Authors: Ann Warner
“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 respond—
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.”
Justin propped his head on his hands and grinned. “You may want to start breathing again.”
Startled, she realized she’d stopped when he said the words “Swan Lake.” It was every dancer’s dream, or at least it was hers, to dance the dual role of Odette, the white swan, fragile and vulnerable, and Odile, the black swan, strong and seductive.
“You will be returning to us next year?” Justin said. “Because if you have other plans, I need to know now. Before I make the announcement.”
She straightened and looked Justin in the eye. “There’s no place I’d rather be than Boston.”
And nothing she wanted more than this role.
I am among those who think that science has great beauty.
Marie Curie
Rob Chapin pulled off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. He’d been working on a grant application for the last three hours in his office at Northeastern University, and when the phone rang, he debated answering. The rest of the faculty and office staff had left some time ago and that meant it wouldn’t be a colleague. More likely to be either his mother or his sister, Lynne.
“So, I was right,
Professor
Chapin,” Lynne said when he picked up the receiver. “I called your apartment, but when you didn’t answer, I figured this was where you’d be. For Pete’s sake, Rob, you need a life.”
“I have a life. A perfectly good one, as a matter of fact.”
“Sure you do. Seven days a week at the university? You’re going to turn into Dr. Frankenstein.”
“Odd. Not one student has remarked on any peculiar tendencies.”
“They wouldn’t. They’re sucking up to protect their grades. Listen, the reason I’m calling...I have a favor to ask.”
“Of course you do.”
Lynne huffed, but he knew she was faking.
“Jim will be out of town this weekend and Saturday is the last ballet performance this season. I’m hoping you’ll take me. That is, if you can tear yourself away from your molecules for an evening.”
“You know I’m not into ballet.”
“It’ll do you good. Expand your horizons.”
“My horizons suit me just fine.”
“Right. You already know what I think about that. So, will you take me?”
When his sister decided she wanted him to do something, it was always easier to give in sooner rather than later. “What time do you want me to pick you up?”
Rob watched the opening moments of
Romeo and Juliet
, impatient at the loss of an evening better spent doing research, preparing a lecture, or finishing the grant application. Then the dancer in the leading role snagged his attention. Even to his untutored eye, it was obvious why she’d been chosen. Elegant and fine-boned, she danced as if she were floating an inch above the stage, her face alive with emotion.
When the lights came up for the interval, Lynne touched his arm. “I’m going to get a drink. Do you want anything?”
“No thanks.”
Lynne left and he opened the program, searching for the dancer’s name. Clare Eliason. In her first year in Boston. Previously, she’d been with companies in Atlanta and Cincinnati.
Lynne returned and slipped back into her seat. “Do I dare ask what you think?”
“As a matter of fact, I’m enjoying it.”
“Maybe you should come more often.”
“Don’t push it.”
She pulled a face, looking as smart-alecky as she had at twelve. “There’s a reception afterwards. I’d like to stop by for a few minutes.”
So much for his plan to get some work done yet this evening. But as he and Lynne moved around the room, speaking to people his sister knew, he was glad he’d agreed to the reception, since it gave him a chance to see more of Clare Eliason.
She wore a simple green dress that flattered her slender figure, and her hair, tightly styled during the performance, was now a silken fall of rich brown that reached the middle of her back. Her eyes, a color he could not quite name from across the room, were an arresting contrast to the dark hair. The vividness she’d projected onstage was muted, as if a light had been dimmed inside her, but her serene, self-possessed manner still made her the most compelling woman present.
Lynne nodded in Clare’s direction. “I see Justin is taking care of his star.”