The rehearsals are running late. “One more time,” John repeats, and I’d rather he would yell because this cold voice without intonation is usually a sign he’s really unhappy with us. And when John is angry, he’s almost as bad as Igor.
“Grace! Your turnout is so wrong I don’t even know how you could call yourself a dancer!” Grace tries harder—she’s one of the oldest here. She told me the other day that this company is her last hurrah, one more way to show that you can be forty and still dance professionally. She was a star dancer in the San Diego Ballet Company, but John doesn’t seem to care about her past right now. He’s all about business. “Come on, Grace! If you wince like this, do you think anybody is going to believe you? I don’t know what Igor was thinking when he accepted you.”
Grace huffs but she doesn’t answer. Instead, she tries harder.
“Alex…you need to bring Alisha higher, much higher. And Alisha, maybe you should try pretending you know what you’re doing once in a while.”
Alex curses under his breath and Alisha blushes, but they continue.
John walks past me and I expect him to scold me. I don’t expect him to yell into my ear. I almost lose my balance. “This is not an arabesque. This is a joke of an arabesque!” He pulls on my leg, but I don’t move. My entire muscles are tensed the way they’re supposed to be. “You look like the Pisa Tower, your balance is barely there.” He leans his head back and stares up at the ceiling. “This is ridiculous. I’m supposed to prep you for one of the biggest shows of this ballet company, and this is what I have to work with? A bunch of amateurs!” He walks past Erin and looks her up and down like he’s looking at a piece of meat. I can see them in the mirror, the way she stares back at him without blinking.
“Sergei was fired for a reason,” she says loud enough for everybody to hear, and silence falls onto the studio. Erin did not stutter, she did not hesitate. John clears his throat and moves on to the next person.
Sergei was fired three weeks ago. The rumor goes that he was being way too friendly with the dancers in exchange for bigger and better roles.
Igor said he wouldn’t have any of this in his company. It wasn’t about spreading your legs but about talent. His words, not mine.
I smile at Erin in the mirror and see her chest rising and falling. She was bluffing, she looks petrified now, but I discreetly give her a thumbs-up. Because she did it, standing up for herself without hesitation.
“Okay, fine, you can go! I’ll see some of you later this afternoon.” He dismisses us and stares right ahead as he exits the room.
“That was pretty impressive, Erin,” I tell her after shaking my muscles. Everything hurts, and I don’t even know if an ice bath is going to enable me to move again after holding several positions for longer than was required.
“A friend of mine left the company because of what happened with Sergei. She’s still not over it, and seeing her so lost…I got mad when I saw the way he was looking at me. The way he told me he could help me if I wanted.”
“He said what?”
“He leaned in and whispered it to me. I’m going to mention it to Audrey…but I don’t think they’ll fire him. They can’t keep on firing people. And he didn’t do anything.” And she sighs, because she may be right. And it’s not fair.
“What time is it?” I ask, changing the topic when I realize I might be late for my first production meeting.
Erin shuffles through her shoulder bag and turn on her phone. “One forty-five,” Erin answers and then her eyes widen. She opens her mouth. “You made it.”
“What?”
She shows me her phone. She received a text from her sister telling her I got the part. “That’s you. You made it into the video.” She jumps and hugs me and I don’t have time to react before the rest of the room explodes in chatter. It seems Grégoire released the information earlier than planned.
I gather my stuff quickly, turn my phone back on. We can’t have our phones on during rehearsal unless we want to face the wrath of the entire crew.
There are hundreds of notifications from Twitter and Facebook and Instagram. The last time I posted anything was last month. It doesn’t make sense. My mailbox is full and there are also hundreds of text messages. Hundreds of messages of love and hate from total strangers. “What the heck is going on?”
Alisha turns to me, her mouth wide open. “It’s out. People know you got the part…and…”
“And what?”
I scroll down to one message which has been sent at least fifty times. Why don’t you go and die, you ugly bitch? He’s never going to want to be with you. He’s mine. Only mine.
Wow. That’s encouraging.
Alisha shows me her phone. “And your name, your phone number have been posted online.” My mouth gapes open and I stare at her screen. My cell phone number is on some random blog and that post has already been retweeted four thousand times.
Some of the other dancers gather around us. “Hey Jen, congrats!” Then another takes a picture of me. “You’re going on my Instagram. I can’t believe you know Lucas.”
“Okay, calm down.” Igor enters the room. But even he can’t stop the effervescence that has taken over. “I said, calm down!”
I snap out of my stupor and with shaking fingers, I scroll down my text messages until I see one from Lucas. It seems you’re going to get a fast crash course in dealing with shitty gossip. Coming to pick you up. Sorry it’s already starting to get out of hand.
What is everyone talking about?
And then Alisha gently shows me her phone.
And I see the picture, and the headlines, and my phone beeps again with another hate message, and my throat tightens until it’s hard to breathe.