Page 78 of The Unraveling

“I’m just kidding, it’s on the basic in the lounge. You might be the last to find out. Anyway, I’m so happy you’ve been added to learn Manon, behind me, of course!”

She reaches over for me, then hugs me hard and tightly, kissing me all over my cheeks, then giving me one kiss on the lips, sweeping her tongue briefly over my lips as she does.

“Thank you,” I say. “It’s very exciting. And I couldn’t have done any of it without you.”

It’s true, but I am not sure if giving her the credit was the smartest move.

“I know, right? I’m like a little angel, helping all my little kittens get what they deserve. Ugh, I’ve got to go, but I’m so happy for you, baby.”

“Thanks,” I say again.

She gives me another hug, this time leaning in and whispering in my ear, “It’s really hard to believe you’re not fucking Alistair.”

She then bites my earlobe way too hard.

“Ow, Jesus Christ, Arabella!” I instinctively push her off me like a bad cat that just took a swipe at me.

She widens her eyes and turns scarlet. “What the fuck is your problem?”

I glance around us, clutching my ear. I pull away my hand. There’s no blood, but it sure as fuck felt like there would be.

“Arabella, that fucking hurt.”

“What the fuck ever,” she says.

She’s clearly one of those people who can’t take being embarrassed without getting aggressive. She reminds me of the kids on the playground who played too rough, then cried when they got told off for it.

“Thanks for the congratulations,” I say. “I have to go.”

My ear is throbbing.

“Whatever,” she says. “I’m just saying. It’s a little suspicious to show up here and get such a big role.”

“Maybe I’m just right for it,” I say.

“Or maybe you’re fucking him,” she whips back.

Smarting from the searing pain, and angry from it as I always am when I get hurt, I snap back. “I don’t need to fuck anyone to get a role. Maybe that’s just you.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

It might just be my elation, but the theater feels alive tonight. The show is amazing. The last night of a run can always be hit-or-miss. The exhaustion of being overworked sometimes kicks in; the tiredness catches up. But it’s best when the adrenaline hits. The feeling of This is it, this is the last chance until next time. And for some, the hopefulness that next time they will be in a better role. For the corps de ballet, they are praying this is their farewell to being one in a flock on the side of the stage. The soloists hope they have a shot at the Swan Queen next time. In a way, everyone dances as if it’s their last dance.

Tonight there is a magic onstage that simply cannot be pinpointed. The audience is there with us. A show depends not only on the dancers but on the audience as well. Sometimes I get onstage and feel like I’m performing in a darkened auditorium of bored teenagers. Other times it feels as though everyone in the theater was meant to be there on that very night. Like serendipity that leads to some unknowable resolution of fate.

I danced Big Swans and Princesses. I always laugh at the term big swans, as if being five foot six and a hundred and eight pounds is considered big.

I sent my friend Sylvie a text tonight before I went on, with a silly picture captioned, how the mighty have fallen! Last time I danced Swan Lake, Sylvie, who is a petite waif, was a little swan and I was Swan Queen. Sylvie quickly responded.

Ha! Big Swan, never! Odette better watch out you might eat her!…But for real Jocelyn I’m so proud of you! I love you and hope to see you soon!

The difference between a big swan and a little swan is literally two pounds and two inches. Finally, though, my muscles are starting to remember, and I’m starting to feel as limber, lean, and agile as I was before. I feel good tonight. As if a soft warmth radiates throughout my body and seems to get hotter and hotter until I nearly feel as though sparks are flying from my fingertips and toes.

I’m ready for Manon. I have found my way back to my career, to myself before it escaped.

The shadow has lifted tonight, and it is the first time in months there hasn’t been a dark, murmuring cloud over my head. Whenever I’ve not been focused in a rehearsal, my mind has wandered to my mother, to Mimi, and to Jordan and, unfortunately, Alistair. Try as hard as I might, I can’t stop thinking about him.

But not tonight. Tonight, I am Jocelyn. Sylvie is right to be proud. I’m the strong rebel she met all those years ago.

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