Page 29 of Barre Fight
She must have been silent for a while, lost in her wine-tangled thoughts, because Justin spoke again.
“I need you,” he repeated. “I can’t go on tour without you.”
Right. He needed her to make his professional dreams come true, while her dreams were farther away than ever.
“This is all so insulting,” she shook her head. “And not just to me. Aren’t you insulted that they’re treating you like a child? Peter’s clearly insulted by the board going over his head. And I mean, isn’t this part of the problem with ballet, that men get to do whatever they want and face no consequences for it?”
Em had opened Ivy’s eyes to a lot of ballet’s problems over the years, things Ivy had taken for granted until she’d quit dancing, and this was one of the big ones. Men in ballet were rare and precious, and they could get away with a lot, whether it was lower standards of dancing on stage, or poor behavior off it. Women were a dime a dozen, and they couldn’t get away with anything. She glared across the table at Justin, whose eyes were wide with surprise and, if she wasn’t mistaken, a little bit of fear.
“I am facing consequences for it,” he said, voice low and serious. “In case you haven’t noticed, my career is on the line. In your hands.”
Ivy crossed her arms tighter, unwilling to admit that he had a point.
“If this is so important to you, why not just apologize?” Ivy asked. “You don’t have to mean it.”
“I can’t. I know you don’t understand, and I can’t explain itto you, but you have to believe me when I say it’s not an option. Not for me. You’re my only option. Please, Ivy. Do you want to go to New York or not?”
Hearing her own words thrown back at her made irritation spike in her stomach. “No, Justin, I’m an arts journalist who doesn’t want a free trip to New York City, global capital of the arts,” she retorted.
“Okay, so… say yes.”
“If I ever go to New York, it won’t be to keep you out of trouble. It’s the greatest city in the world, and they want me to spend my time there traipsing after you? No, thanks.”
“I know I haven’t made your job easy in the last few weeks, and I’m sorry. But this time you’ll have my full cooperation. If you agree to come on tour—not as my nanny, but as the company’s PR professional—I’ll make your job as easy as I can. I’ll do anything. Please.”
Something about the near-crack in his voice gave her pause. It wasn’t self pity or whinging, it was just… desperation. She thought about what would happen when she said no. The company would scramble to rehearse another dancer for Justin’s role, to fit them for Justin’s costume, to prepare yet another dancer as understudy. Justin would stay behind in Sydney. She would go to the office and collect news clippings about the company’s performances in New York.
If she said yes, none of that would be necessary. If she said yes, Justin would owe her, big time. And most importantly, if she said yes, she’d get to go to New York.
The company needs you. Justin needs you. That means you have leverage. You just need to figure out what to do with it.
Em was right. Em was always right, damn her.
She could go to a Broadway musical, and see the Degas dancers at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. She could go to the jazz clubs where jazz was invented. She could watch aballet at Lincoln Center, on a stage she’d grown up dreaming about.
Ivy glanced over her shoulder towards her bedroom, where a large print of Matisse’s “The Dance” hung on the wall above her bed, five naked women holding hands and dancing on a hillside under a brilliant blue sky. The original hung in the Museum of Modern Art, where she was pretty sure it took up a whole wall. If she went to New York, she could go see it in the flesh. All the things she’d planned on doing before she had to cancel her only partially refundable ticket last week.
When she turned back to face Justin, he was watching her closely, anxiously. It looked like he was holding his breath.
Ivy sighed. “IfI do this—and that’s a big if—I have conditions.”
“Okay,” Justin exhaled and leaned forward, his eyes full of cautious hope. “What are they?”
“I’m not going to follow you around everywhere.”
“I know, you’ve said, you’re not my nanny.”
“That’s right. I’ll go wherever you need to go—rehearsal, performances, any other mandatory events, obviously.”
“Okay…”
“But besides that, I’m not following you. You can follow me. I’m not going to be by your side every second of the frigging day.Youcan be bymyside, while I go do the things I actually want to do.”
“Like what?”
Ivy shrugged. “All of it! New York! Museums and jazz clubs and bagels and musicals and?—”
“Musicals?” he interjected, darting his eyes at the speaker, probably because Lilli Vanessi had just started singing about how she hated men.
