Page 3 of On Dancer
“There you are.” My mom greeted me with a big hug. She’d arranged her short, wispy hair in whimsical spikes that made her look younger, as did the pink that had returned to her cheeks.
“Here I am.” I managed a smile for her. She wore a seasonally appropriate rust-colored dress, and like Waylon, a wrinkle would never dare grace her wardrobe.
“You look nice.” She stepped back to look me over with the eagle eyes of a woman who’d spent decades straightening ballet costumes and wiping dirt off little faces before performances. “A bit too ready to go knock on doors or offer appetizers, but nice. New shirt?”
“Yeah.” My cheeks heated. I was never buying another white shirt.
“Oh, there’s Alexander. I wonder if Tavio’s spoken with him yet.” Mom gestured across the room to where Alexander stood with his sister and their mother. “I so hope Alexander agrees to help us out. Did you want me to introduce you?”
“Later.” I made a vague gesture with my hand. At the start of the evening, I’d had every hope that Alexander would agree to my mother and Tavio’s bold plan to help the ballet school and struggling local company, but now, I was in the weird position of hoping Alexander declined. The sooner he pliéd his way back to Seattle, the sooner I could get over the case of mistaken identity.
Two
Variation:a solo in a classical ballet performance (such asThe Nutcracker, Sleeping Beauty, Swan Lake) that may contain adjustments from the standard choreography for the particular strengths of a dancer.
Alexander
I resisted the urge to shift my weight from side to side yet again as I surveyed the event space from the corner I’d staked out near the bar after enduring the requisite family picture-taking to commemorate my father’s milestone birthday. My mother and sister had finally stopped fussing over me to go attend to other, undoubtedly more amenable guests. I was no stranger to fancy events, but I simply wasn’t up to any sort of party socialization tonight.
You need to give yourself a break. You don’t always have to be perfect, and certainly not right now when you’re still healing.
The server earlier hadn’t been wrong, but I was Alexander Dasher, and a whole host of people counted on my perfection, including myself. Hell, letting the server see cracks in my mask and letting him boss me into sitting down was enough out of character. I’d performed on any number of sprains, strains, breakups, breakdowns, and more with no one knowing.
My job was to make the impossible look effortless, and I was damn good at that illusion. In a different mood, I would have charmed the server, turned his appreciative gaze into something a bit more flirty, and then walked away bolstered by the interaction. Instead, I’d had to summon all my energy to not limp toward Isabella, and I was left mulling over the server’s wisdom rather than contemplating how to charm him further.
As I wondered how much longer I’d need to endure the party, a familiar face discovered my hiding spot.
“Alexander!” Tavio, one of my oldest and dearest mentors, strode determinedly toward me. He was also a longtime family friend, and he’d tamed his bushy silver hair into submission and donned a typically elegant charcoal suit for the occasion. “I’ve been trying to catch you all evening.”
“My apologies.” My only real regret was that I hadn’t succeeded in turning invisible. Nevertheless, I accepted a brief hug and back pat with a smile. “How are you?”
I braced for the inevitable reply even before I finished asking. I owed so very much to Tavio, yet there was a reason I’d dodged him this evening.
“The better question is, how are you?” Tavio had the barest hint of a Spanish accent, worn away by decades in New York before he retired to the Philadelphia area. “Your sister says you’re working hard, but directed me back to you, darn that doctor/patient confidentiality.”
“Darn.” I shrugged, making a mental note to thank Isabella later. My twin was a well-respected orthopedist, a fact that bothawed and disconcerted me. “She’s not technically my doctor though. I’m seeing another doctor at her practice and using Isabella’s physical therapy recommendations.”
“And?” Tavio prompted, long fingers flexing as if tempted to summon Isabella over to make me talk. “When we last spoke, you were so discouraged. I hope the change of scenery and new approach are helping.”
“Thank you.” I did appreciate his concern, if not the reminder of my terrible summer. I’d been on the road to recovery after blowing my ACL in the late winter, only to suffer a major setback right as my Seattle-based ballet company was finalizing roles for the fall season. I’d lost my chance to come back this year, along with a good chunk of my confidence. Reluctantly, I’d let Isabella coax me back for an extended visit to get a second opinion on my rehab. I’d had a decent team in Seattle for the surgery and initial recovery, but the second opinion had been helpful, even if I continually felt two steps behind. I forced an upbeat tone for Tavio. “It’s a little like stepping into a time machine, being back in the area again. But Isabella and her team have been tremendous. I’m making progress. I’m on track for the Valentine’s weekend production.”
This was the stock answer I offered everyone these days. The date was circled on my calendar with equal parts dread and anticipation. I was so much stronger now than a few weeks ago, but the thought of showing up for the start of rehearsals only to face another disappointment gave my stomach premiere night-level queasiness.
“You’re not going to attemptThe Nutcrackerin December?” Tavio’s calculating gaze said far more than his words.
“Don’t play coy with me.” I wagged a finger at him. We’d both been adults long enough that I could rebuke the man who’d once been a legend to me. “I know you’re still hooked into all the latest ballet world gossip. Retirement has nothing on you.”
“True.” Tavio didn’t look at all repentant.
“The company told me to take my time coming back after the latest setback, and they went ahead and castThe Nutcrackerwithout me this year.” I paused for a brief breath, not giving in to my knee’s current demand for a chair and an icepack. Showing my pain now would hardly fit my breezy tone. “I could have been ready, but it’s smart business on their part not to count on me, I suppose.”
“A shame, especially if you’d be ready.” Tavio made a sympathetic clucking sound. “But more time to recover isn’t a bad thing. And I have a proposition for you in your downtime.”
“Of course you do.” My voice was fond, but I kept my gaze pointed. I owed so much to Tavio and had tremendous respect for his sharp mind, even as his tendency to always have an ulterior motive made my jaw clench.
“I think you might like this idea. The Hollyberry Ballet has had a rough couple of seasons, as has the theater.”
Tavio knew how to pluck at my sympathies. I’d taken my first ballet class at Hollyberry Ballet School, had my first performances in the Hollyberry Grand Theater. I met Tavio there when he’d been a guest performer in the twilight of his career. Under his and his wife’s encouragement, I’d taken my training to new levels and left my little suburb behind. Tavio, on the other hand, had retired in Hollyberry, making the small, local company his pet project as his wife also now taught at the school.
