Off Balance (Ballet Theatre Chronicles Book 1) (24 page)

Lana refrained from telling her she’d probably never find a place she liked more. She didn’t want to frighten Alice, who’d just bought her some time with her soothing words.

“So,” Alice said. “You’ve got a week before you start performing. How are rehearsals going?”

“Okay, I guess. I’m only dancing in the corps in the first program, which I suppose is good because it’s less pressure on me. But aside from that, in class and around the other dancers, I feel, I don’t know.”

“Yes?” Alice encouraged.

“I feel so alienated,” she whimpered. “Like no one likes me.”

“Oh, sweetie.” Alice moved over to the ottoman by Lana’s chair. “It just takes time. The first season with a new company is mostly about getting into the groove.”

Lana drew deep breaths to keep further tears at bay. “And I’m worried that
Autumn Souvenir
, the ballet for Program II, isn’t going well. And the répétiteur has only got two more rehearsals with us before he heads back to Paris.”

“Who are the other two demi-soloists with you in
Autumn Souvenir
?”

“I’ve got just the one partner. Javier Torres.”

Confusion crossed over Alice’s face. “Wait. That would make you the lead pas de deux couple. Not part of the demi-soloist trio.”

“Right.”

Alice’s eyes grew round. “Oh, boy. That’s big. Wow. That’ll put you on the map here.”

“Only if I do it really well.”

“You’re right,” Alice admitted, which sent a jittery rush of anxiety through Lana’s gut.

They sat there for a long moment, Lana unspeaking, Alice offering soft “wow”s to herself, as if still processing it all. “Okay,” she said finally, in a stronger, take-charge way that immediately calmed Lana’s nerves. “Tell me what the problem is.”

Lana drew a deep, cleansing breath. “It’s like I said. There’s this undercurrent, this feeling that we’re not getting along. I mean, it’s not obvious. The opening pas de deux is fine. The variations and the coda are fine. It’s that adagio in the middle. We’ve got the steps and basic intention down. It’s just that there seems to be an impasse over the dynamics in one of the lift passages, that has everyone frustrated. During group rehearsal sessions, the second cast leads are practically jumping, there behind us, in their frustration, like they’re sure they could do it better. They’re both principals—I’m sure they could, too. And even the répétiteur is showing his frustration with it. With me.”

“Who’s the répétiteur? Any chance it’s Denis Rousselot?”

“It is.”

Alice looked pleased. “Oh, that’s good to hear.”

“You mean you
know
him?”

Alice began to chuckle. “Yes, I’ve worked with him. Great guy, even though he likes to get all Paris Opera Ballet and shout at his dancers.” She gave the ottoman a pat. “Tell you what. I’ve been bad about not ever stopping by to say hi to him. Maybe I’ll drop in on your next rehearsal. That is, if you want. Sometimes a fresh pair of eyes can provide some new perspective.”

Lana’s relief increased. “That would be great. You don’t mind? The next rehearsal is on Sunday afternoon. Two o’clock, for two hours.”

“Okay. Maybe I’ll swing by around three.”

“I can’t tell you how much I’d appreciate that.”

Alice rose. “Well. Here’s to my first visit to a Ballet Theatre rehearsal in eight years.”

It all went as planned. Even without Alice, the first hour of the rehearsal ran smoother. The entire cast of thirteen dancers was rehearsing together for the first time and the added presence of the demi-soloist trio and the corps dancers took a little of the pressure off Lana, made her less aware of the Cast II leads and the understudies, watching her critically. Yet sure enough, when it came time for the tricky partnered lift passage, the unease arose.

As if on cue, Alice appeared at the door.

Denis was delighted. “
Mais non, c’est pas possible. C’est toi!
You little bitch,” he exclaimed, arms out, striding toward her. “Twice now I have been here staging work, these eight years, and they tell me you are right here, in the same building. But you don’t stop by to say hello to your old friend, Denis?”

He’d enveloped Alice in a hug even as he spoke, bestowing kisses on her cheek before pulling back to regard her critically. He announced that she looked wonderful, that being
plus grosse
suited her, that she was
belle come une femme maintenant, pas comme une fille.
Lana supposed it was a compliment and not the insult “gross” sounded like, because Alice was pink-cheeked and smiling and even—God, who knew
?—
responding in careful French, which made Denis’ smile broaden.

“Oh, you are most decidedly the college graduate now, yes. The educated career woman.
Bien fait, ma fille
. And now here you’ve returned to your old place of stomping. What brings us this good fortune today?”

“To see
you,
of course, Denis. Well, and, at the same time, to stop by to see my housemate here,” she said, gesturing to Lana, which caused heads to turn her way. Alice peered closer at the corps dancers and gave a little cry of recognition. “Delores! And Joe! Familiar faces, oh how great.”

More hugs, exclamations of pleasure, and now the older dancers and Denis were all talking at once and Lana learned how Joe had been a newbie the year of Alice’s accident, but Delores had been part of Alice’s circle of corps dancers in her early days and oh, the number of stories they could tell you about those early Anders years. And Ben, too. Before his back problems, when he was still dancing, burning up the stage, teasing the ballet masters before he switched camps and became one himself. What a shame he wasn’t here right now, enjoying this little reunion.

Alice turned and surveyed the other dancers. She squinted at Courtney. “You look familiar,” she said, a note of coolness creeping into her voice. “I think we once chatted. In the restrooms on the administrative level.”

“I’m not sure,” Courtney stammered. “You don’t look familiar. It might have been someone else.”

Alice hesitated, then offered Courtney a quick, uninterested smile. “Maybe you’re right,” she said. She turned back to Denis. “
Alors
, Monsieur Rousselot, I hope you’ll allow me to sit and watch. Maybe share my humble opinion on a few tricky passages Lana might be struggling with.”

“Oh, yes.” Denis nodded vigorously. “Thank you,
thank
you. This is a fine idea.”

He and Javier discussed and agreed upon the most troublesome spot, the very one Lana herself had worried about. Denis cued the accompanist to start the music sixteen counts prior. Lana and Javier waltzed their way to the center, Lana bourréed her way into a prep, a partnered pirouette turn. Afterward, her leg swung back into an attitude, Javier promenaded her around and lifted her out of the attitude, up over his head.
Whoosh
, like an autumn leaf picked up by the wind. She slithered down the length of his body. He caught and sustained a hold on one leg, stretching it into a 180-degree extension. One more gravity-defying toss upward, propelled by the extended leg, before he dipped her into a fish dive and lifted her back up.

It was not bad. It was not, however, performance-ready. Lana knew it; they all knew it. From the corner of her eye she saw the dancers in the second cast exchanging private looks, head shakes.

“Well, Alice?” Denis asked. Lana bent over, trying to catch her breath, hands on her thighs, face down. The corps members banded off to the side, murmuring to each other.

“It’s too rigid there in the middle, isn’t it? It’s like Lana isn’t trusting Javier.”

Denis issued a big, theatrical exhale. “Thank you, Alice! She won’t believe us. She thinks we’re picking on her.”

“Lana,” Alice said. “Here’s my take. It’s like you’re closing yourself off to Javier as you slide down. It’s not physical so much as mental, I think.”

Lana pondered this, sighed and nodded.

Alice turned to Javier. “And
you’re
intimidating her.”

Javier and Lana protested at the same time that he was not.

Alice shook her head. “I see what I see. Lana, try this.” She paused to do a few stretches, adjust the yoga outfit she was still wearing from her morning class. Afterward she held out a hand to Javier, a command, really, and Javier took it.

“You’re close, here, see?” She bourréed, positioned herself and executed a surprisingly sharp double pirouette. “Then the promenade. And the grand jeté lift.”

There was a ripple of laughter as Alice slapped down Javier’s attempt to lift her fully overhead, with a quip that she wouldn’t subject him to the torture of her extra thirty pounds over Lana.

“Now, when he brings you down,” Alice called out, “
cling
to him. Not with your arms or legs, but your body. Like your torso is Velcro’d to him. It’s like being in love. The thought of separating, even for a minute, is enough for this, this
thing
inside you to seize up. So, you see, it’s something in your core that tries to stay. It’s not the arms at all.”

Alice demonstrated the slow slide down Javier’s chest one more time, this time with the music, dancing it full out.

It was uncanny to watch. Lana could feel the intensity in the air, the magic between Javier and Alice. For a moment, watching them, she could almost believe the two of them were in love. There was something so sweet and yet desperate about the way Alice adhered to him. Javier hooked her leg and raised it high; Alice could still manage a good extension, Lana noted. She’d lost none of her ballet dancer’s grace. He dipped her, held her close, tenderly, before releasing the leg and his grip around her waist. It was beautiful to watch. It made Lana want to cry.

The spell broke a moment later when the music ended and Alice became just Alice again, readjusting her top, slapping Javier on the shoulder, telling him he was a sport, working with an old mare like her. She stepped back from the center. Denis cued the accompanist and Lana and Javier took the combination again.

This time it was so much better, so smooth, so right, that afterward everyone burst into applause. Denis looked almost tearful in relief, and even Javier was smiling as he told Lana the change was significant, that the weight redistribution had made everything fall into place.

They ran the adagio and coda movements straight through, acclimating to the presence of both corps dancers and soloists in the same performing space. The second cast, set up behind them, took their turn with the corps dancers as well. Denis looked up at the clock finally and exclaimed that their time was up and wonderful rehearsal, everyone.

As the women eased off their pointe shoes, Alice and Delores started joking around with Denis about a long-ago bet they’d had, that Alice had lost and never made good on. Alice insisted the time had come to pay up and that they should go out for a beer. Right then. The chance might not come around again.

“Denis, call Ben,” Alice said. “Tell him he has to join us too.”

Denis whipped out his phone, punching in numbers. A moment later he was grinning, telling Ben there was trouble in the rehearsal room, some riffraff that needed to be dealt with. He listened, chuckling at Ben’s reply.

“The culprit’s name is Alice Willoughby,” he continued. “Yes, you are so right. Too long,
n’est-ce pas
? We are all going over to Murphy’s. I believe your presence is now mandatory.” More laughter, and he pocketed his phone a moment later, smiling.

“
Allons-y, tous,
” he said. “Let’s go drink.”

Denis insisted Javier join them, and Alice turned to Lana.

“You’re game, too, right?”

Lana shook her head. Gil was back; Gil who’d explained his way out of the “misunderstanding” of who’d invited whom to L.A., and now wanted to take Lana someplace special. She was supposed to meet him in twenty minutes.

Alice caught her eye. “Now, Lana,” she said in a mock-scolding voice, “what could possibly be more important than
us
?” She held her arms out wide, as if encompassing the whole room, the whole of the WCBT. She was smiling but Lana saw the warning note in her eyes. She understood this was not an invitation Alice was offering her so much as an assignment, to get to know these long-established dance people better.

“We won’t take no for an answer,” Alice said.

She meant it.

“Maybe I can make a phone call,” Lana said. “Delay my plans for an hour.”

“I think that would be a splendid idea,” Alice said. “Make it two hours.”

The teacher had spoken.

The student complied.

Monday brought with it a curious reversal of moods between Alice and Gil. Alice was breezy and cheerful, buoyed by her time spent with Denis and the dancers. It had felt good to help Lana. It had felt good to be told her assistance made a real difference. There’d also been the subversive thrill of seeing the alarm on the pretty corps dancer’s face. In spite of her comment to the contrary, Alice knew the girl had recognized her, not just from the restroom but from the snippy look she’d tossed out at Alice the day she’d gone to observe company class. It had given Alice a delicious sense of satisfaction to prove to the girl that she, too, could dance, that she was not just some administrative drone who could only gaze wistfully at the talent.

She popped by Gil’s office to say hello once he’d arrived. He offered her a preoccupied, “leave me alone” smile. She ignored the hint and rested her weight against his door frame.

“So, Pretty Boy, how was your stay in the Beverly Wilshire? Say hi to Julia Roberts while you were there?”

“Oh, that’s clever. I’ve never heard that one before.”

“Did your Julia take you shopping? Hand you the credit card and tell you anything goes?”

He heaved an exaggerated sigh. “If you’re through, I’ve got work to do here.”

She made no motion to leave. “Okay, I’m sorry. I’ll stop with the
Pretty Woman
jokes. Seriously, how was your weekend?”

“Long. Painfully long. Except for the last part of it.”

“That would be the part where you met back up with Lana.”

“Yes. And thanks to you, my time with her was cut even shorter.”