There was thunderous applause, the entire building vibrating from the intensity.
Mikhail and I were both laughing from excitement, the chatter with the other dancers a highlight of the evening. They’d known how special the moment had been. A sold-out house for the American Ballet at the David H. Koch Theater.
My first performance as a prima ballerina.
Maybe my last since I was merely the understudy, taking over for the real prima ballerina because of an injury. Still, I refused to allow the ugly fact to take away from the moment. For a little while, I was the star deserving the applause.
The little girl who’d dreamt about tutus and dance music since she could remember was a star.
The same little girl who’d done everything in her power to lose herself and her identity to claim her right to freedom.
At least for one night I would revel in the spoils of an eight-year battle.
The moment the curtain opened once again, we were prepared to take our bows. Every step had been rehearsed, every nod of the head as it should be. Even as I was presented with two dozen long stem pink roses, they were no surprise, a formality that I’d imagined during lonely nights.
I held my head up high, thrilled and proud of myself for such an amazing achievement.
If only my father had been able to attend. What about my brother or mother? Two people I’d heard nothing from since leaving for my new life. Sadness was always with me, the loss of everything I’d ever known a steep price to pay. But here I was, every challenge paid for with sacrifices.
As soon as the curtain fell for the last time, the thrill faded with the speed of the applause, the ugliness of my life recapturing the few seconds of happiness.
Squeals continued as the dancers congratulated themselves, many eager to prepare for a night of partying. I allowed myself a deep whiff of the stunning flowers, laughing to myself when I noticed thorns. Perhaps appropriate for this prima ballerina.
Seconds later, one of our assistants took the flowers from my arms. She’d scurry to my dressing room where they’d be when I returned to change. My partner walked closer, a mischievous grin on his face. I’d been lucky being paired with him. He was the best in the business.
“Thank you for not dropping me,” I teased Mikhail, squeezing his arm. The little girl inside was trying to claw her way to the surface, preventing me from accepting the moments ofenjoyment. Tonight had been thrilling, a moment of feeling as if I mattered. As if I was special. Just like I’d once felt years before.
But the terror of being found or being called home never left.
Mikhail spun me around in a circle as he’d done every time we’d had a successful rehearsal. “My beautiful Anna. You’re far too hard on yourself. You deserved a chance. If you ask me, you’re much better than Marissa.”
“Yeah, well, don’t tell her that or she’ll hire someone to break my legs.” Marissa was not only a stone-cold fox, she was also the resident bitch, throwing a tantrum when the director had replaced her for such a monumental event.
“Don’t worry about her. Why don’t you come home with me tonight and I’ll show you just how amazing you truly are.”
I flung my arms over his shoulders. While I adored the man, valuing his friendship as much as his partnership, that’s where our relationship would stand. “My sweet Mikhail. You couldn’t handle me.” To continue the tease, I raked my fingers down his chest as I backed away, stopping short of slipping my hand between his legs.
He wagged his finger at me, mostly because the thin tights offered no chance at hiding a male’s true feelings.
Or his wanton desires.
He could and had enjoyed almost every dancer in thecorps de ballet. I refused to be just another one of his conquests.
“Such a bad girl.”
I blew him a few kisses before the wretched claws of anxiety settled in. Something else provided by my difficult and formalchildhood steeped in Italian heritage. Sicilian to be exact, leaving me a mafia princess. Primped and cared for. Secured and prepared. All for a life I hadn’t wanted and had fought tooth and nail to break free of. The success of doing so would always be considered my greatest achievement. Well… tonight was extremely special.
I reminded myself of who I was now, not the girl from before, and held my head high.
Fortunately, no one else tried to stop me on the way to my cramped dressing room. Once inside, I leaned against the door, taking several shallow breaths.
At least the roses added a decorative touch in an otherwise bleak environment. I moved to the stool in front of the mirror, sitting down to remove my toe shoes, rubbing my aching feet. My poor bloodied feet.
Next were the pins holding my hair in place. With my long strands flowing over my shoulders, I stared at myself in the mirror. There were days I no longer recognized the girl who’d come here as a member of the elite studio company. She’d certainly lost her youthful verve.
I’d once been a protected princess, which had lingered long after I’d moved to the United States. Eight years of freedom. Eight beautiful years. For that I was grateful, no longer shadowed by men carrying weapons. Now, my friends only knew me as the quirky Italian girl with big feet. Even then I did my best to hide my Italian heritage. It was much easier to be someone I wasn’t.
Chuckling, I pulled out several wet wipes to remove the garish makeup, taking my time to do so. Noise continued outside in the corridor although I knew everyone was eager to head out tothe nightclubs. We were an odd bunch, our training preventing typical behavior of people our age on a regular basis. We had to nurture our bodies with the right food and drink, excluding alcohol ninety-five percent of the time.
