Black Butterfly (28 page)

“How am I supposed to help you? We can’t undo what you did!”

“That bitch Portia started this mess. She’s crazy. I didn’t lay a hand on her!”

“That’s not how they’ll see it, Todd.”

“It’s the truth, and she and I both know it. Besides, broads like her have a price. I think she can be bought off.”

Nolen raised an eyebrow. “You’re asking me to pay her to keep quiet?”

“I’m asking you to do what you always do to make the shit go away.” Shaking his head, Nolen blew out a frustrated breath. “No way. This is your fuckup. If I get involved like that, I’ll lose Sydney.”

“And if you don’t, we both lose. Telling them the truth is a bad move. We have to stop Portia before she finds out about Trish and me.”

Nolen looked around. “Where’s Trish?”

“She went home.”

“Fuck!”

“I think I bought us some time. I had a friend of mine toss a Calvin Klein gig at Portia. She’s sure to bite.

The Elle spread will send her to L.A. for three weeks, and Trish is coming back here after she gets some clothes.

It’s enough time for us to come up with a way to isolate Portia. We can pull this off.”

“This is a bad move,” Nolen said, shaking his head. “Even if Portia keeps her mouth shut for a while, she could come back for more when the funds dry up.”

Todd watched Nolen pace, knowing that he should have told Trish himself last night instead of trying to make love to her. Now he couldn’t do it. He wouldn’t risk hurting her in any way. And right that moment Trish could be learning the truth.

Nolen stood there cool, collected, unconvinced. His boy never bet on anything but a sure thing. It would take some hard negotiating to convince him to dig a bigger hole for them both. But Todd had to try. Trish trusted him, and instinctually he knew that a betrayal of that trust could end in disaster.

“It’s the only way. If not, we come clean and just let the chips fall. But I’m telling you, man, that friend of theirs will turn this around on us, and we’ll lose them both for sure. Mark my words.” Nolen glared. “I ought to snap your neck.”

The dancers sat on the floor in the rehearsal studio, skimming through their folders while Madame Gustav walked back and forth reading out the stages of choreography. This morning Ms. Minetti had announced Sydney’s starring role as prima ballerina in Black Butterfly and named the other key players in the production. The casting call for the male leads was still under way, but the story was solid.

Sydney had read through the script, and the story of a butterfly princess banished from her kingdom because she’d been born with black wings. It struck a chord deep within her. The story was beautiful, and being cast as the butterfly that overcame prejudice and ignorance of things that were different was, to her, a huge compliment. Some of the scenes required her to sing as well as dance. Thinking about the chance to showcase both of her God-given talents within the same production made her swell with pride.

Madame Gustav announced a lunch break, ordering the dancers to be back in one hour sharp.

Sydney grabbed her bag and followed the girls out, heading to the cafe across the street. In the hallway, she saw Xenia talking to the director. Their eyes met, and Xenia flashed her an evil grin. “Sydney, come over here, please.”

Sydney sucked in her breath and went to greet them. “Hello, George, Xenia,” she said politely.

George smiled, but Xenia continued her cold stare. “We have some news,” Xenia said.

George cleared his throat. “It appears that our modern ballet has a twist. Raymond has included quite a bit of singing in the lead role of Black Butterfly. We know that you were promised the spot, but we may have to reopen auditions for a dancer who can sing as well as dance. I told Xenia that we can use the chorus and do the story through dance interpretation, but—”

“But it’s my show! I need a double threat, sweetie, and I’m sorry, but—”

“It’s no problem at all, Ms. Minetti,” Sydney said, smiling sweetly.

Xenia frowned at her. “Really? Why is that?”

“I’d like to re-audition for the singing part as well as the dance.” Xenia looked at her, dismayed. “You sing too?”

Sydney smiled, anticipating the moment when she could show Xenia just how well. “Yes, ma’am, I do, but I’d like for you, George, and Raymond to judge for yourselves.”

“Well, this will be a classical mix, not R and B,” Xenia said.

Sydney laughed. “Can we do an audition now?”

George looked surprised. “No. We’ll give you a fair shot, time to prepare.”

“I’m ready, and I’d like to perform ‘Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again’ from The Phantom of the Opera.”

Xenia gave her a blank look. “I don’t think that we have the music.” Sydney shrugged. “I’ll do it acappella.”

George grinned at Xenia. “I say, let’s do it!”

“We don’t have the songwriter or Raymond here. We can’t.”

“If she can do Phantom of the Opera acappella, we don’t need them,” George said dismissively, walking away.

Sydney flashed Xenia a smile and followed the director on stage.

Sydney’s father had taken her to Charleston to see a traveling production of The Phantom when she was thirteen. After that trip, she’d gone to the library to find everything she could on The Phantom, including an old forty-five that could be played on her dad’s record player. “Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again” had been their shared favorite.

Now, with her father estranged the words were even more poignant, and she sang with tears in her eyes, putting her heart into her performance. Looking into the blinding light that shone in her face and hearing the applause from her small audience, she bowed, satisfied that Xenia had lost this battle. As she walked off stage, exhausted by the emotional strain of her performance, she ran directly into Juan.

“Honey, that was fabulous!” he cried, kissing both her cheeks.

George reappeared, beaming, with Xenia at his side.

“Tell me again why you haven’t been discovered yet!” George said, hugging her.

Xenia gave her a phony smile. “Well, looks like you’ve solidified your spot in the play.”

“Thank you, Ms. Minetti,” Sydney said, returning the stare.

“Don’t thank me now, Sydney. We have a lot of work to do.” Xenia tossed her blond hair and walked away.

George patted Sydney’s arm reassuringly. “Never mind her! She couldn’t find a talent like you if she tried.

We’re so glad you signed on.”

“Thanks, George.”

“That little show you put on was fierce,” Juan said as George walked away, “but Ms. Juanita knows what it’s all about.”

Sydney stared at him, confused.

He pulled her behind the stage curtains. “You’re giving it up to King Ding-a-ling, aren’t you?” he whispered.

“What?”

“Honey, if I know anything, it’s when someone is getting the stick! And Ms. Sharon Stone wannabe is showing jealousy every way you slice it!”

“I don’t—”

“Listen, Ms. Thang, let me tell you something. You can sing your heart out and wiggle that sweet little brown ass of yours all you want, but if his girlfriend hates you, you’re going to come up short.” Sydney shook her head in frustration. “Juanita, I don't want this to get out. Just let it go, ok? My relationship with Nolen has nothing to do with the play.”

She hurried off to change, but she could hear Juanita cursing her out in Spanish as she disappeared around the next corner. Finding the practice room empty, she entered and let go of a deep breath. Of course her relationship with Nolen would come out, but first she wanted her feet planted solidly on the ground before others began to think she slid in on her back.

"Bravo!" Someone entered and clapped behind her.

Sydney looked up into the mirror.

Ben Mendoza stepped inside, clapping and smiling. She couldn't move or speak. She just watched him approach. Ben wasn’t a tall man. She guessed him to be average in height—five feet ten or so. He had dark hair that greyed at the temples and was too full across the brow, she wondered if the top of his hair could be a toupee. He wore an ascot and jacket every time she’d seen him. With hard, cold black beady eyes, and a long Grecian nose, he possessed hard skeleton like features with a strong jawline and squared chin.

“I thought that was you, and when Emily told me who had gotten the prima part, well, I was surprised.”

“What do you want?”

“To congratulate you, of course.”

He stopped behind her, but he was too close for her liking. She felt cold all the way to her bones. Then he placed a hand on her arm, and she jumped as if his touch seared her skin. “Don't touch me!”

“Maybe I should tell Xenia about our history?” he asked.

“That you tried to rape me?”

“That you tried to screw your way into the Academy,” he snapped.

“That's a lie! You attacked me.”

Ben’s eyes lowered to her hips and slowly climbed from her breasts to her face. “That's not how I remembered it. You followed me around for an audition, even showed up at my school after classes and threw yourself at me.”

“If you touch me again, I will—”

“What? What will you do to keep me silent? Rumor has it that Nolen Adams is now getting the favors you denied me.”

“Can I help you?” Madame Gustav suddenly entered the room.

Ben looked over to Gustav, but Sydney never took her eyes from him. If he touched her she was going to give him what she’d given him when he’d thrown her on the sofa in his office and ripped at her clothes—a knee to his groin.

“I asked you a question!” Gustav said.

“Evening, Madame.” Ben nodded. “Your star here and I were catching up.”

“Leave. Now!”

Ben’s eyes returned to Sydney. He smiled. “I'll be seeing you soon.” He turned and walked out, and Sydney closed her eyes. First she had the shame and stigma of what Ben Mendoza had implied to Gustav to deal with, and soon the accusations of what her affair with Nolen meant would begin. She felt her dream slipping from her fingers.

"Are you ok?" Madame Gustav asked.

She nodded.

Gustav stared at her. Sydney pulled up her jeans, gathered her things, and hurried for the door. But the choreographer reached out and grabbed her arm. “Zenter Stage, if you need to talk to me, do zo.”

“I'm fine, Madame. Thank you.”

She nodded, then let her go. Sydney hurried out of the studio.

The keys were at the bottom of her bag, and Sydney was too damn upset to find them. Her hands shook the entire ride home on the subway. There was no one to talk to. Not about this, or her shame. Ben Medoza was right about her naiveté. She hounded him for a personal audition, even flirted a little on the advice of Portia.

But things progressed out of her control, and when she made it clear she wouldn’t suck him off, he attacked her.

Now she slept with Nolen Adams and Sydney struggled to remember all the reasons why their situation remained different.

She caught the train and walked the blocks to her place lost in those thoughts, struggling to contain her anxiety and fear. When she entered their building she nearly collided with Ricky. The last thing she needed.

Sydney smiled warmly, masking her discomfort. “Hey.”

“How are you?” he asked, looking away.

“You headed to the club?” she asked.

Ricky slipped his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. His well-groomed dreads were free from his cap and fell about his shoulders and down his back. “Syl’s doing the books. I’m going over there to make sure everything is square.”

She nodded “About the other night—”

“No need to explain. You told me it was over,” Ricky said.

“I feel like I should.”

“No. I’ve got to go.” He started to walk past her.

Sydney stepped into his path. “Please listen to me. I didn’t ask him to come to the club, and I didn’t want to hurt you. Portia told me that you were upset, Ricky, and I’m really sorry about that.” To her astonishment, his gray eyes filled with tears. They stood in silence for a few seconds. As he stepped forward, reaching out to touch her, the elevator dinged, and Portia stepped off.

Ricky froze.

“Hey, girl,” Sydney said.

“Hey, Sydney. Ricky,” Portia said, looking him in the eyes. “What’s going on, you two?”

“Nothing,” he mumbled. “I was leaving.” He stepped around Sydney.

“Ricky, wait,” Sydney said, but Ricky kept going, avoiding Portia as he pressed the button. The elevator doors opened immediately.

Once he stepped inside and the doors closed behind him, Sydney felt a stab of guilt. “I hurt him, Portia.” Portia looked at her smugly. “I told you that the other night, and you slapped me.”

“Don’t start.”

Sydney headed for the apartment she unlocked and opened door. Portia followed her inside. “Where’s Trish?”

“With that photographer boyfriend.”

“Is she ok?”

Portia shrugged. “She said so, even though, like you, she stayed out all night without calling me.” Sydney sighed, heading for her room. She dropped her bag, then removed her jacket when Portia came in.

“I called your boyfriend’s answering service looking for you,” Portia said. “I didn’t even know how to reach you.”

“Was something wrong?”

“Of course something was wrong! Yesterday Trish ran out of here with no explanation. You left without a second glance, and no one told me anything. What kind of family are we if you two treat me like my feelings don’t matter.”

“Portia, just stop. Tell me what happened, because I swear each day I recognize you less and less. All we do is fight, and I’m sick of it. It all started when you got attacked by that photographer.” Portia’s stunned, blank stare was her only response.

Sydney turned to walk away when Portia finally spoke. “It all started when you decided that getting in that show was more important than Trish and me. Sleeping with that man so soon and knowing he owns that show is just not like you. I recognize you less and less.”

“Don’t go there.” Sydney winced. Mendoza and the wounds he left were too fresh. She cringed.

“I’m being honest. That rich bastard has changed you.”

“I said stop it dammit!! First, his name is Nolen. Second, I can do what I please. And, last, you’ve never held a moral compass to guide your choices in sex partners, so don’t bring one in here now to hold up to mine!”