Monday was off to a brutal start. Seven fifteen A.M., every muscle in her body already protesting as she stretched on the floor, warming up in the corner by the resin box. She loved that conifer smell.
And the talcum; both spoke home to her. She had known them since she was six. She had been dancing since she was six. Anna was a dancer. “I am a dancer,” she reminded herself.
Except today she did not feel like one. Her stomach was bloated, in knots, and not even the smell of sticky pine or baby powder could loosen it up. She was regretting the bread, the glass of red wine she had had with her salad last night. And the chocolate truffle; Philippe had frowned but she had not been able to resist it.
She had not slept well or enough either, but that is never an excuse. Barre would begin in fifteen minutes, and rehearsal promptly at eight. She wanted a solo part. Philippe had said she had a chance. She believed him.
Just put your mind to it, and lose a little weight.
Just put her mind to it. She had.
Bonjour tout le monde! Everyone gather round please.
The list was in Monsieur’s hands. Anna’s were cold and clammy. Her stomach-ache had turned to cramps.
Before we begin at the barre, I will bring the suspense to an end. I know that otherwise that is all any of you will be thinking about.
Alors, les solistes: Gaëlle, Daphné, and Gabrielle for the pas de trois. Angela and Michelle, the pas de deux and a solo each. As for the rest of you, I expect nothing less than an impeccable corps de ballet and wish you better luck next year. Et maintenant, pliés!
The music began, the piano keys echoing the music she knew by heart. Plié, plié. She was nauseated, but her body had to keep time. It did, because she willed it to. As she had for the past months, practicing, practicing, pushing it further. No complaints. Eat less, stretch more, eyes on the prize: the list.
She would be on it next year. She would just have to practice a little more.
Cambré en avant, cambré en arrière. Relevé, passé, demi-tour. And again, plié, plié. She wanted to cry but did not.
Passé, demi-tour. Plié.
Her arms were tired. Already? The day had not even started! Eight more hours, and the girls would be cruel in the dressing rooms later.
Philippe would be cruel tonight too. She already knew what he would say. He would mention the truffle and the bread. That is, if she saw him tonight. If he had time; he was so busy lately.
Her stomach hurt.
No more bread and chocolate, she told herself sternly. And no breakfast; she could not stomach it. She would save her banana for later, lunch maybe, and thought of the future, her aching arms, Philippe.
No time for that now, she had to dance.
Allez, on enchaine! Deuxième exercice.