Page 22 of Barre Fight
Her last, shouted words bounced off the tiled walls and echoed around them, and for a moment she stared at him, eyes wide, as if she could barely believe what she’d said or how she’d said it. Justin could barely believe it, either. She’d been so restrained during their interview, even though he could tell she was frustrated by his short, evasive responses. Even this morning, when he’d apologized, she’d managed to be gracious when she clearly wanted to make him grovel a little more.
He understood why she was frustrated. He’d gone into that interview intending to answer her questions, but she’d cut right to the quick, right away. She’d asked about Missy, and his childhood, and why he stayed in ballet, and he didn’t want to tell her any of those stories. No one but his cousin knew just how much he’d suffered at the hands of Kyle Kavanaugh and his cronies, and unless he explained that, he couldn’t explain to Ivy that staying in ballet felt like the only way to stick it to the kid who bullied him and beat him because of ballet. He couldn’t tell her that ballet became a refuge, one he wouldn’t have needed if he’d never danced in the first place. He couldn’t answer any of her questions, so he’d stalled and stonewalled again. Apparently she’d had her fill ofthat.
“First time I’ve heard you swear,” he said gruffly.
“What?” she snapped, pushing her glasses up her nose.
“I didn’t think you knew how.”
She frowned up at him and crossed her arms across her chest. “I assure you I know how to swear. And I assure you I have wanted to, many times in the last week.”
“But you’re a goddamn fucking professional,” he said, and it came out more sarcastically than he intended.
“One of us has to be.”
Fair enough. She had him there.
“Would a professional barge into the men’s room and yell and swear at a colleague?”
“No, a professional would go to Peter and tell him that you’re making it impossible to do my job.” She glared up at him, frustration and defiance all over her face.
Justin’s stomach lurched. She really had him there. If she went to Peter, Justin could kiss the tour goodbye.
“Why haven’t you, then?” he asked.
She shifted slightly, her shoulders dropping and her fierce green gaze wavering slightly behind her glasses. “Because I don’t want him to think I can’t do this. But if I have to…”
“You won’t have to,” he said quickly. “I’m sorry. Really. I… I don’t like talking about myself. Especially not to?—”
“To people you don’t trust. Person you don’t trust.”
He gave a small shrug, and she sighed. She was right. He might have been impressed by her persistence, but he didn’t trust her. And he wasn’t going to bare his soul or tell even the press-friendly parts of his story to someone he didn’t trust.
“Can you at least trust that I want this to work? For my own sake, if not for yours?”
Justin said nothing, and Ivy sighed again. She dropped her arms to her sides and fiddled with her pen. “I’m sorryabout that review. I’m sorry for what I wrote, and I’m sorry I hurt you. And your mum, and your dance teacher.”
“Really?” Justin raised a skeptical eyebrow.
“Truly. My boss at the paper—my ex-boss—he liked a review ‘with teeth,’ something that had a point of view. He said we were there to help readers understand what they were watching, and to tell them if it was any good. Not to do PR for the performers. Which is ironic, given where I ended up,” she muttered, rubbing the back of her neck.
Justin sat down on the bench and looked up at her as she went on. “I guess I never stopped to wonder how many people those teeth would cut. Maybe if I had I would have written it differently. I could have written about your performance without singling out a part of your body, or calling you a childish name. But honestly…” She squeezed her eyes shut as if bracing herself, then looked him in the eye. “I wrote that review and moved on to the next assignment without looking back. Obviously you didn’t have that luxury.”
“No, I didn’t.” Justin had read and re-read that review, and he’d never forget the words, or how small they made him feel. How they seemed to mock all his work, and all his pride at being promoted to principal. How they seemed to prove all his childhood bullies right. “The ax forgets, the tree remembers.”
“Yes,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry. Please, believe me.”
“I believe you,” he said. He didn’t forgive her, but he believed her.
“I can’t un-write it, but I can write something that helps now. If you work with me a little.”
“But it’s not just to help me, is it?” he said, before he could stop himself.
“No, it’s for both of us,” she admitted. “Because we’re on the same side now. Like it or not.”
He nodded. She was right. Like it or not, Ivy Page was hisonly ticket off his boss’s shit list. He wasn’t going to New York without her. And if he didn’t go to New York… He wasn’t old yet, but he wasn’t young, and there were always younger dancers waiting in the wings, watching for their chance to stand out and impress Peter. And an overseas tour would be the perfect opportunity to do that.
“I can figure out how to like it,” he conceded.
