Page 5 of On Dancer
“Luckily, you’ll be seeing a lot more of that famous charm.” Tavio smiled broadly. Neither he nor Margie had any idea how hard I had to work for that charm these days, not that I had any intention of correcting them. “Alexander has graciously agreed to be our Cavalier forThe Nutcrackerthis year.”
“Wonderful.” Margie clapped her hands together.
“Are you sure you’ll be ready?” Next to her, Rudy frowned. I’d presumed I’d been in the wrong for assuming Rudy was a server, but what if the mistake had been intentional? Had he been scouting, wanting to see for himself what sort of shape I was in? I was no stranger to such games, but I didn’t much care for the thought that Rudy’s quiet wisdom had been a front.
“I’m sure.”
I glared at him. I was irritated with myself as much as him, mad that I cared and also mad that I’d had even the briefest of flirtatious thoughts toward Margie’s son.As if.
Three
Ronds de jambe:to go around the leg.
Rudy: November
“Miss Margie, look at me!” A kindergartner with lopsided pigtails tugged at the hem of my mom’s cardigan with red apples appliqued on the pockets as we walked through the hall at Hollyberry Ballet School. The wide hallway was lined with worn wooden chairs for beleaguered parents to wait opposite the large glass windows for each of the studios. Above the chairs hung rows of photos from prior decades in the school’s storied history.
“Miss Margie, I have a new leotard!” Another pint-sized girl joined the familiar chorus. Everywhere my mother went in this building, adoring children followed.
“Miss Margie, we have a new baby brother at our house!” A taller girl, this one missing a front tooth, stopped us near the front office, accepting a congratulatory hug from my mother before scampering on to class.
“You sure are loved,” I said as I followed her into the office. A good portion of my childhood had been spent here as well, in strollers and playpens, and later, with stacks of books and games while my mother taught and attended to school business. The school and ballet company were overseen by a nonprofit foundation committed to keeping ballet alive in Hollyberry, and my mother was as passionate about their mission as ever.
“And I love them all back.” My mom smiled broadly.
It was entirely possible that she’d spent more hours in this building than in the home where she and my dad had lived for thirty years. The school and ballet company’s older three-story building was part of Hollyberry’s flagging downtown area, opposite the historic theater and near the train station that led into Philadelphia. An ever-rotating assortment of restaurants and small shops rounded out downtown, which, like the school, had seen shinier, busier decades. My mother’s love for the school and area, however, was undying. Expression turning more serious, she leaned against her large, old oak desk. “In fact, I wouldn’t mind if the halls were fuller.”
“They will be.” I nodded encouragingly.
My own work area was a newer black particle board desk in the corner. I picked up a folder from the colorful stack on the edge of my desk. Withdrawing one of my sample flyers, I handed it to my mom. “With my plan to involve the public schools inThe Nutcracker, more kids will want to take classes in the winter session. In fact, all of the flyers I’m designing for students to take home have information on learning more about classes. You’ll see.”
“I hope.” Mom handed the flyer back to me. She’d continue to fret over enrollment, and I’d continue to do what I could to mitigate that stress. We’d been doing this dance for months, and I was hardly surprised when she added, “And I hope we can fill the seats for the three main shows as well.”
“We will.” I grabbed a different folder and opened it to a shiny pamphlet. “I’m working on another idea for mailing regular supporters. I want to sell a limited number of Donor’s Circle tickets for premium seats with extras, including a director’s talk with Tavio and some of the company dancers. Tavio already agreed.”
“Excellent.” Her smile widened, and the tension she’d had as we entered the office seemed to lessen as she took a seat in her padded office chair. “Have you asked Alexander about participating in that, as well as the lecture demonstrations at the schools?”
“Uh. Not yet.” I kept my voice upbeat and not like I was avoiding the guy. I’d need to talk to him eventually, of course, but I was in no hurry after our awkward meeting at his father’s party. In contrast to the polite-yet-hurting guy he’d been on the patio, he’d been chilly and aloof, almost hostile, in our formal introduction.
“You should.” My mother sounded exactly like when she was encouraging a reluctant new dancer. “His rehab has progressed, and he’s been giving himself classes in one of the studios, so he’s been around.”
I wasn’t surprised to hear that Alexander was giving himself classes because class was a foundational part of ballet, a daily routine for beginner dancers all the way up to world-famous dancers like Alexander.
“That’s good.” I nodded without committing to a firm plan to contact Alexander.
“I’m sure he’d be happy to help.” My mother was nothing if not persistent.
“I’m sure.” I grabbed the laptop off my desk, snapping it open. “Have I shown you my spreadsheet for managing all the volunteers this year?” I wasn’t exactly subtle about needing a change in topic, but I was hopeful all my colorful columns wouldsuitably distract her. “I’ll be sending out a sign-up form to parents, and the form will automatically fill in the spreadsheet.”
“Brilliant.” Mom was back to that tone she used with the littlest dancers. “Did Helen teach you how to do spreadsheets? She’s such an organizational wiz.”
“No, Mom.” I groaned at the mention of my sister, who had two master’s degrees and worked as a historic preservation architect. She and Waylon had been a tough act to follow. “Four years of college and a half-dozen internships taught me more than a few spreadsheet tricks.”
“Sorry, sometimes I forget you’re a professional now too.” Mom reached up to pat my arm.
“It’s okay,” I said, even though it really wasn’t. But at this point, I was used to my overachieving siblings getting all the credit.
“This looks great.” Mom’s too-optimistic tone made my back tense. “You’ve taken on so much here that there’s not much for me to worry about.”
