Page 110 of Lovers' Dance: Vol. 2

I fidgeted in the comfy chair and daintily sipped my coffee. This would be a big problem.

“By unfettered, you mean,” Dante smiled back at her.

“Completeaccess.” she reiterated, this time she flashed me her smile. I swallowed the lukewarm coffee. Definitely a big problem and filling me with an uneasiness that was blossoming into dread.

“You do understand what we’re trying to do, yes?” She glanced at her tablet then flicked her hair over one shoulder. “This series will show the public the ins and out of being a dancer, not only that, it will show the stark differences between what a small dance company has to contend with in comparison to the big boys, and what it takes to get on their radar.”

I sipped my coffee again.

“This is the BBC we’re talking about here,” she stated for the tenth time since sitting across my table in my surprisingly neat office. Gloria had gone all out when she found out someone from the BBC was coming.

“But weren’t you originally doing a piece on The Royal Ballet?” I finally spoke. “I don’t understand why-”

“The program is still based on The Royal Ballet,” she confirmed, again looking at her tablet.

“We’re not part of The Royal Ballet.” I stated the obvious. Dante gave me a hard look, a ‘what the hell are you doing’ look.

She chuckled, sarcastically I thought. “Well, of course not, but your dance company will be performing at The Royal Opera House in a few months and it’s the perfect opportunity for us to see first-hand the necessary work behind an unrecognized company putting on a production there. BBC Arts is not a one-dimensional organism. We aim to delve into the nuts and bolts of every program we air. What’s the problem here? When I spoke to their artistic director he assured me you would be on board with this.”

“There’s no problem,” Dante hastily guaranteed.

I gulped my coffee. It was a problem for me. My husband would not allow cameras into our lives. No matter how much it would raisethe profile of my dance company. Plus I couldn’t shake the feeling that the BBC Arts would turn out to be just the plain old BBC trying to sneakily get an exposé on Matt and his family’s companies.

Not that Matt did anything underhand in his business dealings…at least I didn’t believe he did. Shit. Tax evasion perhaps? Didn’t mega-rich people flout the laws all the time? What if – I shook my head quickly, best to stay on point.

“Look,” I addressed the woman coolly. “I’m not certain my dancers will be comfortable with a camera crew following them.”

Dante gave me another look, this one a ‘shut the hell up’ look. His white teeth were on show again as he rifled through the waivers brought in by the network representative. “I’m sure we won’t encounter any problems with our dancers,” Dante reassured her.

I covered my derisive scoff with a light cough. The gang mightn’t have an issue with it, but I did. The clock on the wall above my office door showed 11:30. I had a lunch date with Matt, scheduled by the lovely Rachel. It was strange, having a simple lunch date with my husband needed to be organized via his secretary. The two weeks since we’d returned from the States had been non-stop for us both. At least we woke up in bed together, never mind Matt was usually out the door before me. And unfortunately, he would be flying out on business the day after tomorrow. The life of a business tycoon was go-go-go.

“Ms Noolan,” I started.

“Mrs.” she corrected.

Excuse me then. I put the coffee down and straightened up in my chair. “MrsNoolan, the prospect of having a camera crew following my every move is not an appealing one.” I said firmly.

Dante cleared his throat loudly.

I ignored him. “My interaction with the press, as I’m sure you’re well aware, hasn’t been pleasant.”

She waved a dismissive hand through the air. “We’re the BBC not some tabloid, Ms DuMont.”

“Bradley.” I pointed out, as if she didn’t already know. “Mrs DuMont-Bradley, and it doesn’t matter which network you work for,”

Dante cleared his throat again. Obviously he had a dry throat, so I slid my half-drunk mug of coffee across the table to him, accompanied with a scowl.

“My private life is just that, private; and I want it to remain so.” Ifinished, pleased with myself at maintaining a professional demeanour.

“I fail to see why you’re so reticent to agree to our terms. This is the standard process when we film documentaries,” she explained. Her manicured nails rapped out an impatient rhythm across the screen of her tablet. “Yes, the main focus is on The Royal Ballet and their corp, but filming your company adds another dimension to the overall documentary. You started this dance troupe from the ground up, that is inspiring and will touch a chord with the viewing public.” She was going down the flattery angle it seemed. “You do understand what it will mean for your company, your dancers? This will propel you into the limelight. How many small companies have the chance at that?”

“We understand,” Dante said while squeezing my knee under the desk. “We just need to iron out a few things.”

“We need to start filming as soon as possible.”MrsNoolan advised. “We are already gathering footage from The Royal Ballet corp and I would love to collate an actual comparison between their training and that of your dancers.”

Great. They wanted to compare us against them. Was she shitting me? I knew my dancers were talented, very talented actually, but come on. This was The Royal Ballet we were talking about. The best of the best, in my opinion. I didn’t want my people being portrayed as inferior.

“Can we get back to you tomorrow?” Dante fingered the waivers again.

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