New York Nights
Page 66

“Ladies and gentlemen, it is officially opening night,” he said. “You’ve worked hard for months, logged every necessary hour and then some, and I do believe that tonight’s execution of Swan Lake will be the best execution this audience will ever see.” He paused. “If it isn’t, I’ll make sure you pay for it at tomorrow morning’s rehearsal.”
There were groans. We knew he wasn’t kidding.
“I’ll be sitting in the balcony at center stage, and I will not give you one clap, no inkling of applause, if the show is anything less than perfect. Are we clear?”
“Yes sir.” We collectively murmured, still intimidated by his power.
“Good. Take your places now.” He walked away from us and snapped his fingers. “Make me proud.”
I took my place at center stage and turned my back to the curtain—raising my hands above my head. I heard the orchestra giving their instruments one final tuning, heard the pianist replaying the refrain he missed at this morning’s rehearsal, and then I heard silence.
Ear deafening silence.
The lights in the gallery flickered, slow at first then faster, and everything went black.
Five...Four...Three...Two...
The pianist played the first stanza of the composition and the curtains rose, cueing the spotlight to shine against my back.
The swan corps—twenty ballerinas dressed in complementing white tutus, formed a circle around me, and as they stood on their toes, tilting their heads back, I slowly turned around to face the audience—pausing, taking all of the nameless faces in, and then I became lost in my own world.
I was Odette, The Swan Queen, and I was falling in love with a prince at first sight, dancing with him underneath a glittering orb of lights, telling him he needed to pledge his love for me if he wanted to break my lake’s spell.
The gasps from the audience could be heard over the music, but I kept my focus.
I seamlessly transitioned from the white, sweet swan who wanted nothing more than to fall in love, into the black, evil swan—Odile, who wanted nothing more than to prevent it from happening.
I illustrated love, heartbreak, and devastation over the course of two hours, never stopping to catch my breath, never missing a beat.
In the final frame, where the love of my life vows to die with me instead of honoring his mistaken promise to the black swan, I can’t help but deviate from the choreography.
Instead of taking his hand and letting him lead me into the “water,” I leapt into his arms—letting him hold me high for all the other swans to see. And then the two of us spun into oblivion—“dying” together.
The music began its decrescendo—half-somber, half-light, and the lights shut off—leaving nothing. Ending everything with blackness.
And silence.
All of a sudden, a raucous applause arose from the audience and a collection of cheers—“Bravo!” “Encore!” “Bravissimo!” echoed off the walls.
The stage lights brightened and I took a bow, looking out into a sea of well-entertained faces: Mr. Petrova was front and center, nodding as he clapped, mouthing, “Good job, good job.” My mother was wiping a tear from her eye and looking up at my father, saying, “That’s our daughter.” Even Mr. Ashcroft, still stone faced, was standing and applauding, stopping once his eyes met mine.
“Bravo.” He mouthed before turning away.
I kept a smile plastered on my face as I scanned the room, looking for the one person I wanted—the one person I needed to see, but he wasn’t there.
“Thank you ladies and gentlemen for attending our opening night,” one of the directors said as she took the stage. “Per our opening night tradition, we will now introduce the members of our corps to you...”
I tried to focus on the introductions, tried to focus on someone else other than Andrew, but as I was lifting my head up from another bow, I saw him.
He was there in the front row, in the last seat on the left. He was looking at me and smiling, mouthing, “Congratulations.”
“And last but not least, our leading lady of the night and a new principle dancer here at NYCB—Aubrey Everhart!” The director said into the mic, and the audience cheered loudly.
“Miss Everhart?” She nudged me, whispering, “Miss Everhart, you need to take your final bow and leave the stage...”
I didn’t move. I continued staring at Andrew.
“Miss Everhart?” She whispered, more harshly now. “Take a bow and get backstage...Now...”
I walked away from her and headed straight toward Andrew—taking my time down the stage’s side steps. I stood in front of him, looking directly into his eyes—ignoring the confused murmurs of the crowd.
The director said a few more words, Mr. Ashcroft gave his regards, and the curtains closed without me.
As the audience gave one final applause and started to file out of the room, I finally found my voice.
“I thought you said you weren’t coming...” I whispered. “Did you come here just to see my show or are you staying a little bit longer?”
“I’m staying a little bit longer.”
“Does that mean permanently?”
“No.” He wiped away my tears. “It means I’ll stay here until you realize how terrible this city is—until you’re ready to leave.”
“I signed a contract for three years.”
“Every contract is negotiable.” He smiled and pulled me into his arms. “And if you don’t apologize for ruining the closing credits tonight, they just might risk breaching it and fire you...”
“Where will you work?” I asked. “Are you going to practice law? Can you practice law?”
He kissed my lips. “I’ll be teaching at NYU.”
“What?” My heart immediately felt for the future students. “Why?”
“What do you mean, why?”
“You’re a terrible teacher, Andrew...All of the interns at GBH hated you.”
“I don’t give a fuck.”
“I’m serious...” I was actually worried. “I think you should reconsider. Teaching isn’t for everyone, so—”
“First of all,” he said, cutting me off and tightening his grip around me. “I am a good fucking teacher. It just depends on the subject matter...” He trailed his finger across my lips. “I can recall teaching you how to do something very well...”
I blushed.
“Second of all, last time I checked, all of the interns at GBH were quite unteachable and they were dumb as stones—all except one.”
“The one that was a fucking liar?”
“Yes,” he said. “That one.”
“I heard she broke all your rules.” I brought my hand up to his face. “I heard she ended your one dinner, one night, and no repeats streak... ”
“I’m pretty sure that she didn’t.”
“Is that so?” I narrowed my eyes at him. “Is it still going on? Is that still your personal motto?”
“To a certain extent,” he said, pressing his lips against mine. “Since I still like the sound of it, and will only be dating her from here on out, I’ll just replace the word ‘one’ with ‘more’...”