Prima Donna (37 page)

Sophie kept on walking, trying to dam the hurt. She could see why the decision had been made. Even passers-by with not the slightest interest in ballet would stop and stare at this. Sex was
universal – regardless of whether or not you could do the splits in mid-air.

‘Soph-eee!’ Baudrand exclaimed. He was standing in the foyer awaiting the night’s VIPs as she came through the doors. ‘Why! You are a vision.’

Sophie smiled. ‘Monsieur Baudrand. How are you feeling?’

Baudrand wrung his hands. ‘What can I say? Tonight signifies a new chapter for the Chicago City. For one hundred years we have been a dominant force in American ballet but tonight? Tonight
we become a global brand. Everything has come together in the most perfect way.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Wait until you see Adam and Ava – they dance as one now. Ava said you had a
little talk to her about it,’ he winked. ‘Did you see the banners?’

Sophie nodded. ‘Very sexy. Good choice.’

Baudrand shrugged. ‘It is the future. We must move forward with the times. And your exhibition, eh? Already security have had to throw out the paparazzi. Everyone is desperate for the
exclusive on your prints, especially since that piece last weekend in the
Tribune
.’

Sophie cringed. ‘I know . . . I’m so sorry about that,
monsieur
. I had no idea he was going to—’

‘Sorry? Do not be sorry, Sophie. You know what they say – all publicity is good publicity. It has generated even more hype for tonight.’

Sophie gave a tight smile. Maybe – but at what cost to
her
reputation? Russell, aggravated by her snubbing silence, had done nothing less than a character assassination and she
didn’t have anything like the resources to fight it.

She looked up and had to suppress a sudden giggle, her mood instantly lifting again. Lucy was standing behind Baudrand, wrapped around a life-size cut-out of Adam. She had one leg hooked round
his waist and was waggling her tongue near his ear.

‘I . . . uh . . . I suppose Adam and Ava are backstage?’ she spluttered.

‘I certainly hope so,’ Baudrand chuckled, checking his watch. ‘It’s only fifteen minutes till curtain-up. Well, I will see you after the performance, So-phee. There is
still much to be done.’ And he clapped his hands briskly and walked off around the foyer, buoyant on anticipation of the night’s success.

Sophie collapsed into a fit of giggles as Lucy ran over.

‘You look amazing!’ Lucy said as they hugged excitedly. ‘My God. You look like a model! Has Adam seen you?’

Sophie shook her glossy head. She was desperate to see him. She wanted to apologize for having letting slip about their tryst, for having her boobs held by another man in a public place, for not
having been in touch since – he’d looked terrible that night, no doubt pushed to the edge by Ava’s antics, and she hadn’t been there for him. She’d been so caught up
in her own disasters.

‘Not yet. Come on. I was just going to see the gallery first. I want to make sure they’ve hung everything in the order I asked. Honestly, that gallery woman’s a control freak
– she made me do everything by email.’

They clip-clopped over the marble floor in their finery, and walked through to the auditorium, which had been transformed into a gallery for the night. All the furniture had been stripped away
and pink lights streamed up the white walls, throwing a soft haze, like tulle, over the canvases.

Lucy gasped. ‘It looks fantastic, Soph!’ She ran forward to look closer. Sophie’s heart leapt. She could never have imagined it would look so . . . professional. If only Lucy
had seen the wreckage of the pictures in her studio two weeks ago.

‘Look, some have got red dots on already,’ Lucy said. ‘That means they’ve sold, doesn’t it?’

Sophie peered closer, hardly able to believe people were actually buying her work. She’d spent so long just scribbling in her studio, amusing herself and drawing for her own satisfaction,
that even after Baudrand had given her the fancy title, she still hadn’t ever truly thought that she could make a living from it.

‘Yes. But who can have seen them already? Baudrand was just saying they’ve tightened security. He doesn’t want anyone seeing anything before the official unveiling
later.’

Sophie looked up and saw Miriam, the exhibition curator who’d be exhibiting it in her gallery after tonight. She was tweaking the spotlight that fell on a canvas of Adam in
brisé volé
.

Lucy checked her watch. ‘Hell, I’d better get back to the front and check whether the VIPs are turning up. Badlands will no doubt be going demented.’ She hugged Sophie again.
‘I’ll catch you afterwards.’

Sophie walked over to Miriam. She couldn’t have been anything but a gallery owner – her wiry black curls had been left wild, unlike Sophie’s, and her short frame was swamped in
asymmetric Issey Miyake.

‘Hi, Miriam. I’m here. I’m Sophie.’ She held out a hand.

Miriam smiled blankly without turning round, barely registering her artist’s arrival. She was oblivious to everything but the walls. ‘No, no, it’s still not right. What do you
think?’ she asked Sophie vaguely. ‘Do you think that one needs to move over to the right a little? I think it’s upsetting the balance between these two.’

Sophie cocked her head, considering. It all looked fine to her. Miriam was operating at a level of detail beyond her scrutiny. ‘I think it’s great,’ she said.

‘Hmm . . . No. It needs to move over . . . Paul!’ she called, bringing an assistant running. ‘We need to move this one over an eighth of an inch to the right.’

‘Miriam, I noticed there are some red dots on the paintings. That means they’re sold, doesn’t it?’

‘Yes,’ she said, taking the picture off the wall. ‘Paid full price, too. There was no question of haggling.’

‘Oh. It’s just that I thought no one was supposed to see them before the official unveiling.’

‘It’s okay. Monsieur Baudrand approved it. It was Ava’s manager who wanted a preview. He has a greater interest in securing the best images of Ava than anyone, after
all.’

‘Yes, I guess so.’

The tannoy announced that the performance was due to begin in five minutes.

‘Well, would you point him out to me during the private view? I’d like to thank him personally.’

‘Absolutely,’ Miriam said vaguely, making a microscopic pencil mark on the wall to indicate the precise new hanging location of the canvas.

‘Okay. Well, I’d better take my seat. I’ll see you afterwards. This all looks amazing, Miriam,’ she said, waving her arms around the space. ‘You’ve done a
fantastic job.’

Sophie sat in the dark, eating her tub of ice cream – the first thing she’d had a chance to eat all day – utterly mesmerized by the action on the stage.
Baudrand had been right. Ava and Adam moved as one now, like oil on water, one on top of the other and unable to break away from each other.

Her painterly eye followed the cut of Adam’s muscles as they gleamed under the lights, his straw-coloured hair the only untamed thing about him. Not a finger was out of line, not a step
missed a beat. His eyes never left Ava once – wherever she travelled to on the stage he was chasing her, catching her, spinning and holding her.

Sophie’s breath caught at the sight of his classical dominance and she let herself surrender to the memory of how he’d held her in those arms too – pinning her down to the bed,
enfolding her in their warmth.

He looked bigger than she remembered and she could tell he’d spent extra hours in the gym, building up the strength to perfect the new hold that Ava had insisted upon. Whatever he’d
been through in the past few weeks – making sacrifices, adapting to the changes – it had been worth it. He more than justified his place on that stage with Ava now.

In fact, she thought, licking the spoon and considering their partnership more closely, if anything Adam’s performance was adding infinitely more to hers. His simmering passion and
sensuality had thawed her usual clinical execution, and she was leaping higher, stepping lighter, with joyful spirit.

Sophie blinked hard, suddenly realizing that the transformation was complete. Ava had done as Baudrand suggested and shed her sterile laser-perfect technique for Pia’s whimsical artistry.
She was dancing Pia’s ballet, with Pia’s partner, exactly as Sophie knew Pia would do herself. But she’d done it first. The Royal’s production wasn’t for another
seventeen hours, allowing for the time-zone changes and the need for the international press and VIPs to travel from here to there. The charge that would be levelled at Pia was already clear: she
would be copying Ava.

The curtain came down two hours later to rapturous applause, and even the cheers outside in the plaza could be heard in the theatre. It took nine encores before the curtain
stayed down for good, and Sophie found herself swept along by the current of people rushing out to the bars.

She was desperate to go backstage and congratulate the dancers but, as she checked her watch, she realized there was no time. Monsieur Baudrand was opening the private view imminently and, for
once, her presence was vital.

‘Sophie! Soph! Wait up!’

Sophie turned and found Lucy running after her.

‘Can you believe that? They’ll never beat it. No way,’ Lucy gushed, hoping the ChiCi’s new fortunes might mean a pay rise.

‘I know,’ Sophie shrugged. ‘It was incredible. The energy between them was just mesmerizing. I can’t believe what a change there’s been between them. So much has
happened in the past few weeks.’

They walked into the auditorium, and Baudrand, who was waiting to start his speech, convivially signified the arrival of the new artist. A wave of applause swept round the room, and Sophie
smiled, delighted and awed all at once. All these people were here . . . because of her? She listened meekly to Baudrand’s hyperbole, trying to allow the elation that followed weeks and weeks
of tireless work to wash over her, but there was a stubborn regret yawning inside her. Everything felt incomplete – and she knew precisely why. She wanted her family here to witness her
success, to see that she’d been right, after all. That there had been a life and career and happiness out here for her.

The sound of more applause roused her and she looked up to see the crowd quickly dispersing to admire the paintings on the walls.

Lucy sauntered over and put a drink in her hand. ‘Congrats, Sophie!’ she smiled, raising a toast. ‘You deserve it.’

They took a large swig.

‘What a party!’ Lucy said. ‘Here, you can’t see Badlands can you? I reckon now’s the perfect time to ask for a pay rise. He’ll be drunk with success for days
after this.’

Sophie looked around the room. Baudrand was in the corner, standing in front of the picture of Adam and Ava in the
presage
lift, and was in the middle of an animated conversation with a
man even spectacularly shorter than he.

‘He’s over there,’ Sophie nodded. ‘But he doesn’t look too happy. I’m not sure now’s the right time, Luce.’

‘Hmm, yes. He does look pissed off,’ Lucy murmured. ‘Oh well, tomorrow, then. Look, do you mind if I cut and run before he spots me. I’m officially off duty now but
I’m not going to have a hope of enjoying all this free champagne when he’s in the room. He’ll have me gumming envelopes.’ She winked. ‘Besides, I said I’d meet
Jack at the Blue Bar afterwards.’

‘Who’s Jack?’

‘You know, the new sound guy.’

Sophie shook her head. ‘No. Never heard of him.’

Lucy put a hand on her arm. ‘That’s because you’ve not left your apartment in weeks. We’ve got a lot of catching up to do.’

‘Well, can I come with you? All I had to do was show my face here.’

‘Absolutely not. You need to mingle. You’re the woman of the hour. This is your moment. Go and bask in the sun. You deserve it,’ she smiled, walking off.
‘Tomorrow.’

Sophie looked around. People were milling about in clumps, huddled around the paintings, nodding and chatting intently, still high on the back of the performance. Everyone knew they’d
witnessed something historic, and buying into the paintings was the perfect way to take a piece of it home with them.

She searched for Adam and Ava but there was no sign of them yet. She looked at her watch and imagined the stream of bouquets and backstage visitors would probably have dried up by now and
they’d be taking off the stage make-up and getting changed. They should be here any moment. Secretly she’d been hoping that they’d whisk straight over once the curtain fell,
wanting to witness her own moment of glory. Still . . .

Miriam came over. ‘It’s going well, don’t you think?’

‘Better than I dared dream,’ Sophie smiled, drinking her champagne in gulps.

‘We’ll be a sell-out within half an hour if it keeps up at this rate. I’ll have nothing left to sell.’ Miriam turned to face her, her expression intense. ‘Tell me,
do you have anything else you can give me? Seriously, I’m going to need something to hang on my walls.’

Sophie looked back at Miriam in surprise. ‘Well, I’ve got lots of half-finished canvases, and hundreds of drawings and photos to work from. I guess I can keep supplying you as long
as you want.’

‘Good girl, that’s great,’ Miriam smiled, patting her arm. ‘We’re onto a winner with this. I reckon we’ll be able to put them on for another twenty per cent.
Nobody’s even asking about the prices.’

‘By the way,’ Sophie said, finishing her drink and taking a canapé. ‘Where’s Ava’s manager?’

‘He’s, uh . . .’ Miriam looked around the room. ‘Oh where is he? . . . He was here a moment ago. I saw him chatting to Monsieur Baudrand. Mmm. No, I can’t see him .
. .’ Her eyes suddenly widened excitedly. ‘Oh! Juergen Vanderveldt’s just walked in. I
must
speak to him. He’s a big collector and this is just his thing.
I’ll catch up with you later.’

Sophie watched her go. The only other person she knew in the room was Baudrand, and from the looks of his body language now, silhouetted against her own giant canvas, he didn’t look the
life and soul of the party.

‘To heck with it,’ she muttered to herself, putting down her drink and walking towards the doors. It’s not like she really ever expected the mountains to come to Mohammad. The
pictures were selling themselves – red dots were popping up everywhere like a virulent case of chicken pox – and she’d have a better time in the dressing rooms with her
friends.