Counterpointe Read online

  As the other dancers trickled from the room, O’Connor pinched his lips with one hand and peered at the four of them. Two of them blonde—Lisa and Stephan—two brunette—Ramon and Clare. So, would O’Connor mix or match?

  While he pondered, Clare examined Ramon and Stephan’s reflections. Ramon, dark and intense, had impressed her in company class with his explosive athleticism. Stephan was a more elegant dancer, with a style reminiscent of Zach’s, actually. In fact, Stephan and Zach were men who physically mirrored each other. Both tall and lean. Both with the regular features prized in romantic leads—Zach the black prince, Stephan the golden one.

  “Lisa, next to Ramon, please.”

  At O’Connor’s crisp command, Lisa’s face registered shock that quickly morphed into a mulish expression. “Stephan and I are partners.”

  “My dear, perhaps it has escaped your notice that I am the one in charge, eh?”

  Lisa took the place by Ramon looking angry, but with the four of them standing in the new arrangement it was clear, at least on an objective level, O’Connor had it right. The petite Lisa was the perfect size to partner with Ramon, while Clare was a better match for the taller Stephan. That wouldn’t help Lisa to accept it, of course, and Clare already knew that when Lisa didn’t like the way things were going, she channeled her “inner evil stepsister,” as Denise put it. A shame it seemed to be a law of the universe that every company have at least one Lisa. Good that O’Connor had been firm with her, and good, that his approach was to seek out the emotion in this piece. For despite its bizarre storyline, Giselle was an emotional piece and one of Clare’s favorite ballets. She especially loved the part when Giselle and her ghostly sisters sought out the men who’d deceived them in order to dance them to their deaths. With the right staging, the lyrical, delicate choreography could be magical.

  “Bitch.”

  Like an anonymously honking horn, the word drifted by Clare’s ear as she pulled on a skirt. She turned her head to find Lisa glaring at her.

  “Don’t think you can just waltz in here and take over.”

  Clare turned away and continued to change into street clothes.

  “Did you hear me? Stephan is off-limits.”

  “I’m only going to dance with him.”

  Lisa snorted, the sound, full of disbelief. “Like you danced with Zach Showalter?”

  Clare’s heart rate kicked up a notch and her mouth went dry.

  “I heard all about it from a friend of mine.” Lisa’s tone was the taunting one children use in the schoolyard. “She said you and he were an item. Except Zach couldn’t keep his dance belt on and it pissed you off.”

  Clare took a calming breath, not that it did any good. Slowly she turned to face Lisa, aware that other dancers had halted what they were doing to watch. It meant her response would affect not only her ongoing relationship with Lisa, but her standing with the other dancers.

  She sucked in a quick breath and prayed her voice wouldn’t shake the way the rest of her was. “You know, that’s quite a clever way of putting it. But I fail to see your point in bringing it up.”

  “My point is you keep your grubby hands off Stephan.”

  Clare almost sagged with relief that Lisa’s focus had shifted away from Zach. “I’ve already assured you of that.” She zipped her duffel and swung it onto her shoulder. “Now you’ll have to excuse me. Places to go, things to do, you know.”

  Lisa’s chest heaved. She started to speak, stopped, huffed out another breath and narrowed her eyes. “You. You—”.

  “Bitch? You really do anger outstandingly well. It’ll be fascinating to see if you can also manage pathos. I’m guessing not.” She waited a beat, then, as if this were a simple stageright exit, left the locker room, head high, steps unhurried, trying to give no hint of the agitation she was feeling at Lisa’s easy and unexpected breach of her defenses.

  She slipped into the first room she came to, pulled the door shut, and sank to the floor. Then she buried her face in her hands and waited. Waited until her racing heart slowed and the trembling eased. Waited until both Lisa’s and Zach’s words stopped playing in an endless loop. Waited until everyone had to be gone for the day.

  “Do you ever think about what you’re going to do after...you know, after you can’t perform anymore?” Denise posed the question as she and Clare sat waiting for a rehearsal to begin.

  “Of course. Doesn’t everyone?” Actually, Clare avoided thinking about it, even though she knew her time as a principal was limited to another five to seven years max—if she stayed healthy. But, although it wasn’t, right now any ending still seemed too distant to give it serious consideration.

  “And...” Denise waved a hand. “What conclusions have you reached?”

  “I want to stay involved with the dance world. I simply can’t imagine my life without it.” After all, the ballet had been her focus since age seven, and it had replaced all the ordinary, everyday experiences of being young and silly with friends, falling in love with the captain of the football team, running out the door to go on class trips or to the prom.

  She wouldn’t change any of that, although she did occasionally awaken in the middle of the night to find niggles of regret keeping her company. Regret that she’d not managed to fit in more. More relationships that were about something other than dance. More time to read or sew or garden, or whatever it was other people did in their leisure hours. Just...more.

  Denise sighed as if Clare had spoken aloud. “I’ve already been a soloist six years. I don’t think I’m ever going to make principal.”

  Clare rested a hand on Denise’s arm. “You’re a wonderful dancer. Don’t even think about it not happening. You do know there’s a possibility Justin will add another principal next year. It could be your shot.”

  “You’re not just saying that?”

  “What? You think I’d pander so I can spend the night occasionally? No way. Please, promise me...promise yourself you won’t give up. Not yet.”

  “I’ve decided if I don’t get promoted this spring, I’ll stay one more year. Then that’s it.”

  Clare felt relieved, although she was uncertain exactly why it seemed so important Denise not quit anytime soon.

  “I’d really like to get married. Have a couple of kids, do the mommy thing for a few years.” Denise’s tone was wistful.

  “You have a daddy in mind?”

  “Doesn’t look like that’s going to work out either.” She shook herself. “Sorry. Enough of the doom and gloom, okay?”

  Clare watched Denise more closely after that. It didn’t take long to figure out that the man Denise didn’t expect it to work out with, but wished it would, was Stephan Orsini.

  “Excellent work, Clare, Stephan. Go ahead and take a break.”

  As they walked to the corner of the room, O’Connor motioned to Lisa and Ramon. Clare sat on the floor and wiped her face with a towel. Then she shook out her hair before pulling it back and refastening it at the nape of her neck. Stephan sat next to her, taking a long pull from a water bottle.

  Thank God he wasn’t a smoker. She’d once had a partner who smoked, both pot and tobacco, and his breath had been nauseating. “How’re you doing?” Stephan asked.

  “Fine. I was ready for a break, though.”

  “Yeah. These first weeks are brutal.” He took another swig of water, then wiped his mouth. “You know, there’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you.”

  She glanced at him, taking a drink of her own.

  “What color do you call your eyes?”

  “What?”

  “They aren’t exactly either green or blue. So I’m wondering what you call them.”

  “According to the State of Massachusetts, they’re gray.”

  “Gray, hmm. But with a bit of jade swirled in.”

  Damn, Stephan was hitting on her. “My goodness, we’re poetic today.”

  “That was good, wasn’t it?” His voice was smug.

  “Weird, though.”


  “I’m taking a creative writing class.” He sounded hurt. “We’re being encouraged to think poetically.”

  She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling and nodded toward Lisa and Ramon. “You know, I think those two could be something special.”

  “Too bad Lisa is determined not to let it work.”

  She looked at Stephan in surprise. “Is she?”

  “See that?”

  Clare looked back as Ramon lifted Lisa. Lisa’s lips pinched together.

  Frowning, O’Connor signaled a halt. “I want to see that lift again.” He moved to the side and watched as Ramon lifted a wincing Lisa.

  “Stephan, to me.” O’Connor spoke in a quick staccato. “If you would, please, the lift sequence with Lisa.” He nodded at the accompanist as Stephan took Ramon’s place.

  Clare watched Lisa and Stephan go through the steps—two beautiful people moving beautifully together. They turned in unison, arms and legs in perfect alignment, and the lift, when it came, was executed flawlessly. Misgivings about how well her own partnership with Stephan was going nudged at her.

  “All right, good. Now, Clare and Ramon. Same sequence.”

  Ramon wasn’t as tall as Stephan, but he was powerful. After a run-through to adjust to each other, the second time they moved more in sync, and the lift felt good. Ramon had gentle hands that tightened on Clare’s waist only enough to make the lift appear effortless, but without any of the pinching or rough handling Lisa’s grimacing had hinted at.

  O’Connor pursed his lips and looked them over, as he had the first day.

  Lisa cocked her head and gave O’Connor a satisfied look.

  “You, my dear, have been trying to fool me.” O’Connor’s expression hardened. “I suggest you not do it again. Now, with Ramon again, if you please.”

  Lisa looked stricken.

  Clare retreated to the corner and Stephan joined her.

  “I wish we didn’t have to see that,” she said. In order not to watch the drama in the middle of the room, she pulled a new pointe shoe out of her bag and began working with it. She couldn’t block out the sounds, though. The music starting then stopping, interspersed with O’Connor’s crisp commands as he corrected an arm placement here, a leg position there. “Lisa hates me enough already.”

  “Trust me, that’s better than if she likes you.”

  She glanced at Stephan, to see if he was joking. He didn’t appear to be.

  “I slept with her because she said it would make us better partners, more physically attuned to each other. That part worked, as a matter of fact. Girl can dance, that’s for sure. You know, we could try that.”

  “Absolutely not. I do not sleep with men to improve my dancing.” Despite how it might have appeared with Zach.

  “Oh, well, worth a shot.” He shrugged, with a sheepish look. “Hey, if you won’t sleep with me, will you at least have dinner with me?”

  She shook her head, relieved Stephan was proving to have such a sunny personality she could turn him down without making an enemy of him. “Look, let’s just agree we’ll work as hard as we can during rehearsals to improve our technique.”

  He started to grin.

  “Our dancing technique.”

  “And outside of rehearsals? Am I supposed to ignore you?”

  “Of course not. You can be...friendly.” She finished fussing with the shoe, debating, then decided why not. “Would you rather be Lisa’s partner?”

  “God, no. Dancing with Lisa, it’s got to be all about her, all the time.” He shuddered. “It’s exhausting. But enough Lisa. About that dinner. Saturday work for you?”

  “Sorry. No.”

  “What? Ah, come on. We can’t let one bitchy ballerina dictate what we do.”

  “That bitchy ballerina can make life miserable for us both. I say we cool it.”

  “As long as that wasn’t your final answer.”

  She smiled, going for an inscrutable look, because of course it was. Final. No way would she take even the slimmest chance of reprising her relationship with Zach, and especially not when a friend’s heart was also in the mix.

  Boston Globe Danse Classique opened their season last night with Giselle. First performed in 1841, Giselle has none of the splashy choreography that is the hallmark of more modern ballets. What carries this piece is subtlety, and in the hands of artist-in-residence Colin O’Connor and his principal dancer Clare Eliason, this version is dark and devastating. Ms. Eliason, in her first appearance with Danse Classique, danced an incandescent Giselle with a tenderness that was heartbreaking in its intensity. It was a performance that brought tears to the eyes of many seasoned balletomanes, including this one, and it earned Ms. Eliason a rare standing ovation.

  Abruptly, Clare stopped reading. It had loomed so large for so long—her first performance and how it would be received. Now it was done, and the review was...fantastic. Zach was wrong. Without him she was something. Something special.

  Her butterflies last night had been world class, and the performance had required her to tap into the anguish of Zach’s treachery, which had been exhausting. Afterward, she’d endured the reception for donors in a fog of fatigue. As further proof of her weakened state, she’d even let Stephan drive her home, and here he still was, drinking coffee and waving the newspaper at her when she came downstairs.

  “You haven’t finished, have you?” He poked at the paper. “Go on, read the part about us.”

  Worthy of mention, as well, is the felicitous pairing of Ms. Eliason and Stephan Orsini. In the past, Orsini has given only hints of the proficiency, depth, and élan on display as he partnered Ms. Eliason. It will be fascinating to watch as these two challenge each other to even greater heights.

  Fascinating indeed.

  He’d insisted she shouldn’t be alone when the newspaper and its review arrived. Ultimately, she’d judged it easier to hand him a pillow and blanket than to argue with him.

  “It’s you and me, girl. The next Baryshnikov and Farrell.”

  “You do realize they never danced together.” She put the paper down and stuck her head in the refrigerator.

  “Just think if they had.”

  “How about I scramble you some eggs before you go home?

  “I figured I’d stick around, drive you to company class.”

  “No thanks.” Bad enough she’d accepted a ride last night. “I have an errand I need to run first.”

  “I don’t mind taking you.”

  Good Lord, the man was dense. She tried again. “Don’t you need to get home and shower, change clothes first?”

  “Okay. I got it the first time. But you can’t blame a guy, especially one with élan, for trying, can you?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Tell you what. Why don’t you join Denise and me for dinner after Saturday’s performance?”

  He stood for a moment with a thoughtful look. “Okay. Sometimes a guy has to take what he can get.”

  “Well, that was certainly gracious.”

  He grinned. “I’d be thrilled and honored to escort two such beautiful ladies to dinner.”

  “Good. So, eggs before you leave?”

  “Naw, I’ll just pick something up on the way.”

  “I do appreciate the ride home last night.”

  “My pleasure. Anytime.”

  Nope. Never again. And that was her final answer. He might not know it yet, but Stephan was taken.

  Although they had one ballet left to close out the season, the artistic director had begun annual reviews and today was Clare’s turn.

  Justin sat back rubbing his hands together. “An excellent first season, Clare.”

  She sighed with relief. Justin always gives it away, Denise told her in preparation for the review and, hopefully, contract renewal meeting. If he rubs his hands together, you’re golden, but if he peered at you over steepled hands, it meant he wasn’t pleased.

  “You and Stephan are progressing nicely.”

  Clare started to resp
ond—don’t babble, whatever you do, Justin hates babbling—then let her breath out without speaking.

  “I’ve been waiting for a dancer with just the right combination of artistry and emotional fearlessness to dance Swan Lake the way it should be danced. You are that dancer, Clare. I’ve known since I saw your Giselle that you had to be my next Odette/Odile.”