Chapter 1 #2
“Do not let this destroy you, Nelly. You have more talent in your right pinky toe than Geoff and the others have in their entire bodies.” Her hands fell away from me then, and she took a step backward.
Why did the lingering pressure of her touch feel like a wound?
“Geoff,” she said his name coldly, “flaunting that imposter around, as if she is half the dancer, you were… are… the dancer you are.” She corrected herself quickly, yet the past tense was already spoken out loud and irretractable.
I added this small hurt to the growing pile of pain.
“Someday, he will realize what he has lost. I hope he is a fat old man living a miserable life by then.” she said with conviction. She’d always hated the idea of me dating Geoff, though she’d kept her remarks to a minimum. Apparently, she wasn’t holding back on the subject anymore.
Part of me felt like melting against her. Letting all my sorrows out to soak into her thin, sky-blue blouse. It would be easy.
It would also be weak.
I managed to keep the tears back. Managed to face her head-on, though I couldn’t produce any words in response.
She was right, of course. Not about the talent in my toe, but about the insurance and board members.
Director Madoff made that abundantly clear during my exit interview.
He’d been clinical, detached, like he was discussing a faulty piece of equipment rather than my life’s work, my body, my future.
“You’re being kind,” I finally managed. “You know Geoff is absurdly good. And,” I had to inhale deeply, gathering up the words before I rushed them out, like ripping off a bandage, “Lisette is amazing.”
“Fuck, Geoff,” she growled. “He has flat feet! And that Lisette has the face of a donkey!”
“Madame Belova,” I sputtered out a startled laugh of shock. “I’ve never heard you curse.”
In all my years with the Imperial Dance Company, she’d always stayed cool, collected, unflappable. Seeing her elegant facade crack was almost worth hitting rock bottom. Almost.
I didn’t address the flat feet thing; we both knew it wasn’t true.
Geoff could do no wrong while dancing, which made me hate him more now, though I used to worship the floor he performed upon.
No sickling. No pronation. His footwork was divine.
Attacking Lisette’s looks, instead of her talent, only meant that the madame had no dance criticism to offer.
"There is a place and a time for foul language.” Madame gave a graceful hop of shoulders, an elegant approximation of a shrug.
“Chérie, where will you go now?" Her voice turned impossibly gentle.
The shift made moisture prick in my eyes.
I blinked rapidly, wishing I could use my fist to beat the rising lump in my throat away. “What will you do?”
Silence stretched between us. Her gaze never faltered. False words began tumbling out of my mouth, as if I couldn’t stand letting Madame Belova know the truth—that I had nowhere to go, no backup plan, no ray of hope lighting a path.
“Well, I’ve got my grandparents’ home still.
I can’t imagine leaving it. There’s a dance school near Serenity House, where Grandpa and Grandmother are living now, that needs teachers.
” The half-truths and outright lies came easily.
Ballet has been my entire world since I was six years old.
What did former principal dancers do when they couldn't dance anymore? They taught, just like Madame Belova It was plausible. She wouldn’t question it.
“So, you will stay in the city? You will work near?” Her gaze lit up, as if the idea of me staying nearby was comforting to her. “We will have to schedule lunch dates!”
Her enthusiasm weighed on my heart.
Suddenly, my lies felt too heavy. This woman had always treated me well, always supported me. She deserved honesty, at the very least.
“I’m sorry,” I began, but then I found the words I wanted to say faded in my throat.
“For what, chérie?” Her aged face crumpled as she tried to discern the ‘why’ behind my sudden apology.
“You have done nothing wrong. Fate was cruel, and Imperial was crueler.” She faux spat again towards the floor.
Quick little tuts of air, her face twisted and vehement for a split second.
Though we’d known one another for years, though she was important to me and a mentor, I did not know until now that she truly cared in this way.
To be angry for me. To defend me. To honestly hate I was leaving.
"I’m actually planning to move to Seattle," I admitted in a whisper, watching her expression shift from anger to confusion to weariness. "I just didn’t want you to know. It feels like really giving up, but I can't... I just can't stay in Tacoma. What if I run into someone? They’d ask how I was doing. They’d ask what I was doing. They’d…
they’d pity me. They’d do the same thing you’re doing right now, only not out of real care.
It would be morbid curiosity. I’d be a cautionary tale.
A failure that made them feel better. I didn’t work this hard to lose my career and my dignity. ”
God, I couldn’t handle it. Not with Geoff already parading around with Lisette, my replacement both on stage and in his bed.
I'd seen it coming—the way he'd begun critiquing my recovery those last months we were together, suggesting I might never be the same dancer again, mentioning Lisette and how her turns were sharper, her extensions better—but my irrational heart ignored the truth until it slapped me in the face. Geoff had toxic Alpha energy through-and-through, thinking he was God’s gift to Omegakind. He’d never stay with someone he considered spoiled goods.
"Seattle is not so far," she said, but her voice had thinned with disappointment. She wrung her hands together, trying to force a weak smile. "You will call? You will let me know how you are settling?"
“Of course.” I paired the words with a firm nod. Another lie.
I wouldn't call. I couldn't bear to hear the updates about Imperial, about who was dancing roles which could have been mine, about how life continued perfectly well without Nelly Shaw, the shooting star who burned out too quickly.
"I should go," I said, stepping back. "My grandparents are expecting me for dinner.”
"Of course." Madame Belova's eyes shimmered with unshed tears. "They are well?"
My throat closed. Grandmother’s mind was deteriorating more every day.
When Serenity House moved her to the memory care unit, I’d cried myself to sleep.
Grandpa could have chosen the independent living apartments, but he’d opted for the assisted living wing instead, simply because it was closer to his wife.
I wanted that kind of love—when a couple hundred feet further apart felt like a thousand miles.
Grandpa had been losing weight since they’d moved to Serenity.
Five pounds at first. Not much really. Then he’d lost another five.
Five more. At twenty pounds lost, the doctors ordered tests.
We were waiting on those results. Though the sheer stress of watching his soulmate succumb to Alzheimer’s was probably the root cause.
He’d told me one evening that watching my grandmother lose herself was worse than any physical pain he’d ever experienced.
He would trade places with her in a heartbeat or even lose a limb if it would buy her time.
So, it had to be anxiety. It had to be worry.
I couldn’t think that it was anything else. I refused to entertain the worst-case scenarios.
“They’re doing okay,” I lied yet again.
“I’m glad.” Her voice was tinned now, as if she were canning up her feelings and putting a lid on her sadness. I couldn’t blame her. She may hate what’s happening to me, but at the end of the day, my sorrow didn’t shift her own circumstances.
“Me too,” My throat hurt from subterfuge, but it was easier than ripping all the bandages off at once. How could a person survive the loss of their dreams? Let alone face the possibility of losing the only family they have simultaneously.
“Bye, Madame.” I gave her a weak smile.
“Do call, Nelly.” The sadness in her expression. The glazed-over quality of her gaze. She also already knew I wouldn’t ever reach out. “When you visit your grandparents, let me know.”
“Sure,” I pushed out the one word, and it felt like broken glass.
I turned quickly, walking away from her.
I took the stairwell instead of waiting for the elevator.
The lift wasn’t on this level. I didn’t want the pause to give someone else the opportunity to approach me.
Thankfully, the stairwell was empty. I was alone for fleeting moments.
As I descended, I let myself feel everything.
Each word Madoff and the board member had said in the meeting fell back into my brain like rain droplets from a memory cloud.
The awfulness of the experience soaked me to my marrow. I felt cold. Dead inside.
There wasn’t an umbrella in the world large enough to shield me from this storm.
“We want you to know this was a tough decision, Nelly.” The woman was a former dancer and a current member of the board. Elena… Something.
“Yes, tough is an understatement. We all know how talented you once were.” The company director paused then, clearing his throat. “How talented you are, and continue to be,” he corrected. Daniel Madoff straightened his tie; it wasn’t crooked.
“Incredibly talented, of course. Otherwise, you’d never have made principal dancer in the first place, let alone be fast-tracked to first female principal.
” The Elena woman gave a simpering, fake smile.
Part of me thought she was enjoying this—seeing a fellow dancer fall from grace, as if it would bring back her own heyday.
“The fact of the matter is that the kind of injury you experienced is often career-ending. You knew this was always a possible outcome.” Madoff again.