Page 40 of Barre Fight
“Do you know what happened that night?” Sasha asked.
“Everyone knows what happened,” Ivy said ruefully. “We’ve all seen the video.”
“I mean do you know whatreallyhappened?”
“Someone said something that upset him, and he had a momentary lapse in judgment. It wasn’t acceptable, and it will never happen again.” Given how many times she’d rehearsed the line, she was surprised it didn’t sound more rote and soulless. How did PR people do this all day?
“But what did they say?” Sasha pressed.
Ivy frowned. “I don’t know.”
“Come on,” Sasha said skeptically.
“I don’t,” Ivy insisted. “He hasn’t told me, and I don’t need to know.”
“Why not? You’re out here covering his ass and keeping reporters away from him. Aren’t you curious?”
“I—” Ivy started, but then she realized that she didn’t know what she was going to say next, but knowing it was probably going to sound more protective of Justin than was wise. Shestopped to collect her thoughts before she let something ill-advised and unprofessional slip to an obviously persistent reporter. “There isn’t another story here, I’m sorry. Now, if you don’t mind, I need to get back to rehearsal. If you’d like to speak with Alice or Katarina later today, just let me know.”
“Thanks,” Sasha said, clearly not meaning it.
Ivy nodded and watched her walk down the lobby stairs and out of sight, then turned her head up to look at the voluptuous marble woman looming over her, thinking. Justin hadn’t told her exactly what the man at the Stoned Crow had said to set him off like that. Given Justin’s allergy to apologizing for what he’d done, it must have been pretty egregious.
She bit her lip. She’d have denied it if Sasha had asked her again, but the truth was, shewascurious. And now, a little uncomfortable. She was here in New York minding Justin, making sure he didn’t have to answer any questions that would get him, or the company, in more trouble. But Sasha had a point… Why, exactly, was she here?
Ivy was waiting for him at the stage door when rehearsal wrapped up, as they’d agreed. He jogged towards her, sweating slightly under his street clothes, and not only from dancing.
Rehearsal had gone well enough. Peter seemed more anxious than he usually was before opening night, his tone a little more clipped and his smiles somewhat tighter, but that was to be expected. This was New York City, the center of the ballet universe, and the curtain was going up in just over twenty-four hours. Thankfully, Peter seemed too distracted by the big night in general to be pissed off at Justin specifically. The Lincoln Center stage was huge—daunting, even—but dancing with Alice made everything easier. She was one of his favoritedancers to partner, because she took the dancing seriously, but she was always ready with a joke or a quip to lighten the mood.
Justin wished he had Alice on hand now as he approached the stage door, where Ivy stood, looking distracted. Justin pressed his lips together, disappointed but unsurprised.
He hadn’t meant to overhear her conversation with the reporter, but Peter had released him and Alice early a few minutes after Ivy had disappeared up the center aisle and out of the theater. He’d gone after her to let her know he’d be ready ahead of schedule and was about to round the corner into the pale, watery sunlight of the lobby to call after her, when he caught a snippet of what she was saying.
“...He’s not available, and even if he were, I don’t see any point dragging an unfortunate incident back into the headlines,” Ivy was saying, her voice warm and professional. He recognized that tone. It was pleasant and purposeful, but he and anyone else could hear the steel beneath it, the line it drew. That tone was a promise thatwarm and professionalwas temporary and entirely optional. He’d been on the receiving end of it enough to know that she could make good on that promise. Especially if her blood sugar happened to dip.
The reporter seemed to understand, at least temporarily. But then she’d tried another tack. Justin listened from behind the theater door, hovering between lobby and house, as the other woman explained to Ivy how hard it was to get readers to care about ballet stories. About how she didn’t want to screw him over—pull the other one, lady—she just wanted to get to the truth.
Ivy seemed sympathetic, but she didn’t let her sympathy stop her from holding firm.No, she’d told the reporter.No, you may not interrogate Justin about his deepest, darkest secrets for the entertainment of your readers. No, you are not going to sob story your way past me, because I, Ivy Page, warm professional,flew all the way here from Sydney to stop you from doing exactly that.
It was impressive, the way she managed to make it sounded like she cared about the reporter’s problems while steadfastly refusing to do anything to help solve them. She might have flown here grudgingly, and he might be paying for her protection by sitting through musicals, but he had to admit she was good at this, and he was lucky to have her.
But then, the reporter had pivoted again, and this time, it had worked.You’re out here covering his ass… Aren’t you curious?Justin had listened, dread gathering in his gut, as Ivy paused before denying it. But he could almost imagine the frown creasing her forehead. The tilt of her head as she thought about it. The other woman had appealed to what he was coming to realize was one of Ivy’s most tenacious traits: she wanted to know things. Everything, about everything. About everyone. Of course she’d been drawn to journalism, where wanting to know everyone’s business wasn’t nosy or rude, it waswork.Where knowledge was currency, power, success. And of course this reporter’s clever little prod—aren’t youcurious?—had hit its target.
He’d slipped back into the theater and made his way to the dressing rooms, knowing that he’d dodged one bullet today, but that he was about to put himself right in the line of fire of another.
The look on Ivy’s face as he met her at the stage door only confirmed that dread.
“How’re you going?” he asked.
“Fine, fine,” she said briskly, and unconvincingly. “How did it feel up there?”
“Fine, fine,” he replied, teasingly. “I think we’re ready for tomorrow night. How did we look?”
“Are you fishing for acompliment?”
“I’m fishing for feedback. How did we look?”
“You looked… good,” Ivy said to the collar of his jacket. “I mean, you looked ready. That last lift especially. Ready to go?”
