After breakfast I went upstairs to get dressed for work. I was a professional ballerina, so I didn't bother showering most mornings because I knew I'd spend the day sweating anyway: instead I showered at work at the end of the day. It was a small pleasure after so strenuous a day.
For work I always wore a similar outfit: leggings or tights, with a vest or leotard, and of course, ballet slippers. But I'd learnt as a young lady not to walk around London wearing clothes like that on my own, so I wore dresses over the top and boots for my daily walk to and from the ballet house. (Boots are the gift of God to professional dancers! Spacious, sturdy, protective, comfortable - they are second best to living barefoot.)
Everything in my life was always the same. I woke up, I ate breakfast with my family, I got dressed, I walked to work. I danced for twelve hours on my toes to prepare for whatever show the dance company was performing next, then I walked home and fell asleep early out of sheer exhaustion. Please don't think I was completely boring: on weekends I spent time with my friends, most of whom were also ballerinas, and I often drove to Winchester to visit Andy. And of course during the off season (which was a four month period over the summer where I didn't have to work at all), I could let loose as much as I wanted! Oh, those months were always fun. Sleepovers, nightclubbing, vacations, long drives with music blasting out the open windows... I loved all that girly stuff. But the new season had only just started, which meant I had a long 8 months of strenuous exercise and performances to complete before my next rest!
So at 7:45 that morning I walked into the ballet house expecting everything to be the same as always. Faith, the company's prima ballerina, would greet me first, mostly to brag about all her latest achievements while I pretended to care. Then I'd make an excuse to leave her and greet my real friends, Lex and Tabby and Yvonne and, well, all the other ballerinas, really. We were a close team. Dancing together for 60 hours a week will do that to a hundred young women.
But something was different about today. I went into the changing rooms, carrying my heavy gym bag on my shoulder, and put it down on the bench below the changing pegs like I normally did. I straightened up to begin taking off my dress and boots, but a sudden greeting in my ear abruptly made me stop.
'Olivia!' the annoyingly sweet voice said. I gasped and looked over my shoulder.
'Faith!' I hissed. 'You frightened the life out of me!'
'Sorry, darling. How are you this morning? I heard your feet were feeling rough after yesterday.'
I groaned and kicked off my shoes. It was so typical of Faith to point out my flaws. And it was so typical of her to also say, 'My feet are fine! I'm enjoying this routine. But then, I have been dancing since I was three. How old were you when you started ballet again?'
With a glare in my eyes I smiled sweetly and said,
'I was five and a half, Faith. Don't forget about the half! That's just six more months I spent lagging behind you. Now can I get changed?'
Faith's smile faded and she straightened up. She was easily half a foot taller than me, but all she could do after my little remark was walk away to change herself.
As soon as she'd moved away I heard a snort from my other side, so I turned and spotted my closest friend in the company, Lex, smirking at me.
'Hey.' I said.
'Hey, girl.' she replied, knocking my fist amusedly. 'You put her in her place! What did she say to you?'
'Oh, nothing unusual. How's it going?'
'Not too shabby! I'm shattered though. What day is it today? Friday? Please, Olivia, tell me it's Friday.'
'No.' I sighed back at her. 'It's only Thursday. But we can make it! Let's do something tomorrow night to let off some steam.'
'Definitely. My house? Ice cream and High School Musical?'
'I'm in.' I laughed and finally peeled my socks off. 'Ugh.'
Lex and I were barely dressed and ready before our ballet mistress, Madame Favreau, knocked loudly on the changing room doors. We jumped and looked around us. Were we late? No, we still had five minutes to get ready!
I, being the closest to the door and urged by my fellow ballerinas, opened it and poked my head out.
'Oh, morning Madame. Can we help you?'
The French woman in her forties, who looked like a supermodel in her twenties, smiled brightly at me and said,
'Be quick of changing, ladies! We have a new addition to our group today, so we must be starting soon.'
'Yes, Madame.' I said, smiling too and nodding my head. I echoed the command to the rest of the girls in the changing rooms and stepped outside with Lex. We often entered the dance studio early to do our hair in the mirrors: I was hopeless at tying it tight enough and often needed my friend to help me out. Her mother was African and a hairdresser, so Lex and I had bonded over my need to borrow her hair gels and skills every day. She seemed to be the only ballerina present who's bun met Favreau's standards!
Five minutes later, myself and the other dancers all gathered in a semi circle around our beloved teacher, intently waiting to hear who our new classmate was. New dancers were always exciting. I suppose because the people you dance with become a second family to you, especially when you go on tours together and spend hours and hours a week sharing a dance space, a routine, meals and changing rooms. These ladies were my sisters, and meeting a new one was like receiving a cute little baby to look after.
But for all our glances around the room, whispers and intent listening to Madame Favreau, the new girl was never introduced.
Eventually Faith, a hopeless gossip, interrupted Madame's dance instructions to ask, 'Where's our new girl, Madame?'
'There is no 'new girl', child.' Madame Favreau said. 'We have a new musician soon - Lucy is finally replaced! We dance to live piano again at last!'
Together we all cheered: dancing to a CD is never as exciting or lifelike as dancing to live music, as we do in our shows, and we had been deprived of that luxury for almost a month now since our pianist left. Clapping my hands, I glanced around the room again but still saw no sign of a newcomer.
'Where is the pianist, Madame?' I asked. Old Lucy and I had grown close before, and I was hoping the new musician and I would bond equally as well. It's important for dancers and their pianists to be perfectly in synch, after all.
'More like where's the piano?' Lex muttered beside me.
'The piano is en route from downstairs, ladies. Calm!' our teacher huffed, exasperated with us already. 'Is heavy, and requires two men for moving it, so have patience and begin your stretches. À présent!'
Excited and fluttering, the ballerinas and I moved over to the mirrors, and as requested, began stretching our legs up on the bars. Even this was done as a performance, entirely synchronised and beautiful. Today, however, some of the girls bent that little bit further forwards and stood that little bit straighter, whispering to each other excitedly at the prospect of having two men join us in the room.
I, however, became so engrossed in my stretches that, despite the many mirrors constantly catching my eyes, the piano was brought into the room almost without me noticing! I believe Yvonne was the first to spot the two men entering. All of a sudden her stretches faltered slightly, catching the attention of her neighbour, then hers, then hers, until all of us were muddled and wondering what had become so distracting. Then I, one of the last to notice, finally glanced up into the mirror and saw the men. It was a welcome sight.
'Stop, stop!' Madame Favreau cried, clapping her hands crossly to get our attention back. 'What is wrong with you, girls!? Two men come in this room and your legs are weak?'
We all giggled at the woman's alarm, but still quickly straightened up. Favreau gestured for us to form a semicircle around her again, which we did, and then she thanked the two men for moving the piano so carefully into the ballet studio. One of them was Gordon, the ballet company's old, overweight security guard, but the other man was entirely the opposite. He was tall, tanned, wiry, and he kept his head slightly bowed. Thick brown curls of hair covered his face from view. I kept trying to catch a glimpse of it anyway.
A few girls waved at him, expecting them both to leave now, but only one of them did. The younger of the two, dressed in a black suit and tie with a white shirt, stayed. Madame Favreau stepped backwards and put a hand on his back. 'Welcome, Lotan, to our studio!'
I tell you, every jaw in there dropped. The young man looked up a little and glanced over our faces.
'Hello.'
He may have only said one word, but his voice was deep, and silky: the kind of voice that shakes the very room around you and sends goosebumps up your arms. I quickly found myself smiling wider than the forced smiles I wear for performances! But when the man glanced back up and his eyes wandered towards mine, I gulped and looked down. I wasn't normally shy around attractive men, but today I had unwashed hair, no makeup and, well, at certain times of the month my self esteem is just lower. And this man was incredibly attractive: his eyes were large and brown, his eyebrows were thick and dark like his hair, his skin was smooth, and his lips were broad and full. He was a little skinny, but it suited him.
I continued to glance at his humble head while Madame Favreau introduced him as our new pianist and her nephew, though I never let him catch my eye. He seemed shy.
Soon Favreau noticed the lust radiating from our side of the room and ordered us back to work. Giggling like, well, girls, we obeyed. And once again the stretches were no longer just stretches, but butts were sticking out further and legs were sliding along the bars and heads were being tilted and lips were pouting, all for the attention of the young man sitting down at the piano. I snickered at their feeble attempts to stand out in a group of identically clothed, identically desperate women, especially when Madame Favreau didn't strike me as a woman who'd tolerate any romantic advances from her dancers to her nephew! So I merely continued on as I'd started before 'Lotan' ever entered the room.
Before long the stretching was over. Feeling warmed up and loose (some of the girls by a very different definition), we moved into rows and looked to Madame Favreau for further instruction. She called out,
'Right, now, let us begin with 'Dance of the Willis'.'
The very title of the dance suddenly sounded very rude in front of a man, and that, paired with Madame Favreau's brazen pronunciation, made us all laugh. 'Attention, attention! Please, girls! Now, er... Where's Faith - ah, Faith, come here, child.'
Madame opened her arms with all the grace of an experienced ballerina, leading Faith to approach her. The invited girl, as I've said, was the most senior dancer among us. She was almost 25, but walked and floated and danced with the grace of a young swan. No wonder she always got picked for Princess Odette over me. I was often the second soloist - the second choice, - but never the first and that was what mattered to me. I didn't want to be in Faith's shadow forever. I wanted to be the best: I wanted to have the solo introduction, and the longest legs and the prettiest smile and the best, tightest bun. (Truthfully my hair was already loosening; my sandy blonde waves were fighting against the four hair ties I'd tried to tame it with. It was a pet peeve of both mine and Madame Favreau's, who was forever heard shouting at me, 'Come now, child, sort your hair out! This is ballet, not a fat Sunday morning!')
Anyway, Faith took her mark at the front of the group, which split into two and moved off to either side of her. We were now 'backstage'. Then she pulled herself into a beautiful, erect pose, and waited for the music. Madame Favreau nodded at Lotan, the newcomer, to begin playing the piano, and so he did.
It was the most beautiful sound to ever reach my ears. Mozart couldn't have played the dance better himself! Lotan's hands didn't just play the piano, oh no; his fingers blessed the piano, floating over the keys as if they never truly pressed them, and yet, this perfectly timed, elegant piece was delivered heavily, and dramatically, as it should be. Lotan's lips pouted slightly in concentration, as mine do when I write, and his eyes closed for the majority of the song as he felt the melody flow through him. Occasionally he would glance at his music book or at us, the ballerinas. His eyes held only professionalism as he looked upon us, simply checking that the music and dancing were still in time before his lids closed again.
At the beginning of Faith's opening solo, which was still being perfected by the countless efforts of the young woman and the shrill shouts of our teacher, I became so fascinated by the melody and the sight of the good looking man filling the room with it, that I needed a quick nudge from Lex to remind me of my cue to enter the stage. I had the next solo part, but it was shorter than Faith's and the steps were simpler: two things I didn't appreciate.
Quickly regaining my composure and posture, I took a deep breath and 'entered the stage'. Lotan's dark eyes flickered open at me, the company's idiot, for just a second while I did.
This dance was not yet branded in our memories, so a lot of direction was needed from Madame Favreau as we attempted this dance for only the third time. Her voice was kind through most of it, but the constant calling out destroyed the magic of Lotan's music, and soon the whole thing became so disjointed that none of us could focus and legs were flying up to different heights and our rows were wonky and the spins ended at random times and, well, Favreau lost it.
'Stop! Stop! Tu te fous de moi, girls!? This is worse than your first try!'
I, lost for breath and pink in the face, bent low as I tried to recover. The room fell silent. 'I am lost with you all.' Favreau barked. 'Do you want to be elegant dancers!? Have you given a decade and more of your lives to this art? Why do you, Tabby, stumble on pirouettes? Why does your leg shake on a simply plié, Zoe? Are your arms very heavy today, Olivia?'
Upon hearing my name I immediately straightened up and gulped. I was never one to brush off criticism. Our new pianist didn't look at any of us during this lecture.
The room stayed quiet for a few moments, until Madame Favreau had let us stew in our shortcomings long enough. Then she clapped her hands and said, 'A break! Five minutes, have some water, then gather back together.'
Madame picked up her own water bottle and went and stood beside Lotan at the piano, and the two began quietly discussing his music and changes that may need to be made. I took no notice of them, but sat down against a mirror to guzzle some water.
'Oh, you.' Lex said, sitting down beside me and picking up one of my loose curls. 'Here, hold this and I'll fix it for you.'
Before I knew it I was holding Lex's bottle and she was scraping my hair back into a very, very tight bun.
'Ow!' I hissed, pulling away. That only hurt worse.
'Hold still!' Lex said. 'It's got to be tight or it'll never stay up through all these turns. Got any more hairbands?'
'Yeah, here.' I said, taking a few off my water bottle and handing them up to her. Lex added more and more to my hair until it felt so tight I thought my scalp would peel off!
'Damn, that's so tight, Lex. How do you wear your hair like that all the time?' I said, half gratefully and half grumpily as she sat back down beside me, finished.
'Believe me, this is nicer than box braids.' she laughed.
I snorted too and swigged some more water.
'Here, drink up. She's working us hard today.'
YOU ARE READING
The Greatest Mind I Ever Knew
Romance**SEQUEL SERIES TO THE 3-BOOK 'RUTH HARRIS' SERIES ALSO FOUND ON MY PAGE.** Olivia Brookes is a young ballerina with her whole life ahead of her. Her biggest problem is finding patience for her mother, who has a lifelong diagnosis of Dissociative Id...
