Chaos Choreography
Page 95
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I did a quick review of the dancers remaining on the show. “Please tell me you didn’t show it a picture of Jessica.”
“I didn’t, but I was tempted.” He deposited a quick kiss on my temple, leaving his lips there for a moment after the pressure of the gesture had faded. “Did you sleep?”
“Not enough.”
“Will you be able to get through this day?”
“When you met me I was working as a cocktail waitress, acting as a social worker to half of New York, and still managing to keep fit for competitions and classes,” I said, taking a step backward and giving him my best coquettish smile. It lacked a certain sincerity and sparkle, but it was close enough to what I needed it to be. “I’ll be fine. You go rest up, and then get back over here. We may be able to finish searching the place after rehearsal is finished.”
Dominic’s expression was solemn. “Just because we didn’t find her, that doesn’t mean it’s time to assume the worst. She is a brilliantly dangerous woman.”
“All the more reason to kill her quickly,” I said. “I have to go. I love you.”
“I love you as well,” he said. “Stay safe.” He turned and walked away. He didn’t look back before he went around a corner, and was gone.
I was the last one to the stage. Adrian looked up when I entered, and scowled.
“So, the fabulous Valerie Pryor is finally deigning to grace us with her presence,” he said. “This is no time to get a swelled head, sweetheart. I don’t know if you were paying attention last night, but if you’re not in the bottom three this coming week, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle.”
Some of the dancers tittered, Jessica among them. I ducked my head, trying to look humble and chastened.
“I know, I’m sorry,” I said. “I haven’t been feeling well. I had to stop by the bathroom for some cold water.”
As I’d hoped, Adrian’s expression shifted, becoming concerned. It was nothing to do with me: even if I hadn’t been one of his specific favorites, the show’s insurance insisted all medical issues be taken with the utmost seriousness. “Are you well enough to dance today, darling? We can provide a fill-in for your partner, if you’re not.”
The responsible thing to do would have been to say that no, I wasn’t well: I needed to go back to the apartments and sleep off whatever virus I’d managed to pick up. Sadly, it wouldn’t have been that simple. The show’s medics would have been required to get involved, and by the time they finished filling me with fluids and lecturing me on nutrition—two things that seemed to happen for everything from food poisoning to broken toes and concussions—I would have lost even more time than I was going to waste dealing with the choreographers. I shook my head.
“I think I’m all right. I promise to say something the second I feel otherwise, but after last night, I don’t think I can afford to miss the first day of choreography.” I didn’t have to fake the crack in my voice. Let them assume I was worried about my place on the show, and not about the life of my grandmother and my friends. The best lies were always built on a foundation of truth.
“All right, dear, all right,” said Adrian. He waved me to my place on the stage, and didn’t say another word about my tardiness.
The drawing of our dance styles from the hat went quickly after that. Anders and I got the Argentine tango, to my immense relief. I—or rather, Valerie—had been nationally ranked in that style more than once, and I could handle the rehearsal in my sleep, no matter how difficult our choreographer tried to make it. Pax and Lyra got hip-hop, while Malena and Troy pulled contemporary. Malena looked unhappy about that, but there wasn’t time to reassure her before we were all being hustled off to our individual rooms to get to work.
It was more than an hour before I could duck away, making a vague excuse about needing to go to the bathroom. We were with Marisol Bustos again, the show’s go-to for the Argentine tango, and she seemed relieved to have me stepping out of the room for a few minutes. It would give her time to focus her attentions on Anders, who frankly needed them much more than I did.
(Which wasn’t to say that she was going to go easy on me in the days ahead. I knew Marisol, and worse, Marisol knew what I was capable of. I could underperform today, since I had the whole “I don’t feel well” excuse going for me, but come tomorrow, I’d either need to step up my game or see the show’s medics. That meant I needed to take care of this today.)
I hurried down the hall, bypassing the restrooms on my way to the dressing room. Luck was with me, maybe for the first time since I’d decided to come back on the show: there was no one else there. Quickly, I made my way to the main wardrobe rack, crouched down, and whispered, “I seek audience.”
“I didn’t, but I was tempted.” He deposited a quick kiss on my temple, leaving his lips there for a moment after the pressure of the gesture had faded. “Did you sleep?”
“Not enough.”
“Will you be able to get through this day?”
“When you met me I was working as a cocktail waitress, acting as a social worker to half of New York, and still managing to keep fit for competitions and classes,” I said, taking a step backward and giving him my best coquettish smile. It lacked a certain sincerity and sparkle, but it was close enough to what I needed it to be. “I’ll be fine. You go rest up, and then get back over here. We may be able to finish searching the place after rehearsal is finished.”
Dominic’s expression was solemn. “Just because we didn’t find her, that doesn’t mean it’s time to assume the worst. She is a brilliantly dangerous woman.”
“All the more reason to kill her quickly,” I said. “I have to go. I love you.”
“I love you as well,” he said. “Stay safe.” He turned and walked away. He didn’t look back before he went around a corner, and was gone.
I was the last one to the stage. Adrian looked up when I entered, and scowled.
“So, the fabulous Valerie Pryor is finally deigning to grace us with her presence,” he said. “This is no time to get a swelled head, sweetheart. I don’t know if you were paying attention last night, but if you’re not in the bottom three this coming week, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle.”
Some of the dancers tittered, Jessica among them. I ducked my head, trying to look humble and chastened.
“I know, I’m sorry,” I said. “I haven’t been feeling well. I had to stop by the bathroom for some cold water.”
As I’d hoped, Adrian’s expression shifted, becoming concerned. It was nothing to do with me: even if I hadn’t been one of his specific favorites, the show’s insurance insisted all medical issues be taken with the utmost seriousness. “Are you well enough to dance today, darling? We can provide a fill-in for your partner, if you’re not.”
The responsible thing to do would have been to say that no, I wasn’t well: I needed to go back to the apartments and sleep off whatever virus I’d managed to pick up. Sadly, it wouldn’t have been that simple. The show’s medics would have been required to get involved, and by the time they finished filling me with fluids and lecturing me on nutrition—two things that seemed to happen for everything from food poisoning to broken toes and concussions—I would have lost even more time than I was going to waste dealing with the choreographers. I shook my head.
“I think I’m all right. I promise to say something the second I feel otherwise, but after last night, I don’t think I can afford to miss the first day of choreography.” I didn’t have to fake the crack in my voice. Let them assume I was worried about my place on the show, and not about the life of my grandmother and my friends. The best lies were always built on a foundation of truth.
“All right, dear, all right,” said Adrian. He waved me to my place on the stage, and didn’t say another word about my tardiness.
The drawing of our dance styles from the hat went quickly after that. Anders and I got the Argentine tango, to my immense relief. I—or rather, Valerie—had been nationally ranked in that style more than once, and I could handle the rehearsal in my sleep, no matter how difficult our choreographer tried to make it. Pax and Lyra got hip-hop, while Malena and Troy pulled contemporary. Malena looked unhappy about that, but there wasn’t time to reassure her before we were all being hustled off to our individual rooms to get to work.
It was more than an hour before I could duck away, making a vague excuse about needing to go to the bathroom. We were with Marisol Bustos again, the show’s go-to for the Argentine tango, and she seemed relieved to have me stepping out of the room for a few minutes. It would give her time to focus her attentions on Anders, who frankly needed them much more than I did.
(Which wasn’t to say that she was going to go easy on me in the days ahead. I knew Marisol, and worse, Marisol knew what I was capable of. I could underperform today, since I had the whole “I don’t feel well” excuse going for me, but come tomorrow, I’d either need to step up my game or see the show’s medics. That meant I needed to take care of this today.)
I hurried down the hall, bypassing the restrooms on my way to the dressing room. Luck was with me, maybe for the first time since I’d decided to come back on the show: there was no one else there. Quickly, I made my way to the main wardrobe rack, crouched down, and whispered, “I seek audience.”
