“I’ll call you after I get the designer on board. I suggest you have your checkbook ready.”
For the first time in as long as she could remember, Nadia felt comfortable in her own skin.
It barely took her half an hour before it felt like she had been dancing in Max’s second-floor studio for years. The lighting, the surface of the floor, the smell—it was home. And she didn’t feel wasteful that she’d bought workout pants and slippers at the Capezio store downstairs for this little impromptu rehearsal: She was proud of herself for having the good sense to run with the whole thing. She was even feeling excited about the show that night. She didn’t have time to obsess over the perfect song, so she just chose something she knew well. She’d listened to the Adele song “Rolling in the Deep” endlessly after her breakup with Jackson, and she knew it backwards and forwards. After an hour of listening to it in the studio and experimenting with various moves, Nadia cobbled together a mix of modern dance and ballet that felt good for her and would look deceptively complex to the audience.
Toward the end of the song, Nadia moved her arms in
port de bras
, then, with the passionate chorus, she launched her body into a series of turns. Just the pleasure of moving in circles through the room seemed to stir her blood, and she did a
pirouette
, rising onto
demi-pointe
.
The door to the studio opened. She looked over to find Max watching her in stupefaction.
“You said you couldn’t dance!” he accused.
She slowed down, putting her hands on her hips.
“I said I couldn’t go
en pointe
.”
He ignored the correction and walked into the center of the room, pacing for a half a minute. “You could do a
grand jeté
just toward the end,” he said.
“I don’t want to jump.”
“Let me lift you.”
“No,” she said.
“It would be beautiful just before that last turn.”
“Maybe so, but what’s the point? You’re not going to be on-stage with me tonight.”
“I don’t care about the show tonight. I care about what transpires in this room—I care about every step a dancer takes. Each piece of choreography should be its best. If you aren’t guided by that fundamental principal, you are lost.”
She admired his passion. And so she relented.
“Fine,” she said. “I’ll try it once just for the exercise of maximizing the choreography.”
He stepped back, and she started the song from the beginning. Instead of feeling self-conscious because he was watching her, she felt exhilarated to have an audience.
She moved fluidly through the song, her anticipation building toward the moment when he would step in to do the lift. And then, it came: He placed his hands around her waist, and as he held her aloft so she could extend her legs into a “split” in the air, she felt a rush of adrenaline that had less to do with successfully executing the move than it did with the physical contact with Max.
He lowered her gently, but instead of stepping back so she could move into her next sequence of steps, he turned her to face him, and in one fluid motion, kissed her.
It took only a few seconds for Nadia to ignore the impulse to resist him. She threw her arms around his neck and pressed her body close to his, feeling a surge of desire she had not experienced in a very long time. He was a good kisser, and it was hard to stop, but the thought of any of his dancers or staff catching them made her pull away.
He held her at arm’s length, smiling down at her. Looking into his dark eyes, she felt a rush of gratitude. She was alive again. He had brought her into the ballet studio; he’d told her it was okay to want to keep some connection to ballet. And now he was reminding her that it was okay to want a man. And, as scary as it was to admit it to herself, the man she wanted was him.
13
J ustin knew he was crossing a line. And yet, he felt in the grip of something he had never experienced before. In his mind, he
For the first time in as long as she could remember, Nadia felt comfortable in her own skin.
It barely took her half an hour before it felt like she had been dancing in Max’s second-floor studio for years. The lighting, the surface of the floor, the smell—it was home. And she didn’t feel wasteful that she’d bought workout pants and slippers at the Capezio store downstairs for this little impromptu rehearsal: She was proud of herself for having the good sense to run with the whole thing. She was even feeling excited about the show that night. She didn’t have time to obsess over the perfect song, so she just chose something she knew well. She’d listened to the Adele song “Rolling in the Deep” endlessly after her breakup with Jackson, and she knew it backwards and forwards. After an hour of listening to it in the studio and experimenting with various moves, Nadia cobbled together a mix of modern dance and ballet that felt good for her and would look deceptively complex to the audience.
Toward the end of the song, Nadia moved her arms in
port de bras
, then, with the passionate chorus, she launched her body into a series of turns. Just the pleasure of moving in circles through the room seemed to stir her blood, and she did a
pirouette
, rising onto
demi-pointe
.
The door to the studio opened. She looked over to find Max watching her in stupefaction.
“You said you couldn’t dance!” he accused.
She slowed down, putting her hands on her hips.
“I said I couldn’t go
en pointe
.”
He ignored the correction and walked into the center of the room, pacing for a half a minute. “You could do a
grand jeté
just toward the end,” he said.
“I don’t want to jump.”
“Let me lift you.”
“No,” she said.
“It would be beautiful just before that last turn.”
“Maybe so, but what’s the point? You’re not going to be on-stage with me tonight.”
“I don’t care about the show tonight. I care about what transpires in this room—I care about every step a dancer takes. Each piece of choreography should be its best. If you aren’t guided by that fundamental principal, you are lost.”
She admired his passion. And so she relented.
“Fine,” she said. “I’ll try it once just for the exercise of maximizing the choreography.”
He stepped back, and she started the song from the beginning. Instead of feeling self-conscious because he was watching her, she felt exhilarated to have an audience.
She moved fluidly through the song, her anticipation building toward the moment when he would step in to do the lift. And then, it came: He placed his hands around her waist, and as he held her aloft so she could extend her legs into a “split” in the air, she felt a rush of adrenaline that had less to do with successfully executing the move than it did with the physical contact with Max.
He lowered her gently, but instead of stepping back so she could move into her next sequence of steps, he turned her to face him, and in one fluid motion, kissed her.
It took only a few seconds for Nadia to ignore the impulse to resist him. She threw her arms around his neck and pressed her body close to his, feeling a surge of desire she had not experienced in a very long time. He was a good kisser, and it was hard to stop, but the thought of any of his dancers or staff catching them made her pull away.
He held her at arm’s length, smiling down at her. Looking into his dark eyes, she felt a rush of gratitude. She was alive again. He had brought her into the ballet studio; he’d told her it was okay to want to keep some connection to ballet. And now he was reminding her that it was okay to want a man. And, as scary as it was to admit it to herself, the man she wanted was him.
13
J ustin knew he was crossing a line. And yet, he felt in the grip of something he had never experienced before. In his mind, he
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