Off Balance (Ballet Theatre Chronicles Book 1) (36 page)

She didn’t know what to say, what to think. She sat back down on the sofa, feeling queasy.

Courtney smiled at her, lifting up a pointe shoe, the two pink satin ribbons now firmly affixed. “One down, five to go.”

“You’re fast.” She picked up her shoe, ribbon and thread.

“You’d have been fine if Dena hadn’t interrupted you.” Courtney glanced over her shoulder, and Lana saw, too, that Dena had disappeared.

“Dena can be kind of pushy,” Courtney said. “Bullish. I suppose it’s a little sister inferiority complex kind of thing.”

Lana offered a noncommittal shrug.

“Anyway, like I was saying before we got interrupted, do not worry for one minute about that horrible fall happening again.” Courtney focused on sewing as she spoke. “It won’t. Not a chance. You know what they say, bad rehearsal, good performance.” She paused, her brow furrowing. “Well. Then again, I guess the night of my fall during
Nutcracker
last year kind of went against that rule. It was uncanny, that I should do the same thing twice, but—”

She stopped herself in a theatrical, practiced way, her eyes widening. “There I go again, yapping when I should have just kept quiet. I’m so sorry. You didn’t need to hear that.”

Oh, but she did. Lana’s stomach gave a twist.

Dena had been right.

Courtney, whom Lana had trusted. Courtney, who’d “advised” and “consoled” her a half dozen times, all in the same confidential fashion, always something that planted insecurity or fear.

All the serenity she’d cultivated over the past few hours drained right out of her. Even Courtney seemed to understand that she’d just delivered a bigger punch than intended.

“Lana?” Courtney looked worried. “I’m sorry. I should have kept my mouth shut.”

“You’re right.” Lana met her gaze and held it. “It was a big mistake.”

One small consolation: Courtney didn’t know what Lana had just discovered. She made a decision right then to keep it that way. No confrontation, no revealing her awareness of the plan to undermine Lana’s confidence at every turn. Let Courtney assume the clueless role, wondering why her jabs no longer held much power.

Oh, the manipulators of the world. Mom and Gil, Charlotte and Courtney. How sad it was, and thank goodness for people like Alice and Dena, who cut through the bullshit and told you things you didn’t want to hear, doing it for your own good, not theirs.

“Anyway,” she told Courtney. “No harm done. Your story is just that. Your story. It has nothing to do with me.”

Courtney looked uncertain.

Lana didn’t much care. She shifted her focus to the sewing. When Courtney rose a few minutes later, Lana bade her a cheery goodbye, a “see you onstage,” without ever looking up.

She had more productive things to focus on.

Intermission was last-chance-to-warm-up time for the dancers, each one immersed in their own personal pre-performance ritual of jumping, stretching, push-ups, jogging. All too soon came the amplified voice of the stage manager.

“Dancers, three minutes to curtain. Those not in the next ballet, please clear the stage.”

Lana and Javier made their way to center stage. She was preoccupied with drawing deep breaths to keep her stage fright at bay. An interesting thing, the stage fright. For some dancers, it went away after years onstage. For Lana, it had always been there, manageable but real, if only for a moment. Dry mouth and icy fingers, trembling limbs, a pervasive terror that she’d forget the steps, which she’d never done, but nonetheless remained a threat until she was immersed in the dance.

“Dancers, one minute.”

They took their opening poses. She remained standing, as Javier lowered to one knee by her side, a will-you-marry-me position. Her fingers rested on his shoulder.

“Hey,” Javier whispered, and she looked down at him, in the semidarkness. “Merde,” he said, and squeezed her cold fingers.

“Thanks,” she whispered, and the fright lessened. “Merde to you too.”

“Dancers, ten seconds to curtain.”

Showtime.

The curtain rose. The music began, a solo cello, sonorous, nostalgia-laden. Their opener was thirty-two counts of languorous pas de deux, then Javier lifted her from behind and it was time to move. Time to conquer the passages that had dogged them throughout rehearsals: the first tricky combination; the troublesome bourrée series; the leap into Javier’s arms where he caught her and she appeared to hover, mid-air, frozen in time.

The movements grew quicker, more defined, autumn leaves stirred up by the wind. On came the corps dancers behind them. Javier and Lana leapt off. Twenty seconds, spent panting in the wings, a swish of water for her dry mouth, a dip into the nearby Vaseline jar to lubricate her teeth to keep her lips from sticking. Onstage again, leaping, running, flying, a dizzying pace of piqué turns, and another passage that had once troubled them. Two minutes later they arrived at the sequence where Lana had taken her spill earlier in the day.

No spill.

Offstage they went, turning the ballet over to the demi-soloist trio for the next five minutes.

The adagio was at the ballet’s core, the slowest, most romantic movement. Autumn souvenir. Memory of what was now past, or was passing. Regret, nostalgia. Tonight she added sorrow to the list. Sorrow over Mom’s actions, over Luke’s pain and vulnerability. Courtney’s deception, Gil’s manipulation and the way she still felt so helplessly, hopelessly drawn to him. She let the sorrow work its way through her movements in the adagio, and Javier responded to her internal cues. He was far and away the best partner she’d ever danced with, anticipating her needs, providing a steady hand without ever gripping too tightly. It was a powerful force, this support. “It’s all about trust,” Alice had said that day she’d provided help, and she’d been right. Lana would have trusted Javier with her life.

Time for the Big Scary Lift passage, the one that had dogged her for weeks.

It went perfectly. Never better. She could almost hear Alice’s voice.

You see? There. It works.

Alice, out there right now, watching her. No audience member’s presence had ever been so rife with significance, nor meant quite so much to her.

The last movement was all about motion, swift and articulate, no time to think or ponder. All the rehearsing hours, the committing to muscle memory, paid off here. Javier was on fire, and she followed his lead. She felt dazed, almost giddy, afraid to even consider the success of this night’s performance for fear of jinxing it.

The explosion of applause at the end of the ballet shocked Lana with its intensity. Back in the wings, Javier swept her into a bone-crushing hug.

“We nailed it,” he crowed. “Every last bit!”

They were both saturated with sweat, drunk with endorphins and euphoria as the stage manager cued all the dancers for a curtain call.

When they returned from their first bow, she could see Ben, across the stage, standing in the stage left wing. Anders was next to him, arms folded. Not clapping. He gave a brief nod, turned and said something to Ben, before stepping away to speak with someone behind him. Impossible to tell from his face what he’d been thinking. But Ben caught Lana’s eye and thrust his arms in the air, overhead, thumbs up. He was grinning.

Anders had liked it.

Ten minutes later, in the green room, Lana still hadn’t stopped trembling. She chattered with the other dancers, accepted the congratulations from audience members who’d been allowed backstage, but only when she saw Alice across the room, gazing around in a tentative manner, did something in her relax.

She stopped short, peering closer.

Alice had been crying. Her eyelids were puffy, her eyes red, the makeup on them smeared. She seemed dazed, exhausted. She looked, to Lana’s eyes, a little like Lana must have looked earlier tonight. But an even greater shock followed when Niles, of all people, came up behind her. He was holding Alice’s hand, kissing her temple, as Alice leaned into him, her eyes flickering shut. When she opened them, she spotted Lana, straightened, a broad smile replacing the fatigue on her face. She strode toward Lana, who hurried over to her. They met halfway, crashing into a hug.

“You’re here,” Lana said, voice trembling. “Thank you so much. This meant everything to me.”

Alice pulled back, beaming through her tears. “You were beautiful. So beautiful it broke my heart.”

Niles came up from behind, stammering about how much he’d enjoyed it, how great it had been to watch her. He and Alice took turns explaining how Alice had called him just an hour earlier, how he’d shifted his plans, shot over here, and here he was, only now he had to dash, back to the other girl.

“Go,” Alice laughed, wiping the last of the tears from her face. “The other woman calls.”

Niles drew her in for one more hug, his lips brushing against her forehead. “Sunday night?” he asked her, and she nodded. “I’ll call you before then.”

“That would be nice,” she murmured.

Lana had never seen Alice look so happy. Ever. Watching her watch Niles depart produced a bittersweet pang, made her wish things were as clear and uncomplicated with her and Gil.

Gil, who, if Dena’s theory continued to hold true, hadn’t been flirting with Gabrielle after all. Just another one of Courtney’s fabrications.

Once Niles had disappeared from sight, Alice glanced around, her expression growing wary. “I think I’m going to head out of here, too,” she told Lana. “Are you going out, or coming back to the house?”

“The
Souvenir
cast has been invited to join Anders and his group over at L’Orange. I’m sure everyone would enjoy seeing you there, too. Would you consider joining us?”

Alice shook her head. “Sorry, but tonight has drained me of everything I have. Besides, I’m not ready to discuss with anyone the fact that I might no longer be a Ballet Theatre employee.” She looked stricken as she said the words, as if the truth were just now sinking in.

“Alice, Gil couldn’t have meant it. It’s impossible. Please, let me call him.”

“No,” Alice said. “It’s between him and me. You stay out of it. You’ve got enough on your plate right now, anyway.”

Mom. Of course.

“You told me, on the ride over here, that you had an idea on how I could most effectively deal with the situation,” she said to Alice.

“I did. To be discussed later.”

“Will you tell me now?”

“Nope. Not tonight.”

“Why not?”

“Because this is your night to celebrate your huge achievement.”

“When, then?” Lana persisted.

“Maybe Sunday afternoon, after your matinee performance.”

“I’m holding you to that.”

“Fine. Now go party. I’m going home. To my safety zone.”

On Sunday, minutes after Lana had returned home from the matinee performance, she sought out Alice, who sighed, nodded, and shared her plan. She’d been right to wait; it was shocking, painful to hear. Alice explained gently that it was the only way Lana could break this terrible cycle and free herself.

“This is helping me? This is helping my family?” Words failed Lana and she began to cry.

Alice sat by her side, feeding her Kleenexes. Only after Lana had calmed, did Alice try and speak again.

“You can do nothing, of course. That’s the easiest option. This current crisis will all blow over, and nothing would change. But that’s just it—nothing would change. You’d live in the shadow of knowing it might happen again. And in time, that would keep you from flying as high as I know you can go.”

Lana felt panic rise up inside her. "I can't do it,” she cried. “I can't."

“Then don’t. You certainly don’t need to make a decision or a move today. Just ponder the option.”

“You have no idea what you’re asking me to do.”

Alice looked sad. “You’re right, I don’t. Not a clue. That’s why I’ll leave it in your hands and not bring it up again.”

Lana had Sunday night to ponder it, a quiet night, no performance. Alice had gone to Niles’ place for the night. Lana sat and watched movie after movie, only taking half of it in. She could have turned to Gil for support, advice. He would have loved to hear from her. Given his contentious relationship with his own mother, however, she didn’t think he could understand her agonized indecision.

Monday morning she woke early to a quiet house. She went downstairs, fixed herself a cup of tea, and managed not to look at the incriminating sheet of paper Alice had set on the kitchen counter after they’d talked.

She lasted forty-five minutes before she gave in. She picked up the paper, which held three sets of names and phone numbers.

Kansas Social and Rehabilitation Services.

Kansas Protection Report Center.

Child Protective Services.

She couldn’t do it.

She wadded the page into a ball, shoved it deep into the trash and went upstairs to take a shower. Five minutes later she came down again, shower untaken. She reached back into the trash, past the damp coffee grinds and orange peels, searching until she found the crumpled ball. She pulled it out, smoothed it out.

Stormed out of the room and went back upstairs.

Cried. Railed.

Came back down.

Picked up the phone and called.

The call from Gil, the call Alice had been expecting, came seventy-two hours later than she’d anticipated. But it came.

He’d left a message on her cell phone and a duplicate back at her house, which she discovered upon returning home Monday morning from Niles’ apartment. “Oh, Jesus, Alice, help me. Name your price,” he said on the message. “I apologize, on my knees. I was so out of line, I’m a jerk, I’m an asshole, I’ll give you all of that. Only please, please, call me back. Better yet, come in. Please. Let’s talk. Do
not
go to the HR office. Come straight to me. Are you there, listening? Alice? Call me, ASAP. Please.”

She called him, more out of curiosity than concern. She expected him not to pick up. It was Monday, after all, with his erratic hours, wandering in late, in and out of meetings. But he picked up on the second ring, crying out in relief when he heard her voice.