Dancing Daze (2 page)

“Oh, that’s Péter, my dance partner,” Claire explains. She pronounces the name with a lilt in the middle — P-
eh
-ter — and for a second, she sounds more Hungarian than Irish. “I told you about him, right?”

“Isn’t he your Romeo?” Mills asks, wiggling her eyebrows.

Claire goes a little red. “Yes. But it’s not like that, believe me. Can we give him a lift to the Merrion Hotel, Dad? That’s where we’re staying.”

Mills’s face drops. “I thought you were staying with us.”

Claire shrugs. “I’m sorry. It’s all been set up by the theater’s PR people over here. We have a packed schedule. It’s booked solid with interviews and photo shoots to promote the show in December. I’m here for three nights only. I’m sorry. I thought you knew, sis . . .” She trails off and looks at Sue. “Didn’t you tell her, Mum? I’m sure I put it in the e-mail. Maybe I didn’t. I have a lot on my mind and sometimes I forget things.”

Mr. Starr pats Claire’s shoulder. “Don’t you worry, pet, you didn’t forget, but I rang the theater’s publicity department and sorted it all out. They said that of course you should stay with your family. You have a photo shoot at the theater in the morning, followed by some interviews, so they’re going to send a taxi over to collect you from home at nine. But they don’t need you in the afternoon, so if we can get you to RTÉ for the
Late Late Show
rehearsal by seven, you’re all ours for a while. Your mum and I thought we could do something together as a family tomorrow. Maybe go for a walk up Killiney Hill and have an early dinner in Dalkey. Plus, the theater’s publicity manager has arranged two tickets to the telly show for us. Isn’t that great? Sadly, she wasn’t able to get a third one for Mills, but she and Amy are going to watch it at home.”

“I’m not sure you should have done that, Dad,” Claire says.

“What?” Allan looks flabbergasted.

“Ringing the PR department like that is a bit unprofessional. This is my
career,
and I don’t want everyone back in Budapest thinking I’m some sort of soft Irish girl who has to go home to her mummy and daddy for some home cooking and hugs whenever she’s in Dublin.”

“Claire Starr, your dad meant well,” Sue says, looking taken aback. “He didn’t mean to annoy you. And it was my idea to ring the PR manager, so I think you owe him an apology.” Her voice softens. “I know your career means the world to you, but we’ve all missed you, pet, very much. And any time we can spend with you is very precious. We’d love you to stay at home with us, but if you can’t, you can’t. We understand, don’t we, Allan?”

Allan nods but doesn’t say anything. Mills is biting down so hard on her lip that it’s almost white.

Claire notices Mills’s expression and backs down immediately. “I’m sorry, Dad, OK? I didn’t mean to snap at you. I’m just wiped out from traveling. And I’ve missed you all too. I’d love to stay at home.”

“Good. Thank you, darling,” Sue says with a relieved smile. “That’s all settled, then.”

Péter is still waiting patiently on the far side of the barrier. “Apologies, Péter,” Claire says, calling him over. He makes his way toward us, pulling Claire’s wheelie bag behind him like a puppy. His own bag is slung over one of his strong-looking shoulders.

“I was just sorting something out with my family,” Claire explains. “Dad’s going to drop you at your hotel, but I’m going to stay at home. This is Péter Bako, everyone, one of the best dancers in Hungary.”

“
The
best dancer in Hungary,” Péter says, correcting Claire in perfect English. “Charmed to meet you all.” The awkward atmosphere lifts as he grins and gives a flamboyant bow. And, boy, is he good-looking up close and personal.

He chats away easily to Allan and Sue about the flight. Mills nudges me in the side. “Wowzers!” she whispers, fanning her face with her hand.

“No kidding,” I whisper back. “Who knew ballet boys were so hot?” I smile at her. “Happy?”

She nods eagerly. “Very. And I can’t wait to give Claire her book. I think I’ll wait until tomorrow afternoon, when she isn’t so exhausted.”

Then she hooks my arm with hers and we follow the Starr family and Péter out of the arrivals hall and toward the car park, trying very hard not to stare at Péter’s perfectly formed bum.

“Amy, I think there’s something wrong with Claire.” Mills shifts around uneasily on the couch. It’s Friday night and I’ve just gotten to her house. We’re waiting to watch Claire’s
Late Late Show
appearance together.

“Why do you say that?” I ask.

“Well, we were supposed to be going for a walk up Killiney Hill this afternoon, but she said she was too tired. And she didn’t want to go out for dinner tonight either. Said she wasn’t hungry and asked Mum to make her something to eat in her room instead.”

“She flew back only last night, Mills,” I say gently. (Mills does tend to overreact sometimes.) “Maybe she’s just exhausted and nervous about the
Late Late Show.
”

“It’s more than that. She just had some coffee and toast for breakfast this morning, even though Mum had made pancakes. Usually she wolfs down Mum’s food. She has a huge appetite. Says she needs extra fuel for all her dance practice. She isn’t sleeping either. Last night I woke up at three and heard a noise coming from her room, so I went in to check that she was all right, and she was wide awake. I asked her if everything was OK, and she admitted that she’s seriously worried about dancing Juliet in front of a home crowd. It’s her first big role, you see, and she wants it to be perfect. She thinks that’s what’s keeping her awake.”

Ah, the Starr perfection curse.

“That would explain the insomnia, all right,” I say. “Most performers get nervous before important shows, though. I’m sure it’s perfectly normal.”

“I guess.”

“You don’t sound convinced.”

Mills pauses. “Look, Ames, I swore I’d keep it to myself, but this afternoon, after I gave Claire the scrapbook and we looked through it together — she loved it, by the way, especially all the old photos — she said, ‘Be careful what you wish for, eh?’ Then she told me about all the hours of ballet practice she has to do every day — and it sounds pretty grueling — and then she started to
cry.
She tried to cover it up by saying she was still out of whack from the flight and that was why her eyes kept watering, but they were definitely tears.”

Claire Starr, crying about dance practice? That doesn’t sound right. She’s always been such a tough nut, taking pride in showing us her broken toenails and bruised feet from spending so much time in her pointe shoes.

Mills looks stricken. “I don’t know what to do, Ames. If I tell Mum and Dad, they might stop her from dancing or something, and that would destroy her. I just want her to be happy again.”

“Maybe it was just a blip,” I suggest. “I’m sure she’ll bounce back. This is Claire we’re talking about, right? Miss Tough As Nails. Let’s watch the show, and if you think she’s acting strangely or out of character in any way, then we’ll do something about it. Maybe we can ask Clover for help and come up with a plan. If Claire’s back to her old sparkling self on the telly and you’re not worried about her anymore, we won’t. Does that make sense?”

“Perfect sense.” Mills sighs happily. “You always know the right thing to do, Amy Green. I do love being your best friend.”

I smile to myself. Mills really is a sweetie. “Thanks, Mills. Love you too, babes. Now, who else is on the
Late Late,
do you know?” I’m hoping to change the subject and cheer her up a bit. I check my watch. “It’s on any minute now. Anyone famous? Johnny Depp?”

“You wish.” She laughs. “Billy Brady from Coast is on just before Claire and Péter.” She clutches her heart and makes a funny little
squee
noise that makes me smile. (Coast is a new Irish boy band, a younger version of Westlife, and their lead singer, Billy Brady, looks like Zac Efron. I’m not really a fan — their music is too vanilla for me — but Mills is right. Billy’s cute.)

The show’s opening credits start rolling, and Mills turns up the sound so loud that the theme song blasts out, making my ears ring.

“Mills! Are you trying to deafen me?”

“Sorry.” She lowers the volume.

“Welcome to the
Late Late Show,
” the presenter, Renee O’Reilly, a tall blond woman with huge green eyes, says. “And do we have a show for you tonight. Coming up in a moment we have Claire Starr, the Irish Ballerina, and her dance partner and Romeo, Péter Bako.”

Mills grabs my arm in excitement and squeals. “Yeah!”

“We also have the California relationship guru they call the Heart Whisperer,” Renee continues, “and a brilliant sketch from the Comedy Chicks. But first, to kick off the show, the latest single from Coast . . .”

The women in the audience whistle and cheer.

“Easy, ladies,” Renee says with a smile. “We’ll be having a chat with the boys later, so stay tuned for that too.”

As the band walk onto the set, wearing identical dark-blue suits, and start singing, I switch off a little, but Mills is swaying to the music, a goofy grin on her face. I look around the room, and my eyes rest on the mantelpiece. It’s decorated with framed family photographs, mostly of Mills and Claire together: toddler Mills and a mini version of Claire wearing Santa hats; Mills and Claire, at about four and eight, wearing matching pink skiing suits; Mills and Claire and Mickey Mouse — both sisters squinting in the sun — taken at Disney World; a larger professional-looking photograph taken when Claire was about our age of her looking stunning and elegant in a pale-blue-and-silver tutu, balancing on one pointe, with blue feathers in her scraped-back hair.

When Coast have finished singing and soaking up their applause, they leave the set. I concentrate on the screen again.

“Wasn’t that wonderful?” Renee says. “Now I’d like you to please give a very warm welcome to the Irish Ballerina, Claire Starr, and her Hungarian Romeo, Péter Bako.”

Claire strides through an archway toward Renee in a stunning full-length, swishy silver evening dress. She is followed by Péter, who’s wearing tight black trousers and a snug-fitting white shirt unbuttoned almost to his belly button. Either Claire is no longer nervous or she’s a great actor. She looks poised and confident but incredibly thin. Her neck is all muscles and sinews, like a racehorse’s, and there is so little fat on her that you can see her ribs and hip bones through her dress. But then, maybe all dancers have ultratoned bodies. Péter is lean too.

“Holy Moly, there she is,” Mills shrieks, jumping up and down on the sofa and clapping her hands together. “My sis, on the
Late Late Show.
”

“We’re delighted to have you on the show, Péter and Claire,” Renee says. “Or should I call you Romeo and Juliet?”

They both smile at her, but Claire’s smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Péter and Claire is just fine,” she says.

“They look great together, don’t they?” I say, nudging Mills with my elbow. “Do you think they’re a couple? Did Claire say anything about it?”

“Shush!” Mills hisses at me. She grabs the remote and turns up the volume again. “Stop talking, I’ll miss something.”

“Sorry,” I say a little huffily. “I was just wondering.”

“Now, Claire and Péter,” Renee says. “You’re dancing the lead roles in
Romeo and Juliet,
which opens in the Bord Gáis Energy Theatre on December twenty-first. Claire, tell us how your version of the ballet is different from previous ones.”

Is it my imagination or did Claire just gulp? Her eyes are flitting around the studio and not focusing on Renee’s face. I think her nerves are starting to kick in!

“Say something,” I will her.

“Go on, Claire,” Mills adds, nibbling her lip.

Péter is looking at Claire, also wondering if she’s going to answer Renee’s question. But Claire still hasn’t said a word. The question has clearly thrown her.

“Let’s start with you, Péter,” Renee says, taking control. Clutching her hands to her chest, she puts on a weird-sounding warbling voice: “‘O Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy father and refuse thy name. Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, And I’ll no longer be a Capulet.’” Renee beams at him, clearly delighted with herself.

As the audience claps politely, Péter looks at Claire and gives a tiny roll of his eyes. Claire smiles a little. Luckily Renee is staring straight into the camera and doesn’t notice. “My darling lady,” Péter says, turning to Renee. “I have never before heard that quotation spoken quite so beautifully.”

Renee beams at him. “Why, thank you.”

“What a lick,” I murmur, and Mills shushes me again.

“I will answer your question,” Péter continues. “My Romeo is as Shakespeare intended: young, foolhardy, desperately in love.” He slides forward in his chair, and waves his arms around wildly. “Our version is all about love. Love, love, love. And passion. And desire. I dance with all my heart. I jump, I spin, I tumble, but it is here”— he runs a hand down his face —“here that matters. My expression. My face. I want the audience to feel what Romeo feels inside.” He hits his chest with a closed fist. “For two hours, I want them to live through what Romeo lives through. When his heart breaks, I want their hearts to break. And that is what makes my Romeo different.” He sits back and crosses his arms.