Chapter 9
Blitz does make it back by the next morning. Despite his late night, he’s practically bouncing with excitement as I pack a dance bag for the rehearsal.
“Do you think you’ll get a solo? Will some hunky ballet boy get to dance with you? Will they put you on the posters?” He keeps Googling other traveling ballet shows to see how they do top billing, how the ballerinas are chosen, and how much stage time each type of performer gets.
It doesn’t matter to me. I’m not sure I even want to do this. But the idea of being an actual ballerina has a lot of pull. It’s enough to get me out of the house and thinking about a future full of good what-ifs, not the lost ones.
The small parking lot at Jenica’s is jam-packed, cars lined up on the street for blocks. Blitz pulls up to drop me off and promises to return as soon as he can find a place to leave the car.
“We should have called Ted,” I say. We haven’t seen him in days.
“I’ll be right there,” Blitz says as I open the door. “Don’t run off with the ballet until I’m there to kiss you good-bye!”
I shake my head. As if that would happen.
Inside, the foyer is packed with people. A different girl is at Weeza’s makeshift desk. “Aren’t you lovely!” she says with a friendly tilt of her head. “Name?”
Total change from Weeza, for sure.
“Livia Mason,” I say. “Or it might say Livia Mays. That’s my stage name.”
The girl lifts her eyebrows, then looks me straight in the face. “Hey, you’re that girl from Dance Blitz!” She stands up. “Dmitri! Livia is up here!”
I can’t see anybody in the craziness of dancers in leotards, coaches, and general people who ordinarily come to Jenica’s. I wonder if anybody’s in the gym.
But the crowd starts to part, and I see the man from the other day. He’s dressed up today in a white button-down shirt and khakis. He smiles at me and waves as he moves forward.
“Livia,” he says, grasping my hand in both of his. “I’m so glad you made it.”
“I heard you tracked me down,” I say. “I’m not sure I’m really a good candidate for this.”
“Of course you are,” he says. “The whole world has watched you do ballet. You have more fans than the biggest, most prima ballerina in all the stage!”
Blitz bursts through the door, and stops short when he sees me so close. “Hey!”
“You remember Blitz, I’m sure,” I say. “Blitz, this is Dmitri.”
Only now does Dmitri release my hand to shake Blitz’s. “A real pleasure.”
“Love that accent,” Blitz says. “How long have you been in the States?”
“About six months,” Dmitri says. “We’ve been securing funding for the tour.”
“I’m always looking for great acts to produce,” Blitz says. “Especially when they include Livia.”
Dmitri raises his eyebrows. “We will keep that in mind.”
“I haven’t agreed to do it yet!” I say to Blitz.
“Of course,” Blitz says. “So what is happening here today?”
Another girl comes through the door, so we step away from the desk to let her sign in.
“We have already held the initial auditions,” Dmitri says. “Today the dancers who made the first cut will learn one of the numbers, and we will cut more.”
“I’m totally going to get cut,” I say. “I don’t have near the ballet experience that most of these girls do.”
Dmitri shakes his head. “Humility. I see so little of it in this work.”
“Isn’t she great?” Blitz says.
That’s as far as the conversation gets, as one of the girls says, “Isn’t that Blitz Craven?”
And we’re mobbed.
Blitz smiles and signs dance bags and random slips of paper the girls dig out. We’re obviously not in Kansas anymore. Jenica’s normal crew would never do that.
We’re saved by a ringing sound that gets everyone quiet.
Jenica calls out, “All dancers need to report to the gym to get your numbers and line up for the first rehearsal.”
This draws everyone away from Blitz and through the doors to the gym.
I start to head that way, but Dimitri catches my arm. “You stay with me a little longer. There is no need for you to take a number. Once the others are settled, we will go in and you can see the style and breadth of the dance. If you enjoy the music and would like to know more, we can talk away from here.”
“So I’m not auditioning?” I ask.
“No,” Dmitri says. “A position is yours for the taking.”
Blitz slides his arm around my waist. “What position is that?”
“Livia would be what we call a Guest Artist, a highly regarded ballerina engaged for the tour.”
“Would she be on the poster?” Blitz asks.
“Blitz!” I exclaim. “This isn’t a movie.”
Dmitri smiles. “It is fine, all good questions. Livia would be considered a very valuable asset for drawing large audiences across the States. She would have second billing only to Dominika herself.”
I wonder if this Russian ballerina will be annoyed at having to share the spotlight with a third-year ballet student who only has six months in toe shoes. And many of those spent on the sofa.
“This sounds great,” Blitz says. “Should we go in?”
“Let’s see where they are,” Dmitri says.
We follow him to one of the doors to the gym. Inside, the dancers are pinning numbers to their leotards and the girl who was at the door is checking their names against their numbers.
Two women and a man stand in front of the line of dancers, talking and doing an occasional dance move.
In the corner, Conner, who often runs the music here, sits at the tiny soundboard that controls the speakers.
I look around for Jenica and finally spot her sitting in the back corner on a pile of mats. Next to her is an incredibly poised and regal-looking woman in a pink leotard, with white-blond hair piled elegantly on her head.
“Is that Dominika?” I ask Dmitri. “In the corner on the mat?”
Dmitri nods. “She stands out, doesn’t she? She is as beautiful as a dove, as graceful as a swan.”
Blitz grimaces behind Dmitri’s back, and I almost giggle.
“Why did she leave Russia?” I ask. “Or is that public knowledge?”
Dmitri frowns. “It did not make the news here, I don’t think. Her father was a diplomat. Her mother was a great gymnast. They were thrown from a hotel balcony.”
I suck in a breath. “What? Why?”
Dmitri shrugs. “Those are matters of state. But Dominika no longer has the heart for her country. So she came here.”
I watch the elegant woman talk to Jenica. She sits tall and proud, but I see the seriousness in her. I think about what I have lost and realize that is nothing. Gabriella will grow up and can see me when she is eighteen, if she wants.
And my parents aren’t dead. Just shell-shocked. Maybe they will one day realize how they have overreacted.
I still have hope for seeing my family again. Dominika does not.
“Let’s go inside,” Dmitri says. “It looks as though they are about to start the choreography.”
Blitz, Dmitri, and I walk in. We do not go to the corner with Jenica and Dominika, but settle on the edge of one of the trampolines, which have been pushed against the wall. I’m fine with this. I’m not sure I’m ready to meet a prima ballerina in person yet.
The three coaches spread out and lead a warm-up. Only now that I’m settled do I notice that Weeza is out there. I elbow Blitz. “Look,” I say. “Three from the end.”
“Weeza,” Blitz says. “She got new tights for the occasion.”
He’s right. She’s traded her slashed tights for new plain black ones. Her hair is slicked back today, not in tight blond pigtails all over her head.
“Who knew she could be classy?” Blitz says.
“She must be pretty good to make the first cut,” I say.
“Have you ever seen her dance?” he asks. “I haven’t.”
I shake my head. “Not once. Maybe she waits until after the normal hours.”
“Maybe we scare her off.”
We watch the dancers go through mostly traditional exercises. You start to see the difference in their training when in some of the ballet positions, a few of the dancers have different arm placement. They quickly conform to the coaches.
“Wait. The five positions aren’t universal?” Blitz asks.
“There are some slight variations,” Dmitri says. “It is not important.”
“People doing the basics differently isn’t important?” Blitz is clearly troubled with this.
“They are only the foundations,” Dmitri says. “It’s the form that matters.”
The dancers start working on the first sequence of the dance.
“What ballet is this?” I ask.
“You Americans know it as Sleeping Beauty,” Dmitri says. “It is one of three ballets by Tchaikovsky, the others, of course, being The Nutcracker and Swan Lake.”
“What role are you thinking of for Livia?” Blitz asks.
“It has not been discussed at great length just yet. I only discovered your Livia last week,” Dmitri says.
I want to protest the “your Livia” but let it go as a cultural or language issue. I lean forward, my elbows on my knees, certain I don’t look even in the ballpark of Dominika’s grace or poise.
“Does the ballet have three fairies like the movie?” Blitz asks. “Livia should be the blue one.”
Dmitri laughs. “There are many fairies in the ballet. But only one important one, the…” He hesitates. “It is purple, not the bright one.”
“Lilac,” I say.
“Yes, the Lilac Fairy,” Dmitri says. “And of course there is Carabosse, the evil fairy.”
I turn to the boys now. “Can I be evil?”
Dmitri’s lips curl into a sardonic smile. “You are ready for a change of image, yes? Perhaps. We would review the technical aspects of the dance, and see if they fit your style and abilities.”
My gaze goes back to the dancers. Some are obviously nervous, concentrating fiercely, struggling to keep up. I feel badly for them, doubly so because I’m sitting here on my butt, being offered parts with no effort at all.
So strange how life goes.
“I’d love to go for the evil fairy,” I say.
Dmitri claps his hands. “I will talk to Ivana,” he says. “We will see how you do and if it is a good fit. I’m sure she can get you ready.”
“When does the ballet begin?” Blitz asks.
“This is our last audition stop,” Dmitri says. “We’ve already been to New York, Boston, and Miami. Rehearsals start in two weeks.”
“Where will those be?” Blitz asks.
“Chicago, actually,” Dmitri says. “One of our producers is lending us his space for the six weeks of rehearsals.”
Blitz glances over at me. I know what he’s thinking. Six weeks in Chicago. If he should come, or if he’d be in the way.
“And the tour?” he asks.
“Thirty shows in eight cities.” Dmitri rubs his hands together. “It will be a grand occasion.”
“So another, what, three months?” Blitz asks.
“Thereabouts,” Dmitri says. “It’s a six-month commitment.”
Blitz nods his head, but he’s looking down. I wonder if this is hard for him to think about. He’s definitely less excited than he was.
What do I want?
It’s a novel thing to think about. I had years of my father’s rule, then running to do the show, wandering around based on what life was throwing at me.
Now I can just…choose.
I shift my gaze to watch the dancers move through their roles. A few of them are called from the line and cut. One girl’s eyes tear up as she plucks her number from her leotard.
Disappointment. I know it well.
But being evil has a nice ring to it.