My happy vibes from working with Franco quickly disappear as I head down the hall to where Dominika will be waiting for me.
I want to make a quick call to Blitz and get a little boost, but there isn’t time and all the studios can see perfectly into the hall. I don’t want to look like some cell phone diva as I approach.
So I straighten my spine and steel myself as I come in range of Studio 12.
I’m surprised when I get there to see Dominika warming up alone.
I push open the glass door.
“Hello,” she says pleasantly before moving deeper into a stretch. “I’m not prepped yet.”
“Me neither,” I say, setting down my bag. “I was with Franco getting my evil fairy on.”
She looks at me curiously. “What does this mean, ‘getting my evil fairy on’? Did you wear a costume?”
I forget sometimes she is Russian. Her English sounds good. “It’s an expression. It’s like putting on a personality.”
She nods and her tiny arched brows knit together as she considers this oddity.
I kick off my Crocs and sit on a bench to slide on my toe shoes.
“Is Ivana coming to this rehearsal?” I ask.
“I don’t think so. She is working with the Prince this morning,” Dominika says.
I stand up and do a few hops to get my muscles warm. Dominika is like an ice princess in a white leotard and tights. Her hair is a blond color so close to ash as to almost match her outfit, especially in the harsh overhead light.
She is bony, her muscles stretched taught over her birdlike frame. When she bends over, it seems perfectly possible that she can fold up into a tiny package that would fit in the shoe cubbies.
She could make anyone feel fleshy, and I grimace at the lack of definition in my thighs as I reach for the floor. True career ballerinas have blocks of visible leg muscles. Even though no one would ever call me overweight by any measure, it’s clear I haven’t done enough dance to burn away all the fat.
Six weeks of ten-hour rehearsals on yogurt and egg whites will probably do it, though. I think back to how I looked before the three months with Dance Blitz and realize I have yet another metamorphosis ahead. I wonder if my parents will even recognize me if they come to the ballet. I don’t look anything like the girl I once was.
I don’t feel like her either.
After a few minutes, a woman I’ve never met enters the studio. “Sorry to be late,” she says. “The fairies ran over.” She drops a bag on the floor and takes her phone over to the sound system.
I want to ask Dominika who this person is, but judging by the confused tilt of her head, I’m guessing she’s never seen her before either.
The woman turns around. “I’m sorry we did not get a chance to meet before. I’m Teresa, one of the dance coaches. I work at this studio year-round. I’ll be with you until you go on tour, working on technique.”
Dominika stands a little straighter, as if suggesting that her technique needs work is an insult.
Teresa notices the prima ballerina’s stiff stance and smiles. “Do not worry, Dominika,” she says. “I’m not here to change you. I just want to make sure you and Livia look very opposite other than in a few key places where Ivana wants you to almost dance in tandem.”
I will have to try and match Dominika’s style? I hope it’s for only very brief moments because I can’t even imagine getting anywhere near her poise and perfection.
“Come, ladies,” Teresa says. “Since the pianists are all otherwise occupied, I’ve created a loop of the scene where Carabosse gives Aurora the spindle. I understand you’ve had an introduction to the choreography already.”
My face burns. That was two weeks ago and I haven’t practiced it since, afraid I would get it wrong and have to break a bad habit.
But Dominika nods. When the music moves into the section with the spindle, she moves effortlessly into the dance.
I can’t remember a thing. I watch, painfully, as Dominika dances alone. I have some vague ideas of where I should stand, and I recognize one part where we are moving back and forth as if we are on opposite ends of a teeter-totter.
But mostly I just stand there looking rather stupid.
“I’ve only learned the critical parts,” Teresa says with a frown. “But we’ll work on those.” She waits for the music to fade out, then back in at the beginning.
She places me facing Dominika and I remember to hold the pretend spindle, at least. When I lift it to her, she turns away in an elegant pirouette that alternates between bent leg and extended.
“Here is where you mimic her,” Teresa says.
I do a similar pirouette, sensing my clumsiness compared to Dominika.
“That’s it,” Teresa says. “Then quicker and closer together until you are doing it at the same time.”
I continue the pirouette sequence, sensing we are way off.
“The timing will come,” Teresa says. “Let’s work on legs and arms and hands. Dominika, since Livia will be holding a prop, we’ll have to adjust your arm so that you can match her anyway.”
Dominika nods. Teresa stands us side by side, tucking my elbow in, hand near my ribs as if I am holding something, then having Dominika approximate the position.
We review the precise timing of the pirouettes, dancing them over and over again until I start to lose my ability to avoid feeling dizzy, and one of the spins knocks me off balance.
I put my foot down early and miss the next element of the pirouette.
Teresa stops the music.
“It’s all right,” Teresa says. “That many turns in two hours would get to anyone.”
Two hours? I check the overhead clock and see that it is after noon.
“Let’s go ahead and break,” Teresa says. “I’ll see you two again tomorrow. You’ll have reviewed choreography by then and should be able to put together more of this scene.”
My steps aren’t completely steady as I head for my bag. Too little breakfast. Too many turns. Nerves on edge. And it’s only the first half of the first day.
It’s not quite the lunch hour yet when I walk out into the open foyer. I examine the hanging glass sculptures, wondering if I will find Andrew for lunch or have to figure things out on my own.
Then I remember the group chat.
I open Twitter to see what the link is.
My notifications are outrageous, but I’d expect that after Blitz retweeted that dance image.
But there’s another image getting tagged with my Twitter handle.
I pull it up and let out a sigh. Seriously?
It’s an obvious Photoshop fake of Blitz with Giselle. They are gazing at each other fondly in front of the Dancing with the Stars logo. The Tweet says they will be working together on the show.
Her hair isn’t cut out well and the colors from the light on their shoulders don’t even match the neon of the sign. But people are buying it, some angry that he’s already cheating on me, others excited that he’s dancing on TV again.
Uggh. I move on to my direct messages. Sure enough, Carla has sent me a link to download some chat app. I look around. I must be early, as no one else is coming out of the studios yet.
There’s a crystal bench in the middle of the foyer, so I sit on it to download the app and accept the invitation to join the private group. So far, the only people in it are Carla, Fiona, Andrew, and now me.
Andrew messaged between his rehearsals to say we could meet in the foyer for lunch.
I glance at the time. Still five minutes.
A few girls come out finally, laughing and happy as they cross the foyer and go out the doors. They don’t even look my way.
Then more. Several of these were on the bus and wave at me, but they have places to be and hurry out as well.
I feel very much alone and obvious out on the bench. I want to move to the side wall, someplace less conspicuous. All my old insecurities rear up. I’m too strange, too old-fashioned, too out of touch with regular people.
Maybe I’m not going to make four days after all. Or the three Ivana and Evangeline were giving me.
Perhaps these more experienced people see me more clearly than I see myself.
Then it all turns around.
Andrew comes out, along with two other female dancers. He waves me over, and I’m brought along with this happy crew to eat veggie burgers at a cafe down the street.
The reversals are so swift. I’m like a pendulum, shifting from anxiety to acceptance. Without Blitz, I have no ballast to keep me even and steady. I will have to figure out how to do this on my own.
It will be okay. I must be patient. And I must have faith.