Off Balance (Ballet Theatre Chronicles Book 1) (35 page)

“My mother. Deborah,” Alice said, startling herself. How odd, jarring, to be saying these words to the mother she’d known much longer, much better. “She wasn’t like Lana’s mother, not by a long shot. But she was strict, uncompromising, and when she got angry with me, she’d grow so cold and distant. I’d always comply, in order to get her approval back. Her love.” The memory sprang to mind so vividly, it made her feel dizzy, disoriented. “She terrified me. And then she got sick and it all became so much more complicated.”

“You had a big challenge back then, kiddo,” Marianne said softly.

Emotion welled up within Alice. She turned toward Marianne. “I don’t think I’ve ever spelled out to you how much I appreciated your arrival in my life. Your support. Back then, I never said a word about it.”

“You didn’t need to. I understood how things were.”

“No, but I should have spoken up. The way you saved me. You were there and if you hadn’t been there, I’d have been so…”

She was shaking. Her hands had balled into fists. She swung away from Marianne and focused on the water.

“Alice,” Marianne said. “Thank you, sweetheart. That’s a lovely thing to say.”

“No, it’s
not
lovely. It’s gritty and it’s real. And I resent that, as a Willoughby, I’m not supposed to talk about stuff like that, get emotional about it.”

Silence. Even awkwardness.

“Alice.” Marianne spoke gently. “I’m not sure what you want from me here.”

Alice’s spirited manifesto, so quick to arise, dissipated just as quickly.

“Oh, don’t mind me. I’m just in a weird place this evening.”

“Gil will call you, make amends,” Marianne said. “He’s not that foolish. You’ll have your job back by this time next week, I’m sure of it.”

She was about to tell Marianne that the job loss was secondary right then, eclipsed by the prospect of attending the night’s ballet, confronting the old, deep pain, when she realized it would be just more of the same confusion.

Willoughbys didn’t show their pain. Or discuss it.

Marianne was no Deborah. But she was still a Willoughby.

Therefore Alice only nodded, made murmurs of agreement. Marianne smiled at her, and in this calmer, more agreeable fashion they returned to the information desk so Marianne could get back to work and Alice could confront the gremlins that lay waiting for her, at the ballet.

She’d been in the California Civic Theater lobby for plenty of work-related client functions, but she’d always slipped away on performance nights as their clients went to their seats. It felt strange to be the one now entering the double doors, working her way through the murmuring crowds to find her seat. The last time she’d done this, she’d been on crutches, hobbling around during her rehab, unable to dance, unable to stay away.

She’d waited until the last minute to take her place. Once seated, she consulted the program and nearly groaned aloud. Lana’s was the third ballet on the mixed program bill. The first one was a ballet that featured none other than Katrina. All feelings of nobility toward helping Lana faded. She didn’t need to see her former competitor perform the opening piece. There was no dancer she would less rather watch. But the lights were already dimming; it would have been poor etiquette to try and slip out now.

A rippling of applause greeted the arrival of the conductor, and moments later, the music began, the curtain opening to reveal a group of assembled dancers. The ballet began, a neoclassical standard choreographed by Anders several years earlier, twelve ensemble dancers and one lead couple. In her pale, silky costume, Katrina looked beautiful, ethereal. She was an audience favorite; she had been for years now. She waltzed, spun, shimmered, lifted by her partner as effortlessly as if she were made of nothing more than chiffon, air and sinew.

It hurt to watch. She’d always known it would. It created a curious fluttering in her heart, like a caged bird had come to life inside her, only it was stuck in there, trying to flap its way to freedom.

The ballet went on and on, the flutters now more like hammer blows. Katrina completed a triple pirouette by striking a développéd arabesque pose, which seemed to defy gravity and the turn’s speed. The move was so perfectly rendered, the final pose so long-lasting, the audience exploded into applause. A contraction of pain wrapped itself around Alice’s heart and squeezed.

Dear God. She was going to cry.

A Big Cry.

She shut her eyes through the ballet’s final movement, dug her nails into her palms, but it didn’t stop the tears from escaping. Elbow on the arm of the seat, she shielded her eyes with her hand as if caught in the grip of a terrible headache. The moment the ballet ended, as the crowd roared its approval for Katrina and her partner, Alice rose and pushed past knees and feet, issuing apologies as she stumbled out of her row and up the aisle to the doors. She arrived just as the doors swung open to admit latecomers. She lunged through the people, her sobs now audible, which made everyone regard her in alarm.

It was intermission. Within a minute the lobby would fill with chattering, energized patrons. She raced across the lobby, taking the stairs up two levels, to the smallest, least used ladies’ lounge, where she locked herself into the corner stall and cried.

And cried.

This world, this craft, had meant everything to her. She’d lost it, and only Lana could fully appreciate how much it still hurt, how deep the loss went.

That’s because you never told me, Alice,
she could almost hear Niles say.
You didn’t trust me enough to try.

Niles. She desperately wanted to talk to him right then. She’d say it all now; she’d come clean, exposing this wretched side, this troll under the bridge, that wouldn’t go away.

Before she could change her mind, she reached for her phone with shaking hands and punched in his number. To her unutterable relief, he answered his phone.

“I’m so sorry to bother you like this,” she said in a wobbly voice. “I know you’re probably doing something with Christine right now.”

“Well, yes. We’re in the city, actually. Having dinner.”

A knife of pain shot through her. She almost hung up.

“You don’t sound good,” he said. “Where are you?”

“I’m at the ballet.”

“The
what?
”

“The ballet. And there’s something I didn’t tell you yesterday. Gil fired me.”

“He didn’t.” He sounded disbelieving, even suspicious.

“He did.”

“When?”

“Just before I called you.”

“Sweets.” Concern replaced the suspicion. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“There were other things to talk about. And I thought he was bluffing. But he wasn’t.”

He drew a breath. “Whoa. Let’s back up here. What does this have to do with your being at the ballet right now?”

“I did this for Lana. She needed the support tonight.”

“You’re talking about the Lana I met?”

“Yes. She’s my roommate now. Well, more than just a roommate.”

“No! When? How?”

He sounded as incredulous as Montserrat had been.

“Long story. The point is, she was in a bad way earlier, at the house, and begged me to be there for her tonight. And so I came.” The gremlins returned, climbing up to claw at her heart, clog her throat, destroy her composure.

“But you know what? It’s as painful as I was afraid it would be. I knew it would crush me inside, make me cry, and it did.” As if to illustrate her point, the tears returned, noisy sobs that appalled her, particularly as they increased in intensity.

He said nothing. She couldn’t believe what a mess she was making of things.

He didn’t speak again until after she’d quieted down.

“Alice.” He sounded sad. “Why didn’t you tell me, before all this?”

“I suppose I thought I should be bigger than all of it,” she said through the last of her hiccuppy sobs. “Leave the past in the past, and all.”

“This has nothing to do with being ‘bigger.’ I’d rather know about your anger or pain over something from the past, before it comes up and affects us in the present.”

“I’m sorry. It just doesn’t come easily to me. To my family.”

“Try.”

“I am.”

“You are,” he agreed. “And I, for one, really appreciate it.”

In reply she offered an inelegant sniff.

“Okay,” he said in a brisker tone. “Let’s focus on what we can do for you right now.”

Inspiration seized her. “Lana gave me a pair of comp tickets and I’ve still got the second one. I know it’s late and all, but you could come here. See her perform, too. I could leave the ticket at the will-call window.”

“Hmm,” he said, and the line went quiet.

Oh, please, oh please.

“Hold on a minute. I have to get back to my table.”

Through the pause, Alice heard the clink of silverware against plate, the return of muted conversation. She visualized the scenario. He and Christine, having a romantic dinner together. With his hand over the mouthpiece, he was saying,
She’s hysterical. Should I humor her or say I’m too busy tonight?

Just as the tears began creeping to the surface again, Niles came back on the line.

“Okay. Tell me this. Will they allow me in if I show up in thirty minutes?”

“Yes,” she stuttered. “Lana doesn’t perform till the third ballet. There’s still the second ballet to go and second intermission.”

“I should be able to make it. But I don’t want to rush Christine here.”

She had to push past the jealousy and tell him sure, no problem. Any effort on his part would be great. Lana would love it if he could make it. Really love it.

They both knew it wasn’t just Lana who would love it.

“All right,” he said. “I’ll do my best.”

The green room of a theater was like the waiting lounge of a train station, a resting place for dancers en route to the stage. The room didn’t have to be green; in fact, they rarely were. Some were fancy, others utilitarian. But it was, at all times, a safe haven for the dancers before and after performances. Lana, since arriving at the theater, had tried to keep herself in a safe place, visualizing Alice there by her side, murmuring words of support, gentle admonitions when her attention strayed to destabilizing thoughts. In the dressing room, she’d applied makeup, corralled her long hair into a tightly wound bun pinned into place, put on her costume. Beneath the filmy skirt she wore sweatpants, and slippers over her pointe shoes, to keep her body warm following the massage and her own warm-up onstage. The second ballet was now in progress; she had another thirty minutes to wait. Good time to hunker down in the green room and sew ribbons onto pointe shoes.

Once in the room, she exchanged smiles with Dena Lindgren, who’d performed in the first ballet and was relaxing, studying the notice board affixed to the wall. Lana took a seat on the couch nearby and began sewing. Five minutes later, Courtney approached.

“Great minds think alike,” she said to Lana, grinning, holding up her own pointe shoes with loose ribbons. “Can I join you?”

Lana smiled back. “Please do. Misery loves company.”

“This damned task never ends, does it?” Courtney plopped down next to her. “Little did we know that as professional ballet dancers we’d be part-time seamstresses as well.”

“One of the job’s many perks,” Lana said. Courtney’s appreciative chuckle, the camaraderie, warmed her. The following comments, less so.

“You seem better now than you were after you fell.”

The terror of the day’s events flickered over her. She could almost hear Alice’s voice, telling her to ignore it, not pay it any mind. “Yeah, thanks, I feel stronger,” she told Courtney.

“That’s good to see.” Courtney focused on pushing her needle through the pointe shoe’s soft fabric siding. “Still. I’ll bet you’re feeling kind of anxious about what happened.”

Before Lana could respond, and in truth, she didn’t want to talk about it, Dena called out from her place at the message board.

“Lana!” she said. “Come here. There’s something you need to see. Right now.”

Dena’s voice was urgent, almost shrill. Courtney frowned in her direction. “What, she can’t see that we’re talking?” she grumbled.

“Come here, please,” Dena said, and her eyes conveyed to Lana a baffling sense of urgency.

“God,” Courtney muttered under her breath, “what a little princess.”

“I’ll just go see what she wants,” Lana said. She laid down her shoe, ribbon and threaded needle, and walked over to where Dena was standing. Dena was still sweaty from having danced, her Pan-cake foundation smeared where sweat had worked a path through it. Her false eyelashes made her eyes more theatrical and expressive than they normally were.

“Look at this,” Dena said with a too-bright enthusiasm, and pointed to a notice that was advertising a pair of stereo speakers for $200.00.

Lana’s head whirled with confusion. “Why are you—” Lana began, but Dena interrupted, speaking in a low voice.

“I should stay out of it,” she told Lana, “but I can’t. Courtney and Charlotte are working you. Hazing you. I’ve overheard them in the past, feeding you these little false truths, trying to shake you up. Just ten minutes ago I heard them talking. Laughing. It wasn’t a kind laugh. So.” She gestured Courtney’s way. “Take everything she says with a grain of salt.”

Lana stared at her. “No,” she protested. “You’ve got it wrong.”

“Do I?” Dena asked.

Charlotte, maybe. But Courtney? She’d been kind. Helpful.

“Yes.” Lana gave a vehement nod.

“Okay.” Dena looked uncertain, but when she spoke again, her voice became jovial. “All right, then, bad call on the speakers. Never mind. Just didn’t want you to pass up the chance at a bargain. I could have sworn I heard you say you wanted some.”

“Nope, sorry.” Lana mirrored her hearty, loud tone. “But thanks for letting me know.”

They exchanged charged looks.

“Thanks,” Lana repeated. “I appreciate the heads-up on them.”

“My pleasure.”

Not possible, she thought, returning to the couch. She and Courtney were becoming friends, of sorts, just like she and Dena were.

Or was it all a ploy?