Leaps & Lies

Chapter Four

T he company class flies by.

By the time it ends, Vivian is red-faced, breathless, and in need of new shoes. She thought she’d be able to get more time out of this pair, but the sharp stabs jittering up her toes say otherwise.

Since moving to the city, she’s tried to practice as much as she can, but without a studio, it hasn’t been easy. It’s standard practice for companies to provide their dancers with shoes. But no studio and no company mean no new shoes. Instead, it means Vivian has tried every glue, tape, and sewing trick she knows to extend their life. Most professional dancers only get between ten and twenty hours out of their pointe shoes and Vivian tries not to think about the mileage on her current pair.

“Ms. Ladoe, please see me when you’re ready,” Ms. Renee calls across the room. She’s returned to the front corner of the studio with Mr. Julian, and they’re whispering heatedly. Heat lingers in Vivian’s cheeks, knowing that they’re surely discussing her audition and possible casting.

Which one of them does the final casting? Surely, Ms. Renee, right?

Vivian abandons her attempts at peeling off the tape, silicone toe protectors, and pointe shoe on her left foot in favor of clomping across the room half-barefoot.

When she limps up to the arguing pair, Mr. Julian snorts at her. It twists his face into something arrogant, and Vivian debates the likelihood of being cast if she throws her dead shoe at him.

Ms. Renee’s eyebrows jump up, and she clicks her tongue at Vivian. “I said see me when you’re ready.” She points at Vivian’s feet. “You don’t look ready.”

Vivian’s cheeks heat. “I wasn’t sure if there was anything else you’d like to see. I can throw my other shoe back on quickly if you want? Maybe another pass across the floor?”

The absolute last thing she wants to do is put her dead shoe back on. But if Ms. Renee wants to see another pass across the floor, Vivian will jeté across Studio B barefoot until her legs give out.

“That’s not necessary. Thank you, Vivian.”

Thank fucking god.

“We’ve been chatting”—Ms. Renee touches Mr. Julian’s crossed forearm with something too close to affection—“and we’d like to offer you a role in the winter production.”

Fuck yes! Fuckkkkkk, yesssss!

With every lingering spark of energy she has left, Vivian suppresses the urge to break into a huge, stupid grin. Ms. Renee isn’t done speaking, and there’s no telling what role they are offering. If they want to trick her into accepting some tiny role with one total minute of stage time, there is no benefit in showing her hand by celebrating too soon.

“Your hands are atrocious, and your jumps need work.”

It’s the first thing he has said to her since the parking lot. Since he insinuated that she was a homeless woman trespassing on private property. So much for her clothes conveying confidence and poise . . .

Mr. Julian continues, unaware or unconcerned by Vivian’s inner rage, “You’ll really need to put in work for this. Do you understand? You aren’t going to be cast and then sneak by without putting in your hours.”

Who is this guy?

“What part of my open audition, or even today, implies that I’m not willing to work?”

“—I wasn’t finished,” Mr. Julian interrupts. “Your fingers are stiff and unnatural; your jumps need work. But your turns were exquisite. What’s your experience with pas de deux?”

Her turns were exquisite.

“Uhh—” Vivian stumbles, whiplash from his critiques and praise leaving her unbalanced.

What’s the professional way to say that you’ve never performed pas de deux but that you’re confident you could if given the chance?

He must be able to tell she’s floundering because he interrupts again. “Never mind. I’ll take care of it. You’ll need to have reliable transportation for rehearsals. Can you manage that?” The way he slowly enunciates his words drips with disdain. Now, Vivian really wanted to throw her dead shoe at his head. Maybe it would knock some respect into him.

“Reliable” transportation.

Even after watching her dance—and complimenting her turns—this guy is concerned that she . . . What, stole a car or something? Unbelievable . Simply because she tumbled out of the back seat doesn’t mean that her car is unreliable . Plenty of people have car issues. It’s a perfectly normal occurrence. Unless he was somehow implying that she lives in her car?

Her studio apartment may be tiny and depressing, but it does have a working door handle at least.

Then, Ms. Renee jumps back in with the words that nearly stop Vivian’s heart. “We’d like to cast you as a principal.”

She goes on to explain something about rotating roles to avoid burnout and injury, how someone named Mr. Ben will be emailing her the rehearsal schedule, and when opening night falls in November, but Vivian’s ears are still ringing.

We’d like to cast you as a principal.

The high of her new role keeps Vivian afloat even as she climbs over the center console of her car and slides into the driver’s seat.