Page 54 of Pas de Don't
“You look good,” Alice said as they stood on the side of the studio, watching a group of dancers run through the tough-as-nails adagio Peter had set today. Heather was in the middle of the pack, and from here Marcus could see all the muscles of her shoulder blades rippling between the straps of her navy-blue leotard.
“You’re full of it,” he retorted under his breath, reluctantly tearing his eyes from Heather’s steady, languid developpé and flashing Alice a wry smile. “I look like crap, but it’s good to be back.”
Alice looked him up and down appraisingly, then raised one eyebrow. “Yeah, okay, you look like crap. But you’ll get it back, especially if you don’t rush. What’s Shaz always saying?”
“The slower you come back, the faster you come back,” they droned in unison.
“Plus,” Alice said, scrutinizing him again, “you seem pretty happy lately. What’s going on with you?”
Marcus pretended to watch his colleagues again, careful not to let his gaze fall on Heather this time.
“What do you mean?” he asked, even though he knew exactly what she meant.
“I dunno,” she said, shrugging. “I just thought ...”
“I’m just glad to be back and properly on the mend,” he said easily. “Sharon said if this keeps up, I might even come back stronger than I was before.” He turned back to face Alice. “Nice, right?”
She tipped her head sceptically, but then said, “Yeah, nice.”
Alice looked as if she wanted to say more, but she didn’t have the chance. Heather’s group finished the adagio combination and cleared out of the centre of the studio to make room for his and Alice’s group. Marcus hung back, not wanting to call attention to himself or his low extensions and trembling supporting leg.
He hadn’t enjoyed lying to Alice’s face. On Monday, she’d asked about his weekend, and he’d told her about his mum’s fall and trip to the hospital, editing out what he’d been doing when he’d gotten Davo’s call, or what had happened that night. Alice hadn’t seemed to notice the highly redacted story. But she had noticed that, in the last few days, he’d probably smiled more than he had in the last year combined.
Alice had been so steadfast and reliable in the last year, so solid and sothere, when he had felt like he was slowly disappearing from the world. Marcus wished he didn’t have to hide the truth fromher. Because the truth was hewashappier lately, and he wanted to tell Alice exactly why. He knew she’d be happy for him. But even telling his best friend was asking for trouble. He trusted Alice to keep their secret...but still, accidents happened.
As he lifted one leg into attitude and pivoted on the other leg in a slow and painstaking promenade, Marcus could see Heather out of the corner of his eye, leaning against a barre at the side of the studio. She was chatting with Justin, who replied discreetly under his breath just like Marcus and Alice had been. Heather smiled and nodded in response, and Marcus felt a tiny knot of jealousy burrowing itself into his stomach, where it joined the guilt he’d felt at lying to Alice.
At last, the adagio ended, and Marcus closed his feet in as tight a fifth position as he could manage. His heart raced, and every muscle in his upper legs ached and twitched. He had enjoyed this part of class, before. Had appreciated the way the slow and contemplative pace disguised the gruelling work of lifting his legs into the air and holding them there, suspended by nothing but his own hard-earned strength and muscle control. Now, his muscles had atrophied, and so much of that strength had dissipated.
It would come back to him, he told himself, retreating from the centre to seize his water bottle and gulp at it while his heart rate slowed.Stronger than ever, Shaz had said. Across the room, Heather had paused in her conversation with Justin. She caught his eye and he saw the tiniest frown appear between her eyebrows. It was a question, but not one he could answer here in front of Peter and all his colleagues. He kept his face impassive but chanced a nonchalant nod, then looked away, pretending to watch the group dancing in the centre.
Marcus didn’t dance much for the rest of class. After adagio, Peter set half a dozen jump and pirouette combinations, so Marcus put his bad foot up on the barre and stretched as his colleagues leapt and spun around him. It was thrilling, after so many months away, to watch dance up close again. He’d spent so long avoidingthe company’s performances, because watching other people dance when he couldn’t only depressed him. When he’d gone to the ANB building for physio, he’d walked past the open studio doors as quickly as he could, averting his gaze from all the dancing happening inside those rooms he wasn’t well enough to be in.
He’d missed live dancing, he realised, missed the intimacy and the humidity of a studio full of sweating, working bodies. And now he was back. Now he could watch Heather fly across the room, soaring into a grand jeté and hitting a perfect hundred-eighty-degree split in the mirrors. She was petite, but her jumps swallowed up metres of the studio, carrying her from one side of the room to the other with just a few quick strides. When she landed, it was near-silent, controlled, and breathtakingly precise. It was hard to keep his eyes off her, but looking around, he realised he wasn’t alone: half his colleagues were watching her, too. Pride swelled in his chest as he watched them watch her, as in awe of her talent and skill as he was.
None of them knew she’d woken up in his bed this morning. She’d come over last night and he’d cooked, because she’d said she was sick of eating takeaway. He’d made one of his favourite winter meals, pasta with pumpkin and sausage. It had all gone well enough, until he’d gotten distracted kissing her and let the sage leaves burn in the pan. While the smoke cleared, they’d taken their bowls of pasta out onto the balcony and enjoyed his view of the Bridge. He’d told her about how his first full class back had felt, and she’d caught him up on her rehearsals with Justin. He’d had the distinct pleasure of watching Heather enjoy a meal he’d prepared—and then they’d gone inside, for other distinct pleasures.
But now they were at work, and Marcus had to pretend he hadn’t watched her step out of his shower this morning, her wet hair twisted into a long, dripping rope over one shoulder, trailing droplets down the tops of her breasts and into one of his towels. Heather’s penchant for planning turned out to be essential to their sneaking around: she’d downloaded the city bus schedule and cross-referenced it against a list he’d given her of other dancers who livedin the area, then determined which bus stops and routes were safest for them to take in order to leave each other’s houses and get to work on time without risking being spotted. Today, they’d taken different buses to the studios so that they arrived a few minutes apart. They’d said their polite hellos at the start of class and taken their places at barres on opposite sides of the room.
It had been like this every day this week, even when they didn’t spend the night together: he’d spend his bus ride buzzing with anticipation at seeing Heather again, only to arrive at work and remember that whatever happened in his bed last night, or whatever joke she’d made that had him spluttering around his mouthful of rigatoni, here they could only exchange professional pleasantries in the café and polite goodbyes at the end of class. It was maddening, but it was also kind of fun.
“It’s like being a spy,” he’d said this morning as they prepared for work in his bathroom.
“A sexy ballet spy,” Heather had agreed, meeting his eyes in his mirror as she slid the final pin into her bun. “Makes me want to buy a watch just so we can synchronize. Should we have a secret hand signal?”
“I showed you my secret hand signal last night, and I don’t think it’s appropriate for a public place.”
She’d giggled and rolled her eyes, and for one crazed moment he’d wanted to wrap his arms around her, pull her back into his bed, and keep her there all day, class and physio and rehearsal be damned.
Thank God it was almost the weekend. Marcus would get two uninterrupted days with her, away from prying eyes. And three uninterrupted nights. He’d asked her to go away with him for the weekend, but he hadn’t told her where, or what they’d be doing when they got there. All he’d given Heather to go on was that she should pack something warm to wear and tell him if she had objections to sleeping on the ground. She’d looked slightly alarmed at that, and pressed for more details—specifically, if she should beworried about spiders—but Marcus was determined to surprise her, and eventually she’d agreed to go with him.
His thoughts were interrupted by a sharp poke to his shoulder.
“Oi, space face,” Alice said, with another prod. “Class is over. What planet were you on?”
Marcus blinked and looked around, then hastily pulled his foot off the barre. Some of his colleagues collected their bags from the sides of the studio and headed for the door, while others sat under the barres, gulping breathlessly from their water bottles. A few of the guys mucked around in the middle of the room, attempting difficult pirouette combinations while their friends recorded them on their phones.
“Sorry, I got distracted. It’s a bit overwhelming, being back.”
