Despite the nurse’s encouragement to stay off my feet for two to three days, I go into rehearsals on Monday in my dance clothes.
Blitz comes with me, along with Ted. My “manager” and my “bodyguard” create a little entourage to back me up throughout the day.
The trainer checks me out first, announces, “It’s just a flesh wound!” and says to dance without pointe or demi-pointe for an hour and come back.
So we head to a small warm-up room, avoiding the stage where my understudy is rehearsing with the cast, and I run through some of the scenes by myself or with Blitz when I can, keeping it easy.
Carla, Fiona, and Andrew are naturally tied up with the main group, but as soon as they break, all three of them rush into my room.
“What happened?” Fiona asks, dropping to her knees to examine my dance slipper.
“A piece of glass cut me,” I say. “It’s nothing.”
Andrew gives me a big hug. I notice Carla hanging back by the door, as if she only came because she couldn’t come up with a reason to tell the others why she shouldn’t. Her hesitation tells me she did spot me walking down the hall while she hugged her daughter. When she sees me looking, she gives a little wave.
“I’m about to go back to the trainer,” I say. “He wants to check it periodically as I start slowly dancing again.”
Fiona touches the bandage wrapped around my instep, its whiteness stark next to the pink of my slipper. “I do hope you get to come back,” she says.
I don’t want to badmouth Ivana or mention the ultimatum.
“I will,” I say.
“We have to get to props,” Carla says. “We’re getting new spring wreaths for New York. For the DVD.” She glances over at Blitz. “Something splashier.”
“Have fun with that,” I say.
Fiona hops up and leans in for another hug. “I’ll text you tonight!” she says.
“Looks like some good friends,” Ted says when they leave. “The blond one is cute.”
“Down, boy,” Blitz says. “Don’t be macking on Livia’s dance friends.”
I slide into an easy stretch, hiding my smile. I could see Fiona with Ted. Her wine-buyer at the restaurant the other night hadn’t worked out. He tried to kiss her and she said it was like getting licked by a dog, and not in a good way. She escaped.
“We missed our limo party,” I say. “Ted could have come along.”
“I’m always down for a limo party,” he says.
“We’ll do it next weekend after your triumphant return,” Blitz says. He walks over and presses on my back to deepen my stretch. “Foot feeling okay?”
“Just fine.” I lift it and rotate my ankle. “Maybe a little twinge.”
“Let’s go see the trainer again,” Blitz says. “It’s been an hour.”
We head down the hall and the trainer says the foot is holding up well, but still no pointe for today. We drift off to head to lunch. It feels strange to have no schedule, no dances, no direct pressure to do anything.
I’m torn between going back to prove that I’m determined to return to the stage and blowing off the rest of the day to spend it with Blitz and Ted. When we leave the cafe, I’m still not sure what to do.
“Should I dance more?” I ask Blitz.
He knows what’s going through my mind. “If you’re injured more, you’re out, but if you give Ivana more fuel by skipping, you could be out.” His face is thoughtful. “So really the only option is to dance and not get hurt.”
Ted sniffs. “If it were me, I’d storm into the rehearsals and give my replacement the stink eye. Make everybody remember I’m here, and I’m pissed.”
Blitz laughs and slaps Ted on the back. “I knew there was a reason I kept you around. Should we go with her, O wise adviser?”
“Damn straight,” Ted says. “We’ll stand on either side of the stage like evil gargoyles ready to curse the whole lot of them.”
“Awesome,” Blitz says. “I’m in.”
So we head back to the theater. We’ve gone ahead of the cast, so when we arrive, the only people there are Dominika, the Prince, and the pianist.
Dominika looks surprised to see me, but she’s polite as always. “How is your foot?” she asks.
“Doing great,” I say. “The trainer had me dance this morning and it stayed nice and closed. Should be fine by tomorrow.”
I don’t know that this is true, but I like the uncomfortable look it gives her.
The Prince gives a bit of a sneer. “Ophelia is doing great in your place,” he says.
“She’s a great dancer,” I say. “I’m glad she got to perform the role yesterday. She deserved it.”
We’re in a standoff. I can tell by Blitz’s expression that he’s pleased with how I’m handling it.
Despite what the trainer said, I can’t help but take it a step further. “Dominika, can we run through that one part of the spindle scene? I feel like I still have a little ways to go to match my form to yours.”
Now Blitz isn’t as pleased looking. I’m not supposed to do pointe today. But I slide my bag around me and pull out my toe shoes. Sometimes things are worth the risk. If I want to keep this role, I have to prove myself.
“Is she pulling a Black Swan?” Ted asks.
Blitz laughs. “It’s only a flesh wound,” he says.
My gaze shoots daggers at him even though Dominika’s quizzical look tells me she doesn’t understand what he’s saying. It doesn’t translate for her.
Ted steps back to stand beside the base of the stage, his arms crossed and his expression stern. Gargoyle pose. Blitz follows his lead and stands on the other side.
I’m not admitting this to them, but I know that by the time I put on shoes and warm up, I’ll be dancing ten minutes tops before people start coming in. It’s a calculated risk, one designed to impress.
I slide the pointe shoes on as if it’s no big deal that I bled on this stage just two nights ago. Inside, I’m anxious. What if the cut breaks open? If I bleed again, that will be it.
I have to trust the trainer, the nurse, my instincts. It will be okay.
Dominika and the Prince continue their practice while I do a quick warm-up. It won’t help me prove myself with my injury if I strain a tendon in the process.
I take a deep breath and do my first relevé, hoping my foot holds up. It feels fine, so I come out and do a few more. Okay, it’s working.
I decide to minimize any more relevés to avoid too much pointe work before doing the hard movements with Dominika.
When the dance with the Prince ends, they look over at me. I nod to the pianist. He shifts his papers around and starts the opening notes to the spindle scene.
We’ve done this so many times that I know each note, each phrase, by heart, no matter if it’s a piano or a recording or a full orchestra.
I scurry away from her so I can make the entrance at the back of the stage, approaching with caution and stealth, but enough creepy evil that the audience recognizes me. I’m well practiced at this, and the acting coach Franco says I do the part well.
Then the initial approach. I realize I don’t have a prop for the spindle and mime it. Dominika shies away, and I hear Ted say, “This is great stuff.”
On the second approach we begin our push and pull. Then I try to convince her to take the spindle.
This time when I go up en pointe, I feel the twinge again. But nothing is wet, no searing pain. I keep going.
It’s a challenging scene. A few dancers enter, and I settle down a little. I will only have to get through this one time and I’ll prove myself.
By the time we get to the hardest part of all, where I must match Dominika’s style, the front rows are filled with dancers. I don’t have time to look at their faces or see if Ivana has entered. I concentrate fiercely on my movements, determined to make this rehearsal the best I’ve ever done, despite the fear, the risk, and some pain.
It’s still not perfect, but it’s another step up from where I’ve been. When we get to the end of the scene and Dominika collapses, the pianist stops.
The dancers all clap, which sometimes happens during rehearsal, but not often. I finally look around. The corps dancers are there, happy that I’m back, including a shining-faced Fiona and relieved Andrew.
Then Ophelia, the understudy, arms crossed and scowling. Then Ivana, looking annoyed.
We’ve reviewed the contract. Ivana can’t fire me. Just Dominika has that power. Otherwise only a doctor saying I’m out for injury, or noncompliance with rehearsal or misconduct, can oust my position.
Dominika glances at Ivana. “I hate dance politics,” she says. “If she’s well enough to dance, she dances.”
“I want her cleared through the trainer first,” Ivana says. “I won’t have permanent damage to her foot on my head.”
I’m perfectly relieved to hear this. I don’t really want to dance for several hours more, not yet.
“I’m glad to check in with him again,” I say. “I’ll do as he says.”
Blitz and Ted still stand below, but they aren’t all serious anymore. Blitz is positively giddy.
I pick up my dance bag and wave to everyone. I pause by Ophelia. “Thank you so much for standing in for me yesterday,” I tell her. “You do beautiful work.”
She can’t very well scowl at me for that in front of the entire company, so she nods and relaxes her expression.
I quickly walk to the door, casually tossing my bag on my shoulder, super careful to show zero evidence of pain or injury as I head out.
I’ve pulled it off.