Chase cuts in, his voice low and rough. “Only then do we start the interviews. And I have to say, we are selecting maybe five new dancers out of more than a thousand new applicants.”
“Joining this company is very competitive,” Basil agrees. “Only the creme de la creme need apply.”
Emma glances at her slender wristwatch. “Can we move things alone, Basil?”
Basil gives her a look so cold, I swear I feel its icy chill all the way here in the back row of students. I glance over at Eric, arching a brow silently.
His lips twist into a tiny smirk. He rolls his eyes.
“Yes, thank you, Emma,” Basil says, his tone dry. “The New York Ballet was formed in 1947, with a rather spectacular roster of dancers?—“
A muffled scream comes from somewhere far behind the curtain that hangs heavy across the stage. It’s a woman’s voice, tinged with a French accent, growing closer as it rises in pitch.
“You bastard!” she bleats. “You absolute… fucking… bastard!”
Basil slowly turns toward the sound, his expression completely unsurprised. “Honor, darling! I’m holding a class here and we can all hear you.”
That name gives me pause. Where have a I heard that before?
But before I can focus on that, it’s swept away by muffled footsteps approaching the curtain.
“Let go of me!” Honor shouts. “I’m going to tell everybody about our little affair, Mikhail!”
The curtain moves like there is a scuffle going on just beyond it. Both of my eyebrows raise; the argument that Honor and Mikhail are clearly having couldn’t be choreographed better if they tried.
Honor rips the black velvet curtain and stalks out on stage, shaking Mikhail off. She is lithe and blonde, dressed in a white leotard and a filmy white ballet skirt. She’s followed by a desperate-looking Mikhail, his black t-shirt and jeans setting off his silvering dark hair. He glances at his audience, his lips twisting in a grimace.
“Let them all know!” Honor declares, sweeping her hand to indicate her audience. “Tell everyone what you just suggested when I told you that I was pregnant with your child.”
Mikhail glances at us, shaking his head. When he finally speaks, his deep timbre is heavily inflected with Russian or Ukrainian.
“Don’t,” he warns her. “Don’t make this public.”
I can see Honor practically vibrating with rage. “No? You don’t want me to tell everybody out here? What, are you afraid that word will get back to your wife?”
My eyes widen. I glance at Eric and see him mouthing, “oh shit!” to me. I nod. This is some really juicy drama, playing out right before our eyes.
“You won’t get me to change my mind by telling a bunch of ballet students. Just have a scrape and be done with it!” he roars.
My hand flies to my throat. My jaw drops. I could be wrong, but I think Mikhail just told his lover to get an abortion. There have long been whispers about what happens when a prima gets pregnant.
I mean, you basically have to decide if you want your career to end or you want to continue dancing.
A hush falls over the whole room when Mikhail shouts that. He clenches his teeth, looks at the audience, and growls at us. “Grow up, will you?”
Basil straightens his spine, looking back and forth between the tearful ballerina and the fuming Russian. He raises his eyebrows.
“Relationships between dancers and stage managers are explicitly forbidden. Mikhail, you are her teacher, for god’s sake. And Honor, you should know better. You’re a student, no matter how much you advance in the company. If I am reading this situation correctly…” He gestures to both of them pulling his fist in tight. “We have a big problem.”
Honor lifts her chin defiantly. “I would say that we are beyond having a problem, Basil.”
Basil shoots her a glare and then turns back to his audience. “I think we will have to reschedule this for another day.” He glances at Emma and Chase, who look livid. “Will you please lead your class out of the theater? Mikhail and Honor, let’s go to somewhere more private.”
Honor shakes her head and storms off the stage. Mikhail casts a jaundiced eye over us as we are standing up, muttering to himself as he follows Honor.
As soon as we get to the theater doors, the whispers of my classmates burst to life. I hear, “Can you believe that she just outed them both like that?”
Then literally everyone is talking at once. I feel a tug at my elbow and find Ella there, giving me a wide eyed glance. She pats her elegantly pinned up hair as she wonders aloud.
