Leaps & Lies

Chapter Ten

M aureen Patino’s office is on the second floor, through one of the four doors in a dimly lit hallway. Vivian’s never had reason to come up to the second floor, with all the studios, the conference room, and the main supply room conveniently located on the ground floor. After passing Ms. Renee’s office, the shared office that Ms. Paige and Mr. Ben share, and a third office with a piece of paper conspicuously taped over the metal placard on the door where a name should be, she finds Maureen’s office.

Vivian knocks on the cracked door, before entering to the older woman’s distracted hum.

“Ladoe, finally!”

Vivian’s never particularly enjoyed being called by her last name, but from the harried way Maureen’s hand is waving a full mug of coffee through the air, maybe now isn’t the time to take a stance.

There’s a shorter woman with a choppy dark bob and a deep olive complexion standing right behind Maureen. The two women are studying something on Maureen’s computer screen with pursed lips and critical eyes.

“Ms. Renee said you needed my measurements?” Vivian prompts when neither woman moves their attention from the computer. There’s an impatient Julian waiting for her downstairs and despite what she implied, there’s only so long that Alex can stall by stretching. If Vivian returns to rehearsal to find that Kelsey has stepped in , she might contemplate homicide.

“We’ll be with you in a minute,” Maureen says dismissively before pointing a manicured fingernail to something on the screen.

Vivian drops into the stiff wooden chair across from Maureen’s desk to wait.

“I don’t know what they were thinking with these leotards,” Maureen says to the other woman. “The sheer panels show off her love handles.”

The other woman nods, her dark hair swishing along her jaw. “Ughh. And the neckline is obscene. Is this ballet or burlesque?”

“I expected better from Mouveaux. Their dancers look like elephants in tutus. Disgusting.”

The two older women continue to critique the images on Maureen’s computer, finding fault in every aspect of the costume and dancers. Vivian shifts uncomfortably in her seat, tension prickling her skin. Julian and Alex must be waiting on her by now, and these women are still picking at the images akin to bloodthirsty vultures scavenging roadkill.

Finally , Maureen slips her glasses off her nose, glasses chain instantly tangling with her multitude of necklaces.

“Let’s get these measurements taken already, Ladoe.” Maureen clicks her tongue impatiently, as if she’s been waiting on Vivian instead of the opposite.

She bites back the indignation that wants to bubble out of her. Rehearsal is currently happening without her, and the last thing she needs is Kelsey getting too comfortable in her role.

“Great!” she says with overexaggerated enthusiasm. “Where do you want me?”

Maureen introduces the woman with the neat bob as Adelina, Ellapond’s in-house Costume Mistress. The two women direct Vivian to a corner of Maureen’s office where a full-length mirror hangs conspicuously. With some fiddling from Maureen with a set of switches next to the mirror, the corner is suddenly lit by a blinding fluorescent lamp along with a white-blue glow emitted directly from the mirror. The lamp sits to Vivian’s left, perpendicular to the mirror. Why do they even need a mirror for measurements? If Vivian was taking her own measurements, that would be one thing, but with both Adelina and Maureen present, the mirror is entirely unnecessary.

“We’ll begin with your inseam,” Adelina says, whipping out a cloth measuring tape like a stage magician. It snaps in the air with a flick of her wrist.

With firm hands on Vivian’s shoulders, Adelina positions her directly in front of the mirror, adjusting Vivian’s posture until she’s satisfied. The older woman bends, fingernails scraping carelessly at Vivian’s inner thigh and ankle, and she measures Vivian’s inseam.

“Twenty-nine,” she says to Maureen, who’s poised with a small notebook behind Vivian.

“A little on the short side,” Maureen chides, as if Vivian is singularly and intentionally responsible for her petite stature.

Ignoring the older women who are managing to tread the line between talking about her and talking to her, Vivian tries to catch Maureen’s eyes in the mirror.

“Do you happen to have my onboarding paperwork handy? I’m worried that I wrote down my bank information incorrectly.”

“You wrote your information down wrong?” Maureen squawks.

“Well, no. I don’t think so, but it’s just that I haven’t seen a deposit yet, and it’s been a month and . . . ”

“Girth next,” Adelina interrupts, slipping her tape measure between Vivian’s legs and up her torso to meet at the top of her right shoulder. Based on the placement of the lamp, Vivian’s right shoulder is shrouded in shadow. Can Adelina even read the tape?

“Oh yes, that,” Maureen says with a hand wave. “The accountant called and said something about verifying the routing number since it wasn’t a local bank. I’m taking care of it. Be patient and we will work it out.” She waves a hand, as if Vivian missing a month’s worth of paychecks is a mild inconvenience that simply slipped her mind.

“Well, I could really use those paychecks for . . . ”

“I’m taking care of it. I’ll call the bank when we’re done here,” she snaps, her patience wearing thin.

Adelina tuts another number at Maureen, and Vivian mentally checks out, intentionally reviewing choreography in her head instead of listening to the other women. It isn’t until Adelina gets to her waist that Vivian is forced back to reality.

“When we’re done here, I’ll email over your meal plan. If you start on it today, you’ll be able to fit into your leotard in seven weeks,” Maureen says.

“Sorry, what?” Vivian turns to peek at Maureen and makes the mistake of glancing to her left. Her eyes immediately well with tears when she catches sight of the blazing lamp. The intensity of light is blindingly sharp—intelligence agencies could use it for interrogations.

“You’ll have to start right away if you want to get down to a twenty-four,” Maureen reiterates with a huff. As though Vivian’s confusion is more offensive than her implication that Vivian needs a meal plan.

“Why would I want to get down to a twenty-four?” Vivian asks. At 5’3”, she’s on the shorter side for a ballerina, and she knows the rest of her body is proportional to her height. With strong and lean but small limbs, she’s in excellent shape for her chosen career—no meal plan needed.

Adelina scoffs, an airy sound escaping her from where she’s bent next to Vivian’s right hip. She stands, measuring tape snapping through the air again, leveling Vivian with an insincere smile.

“Principal with Ellapond is a very coveted role. A very . . . demanding role,” Maureen says haughtily.

Adelina adds, “Surely, you want to do whatever is necessary to retain that role. Don’t you?”

The older women stand right behind Vivian. With the strange lighting and dramatic mirror, it’s all too easy to imagine them as miniature devils hovering over each of her shoulders.

The weight of their appraising eyes is heavy. They’ve taken stock of her and found her wanting.

“I’d appreciate you using my current measurements for all costumes,” Vivian says, pouring as much energy as possible into keeping her voice neutral and even.

“Fine.”

There’s a distinct scratch of pen on paper, as though a number is being violently and repeatedly crossed out. One of the women huffs, but Vivian doesn’t stick around long enough to find out which.

She escapes down the hallway of offices, pausing next to the door with paper taped over the nameplate. She leans a shoulder against the door, staring at the covered nameplate and wondering why they didn’t simply change the name when they renovated the offices back in August. Her chest heaves as she gulps in oxygen as though she’s been running.

Between the heavy-handed implication that she needs to lose weight and the complete disregard of her missing paychecks, anxiety and dread pulse through her veins. The dozen or so steps she took to escape the clutches of Maureen and Adelina felt harder than running underwater, as though the hallway’s air contained additional resistance. Suddenly, escaping downstairs to the reliable scrutiny of Julian’s instruction is a welcome reprieve.