Bunheads (27 page)

At this, Zoe shrieks and bangs her fist on the counter. “
I
want to go to that!”

“Get one of your boyfriends to take you,” I say.

“I’m unattached at the moment, Hannah Banana,” Zoe says.

“See?” I say. “You
do
think I look like a banana.”

“No, I don’t,” Zoe says, grinning.

Daisy shoves Zoe in the shoulder. “You know Hannah looks beautiful.”

“Of course she does,” Zoe says. “Beautiful… and ripe.”

“Seriously, I’m going to kill you,” I tell her.

She giggles. “I’ll stop, I’ll stop. I’m sorry.”

I slip the dress over my head and lay it gently on my chair. Zoe hands me my leotard. “If you need to borrow shoes…” she says. Her voice is kinder now.

“Thanks.”

She smiles. “Anytime.”

“Dr. Shapiro says yellow means optimism and happiness,” Daisy chirps.

“Really?” I muse. “I hope he’s right.”

A week later, the tulips have exploded in the Broadway medians, and I have the almost unheard-of Saturday night off. As I slip on the outrageously beautiful Zac Posen gown for the Metropolitan Opera gala, I vow to be a good little ballet dancer. I gaze at myself in my bedroom mirror.
I’ll be home by midnight
, I tell myself.
I’ll still hit the gym in the morning.

Matt’s eyes grow wide when he sees me walking across the plaza to meet him. “You look stunning,” he says.

He’s wearing a tuxedo, and his hair is slicked back from his face. I have to admit that he looks pretty great himself.

I don’t say anything right away—I just smile and let him take my hand. I borrowed a pair of Zoe’s shoes: strappy Louboutins that make me three inches taller.

“Shall we go in?” He leads me through the huge glass doors into the magnificent gilded lobby. Coiffed women in feathered
concoctions, sequined gowns, and fur stoles seem to float up the curved staircase, their necks and earlobes shimmering with diamonds.

I turn to him before we go any farther. “Thank you,” I say. “Thank you for this.” I gesture to the dress.

He reaches out and touches my arm. “The way you look? I should be thanking you.”

And I smile again. Matt might be a little cheesy, but he does know how to make a girl feel special.

Even though it’s next door to the theater, I’ve never been to the opera because our performances coincide. And as we settle into our red velvet seats, the curtain parts, and the singing begins, I can see that I’ve been missing something profound. The sets are ornate, like a moving piece of art, and the
music
… I’ve never heard anything like it.

“Well?” Matt whispers, his hand brushing my thigh. “What do you think of
Don Giovanni
?”

I don’t respond; I’m entranced by the costumes and the sets, struck in speechless awe.

I’d thought that the Manhattan Ballet was glamorous, but the opera is a whole other matter entirely. The singers coax their voices to incredible heights, into mind-boggling trills. It seems as though their voices are their bodies, and they’re making them dance. The women clutch their hearts as they sing—as if, if they didn’t, they’d burst from their chests, still beating.

Once in a while I hear myself gasp at some new vocal feat. Matt smiles indulgently at me; he finds my naïveté charming, I guess.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” he asks as the curtain closes for intermission.

I nod enthusiastically. “It’s incredible.”

He gently kneads the fabric of my dress between his fingers. “Come on, I want you to meet some friends: Charles, Will, and Madison. I know them from Trinity.”

“Oh, okay,” I say, standing up and wobbling just a tiny bit in my heels. I hadn’t realized that tonight was going to be a group activity, but I’m curious to meet them.

Matt puts my hand in the crook of his arm and leads me to the mezzanine, where there are tables with white linen tablecloths and centerpieces overflowing with fuchsia peonies. Above us hangs a giant crystal chandelier, so brilliant and glittering it looks like an exploding diamond. Below us are the other opera-goers, dressed in floor-length ball gowns and black tuxedos. All of them look wealthy and manicured to within an inch of their lives.

Maybe
this
is what prom feels like
, I think. Then I laugh to myself when I realize that prom doesn’t include a bunch of old people in fur coats.

“What’s so funny, Ms. Ward?” Matt asks as we walk.

“Oh, nothing,” I say, flushing. “Don’t mind me.”

Matt leads me toward one of the larger tables, where two twenty-something guys and a girl are waiting. One guy, the one with darker hair, stands when he sees me, and then the blond one with his bow tie slightly askew follows his lead. I glance back at Matt, who’s grinning at them. The three of them could almost
be brothers—they’re all tall, lean, and tanned, with floppy hair, and they have that same confident, perfectly white-toothed smile.

The blond guy’s eyes widen a little as we reach the table. “Way to go, Matt!” he says, looking directly at me. He bends over at the waist and kisses my hand with a devilish expression. “I’m Will.”

“Hannah—hi.” I pull my hand back, and the darker-haired guy reaches for it next.

His smile is friendlier. “I apologize for Will,” he says. “Emotionally, he’s still in utero. I’m Charles.”

“Nice to meet you,” I say, relaxing ever so slightly.

Matt pulls out the chair next to him, and I take a seat. A bottle of champagne rests in a silver bucket by my right hand.

The slender platinum blond wearing a short black sequin dress gazes coolly at me from across the table. She’s leaning back in her chair and bouncing her leg up and down.

“Aren’t you going to introduce me?” She raises an eyebrow.

“Madison, this is Hannah,” Matt says obediently.

Madison extends her spindly left arm and weakly squeezes my hand. “Pleasure,” she says with a smirk.

She obviously doesn’t mean it. I can feel her eyeing my dress before she turns and whispers something to Will. She’s dressed to the nines—besides the dress, she’s got on a killer ruby necklace—and I wonder if her mother named her Madison after the avenue.

Waiters in white gloves serve us tiny salads with spiky, complicated-looking leaves and the bright pink petals of edible flowers.

Charles elbows Matt and says, with his mouth full of salad, “You guys should come to Ibiza next week.”

“Yeah, Christmas was a bore without you,” Will says, rolling his eyes. “I skipped out on George’s party and took the jet home early.”

Madison kneads Will’s thigh and giggles.

Matt turns to me. “You wanna go to Ibiza?” he asks, leaning back in his chair and sipping his champagne.

“We’re in the middle of the season!” I say. “You know I can’t go.” I look around at everyone at the table. “I mean, how can you guys get that much vacation time away from work?”

Matt laughs. “Charles’s whole
life
is a vacation.”

Charles points a fork at Matt. “Like you should talk.”

“I work,” Matt says, spearing a piece of lettuce.

“Yeah, for your
daddy
,” Charles points out. “Who lets you take weeks off so you can enrich yourself through travel.”

Matt shrugs. “What can I say? Nepotism has its perks.”

I push my salad around on my plate, strangely not hungry. Sitting at the table with these people feels like some kind of social experiment. I’m learning how the rich manage to have zero responsibilities. “So, what do you do, Will?” I ask.

Will lifts his champagne glass to his lips and smiles at me over the rim. “I’m between jobs,” he says. “I was in banking for a while, but it just wasn’t that much fun. Madison and I might start a line of luggage together—right, Mad? She’ll do the design, and I’ll tap my friends for investment.”

A tiny sneer flickers over Madison’s face. “
Handbags
, Will. Not luggage.”

Will waves his hand. “Whatever.”

“You’re going to be a purse CEO?” Matt snorts.

Will grins slyly. “You know the ladies love a man who can get them the latest to-die-for bag.” This prompts Madison to swat him on the arm. “Ouch!” he yelps.

“I guess none of you really need to work,” I say softly.

“God no,” Charles says. “That would totally suck.”

Suddenly, Madison sits up and points across the room. “Ooph, that’s
sooo
unfortunate. Look what Bunny did to her face!”

Charles and Matt crane their necks, but I just sit back and take a huge gulp of champagne. Will seems preoccupied with Madison’s right hand, which is angling down toward his crotch.
Doesn’t anyone care about the opera?
I wonder.
Or anything of real substance, for that matter?

“She should have stuck with the last face-lift,” Charles says.

Meanwhile Will’s hand is creeping up Madison’s dress. Every once in a while she swats him, but I can tell she doesn’t mind.

“Is Leo here tonight?” Matt asks, scanning the room.

“Haven’t seen him,” Will replies, pouring himself another glass of wine.

“He was here with that model last year. Cool people. I bummed a Nat Sherman from him outside during intermission.” Matt pauses and looks around again. “Chloë, too. I would have expected her.”

Madison winks at Matt and giggles.

Matt seems to have forgotten that he brought me. As a reminder, and in an attempt to change the subject, I speak up. “So, how long have you been coming to the opera?”

“Ever since I was a kid,” he acknowledges.

“Really?” It’s hard to imagine Matt as a child—a kid in jeans instead of a suit and a Patek Philippe. “Do you like it more than ballet?”

“How could a bunch of middle-aged, fully clothed people singing compare to a stage full of half-naked girls dancing?” he asks.

Madison snickers and snaps the corner of her napkin at Matt. “You pig,” she says affectionately.

And I don’t know who’s annoying me more right now, Matt or his friends. “You know, that kind of makes you sound like a jerk,” I say.

He laughs. “It was a joke.” He reaches over and gives my hand a squeeze. “That’s not really why I like the ballet better.”

He goes on to explain the similarities he sees between the two art forms. Charles, Will, and Madison are busy discussing a mutual friend’s most recent trip to rehab. I let my mind wander.

Matt’s voice interrupts my thoughts. “How do you like the entrée?” Matt asks.

“It’s great,” I say. I look down at the plate in front of me. “I love scallops.” I hadn’t even noticed that they served the next course. I stab a scallop with my fork but I don’t put it in my mouth. Instead I take a sip of water and wish that I were here with Jacob.

When the opera is over, we join the glittering crowd as it pours into the night. I’m walking toward the street when Matt reaches out and stops me.

“Hannah,” he says softly. “You are so elegant, and my friends are such Neanderthals.”

I nod in agreement. That’s probably the closest thing to an apology that he can muster. I kind of think that he’s a bit of a Neanderthal, too, but I’m not going to say anything.

He puts his hand under my chin and gently lifts my face. He bends down, and his lips meet mine, a hundred times warmer than the air.

I can feel myself hesitate, but his mouth and tongue are insistent. He presses me against the side of the building, and his hands find their way to my hair. He kisses me deeply. The dizziness I feel is probably from the wine—but maybe it isn’t. Maybe it’s the way Matt’s kissing me, which feels both passionate and strangely deliberate. Expert.

After a minute I pull away. “I don’t want to do this,” I say.

But Matt puts his arm around me and tugs me toward his chest. “Yes, you do. Come home with me,” he says into my hair. “It’s just across the park.”

And if I were Zoe, I’d go with him. Dating a patron of the ballet? Even Otto would approve of that. He’d look at Matt and see dollar signs, more than he already does.

“I can’t,” I say softly.

“Why not?”