Page 5 of Kept

“What I’d propose would be to change to a more specified, let’s say patronage, for a certain talented young dancer.”

I decide to equivocate. “Mr. Chambers did mention that you have been one of our biggest supporters for years. The company is very grateful.” I shiver and step closer to the building to get out of the evening wind.

Unfortunately, this pulls me out of sight. LeBlanc follows, stepping just too close for comfort. “As a sponsor, I’d make sure you had all the support you need, including eliminating that ridiculous trip back and forth to Brooklyn every day.”

What the shit?

“How the hell do you know where I live?” I ask.

He steps forward and rubs the backs of his fingers down my bare arm. “I’m a powerful man. I know many things. That shoe box you call an apartment by the Navy Yard is hardly appropriate for my ballerina.”

“I’m not your anything. This conversation is done.” I twist to walk away, but he grabs my arm. “Ow! Let go!”

“The conversation is over when I say it is?—”

I chuck the champagne at his head. It’s not a gentle splash of beverage. I throw the whole thing, glass and all, right at his face.

“You bitch!” he bellows, but I’m already moving, fast, back into the foyer.

I crash into Chandler. “Ah, Sarah?—”

“No fucking way,” I tell him, loud enough to turn a few heads in our direction. The room quiets, and I look over to see a soggy LeBlanc stagger in from outside, a small cut on his cheek bleeding.

Chandler stutters, looking back and forth between us.

“No,” I repeat, making a beeline for the door.

Robert materializes behind me. “Oh. My. God.” He squeals. “That was amazing. Tell me everything.”

“That presumptive, chauvinistic pig grabbed my arm when I tried to leave, so I threw my glass in his face.”

“Doll, I think you’re supposed to throw the drink and keep the glass when you do that.”

“My way worked just fine.”

He whistles. “Oh, yes it did.”

I grab my bags from the cast area and head to the bathroom. I’m not feeling terribly secure without some additional locked doors. I hear Robert post up outside the door.

“Now what?” he asks.

“Now, I go home, take at least two showers, and get very drunk.” I open the door. Robert is standing there with his hands on his hips, tapping his foot.

“Hmm. Yes to the end, no to the rest. We’re going out.”

“What?”

“I know for a fact you have a spare outfit in that big ass bag of yours.” He waves his hand at my Nike gym bag. “We’re going out, getting fabulously drunk, and forgetting that creep.”

“Robert—”

“Don’t you sass me on this point. You are not ending this fantastic premier on a shitty note.”

I can’t help smiling at his no-nonsense expression.

“It was a good night,” I concede.

“Absolutely!” He takes the bag from me and starts to rummage through it. “Ah-ha! Here we are!” he proclaims as he hands me my backup outfit.

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