on the line to save Carly’s job.
“I’m just saying that I would if you wanted me to. But I hear you.” Heather frowned pensively, then pulled out her hair tie and ducked down until the water came up to her chin. Carly did the same, lying back in the cool water and letting it flood her scalp as her hair floated around her shoulders.
“Obviously, asking your parents is out of the question,” Heather said after they’d floated in silence for a few minutes.
“Obviously,” Carly agreed. She knew damn well that a sizeable donation from Edward and Marlene, perhaps enough to bankroll a new three-act ballet or update an entire warehouse worth of costumes, would make the board lean on Catherine to promote her. It would only take one phone call to them, and they’d be so happy to do it. She’d call them, and they’d write a check big enough to have every square foot of carpet in the theater replaced, or something, and just like that she’d be a soloist. And she’d never forgive herself. “It wouldn’t be real. It would be like I bought my place—No, like they bought it for me. I’ve made it this far without asking them for help, and I’m not going to cave now.”
“Mmm,” was all Heather said. She’d heard Carly give some version of this speech many times.
They floated for a few more minutes, and Carly let the sound of the water and the seagulls and the distant buzz of a boat motor wash over her. “You know what you need?” Heather said.
“A beach this clean in Manhattan?”
“You need something to boost your profile. Catherine already knows how you dance. She’s been watching you in class and on stage for years. But you need to show that you’re a box office draw, too. That way, promoting you is good business for them.”
“How would I do that?” Carly frowned up at the cloudless blue sky.
“I don’t know, get famous? Book an endorsement deal with a dancewear company? Rack up a million Instagram followers?”
Carly sighed. It was true that dancers’ Instagram accounts had basically become part of their resumes now. It had been a long time since she’d auditioned for a dance company, but she knew that these days, when you showed up to an audition, companies didn’t just want to see how good your extensions were or how many pirouettes you could do. They also wanted to know what kind of an online following you had. And Carly had basically no following. She only used Instagram to keep up with her friends’ lives and to follow funny ballet meme accounts.
“So, what, I magically amass 999,900 followers in the next three weeks, and Catherine will have no choice but to promote me because some of those hundreds of thousands of internet strangers will buy tickets at Lincoln Center?” Carly asked.
“I think that’s the theory,” Heather agreed.
Carly exhaled an impatient breath. It took years to develop a following of that size, and it wasn’t like she would have any rehearsal or performance footage to post in the next three weeks.
“Okay, but how do I do that?”
“You mean outside of full-frontal nudity?”
“Ha,” Carly said humorlessly. “I’m not doing that.”
“Well, there goes my first and only idea,” Heather shrugged.
Carly stood up and slapped her hand along the water, spraying Heather in the face.
“Hey! Not cool!” Heather cried, but she sent a splash right back.
Carly giggled and dodged the spray, then dived sideways, closing her eyes and letting the cool water envelope her face at last. It felt glorious after the beating sun, and for a moment she let the water hold her, enjoying the feeling of weightlessness and silence. It was clear enough that when she opened her eyes, she could see the rippled sand below, and she spotted a few silvery fish darting away from her.
When she broke the surface and wiped the salty water away from her eyes, she found Heather standing right where she’d left her, with a triumphant grin on her face.
“I’ve got it,” Heather said. “I’ve got an idea.”
“Okay,” Carly said warily, hoping Heather wasn’t going to suggest calling Catherine on her behalf again.
“You need new followers, which means you need new photos. Really good photos, right? And we know someone in Sydney who takes really good photos.”
“We do?” Carly asked.
“We do. We know Nick.”
Carly stared at her. “Nick … Jacobs?” she managed, her heart thudding.
“Yeah, Nick Jacobs! He’s a big deal photographer now, right? Marcus says he’s killing it.”
Carly gave a mirthless laugh. “Absolutely not.”
“Why not?”
“Because he’s so—” Pretentious. Uptight. Smug. Judgemental. Carly swallowed all those adjectives and searched her brain for something neutral. “Busy. He’s busy doing wedding stuff.” And making me miserable. She schooled her face into the easiest and breeziest it had ever been, hoping it was enough to fool Heather. “I told you, I’ll figure it out on my own. You don’t need to worry about this. You don’t need to worry about anything, you’re the bride!”
Heather gave her another skeptical look, confirming Carly’s suspicion that she might have slipped from easy and breezy into maniacal and crazed. She tried to pull it back a little.
“Nick is great,” she lied, “but I don’t think he’ll want to help me.”
She could just imagine how he’d respond if she asked. Euhhh, no. She blinked hard so she wouldn’t roll her eyes at the memory of his verbal tic, which he threw around like he was desperate for everyone to know he’d danced at POB. We get it Nick, you’re a smoking hot success with an Australian accent who also speaks fluent French.
“You could at least ask.”
I could also dance the entire second act ofSwan Lake wearing nothing but dead pointe shoes.
“I don’t think so,” Carly said, and she turned to face the beach and started to wade back toward the sand.
“Why not?” Heather said, following her. “Do you not like him or something?”
Oh God. That wasn’t good. Carly didn’t need Heather worrying about her career prospects or about her desire to feed the best man to a hungry shark. She needed Heather happy, carefree, glowing. After everything Heather had been through, that’s what she deserved.
“I like him just fine,” Carly lied again, exiting the water and heading for their bags and towels. She picked up her towel and prepared for the acting performance of a lifetime. “I see why Marcus likes him so much.” A lie. “And he’s been a great guide to Sydney.” Also a lie, the man was allergic to maps. “And he’s not bad to look at.” Not strictly a lie, but irrelevant.
Heather nodded as she dried herself off. “Right? I’m engaged and everything, but my eyes work. And uh, yum.”
Sure, if you like your men haughty and superior.“Mmhmmm,” Carly said, hoping Heather took the sound as agreement and not as an unwillingness to open her mouth in case she blew her cover. As far as Heather needed to know, she and Nick were getting on famously.
“Marcus is so glad to have him back. He’s been gone forever, and they were really close when they were younger. Marcus considered asking Alice to be his best man, but she called dibs on officiating about five seconds after we told her we were engaged, so Nick was the obvious choice.”
Carly smiled, hoping she looked charmed and touched. If only Alice had demanded to be best man. “Well, Nick and I are going to make sure this wedding is everything you’ve dreamed of. Which won’t leave any time for photography.”
“If it’s going to get you promoted, you should at least give it a try. What’s the worst that could happen?”
One of us could end up mysteriously devoured by a crocodile?
“I don’t …” she started, but she had no idea how to finish the sentence. No idea how to tell her friend that the last person she wanted help from was Marcus’s condescending, big deal best man. Instead, she threw Heather what she hoped looked like a confident smile, as though that thought didn’t make her queasy. “I promise that if I can’t think of a solution myself, I’ll ask him.”
Which meant she would absolutely, positively, have to think of a solution herself. Something that didn’t require help from her best friend or her parents, she thought, as she dried herself off, a little more vigorously than was strictly necessary. Or from a man who’d made his disdain for her very clear.
Except that, by the time she got into bed that night, she hadn’t figured something else out. She sat on the bed in her apartment, staring at Catherine’s email. Then she pulled up her calendar app and swiped, yet again, through the weeks until she arrived at the start of rehearsals for the spring season. Not even a month. She went back to the email, even though she had it memorized by now. Asking Heather to put in a good word for her was out of the question. So was letting her parents “help her out a little,” which was how they would describe donating several new Steinways for NYB’s accompanists.
She sighed and opened Instagram. One hundred and three followers, and most of them were company members or cousins. She tossed the phone down onto the covers and groaned petulantly at the ceiling and accepted the awful reality. Heather was so sensible, so wise, so right all the time, goddammit. But did she have to be right this time, too?