Page 85 of Pas de Don't
Ivy Page: When we last spoke, in August, you were in your final week of rehearsals for ‘Giselle,’ a ballet that’s played a significant role in your career. Why do you think this ballet remains so popular in this day and age?
Heather Hays: I think a lot of people can relate to Giselle. It’s a timeless story, I think: A woman thinks she knows the person she loves, and they turn out to be something else entirely. Lots of us know what it’s like to be lied to, and to lie to ourselves rather than face the heartbreaking truth. I also think a lot of people see Giselle as a story about the power of love and forgiveness. But I see it differently: I think it’s a story about a man who hurts a woman and gets away with it. And a lot of people can relate to that, too.
IP: Can you personally relate to that part of the story?
HH: I can, and I think a lot of women in ballet can, too. But I think the ballet world is slowly changing, and men are learning there are consequences for mistreating women.
IP: Are you referring to your ex-fiancé, the former NYB principal, Jack Andersen?
HH: I don’t want to go into specifics about my relationship with Jack, because I’m entitled to my privacy, and so are the other women he’s been involved with. Besides, this problem is so much bigger than one person, or even one ballet company. I respect the ballet companies that are trying to solve it, even if some of their solutions are a bit misguided.
IP: What do you mean by ‘misguided’?
HH: Well, for example, Australian National Ballet has a very strict no-dating policy between dancers. It’s part of a reform effort by the new artistic director, who I really respect and admire, and who has been very kind to me. But I think banning dancers from dating each other to prevent sexual misconduct misses the point. It sends the message that men can’t control themselves and can’t choose to be respectful and decent, which of course they can. And if a dancer were to break that rule and then be abused by their partner, they’d have no choice but to stay silent about it, because they’d be fired if they came forward. So it’s easy to see how a well-intentioned policy could backfire and actually make the problem worse.
IP: It sounds like you’re speaking from experience here.
HH: You could say that. Anyone who follows a ballet account on Instagram knows by now I violated that policy. I was allowed to stay on, but it cost the man in question his job. That’s a real loss for the company, because he is a beautiful dancer who treated me with nothing but kindness and respect. But I can’t say I regret what we did. Some rules are just wrong, and it’s okay to break them, especially if you also do the work to change them and make them more fair. And as I said, I don’t think the policy is fair, especially if it’s not applied consistently. Either it applies to everyone, or it shouldn’t apply to anyone. Sexual harassment is serious, and it should be taken seriously all the time, not just when it’s convenient or profitable.
Marcus’s mouth had gone very dry. She’d told the paper what he’d told her in their final, ugly conversation, almost verbatim. He read her answer again, pausing to take in the words that maderemorse and longing simmer in his stomach—I can’t say I regret what we did—then kept reading.
IP: You’re preparing for the winter season in New York now, but Sydney audiences are clearly big Heather Hays fans. Do you think you’ll come back to Sydney one day?
HH: I would understand if ANB isn’t in a hurry to invite me back, but I hope I get a chance to visit again anyway. Sydney’s a wonderful city, and, well, let’s say I have some unfinished business there. And I hope I get to finish it one day.
Marcus swallowed hard as he reread Heather’s final words, his eyes hot and stinging. His heart did strange, fluttering petit battements against his ribs, and he was suddenly aware of his shallow, shaky breathing. Thumb trembling, he pulled up Instagram.
Justin had posted a photo of the article in print, the paper open on what looked like a café table. “Bravo to you Heather for speaking up about what real change looks like in ballet,” his caption read. “I hope ANB offers @MRCampbell his job back, and all the others they let go.”
Katarina, who danced Giselle on the nights Heather hadn’t, had posted about the story, too: “Talk about brave. I was already a big Heather Hays fan but now I’m even more impressed by her. Too often ballet dancers are treated like children, but we’re adults and we can make our own good choices (and face the consequences if we make bad ones). Miss you, @MRCampbell and @kimikoforever.”
Several more of his former colleagues had posted similar captions or commented approvingly under Justin’s and Kat’s photos. Marcus scrolled through the comments in disbelief, admiration swelling in his chest. Shit, she was brave. And she’d made everyone else brave, too.
His phone vibrated and rang in his hand, and Marcus jumped.
“Hey,” Marcus said, his hand shaking slightly.
“Did you read it?” Alice asked without preamble.
“Y-yeah, I read it. And I saw the posts. Pretty gutsy.”
“Yeah, she is. And apparently, she’s a trendsetter. A bunch of other dancers have started posting about shitty policies at their own companies. Weigh-ins, low pay, racism, all of it. A bunch of American dancers are calling out their companies for not having proper health insurance. Like, finally the ballet gossip mill is being used for good instead of evil. Kind of feels like the start of something.”
She was breathless and sounded like she could talk about this for another hour. But she stopped, and he heard her take a deep breath. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” he said, sitting up. “I mean, no, I’m not fine, but I will be, you know?”At some point, he thought. Marcus cleared his throat. “Are you still right to come pick up the first load of stuff and take it over to Mum’s?”
“I’m on my way now. I’ll be there in a few minutes, and I’m bringing coffee, okay?”
“You’re a legend, thanks,” he said gratefully.
By the time Alice arrived, Marcus had stripped the bed, dressed, and somewhat distractedly washed his face. He’d just finished shoving his sheets and pillows into an almost-full box when she knocked.
“It’s open,” Marcus yelled as he taped the lid shut. He lifted the box onto the kitchen counter with a grunt, but when he turned around, it wasn’t Alice standing in the doorway with a coffee in each hand.
It was Heather.
Marcus stared at her, his mouth open in surprise, and the adrenaline that had been buzzing in her body since her plane touched down a few hours ago suddenly surged through her limbs, making her legs feel shaky.
