Leaps & Lies

Chapter Nine

L e Pinson is an original production. The brainchild of Ms. Renee and Ms. Renee alone—or so she claims. The plan is for a twelve-performance run over the course of a month. Then the show will be scrapped, and Ellapond will start fresh, learning and preparing an entirely new performance, likely another Renee Dumont original.

Vivian’s contract takes her through twelve weeks of rehearsal and four weeks of performing Le Pinson , with the option for renewal. Despite her lack of real-world experience with a professional company, from what Alex and Scarlett have indicated, it’s a fairly typical timeline.

It still feels as though time is flying by. With no real experience on a stage other than the Brighton Harbor Community Center—a large but dated multipurpose venue used for everything from weddings to community fundraisers—each day that ticks her closer to Le Pinson’s opening night is a paradox. Being onstage, especially front and center, is more than Vivian could have dreamed of when she moved to Bristol. It’s also bone-achingly intimidating.

What if she falls? What if she messes up? What if she develops temporary insanity, forgets all her choreography, and Kelsey has to step in?

And her anxiety only burrows deeper into the space between her toes, the pit of her stomach, and the tension of her fascia when she remembers that she can hardly confide her fears in Scarlett. The younger girl likely assumes that Vivian’s background is similar to her own—similar to Alex’s, Kelsey’s, Devonne’s, and that of all the dancers at Ellapond. Years of tutus, tights, and buns starting as soon as they could stand. While Ellapond may be a newer studio, its dancers were born and bred to dance. It’s in their bones.

And though it’s in Vivian’s bones too, she’s spent most of her life only coveting the tools, teachers, and resources they’ve had at their fingertips. It leaves her with a desperate sense of determination that settles in her throat. Her performance—not only her performances but her rehearsals too—needs to be a show of skill and mastery. For some of the corps performers, dance is a passion. For Vivian, it needs to be a religion.

“Vivian.” Ms. Renee’s voice chimes down the echoing hallway between studios.

Vivian almost drops her bag of clothes and gear at the sound. She’s early to a duet rehearsal, mentally running through choreography while pacing as she waits for Alex to arrive. There’s a swinging braid of dark hair behind her before Scarlett pops her head out of Studio B to wave at Vivian. Ms. Renee must be running a rehearsal for the soloists.

“Hi, Ms. Renee. Did you need me?”

The question sounds foolish in the wake of Ms. Renee’s overwhelming presence. Her blonde hair is down, hanging in carefully crafted swoops and waves over her shoulders. She’s wearing what appears to be a deep violet one-piece jumpsuit with severe creases pressed into the legs that only a woman with her height and poise could pull off. Vivian’s certain that the same outfit would look like a purple potato sack on her.

“Can you go see Maureen? We need to get your measurements over to Costume. We take measurements every spring to ensure we keep the right sizing in stock, but since you only joined us recently, you’re the only one missing measurements.”

“I have rehearsal with Alex and Mr. Julian starting, but I can see her afterward. How late is she here?”

Ms. Renee scans Vivian up and down, as though attempting to intuit her sizes and measurements. “I suppose I could guess. You’re not as tall as Scarlett, but you’re curvier than Kelsey.” The older woman hums, gaze fixed on the slight curve of Vivian’s hips.

In twenty-four years, Vivian has not once been described as “curvy.” With yellow-blonde hair, below-average height, and a slim build, Vivian’s always felt closest to a pixie. Ms. Lorraine used to say she was “petite but packed a punch.” Vivian is nothing close to the ample figure Ms. Renee seems to be implying with her words and gaze. If Ms. Renee thinks she’s “curvy,” Vivian is worried what the other woman would guess her measurements to be.

“That’s okay. I can just go see Maureen after rehearsal. How late did you say she’s here?”

It’s a well-known fact that Maureen keeps no schedule other than her own. When Vivian tried to track her down to make sure that she’d supplied all the information necessary to set up direct deposit, the other woman was nowhere to be found despite the office hours clearly posted on her office door that indicated she was meant to be in her office . After asking Scarlett, Vivian learned that Maureen is notoriously difficult to track down in person but infallibly reliable to reach via email.

“I think she’s leaving soon. You should really go see her now,” Ms. Renee insists.

Warmth tickles the back of Vivian’s neck only a tenth of a second before she hears Mr. Julian’s—no, Julian’s —voice from above her.

“Ms. Ladoe has rehearsal now, Renee. What do you need with her?” He speaks right over Vivian, as though she’s in another room instead of standing right in front of (and below) him. It’s unbearably condescending.

She wonders if Ms. Renee would notice if she kicked him. It’s probably best not to chance it. She’s not sure she’d survive him kicking her back.

“Maureen needs to see her for measurements,” Ms. Renee informs him primly.

Vivian senses a hint of disdain in their interaction, and she glances at Julian to see if it’s two-sided. As usual, he’s frowning slightly, an expression that could indicate anything from rage to mild heartburn. If pressed, Vivian would admit that he has the most attractive resting bitch face she’s ever seen.

“And Maureen needs to see her now ? Right as I’m beginning rehearsal?” Mr. Julian asks.

Ms. Renee lifts one shoulder and flits her hand through the air, a vague and airy gesture. It’s as though Vivian’s instructors are holding two simultaneous conversations, one through direct and simple words, and another—far more complex—through their gestures and body language. Not for the first time, the question of their history pings through Vivian’s mind as a warning bell. Whatever the source of their tension is, she’s not interested in getting in the middle of it.

She interrupts, ready to leave the minefield of the hallway where these two are staring each other down.

“I can see Maureen quickly, and I’ll be back for rehearsal before you even know I’m gone. I already warmed up, but Alex only just arrived”—she desperately points at where he’s talking to Scarlett outside the doors to Studio B—“and he’ll need to warm up. I’ll be done with Maureen by the time he’s ready.” Vivian hasn’t seen Kelsey arrive, and she’s not going to offer up the younger girl to fill in for her. That seems far too close to tempting fate.

Mr. Julian hums and turns, leaving through the doors to Studio C without another word.

Okay then.