If- Nina G. Jones Page 0,73

expectations of me. It was his job to make his act the best it could be and he saved his mercy for our time outside of the rehearsal.

“He lowers you, then one and two and three . . .” He demonstrated the pique to jeté I was to execute.

I wiped the sweat from my brow. “Shit. Okay. I got it. Let’s go.”

My partner thrust me into the air and lowered me. I executed the moves and completed the sequence.

“There you go! Finally!” Jordan clapped. “Give me that five more times and we’ll break for lunch.” I’ll admit, during moments like these, I wanted to high kick Jordan in the head. He was a great friend but he was a demanding choreographer. He expected perfection from everyone, and I didn’t get a pass.

By the end of that day, I was ready to soak in Epsom salts and the misery of missing Ash. Trevor’s family was out of town and I passed on his and Jordan’s invitation to tag along. I waited for an Uber with Marley, when a car pulled up.

“Bird, come in. I’m taking you to dinner.” The unmistakable accent floated out from the darkness of the vehicle. Of course I had to go, but I looked over at Marley apologetically.

“It’s okay girl. I’ll see you tomorrow.” We hugged and I crawled into the back of the Mercedes.

“Hi Alana,” I said nervously. She insisted I call her by her first name, but it always felt like I was not revering her accomplishments when I did.

“You don’t have plans, do you?”

“No, just a night alone, soaking in the bathtub.”

“I thought you had a boyfriend.”

“I do . . . he’s . . . out of town.”

“What does he do?”

“He’s an artist.”

“Hmmm,” she said with a sly grin. “My second husband was an artist. A bastard when he wanted to be, but they are very passionate. Not just the sex, but they love with fire.” I watched as she recalled something, coiling her lips into an impish smile.

I nodded, afraid to continue down this line of conversation. I wasn’t ashamed of Ash, but now that I loved someone with a mental illness, I learned how little people understood about them.

“What is his name? I know many local artists.”

“Well, he’s um, yet to be discovered.”

She raised her chin and peered down towards me as if seeing my words from another perspective. “Well, I’d be interested in seeing his work. Let us arrange for that.”

“Of course,” I said excitedly. What a dream it would be for both of us to get big opportunities back to back.

We arrived at a quaint Italian restaurant only a few blocks from my apartment.

“I’m a mess,” I said, straightening myself out before entering.

Alana laughed to herself mockingly. “A tall, thin, twenty-one year old saying she looks like a mess. My darling, you aren’t even capable of that yet.”

After water for me, and a glass of red for her, she squinted her eyes as she looked me up and down. She pointed as she leaned in.

“You remind me very much of myself, decades ago.”

“I do?” There was hardly anything more flattering than being compared to one of the most powerful women in the dance world by the woman herself.

“Jordan told me about you, how hard you work. How you left your family to come here.”

I nodded.

“I did the same, coming from Belgium.”

“What I did is not nearly as brave.”

She tsked, chastising my humility. “No, I see that in you. There is a fearlessness. Do you know why I chose you? Even though you hardly danced professionally?”

“I guess I would like to say it’s because you loved my dancing.”

She waved off what I said as if it was an annoying triviality as she sipped from her glass. “But there are many technically sound dancers that come to me. You, my dear, pull people in. You have a warmth, relatability. Yes, you move with power and grace. But you also dance with your soul. You have the ability to show emotion with your body. Before you even took one dance step, when you walked into the audition, I knew.”

I was speechless. Weeks ago, I had cried into Ash’s arms, convinced I would never have a chance at a professional dance career, and now I had Alana Roché DeMill telling me I was her younger self.

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Nothing is needed. If I thought you thought you could rest on that alone, I wouldn’t have chosen you, but Jordan said you were