Page 45 of Barre Fight
And before he could reply, she’d turned away and hurried up the stairs and out of sight, leaving him by the stage door, the cold February evening no match for the simmering want he could no longer pretend he didn’t feel.
A loud dinging sound from the box above the dressing room door interrupted Justin’s reverie, and he jumped. His nerves came jangling back, shoving thoughts of Ivy out of his mind.
The stage manager’s voice crackled through the speaker, letting them know they had ten minutes until curtain.
Ricky and Matty stood, and the three men looked at each other in the mirrors.
“Well, chookas, boys,” Matty said, with a firm nod, and together they trooped out of the dressing room and made their way to the stairs that lead to the stage.
The wings smelled like they did in every theater, like hairspray and rosin and the stale sweat that clung to costumes after they'd been worn hundreds of times. Justin stood by one of the barres that had been set up at the back of the wings, still in his leg warmers, and listened as the house lights went down, extinguishing the loud buzzing of hundreds of people on the other side of the gold velvet curtain. A few minutes later, the stage manager called places, and two dozen of his colleagues setthemselves in the wings, the women in glittering white tutus and the men in matching silver brocade jackets above their white tights. Last to leave the wings were Ricky, Matty, and Kat, whose pas de trois formed the core of this sparkling neo-classical piece. Justin watched as they burst onto the stage and launched themselves into the choreography, and a few minutes later, Alice arrived beside him, wearing a zip-up fleece jacket over her minimal costume and legwarmers pulled up to her mid-thighs.
“You ready for this?” she murmured.
“Bit late if I’m not,” he deadpanned.
Alice puffed out her cheeks and nodded, letting out a long, slow exhale.
“You right?” he asked. She was usually cheerful and chatty, and this quiet, intimidated Alice was throwing him.
“Yeah. I’m just having girl trouble.”
“Oh,” he said unhelpfully, watching as Ricky, Matty, and Kat performed a particularly difficult bit of partnering and lifting. He’d danced Matty’s part in this ballet a few years back and had been very relieved when the season ended.
“Izzy sounded really weird on the phone today, and it’s freaking me out,” Alice said, jiggling one of her legs like she was trying to shake out her discomfort.
“I’m sure it’s nothing,” Justin said, even though he was sure of no such thing. He thought of Ivy, sitting out in the audience with the rest of the company staff, her green eyes bright with wonder and delight like the first time they’d approached the theater together. That hug at the stage door… If they hadn’t interrupted, would he have pulled her even closer? Would she have kissed him?
What would it be like to kiss Ivy Page? What would her lips feel like grazing over his? What would the soft crush of her mouth taste like? The intrigue of it, the sudden racing need to find out, made his pulse pound in a way that had nothing to dowith the fact that, five minutes from now, he and Alice would be alone on that stage in front of hundreds of the world’s most discerning ballet goers and the dance reviewers Peter was so desperate to impress.
“It’s just… I’m worried she’s unhappy and not telling me. And her happiness is everything, you know? She’s everything.” Alice’s leg was still now, but her face was creased with worry. “I bought a ring.”
“That’s huge,” Justin said, eyes wide. “Congrats.”
“Nothing to congratulate me for yet, especially if she doesn’t say yes.”
Justin glanced back at the stage, where the corps had gathered in a semi-circle behind the trio and the music had swelled as they entered the final, lavish moments of the ballet.
“I’m sure she will. And if she’s unhappy, she’ll tell you. Izzy doesn’t strike me as the kind of woman to keep her feelings to herself.” An understatement, based on what Justin had seen of her. Izzy was effusive and loud, prone to wearing head-to-toe hot pink and lovingly teasing Alice, then reassuring her with exuberant displays of public affection.
“That’s true,” Alice allowed.
“Call her when we’re done tonight,” Justin said. “I bet it was just one off day. That happens, right?” he speculated. Having never dated someone for more than a few months, he couldn’t really say for sure if off days were something that happened in long-term relationships, but Alice nodded like he was right.
At least he had some kind of insight to offer her about her relationship. More than he could say for whatever was happening with him and a certain emerald-eyed woman with shoes—and a pen—like a stiletto. She’d been Poison Ivy to him for years, but he hadn’t thought of her that way in weeks now. Ever since that first, gutting review, he’d wanted nothing more to avoid her, but now he was following her around New YorkCity, and feeling slightly disappointed when she released him from her supervision. Long after they’d returned from dinner and turned in for the evening last night, he’d thought he could still hear her voice on the other side of the adjoining door. It seemed thinner than it had when they first arrived. Less of a reassurance and more of a barrier.
The curtain came down on the first piece and his colleagues jogged back into the wings, foreheads glistening and chests heaving. Alice shed her jacket, and he pulled off his leg warmers.
“See you out there,” she said, sounding more confident now, and she strode away to set herself in the upstage wing.
Justin took his own place at the front of the downstage wing, and took a deep, steadying breath as the lights changed and the pianist played the opening notes. The last thing he thought about before he stepped onstage was that Ivy was out there, and that she’d come all this way so thathecould come all this way. Whatever else was going on between them, or not going on, he owed her an outstanding performance.
Ivy hammered on the adjoining door, not bothering to step out into the hallway and use Justin’s front door. She’d woken to the usual jam band of New York noises, the only thing she couldn’t find thrilling about this city, and immediately seized her phone off the nightstand, wide awake and heart pounding.
She banged on the door again, harder this time. He needed to wake up. He could go back to sleep afterwards. After she’d told him the good news. No, not good. Outstanding.
That was the word theNew York Timeshad used to describe last night’s performance, and Justin’s in particular.Outstanding.
“Wake up!” she commanded through the door. “Come unlock this door!”
