Chapter 1 #4
I remembered the first time I’d laid eyes on him.
I was at the back of Imperial’s ensemble.
He was proudly at the front. He’d taken my breath away.
Before I’d met him, I’d been obsessed with Waylon Sleeps, a male Omega known for his dynamic movement, and Fabio Calmelis, a male Alpha known for his exceptional partner lifts.
Ken Keets, a male Beta from Boston, fusing classic ballet with interpretive dance was taking the East Coast by storm.
I’d dreamed of dancing with those men. Yet, Geoff had wiped them all from my mind and heart.
Carved muscles claimed every inch of his body.
Wavy, golden hair. Gorgeous blue eyes. And he smelled clean and fresh.
Like a glass of fresh-squeezed lemonade with a sprig of mint added for decoration.
When he sweated while dancing, he smelled even better.
An earthy, musky undertone added to the citrusy peppermint.
It was unfair that Omegas’ bodies went so out of whack at high athletic levels, yet Alphas seemed to become more instead of less.
I’d fallen for him hard, instantly, without a reasonable thought in my head.
All I’d been able to think was, ‘this guy must have walked right out of my favorite movie’.
Center Stage Slick was iconic, if a little off base when it came to real dance culture.
Cooper Nelson though? I’d have sold my soul to date him back when I was young.
I almost did at fifteen when my grandparents took me to see the real Alpha behind the movie character dance in San Francisco at a special performance.
I think Stiefelin had just become the Principal Guest Instructor with American Ballet Theatre in New York back then.
Talk about being starstruck. I could barely get two words out when I’d shaken his hand at the meet-and-greet.
Now? The part in the film I couldn’t shake was when the main actress looked at the talented, narcissistic guy—Stiefelin’s character—and said, “You’re an awesome dancer.
As a boyfriend, you seriously suck.” That wasn’t the actual quote, but the gist was enough to sum up Geoff.
In a fictional world, though, I’d probably keep ignoring red flags.
Even now, I still root for Cooper when I rewatch.
I’ve never enjoyed the power moment in the last performance, or the ending when the main actress ends up single.
Single-ish. I guess it was sort of implied she might date the other male dancer.
Whatever. This wasn’t a movie. This was real life. My real life.
Lisette was still doing the same move, arching her back yet again as if she felt there was room for improvement.
Or maybe she was just putting on a show for Geoff.
I stiffened as my once-lover closed the distance to the woman who’d taken my place, in more ways than one.
His hands found her waist, his thumbs pressing into the small of her back as he guided her to angle lower.
I knew that touch intimately. The way his fingers would dig in just a little too hard, always leaving faint bruises. Marking his territory.
When she was standing upright again, he leaned in close, mouth hovering next to her ear.
Even though I couldn’t hear him over the distance and through the door’s solid barrier, his words resonated in my brain. Geoff’s script never shifted.
“You’re stunning, Nelly. Incomparable. I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you right now.” Only, he wasn’t saying Nelly anymore.
Why had I stood here watching for so long? Why was I torturing myself?
I backed away from the window, backed away from the all-too-familiar scene unfolding in the studio.
This time, I ran. I didn’t care who saw me, or who judged me. I darted through the halls of the Imperial until I was pushing out the heavy double doors and stumbling into the too-bright afternoon.
Sunshine hit my skin, warming it in a pleasant way.
That felt wrong, considering my world had collapsed into darkness only moments ago.
The cold I’d felt in the stairwell made more sense to me.
Shadows were chilly. Highlights were hot.
And at this juncture, I was rooted at the very heart of an eclipse.
I was caught in the umbra wondering if I could tiptoe towards the outskirts and claim a little bit of light again.
I folded the wrinkled envelope and stuffed it into the left pocket of my slacks and then pulled my cell from the right one.
I needed a shoulder to cry on. Needed support.
But who could I call? Most of my so-called friends were dancers, and news traveled fast in ballet circles.
By now, they'd all know I was officially finished at Imperial. They’d turn their backs to safeguard their careers.
And I couldn’t blame them. If you’re trying to be a star, the last thing you need is the dead weight of a broken ballerina.
I also refused to tell my grandparents. They’d both been over-the-moon when I’d made principal.
Months after, when I was tapped for first female principal, they bought a cake and had the decorator write ‘Nelly, forever our prima’ in lavender icing.
That little party—with the buttercream cake and sparkling cider—was one of the last times we’d all been together in the house they’d raised me in after my parents died when I was only a baby.
I lived there by myself now, and the place felt lifeless without my grandparents.
Sometimes, I wanted to rewind time so I could cherish Grandmother and Grandpa better.
Maybe I’d choose not to go to California for training.
I could have done levels four through eight in Tacoma and then just found a great apprenticeship.
There were good schools here in Washington State.
But my grandparents had insisted I attend San Francisco Ballet.
To pay tuition, Grandpa had sold his prized coin collection and then my grandparents even took a line of credit against their paid-off house, leveraging it to support my dreams. I couldn’t even imagine how much money they’d put into travel expenses, coming down to see me or flying me up on holidays.
They’d sent me a spending allowance, coughed up money any time I needed new tights or pointe shoes.
After all they'd done to support my career, I couldn’t tell them how it all exploded.
Sure, they both knew I’d had two ‘minor’ surgeries last year, but I’d managed to keep the gritty details away from them.
Geoff had helped with that, fielding calls from them, driving me to appointments, and handling all my home care until I was mobile again.
I guess I couldn’t totally hate him, considering he’d stayed by my side through most of the ordeal.
No, screw that. I had every right to hate him too. Hate him. Hate Madoff. Hate Lisette.
If I wasn’t careful, I’d be eaten up by hate.
My body moved on auto pilot now; my gaze focused on my bright red Honda in the parking lot.
My seventeenth birthday gift, already a decade old.
I’ve been driving it for about eight years now.
I’d thought about buying a shiny new car the second I’d signed the life-changing contract to be a principal.
The career I’d always dreamed about was in sight; I shouldn’t have to worry about money anymore.
I’d gotten gun-shy though, deciding to wait a smidge longer before making a huge purchase.
Now, I was beyond thankful I’d been frugal back then.
As my long legs carried me quickly away from the nightmare I’d just been through, the sun continued to beat down on me and the severance check burned in my pocket.
That little slip of paper, caught in the letter’s folds, was a villain.
Or, rather, villain adjacent. It was my dream reduced to a number that Madoff insisted was ‘more than reasonable’.
It wasn’t even a year’s contract pay. Seventy-five thousand, when my contract guaranteed one hundred and eighteen yearly for a period of three years before re-negotiation.
To explain the lowered severance, they’d cited the loss due to my medical needs, the company’s increased insurance premium, and the fact that I hadn’t been on the active dance roster since the injury.
Those things were true, but it was also true that they’d looked me in the face before my second surgery and said not to worry, that I’d always have a dance home with Imperial.
They’d assured me if I worked hard and got a clean bill of health, that they’d take me back with open arms.
They’d dangled a carrot and then laughed at me when I’d expected to eat the damn thing.
My eyes grew wet again. I didn’t think I could hold them back this time.
No. Not yet. I couldn’t cry yet.
I was almost to the car.
I could make it.
After I drove away, I’d let the tears do their worst.