Page 70 of Pas de Don't
Chapter 17
AMERICANBALLETSTARDAZZLESSYDNEY
Heather Hays’s world class ‘Giselle’ stuns
at the Opera House
By Ivy Page, Senior Arts Reporter
Words like ‘ethereal’ and ‘otherworldly’ might suffice to describe some ballet dancers, but they don’t quite do the trick for Heather Hays, the 29-year-old principal dancer at New York Ballet who joined Australian National Ballet as a guest artist this month.
When Hays dances, a strange illusion occurs: you know you’re watching a human being, because you can see her muscles and her sweat, but her movements are so precise and delicate, so unlike anything you’ve ever seen a regular human do with her body, that you can’t avoid the suspicion you’re watching a member of a completely different species.
At last night’s opening night performance of ‘Giselle,’ in which Hays danced the title role, this remarkable combination was on full display. Hays’s commitment to the role of the tragic heroine was total, her acting eclipsing her considerable technical abilities at some moments as she performed before a rapt and dazzled audience....
Marcus sat on the bench outside Peter’s office and scanned the rest of the review—exquisite artistry, standing ovation, seven curtain calls, sold-out run—and for the first time since his phone blew up with notifications last night, he felt something other than panic and dread. Pride in Heather, the woman he loved. Then regret that he hadn’t had the courage to be there to see her triumph.
He didn’t have time to dwell on those feelings, though. Peter stuck his head out of his office door, his hair askew as though he’d run his hands through it many times today.
“Marcus,” he said tersely. “Come in.”
Marcus went, feeling disconnected from his body, watching himself walk to his inevitable fate.
He sat in one of the several chairs in front of Peter’s desk as the artistic director took his seat on the other side, his mouth set in a firm, unsmiling line. Marcus glanced at the desk and saw this morning’sMorning Sun, open to the review he’d just read, complete with a huge photo of Heather in her second act costume, suspended above the stage in a soaring grand jeté.
Peter followed his gaze and sighed.
“Marcus, I’ve done my best to build a company culture where dancers are treated like adults for a change, where you know you can come to work and be respected and safe,” he said, sounding as if he’d delivered this speech several times lately. Which, of course, he had.
“Pas de Don’t—yes, I know what you all call it behind my back—is part of that. I’ve been very clear with all of you aboutwhy it’s in place, and how seriously I expect you all to take it. How seriouslyItake it.”
“I know,” Marcus managed.
“I’m sure you’ve seen the video that’s circulating online, of you and Ms. Hays.” It wasn’t a question. He’d seen it. By now, everyone in the ballet world had seen it. Their moment of private, secret joy, on one of the best days of his life, captured without their knowledge and broadcast all over the world.
Marcus nodded, unable to form words. There was no use denying what was right there for Peter and everyone else to see. For a moment, he considered explaining that he and Heather were no longer together, that they’d broken the rules only briefly and had stopped before the video went viral. But he knew it wouldn’t make a difference.
“Right. In that case, I’m sorry, but I can’t let you stay on at ANB. Your contract is terminated, effective immediately. The administration will be in touch soon about your final paycheck.”
Though Marcus had known it was coming, the blow was devastating. His eyes burned, but he said nothing. What was there to say? In the space of a few short days, he’d lost the only woman he’d ever loved and the only job he’d ever wanted. His identity as a dancer, gone. His Dad, gone. Everything he’d ever held dear, all of it, gone. His brain felt numb, overwhelmed by the sheer weight of it all. Peter gazed at him with a kind of paternal disappointment, and Marcus could barely stand to look at him. He swallowed and gave Peter another nod to let him know he’d understood.
Peter gave him a pained look. “I wish it didn’t have to be this way. I know you’ve had an enormously difficult year, and I’ve been very pleased with your progress in the last month or so. I was looking forward to seeing you back on stage with us, we all were. I’m sorry I won’t get to see that now.”
The finality in Peter’s voice was a gut punch. Marcus was unemployed. He wanted to ask about Heather, but he wasn’t sure he could speak without crying. So he gave Peter a final nod, then rose from his chair and turned to leave.
“Good luck, Marcus,” Peter said behind him. “I wish you every success.”
Marcus pushed open the door and let it swing shut behind him with a soft whoosh, then turned, heading down the hallway as fast as he could to the men’s locker room. There, he emptied the minimal contents of his locker into his backpack.
On his way out, he paused outside the physio room, where Sharon crouched on the floor, gathering up weights and resistance bands. She looked up and saw him standing there, then dropped the gear and scrambled to her feet.
“Love, I heard ...” she said, hurrying to the door.
Marcus stared helplessly at her, the woman who’d quite literally gotten him back on his feet. Whose work and belief in him he’d thrown away because Heather Hays made him feel alive and happy for the first time in forever. He wanted to apologize to Shaz, tell her how grateful he was to her, but his throat was too thick for words, and she wasn’t one for big speeches anyway. So when she held out her arms, he stepped into them, let her squeeze him into a tight hug, and wept into her shoulder.
Carly, 9:02AM: This video is everywhere. Is that the tour guide guy?? What’s going on????
Heather, 9:03AM: I can’t talk about it now. I’ll tell you when I get home.
