First Position Read online

  “If he comes to Miami, we do the drink. Now, did he give you promotion or are you stuck for another year?”

  She paused, drawing out the moment. Before saying the words, she closed her eyes, vowing to let them wash over her. “I’m now a principal dancer with City Ballet, Papa.” She took a breath and waited.

  “Anastasia!” he said. “At last. This is fantastic.”

  “Thank you.” The tears rolled freely down her cheeks now, but they were happy tears, so she let them fall.

  “Did you ask him why he waits so long?”

  She opened her mouth to answer and then closed it again, not sure how to handle his deviation from the main idea. This was the best news of her life and she wanted to celebrate, not dwell on why it hadn’t happened sooner. “Of course not. I was too happy with the news. I’ve waited for this for a long time, plugging away.”

  “Better late than never! I am proud of you, Kotik.” The term of endearment, meaning “kitten,” dated back to when Ana was five years old and lost her mother in a car accident. Her father had become her custodial parent from that point on. He wasn’t an overly affectionate father, but he’d been there for her. “Casting for the fall season is happening soon, yes?”

  “This week. There’s a new work of Roger’s that I’m dying to dance. It’s the season opener. Contemporary and edgy. This would be something different for me.”

  “For your career, what is best? What’s going to advance you the most amount?” The ever-present question seemed to surface whenever they spoke. How could she get ahead and how fast could she do it? Little else mattered to him, which placed a lot on her shoulders.

  “I think it would be beneficial, yes.”

  “Then you must earn the lead, my darling. No less than lead.”

  “I will, Papa. I’ll speak to you soon.”

  They said their good-byes and Ana clicked off, her emotions twisted the way they often were when she spoke to her father. Just once, she wanted to luxuriate in a victory rather than focusing on her next battle. He’d been happy for her news, but only briefly, because he already had his sights set on her next goal.

  But then again, so did she.

  Suddenly, a cluster of voices echoed in the hallway, made up of singing and cheering and words of congratulations. As the building was comprised of many of the dancers from the company, it was common for them to congregate in the hallways, even more so on a day that would bring about big changes in the company. They’d discuss who’d been promoted, who’d been let go, and which students from the School of American Ballet would be coming on as apprentices in the new season. She smiled, happy for their success, and moved closer to her door to listen to the chatter. Part of her wanted to join the group in their happiness, share her own news, and celebrate with her colleagues. Maybe they’d go out that night to the bar across the street, or stay in and gather in someone’s apartment. She smiled at the thought and what that must be like. Actual friends. And while it would be seemingly easy to walk into that hallway and join them, something held her back. She stared at the Post-it across the room and remembered.

  Better is always possible. Good is not enough.

  The best thing she could do for herself right now was stay focused. As much as she might want to push it all aside for a good time, the season would be cast soon, and she couldn’t let anything distract from her objective.

  Chapter Two

  “What’s the house look like?” Natalie Frederico asked as she raced through the stage door, shrugging from her size-too-big green cargo jacket and glancing at the wall clock as she passed. She had never been good at call times, which meant she now had exactly twenty-two minutes to get herself in costume and makeup for the ten p.m. curtain. Not a big deal. She’d make it.

  “We’re at capacity,” said her stage manager, Eddie, following her down the narrow, dimly lit hallway to her makeshift dressing room, formerly a storage closet. Her life was anything but glamorous.

  “Sold out for the fourth straight week, then. Why the hell are we being tossed out of here again?” she asked, still pissed that they were forced to close the show so unexpectedly. “We play to standing room only six nights a week and Terrance is evicting us? This space has been our home for the past two years, and then we’re just tossed?”

  “Maybe because you only charge ten dollars a ticket in a garage space that only seats a hundred and fifty? He’s a businessman, Nat,” Eddie explained as he followed her. His glasses leaned off-kilter on his nose again, and Natalie took a minute to straighten them, ruffling his curly hair for good measure.

  “He’s a fucking capitalist,” she said. “Money doesn’t make the world go ’round, Ed. Assholes like Terrance need to figure that out.” She took a seat in the fold-up chair she’d set in front of a mirror. Voilà, instant dressing room.

  Eddie held up a finger as she applied eyeliner just under her lower lid. “Right. Except that it does. I mean, objectively.”

  “Yeah, well.” She couldn’t exactly argue further, as money was the reason the owner was giving her and her cast the boot. Wheels, the show she’d conceived of, choreographed, nurtured, and now danced in alongside eight of her closest friends, was playing its final performance that night. The devised dance piece had not only received fabulous write-ups in all the Los Angeles trades and dailies, but had a nightly waiting list of die-hards intent on getting tickets to the generally sold-out show. For some of them, it was their tenth or fifteenth time seeing the piece. And why wouldn’t it be? Wheels was easily the most kick-ass production Natalie had ever been a part of, incorporating video projections, modern dance, classical ballet, and even a couple of skateboards (not ridden by her). They were a hit with the downtown crowd and lauded by the uptown. A win-win and she couldn’t have been more proud of the work.

  Yet it had all come crashing down due to lack of cash.

  She shook her head in frustration. Sure, she could have upped ticket prices, but it went against what she believed in. Art for art’s sake mattered more than a big box office take. She danced for herself and not some guy with a checkbook bigger than his face.

  “For what it’s worth, I’m gonna miss working on the show with you,” Ed said to her in the mirror, his cheeks pink with emotion. Before she could stop herself, she turned and pulled her friend into a tight embrace because she’d miss him, too, the little nerd. The project had been a labor of love, and that was exactly what she felt for the show and everyone involved. A tight ball of emotion rose in her throat, because tonight was the end of something very special.

  She turned back to the mirror, reining in the sentimentality. “We’ll do another show. We’ll get started next week. Find a new space.”

  Eddie hesitated. “This one is going to have to be my last, Natalie. The rest of the guys are out, too.”

  She stared at him, nonplussed. “Wait. What do you mean?”

  “We had a talk last night.”

  “Without me?” She straightened and faced him, aware of the now seventeen minutes she had until curtain. “Why would you make that kind of decision? This is what we do and we’re good at it. Everyone?”

  He nodded. “We all feel it’s time to move on. We made the decision as a group.”

  “Minus one,” Natalie supplied. She reached for her pointe shoes. She wouldn’t need them until the second half of the show when she shifted from modern to ballet, but they needed to make it to the stage with her.

  “I’m sorry we didn’t tell you. But we knew you’d talk us into staying on. Your passion for the work is contagious, but I can’t make my rent,” Ed told her in defeat. “You can’t either.”

  “So?” The bravado helped her push past the reality of that statement. “We’ll figure it out.”

  “Sadly, I don’t want to figure it out,” Ed told her. “Everything is crumbling around us and all you care about is the next show, the next gig, the art of it all. As romantic as that sounds, I’m not twenty years old anymore, Nat. I need to figure out my life.”
r />   She closed her eyes against the statement. She’d heard it before. From her mother. Her father. Her friends. And now here it was from members of her own dance company.

  “What does Morgan say?” Eddie asked, pulling her back from her thoughts.

  At the mention of her girlfriend, Natalie smiled. “She thinks what we do is awesome and supports me one hundred percent.”

  “Yeah, well, she’d say that if you’d announced you were taking a gaggle of prairie dogs on a field trip to Mars. She’s not just your girlfriend, she’s your number one groupie.”

  Natalie lifted a defensive shoulder. “So she’s supportive. Big deal.”

  “Exponentially so. To a fault, and you know it.”

  “Is this a tough-love talk? Because it’s starting to feel like one.” She’d known Eddie for years. He’d come to her first solo show and had become an instant fan, attending every performance she’d given for weeks. In the end, he’d asked to contribute in any way he could and had turned into the best stage manager she’d ever worked with. They’d become friends along the way.

  He met her eyes, seeming to give up on the argument. “I love you. You know that, but maybe it’s time for a little stability in all of our lives.”

  She nodded, though sadness tugged. “I better get ready. Twelve minutes till go time. See ya out there.”

  Once she was alone, Natalie studied herself in the mirror. Her medium-length brown hair, now streaked every other strand with blond highlights, was pulled up on the sides and fell freely in the back. Her makeup was appropriately dramatic for the show, and the overdrawn green eye shadow matched the shade of her own eyes nicely. She blinked back at herself, willing her head to get in the game in the midst of the bomb Eddie had just dropped. “Focus, Frederico. You have a last show to dance.”

  But the weight of Eddie’s words hung over her like an all-knowing rain cloud, and she blew out a melancholy breath. She was twenty-seven years old, and in her ten years as a dancer, she’d learned one key lesson: art trumped commerce. It was the reason she’d stepped away from a promising career that had her on the fast track to becoming a world-class ballerina. She cringed at the word even now. She’d had the agent, scholarships from all the top schools, and the scouts at her feet after winning a national ballet competition at thirteen. The newspapers had named her the most promising young ballet dancer in the western half of the country. After that, she’d given professional ballet a whirl, but the structure and the extreme focus on technique had her unable to express herself in the way she wanted to. Correction, needed to. To Natalie, dancing was her fix, but dancing her own way was a far more potent drug.

  Things had been rough lately. She could admit that.

  Putting together quarters to come up with her next meal had grown tiresome. As good as the write-ups had been on Wheels, it was getting harder and harder to stay one step ahead financially. She loved dancing, but the scramble to keep her head above water was taking an intense toll. With Terrance evicting them, and the company scattering, Natalie would be starting from the ground up with a new show and a new crop of dancers. That would take time.

  And time didn’t come with a paycheck.

  Hell, couldn’t anything ever be easy?

  “Places, everyone,” she heard Eddie call from down the hall. She gave her head a little shake and moved to the small stage, taking her place and waiting there in the dark as the music rose and pulsed around her, the techno beat vivid and all encompassing. Once the light hit, Natalie was off. The choreography was slow at first, by design, but the tempo picked up and the projected images behind her were timed to the beat. Robotic lighting followed her every move. As the show played on, she danced with a fire behind her fueled by desperation at her present set of circumstances. Feeling like her back was against the wall, she put it all on that stage. The music moved through her, ushering her steps, wild and carefree, but angular and accurate at the same time. Fifty-two minutes later, she took her final bow alongside her friends, absorbing the thunderous applause for the last time. By the end of the performance, she’d made a decision.

  This was the end of the road.

  It had to be.

  And that just about killed her.

  *

  The afterparty at Mustang Mike’s was in full swing when Natalie arrived. The bar had turned into the go-to spot for cast and audience members alike to gather after each show and kick back until the wee hours of the morning. Prior to arriving, she’d taken an extra few minutes in her dressing room to pack up her things and say a mental good-bye to a show she’d grown to love. With a lump in her throat and a box under her arm, she’d taken a last long look at the place before switching off the lights for good.

  The end of an era, she thought to herself. Sharp. Razor edged. Painful.

  But she shook off the blistering sting because it was time to celebrate what they’d accomplished, and it just so happened Natalie was very good at celebrating—as in A-plus caliber.

  When she appeared in the doorway of the bar, the patrons broke into applause and whistles, which progressed to hoots and hollers that lasted well past when they should have. God, it felt good. She took a minute to let it settle over her before making her way around the jam-packed room, hugging her friends and thanking them for a job well done. She also graciously accepted the compliments from audience members who’d enjoyed the show and stopped her to say so.

  “Ms. Frederico, would you sign my program?”

  “Natalie—can I call you Natalie? That was a kick-ass show. I loved the skateboards. Was that your idea?”

  “You were awesome tonight, Ms. Frederico. I’ve never seen anyone dance like that. My friends were right when they told me to get tickets.”

  She smiled, nodded, signed, and answered any and all questions. Interacting with people who saw value in her vision was one of the perks of the job that never got old.

  And then at the end of the bar, she was met with the apologetic faces of her fellow dancers, their eyes downcast and their expressions guilt-ridden. When she came to Misty, who’d been with her in the early days before there even was a full-fledged company, she paused.

  “Good show tonight,” Natalie told her.

  “Thanks. So we heard Eddie talked to you,” Misty said, taking her hand.

  Natalie nodded and gave Misty’s hand a squeeze. “It sucks, but I get it. All good things have to come to end eventually, right?”

  Misty nodded, and Angelo, another dancer, joined the conversation. “So you don’t hate us?”

  Natalie shook her head. “You know that’s not my style.”

  “You’re an inspiring leader, Natalie. Maybe one day we can all come back together again,” Misty offered. “Restored and better than ever.”

  “I hope so,” Natalie said, though she knew the chances were slim to none. In a way it felt like graduation day, where they all headed off into the boring world and got suit-and-tie jobs that would put food on the table and kill the adventure forever. “What will you do in the meantime?”

  “Work for my dad’s insurance firm,” Misty said with a grimace. “Maybe find a way to teach a dance class at night. What about you?”

  It was the million-dollar question. What exactly would she do? The thought was interrupted when two arms snaked their way around her middle. She turned to see Morgan’s dark eyes dancing back at her. She wore a black dress that hugged her curves and left little to the imagination.

  “You were amazing tonight. And hot. Beyond hot.” Natalie moved into her girlfriend’s embrace but was intercepted with an open-mouthed kiss that woke her libido in a big way. Perhaps there’d be a little one-on-one time with Morgan later. For now, however, there was a larger goal. Drink a lot, party a lot, and forget the future that loomed in front of her, large and imposing.

  She pulled back from the kiss. “Let me talk to these people, then we can kick back with everyone.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  In one quick move, Natalie was up on top of t
he bar and facing the room. She held up her hands, which brought the rumble of voices to a gentle hush just as someone killed the volume on the music. She looked down at all the expectant faces, friends, supporters, and colleagues. The sight tightened her throat with emotion. “So this is the end of something important, I guess. Wheels was one of those shows that you’ll always remember, and dancing with you guys,” she said, directing her focus to her fellow dancers, “was an honor I won’t likely match. I think tonight has to be a celebration of the work, and I for one, am ready to honor it with large amounts of alcohol. Who’s with me?”

  The bar erupted in cheers and the music blared as she jumped down in time to have her first cocktail of the night placed in her hands. She downed the Crown and Diet and joined her friends on a makeshift dance floor in the middle of the bar. The night turned into one Natalie wouldn’t soon forget. They danced, they talked, they hugged, they drank. Just after four a.m. she stumbled into her studio apartment with Morgan’s mouth on her neck.

  If it all had to end, at least she went out with a bang.

  Tomorrow was the start of something new. She just wasn’t sure what.

  *

  Someone was knocking on the door. The rat-tat-tat had yanked Natalie unceremoniously from her slumber, and she wasn’t thrilled. Damn it. She glanced around the room with one eye scrunched. The sunbeams from the skylight ripped across her face and prompted her to glance at the readout on her clock. Just past one in the afternoon.

  Rat-tat-tat-tat.

  “Hold on a sec,” she mumbled, getting up in search of her robe. Pulling it tightly across her naked body, she made her way to the door, acutely aware of the screaming muscles she’d earned from last night’s performance.

  Rat-tat-tat.

  “Oh my God, I’m going to have to kill you,” she said loudly and flung open the door. Standing there on her doormat was a suit. One with a man inside. Which was the best way she could think to describe the visual. There was definite tweed. And the suit had a hat in his hand. “What’s up?” she asked him. “What can I do for you?”