Prima Donna (20 page)

Adam, who had walked back to Ava, caught her eye and indicated to his mouth. She mirrored him, hesitant, and wiped away a smudge of cream cheese. She nodded bleakly. Of course.

She didn’t dare meet Ava’s eyes. She could tell from the ballerina’s body language that she was furious at the clumsy interruption.

Sophie busied herself with setting up, pulling out her brushes and paint from her bag.

The music started up again and the dancers went back to the piece they were performing. Baudrand’s voice was calm and low – as usual – and encouraging rather than critical as
they swept through their steps. Over and over and over again they repeated the scene, relentlessly, like a machine adjusting and fine-tuning microscopic flaws that were invisible to everyone but
them.

‘Good, that’s it, yes, higher now . . . not too fast, draw back here . . . take her arm, yes . . . Adam, step back and . . . hold her steady,’ Baudrand breathed. ‘Now,
sweep down, no more . . . yes . . . keep the elbow up . . .’ His own arms extended outwards lightly, guiding and pulling them like marionettes, like a conductor with his orchestra.

Sophie watched, rapt. Ava was advancing upon Adam in
pirouettes
, her legs a blur of syncopated rhythm, her feet falling and rising on
pointe
as she circled him coquettishly,
dazzling him with her bravura display, her eyes catching his . . .

Sophie caught her breath, forgetting even to paint. It was working. They were beginning to gel, the chemistry was forming. Sophie had only ever seen Adam partner Pia. They were an electric
partnership and, as such, Sophie had only ever regarded him in the sum of his part with Pia. She would never have thought she could imagine him with anyone else. The fact that he was desperately in
love with Pia only brought more resonance to the roles they played, where invariably his characters pursued hers.

But now Sophie saw for the first time that Adam was every bit as versatile as Pia. The difference was that Pia had made herself a star; he – left in her slipstream – had been seen as
just the support act by comparison. But maybe . . . maybe that would change now that he was partnering another great name. He was holding his own with Ava, matching her nimble, assured precision
with a sleek, brooding magnetism. She was gazelle to his jaguar, and Sophie realized, with rising panic, that they were flashing off the first sparks of a sizzling chemistry all their own.

But not for long. The symphony stopped abruptly.

‘
Aaiiee!
’ Ava shrieked dramatically. ‘You could have broken my foot, you idiot,’ she cried angrily at Adam, hobbling away from him.

‘I’m sorry,’ Adam exhaled loudly, holding his hands up in appeasement. ‘I couldn’t see where your feet were under the tutu.’

‘You shouldn’t need to see them, you fool. You should just know. It’s called instinct. All great dancers have it.’

‘It was an accident. Clearly.’ Adam’s jaw clenched.

‘No, not clearly,’ she contradicted. ‘I knew that was going to happen. You are standing too close to me, giving me no room to move. You make me feel stifled.’ She threw
her arms up in the air explosively.

‘I was not too close,’ Adam retorted. ‘I was exactly where I needed to be for the
fouettés
.’

‘You are trapping me, making me dance smaller. You want to hog the space for yourself with your big arms and chunky legs.’

Adam looked at her. Chunky legs! He tried to stay calm with her and took a deep breath. ‘How do you expect me to hold you in the finger
fouetté
if you’re two feet
away from me?’ he reasoned.

‘You figure it out. That’s your job. You’re the brawn, I’m the ballerina.’

‘What?’ Adam exploded. ‘I’m the
brawn
?’

Ava looked at him through slit-like eyes.

‘What do you think I am – a freaking Chippendale?’

She shrugged. ‘You dance like one.’

Adam flushed red all over, speechless. He had never been so insulted. He held his hands out to Baudrand. ‘Director?’ he appealed.

Sophie looked over at Baudrand, who was sitting silently, watching them. He wouldn’t let her get away with this, surely?

‘Go again,’ he said, sounding almost bored.

‘What?’ Adam shouted.

‘Remember who you are speaking to,’ Baudrand warned, his eyes narrowing fractionally. ‘Now go again.’

‘No!’ Adam shouted again. ‘I can’t believe you’re going to let her get away with speaking to me like that! I don’t need to take this bullshit!’ he said,
heading for the door, the sprung floor bouncing beneath his angry stomps.

‘Get back here, Adam,’ Baudrand said, his voice animated now, though he remained seated.

Adam stopped at the door. ‘Get someone else to partner her,’ he spat. ‘I’m sure José will be fool enough to take on the role. I’ve had enough. I’m out
of here.’ And he exited the room a good deal more impressively than Sophie had entered it.

Sophie looked after him in astonishment, her charcoal still poised in mid-air.

Baudrand said nothing, and he remained seated, but the whitening of his lips and a bulging vein on his bald head betrayed his anger.

Ava sighed nonchalantly. ‘Ah well, he’ll cool down,’ she said breezily as she mopped her neck with a towel. She dropped it on top of her bag and walked over to Sophie.
‘And how have you got on this morning?’

Sophie stared at her, dumbfounded. How could the woman insult Adam like that and then act as though nothing had happened? For all Pia’s faults, at least she recognized the other
dancers’ talents.

Ava stared at the canvas, then at Sophie. Sophie swallowed and looked at the canvas herself. She saw that it was pristine. She hadn’t made a mark on the paper in the whole time she’d
been there.

Ava tutted and crossed her arms. ‘If you’re only here to watch, Sophie, we’ll have to start charging you entry,’ she said coldly.

Sophie looked up at her, willing herself to rise up impressively and tell this witch to stick her grand exhibition up her tutu, before running off to console Adam, preferably naked.

Instead a strange croak came from her throat.

Ava burst out laughing. ‘Come,’ she said expansively, as though they were great friends. ‘Let’s go and get some lunch. I think it’s time we got to know one another
properly, don’t you?’

Sophie couldn’t reply. She couldn’t think of anything worse. But what was she going to do? Refuse? It was clear no one – not even Baudrand – said no to Ava Petrova.

For someone who’d been living in the city for only three weeks, Ava Petrova certainly knew her way around. She took Sophie to a chic little Italian place, hidden down an
alleyway. Sophie had passed it thousands of times and never known there was anything there, except for drunks and druggies.

She looked around at the gathered clientele: corporate executives, gallery owners, fashion PRs and socialites, all dressed in furs and suedes and London/Paris/Milan labels. Ava had thrown a pair
of black cigarette pants and a Versace silk sweater over her black leotard. With her hair worn up and her gamine frame she looked every bit as immaculate as the other women in the room.

Sophie didn’t. She sighed heavily and focused on the menu instead, which was entirely in Italian.

‘You must let me order for you,’ Ava said, guessing that Sophie didn’t speak Italian. ‘I know the chef. He always does a special for me.’

Of course he does, Sophie thought to herself. Horse’s head, most probably.

‘This is nice, no?’ Ava said, after she’d placed their orders.

Sophie nodded obediently. ‘It’s lovely here. How did you find it?’

Ava shrugged. ‘Oh you know, just exploring. Trying to find my way around a new city. It’s not easy to make it feel like home, you know?’

Sophie took a sip of her water. ‘Do you miss home?’

‘Moscow?’ she sighed. ‘Yes, more than you could possibly imagine. It has such history, it is such a beautiful city – majestic! Tragic! Epic!’ she enunciated
dramatically, sweeping her arms about poetically. You could tell she was a ballerina from that alone. ‘Have you ever been there?’

Sophie shook her head.

‘You must go,’ she said effusively. ‘It will take your breath away. This –’ she said, indicating Chicago as a whole, and dismissing it with a flick of the wrist
– ‘it cannot compare.’

There was a brief lull as Sophie tried to think of something to say. She couldn’t. Chicago wasn’t her home town. She was just a passing resident, rarely ever here. She’d been
in the city three years; Ava for three weeks, and Ava probably knew it better than she did.

‘Did you always want to be an artist?’ Ava asked eventually, rescuing her.

‘When I was little, I did,’ she replied. ‘But I didn’t think I’d ever be able to make a living from it.’

‘And now you are,’ Ava smiled.

‘Yes,’ Sophie said, looking up. ‘Thanks to you,’ she added politely.

Ava nodded graciously.

Sophie looked back down at her napkin again as another silence settled upon them. She desperately didn’t want to be here. It felt like a betrayal of Adam after the way Ava had treated him
this morning. And as for Pia . . .

She caught herself and tried not to think about her former boss. What did it matter? Pia neither needed nor wanted her loyalty now.

Sophie took another sip of water. She didn’t notice Ava watching her intently.

‘You are cross about my words with Adam, aren’t you?’

Sophie froze. She didn’t fancy her chances in a face-to-face confrontation with Ava Petrova.

‘He’s a good guy,’ Sophie said neutrally.

‘Yes, he is,’ Ava nodded. ‘And a great dancer. But he is not focused at the moment. His mind is . . . elsewhere.’

Sophie bit her lip. He’d seemed entirely focused from where she’d been sitting. Exactly how much commitment did Ava expect from her partner? Blood, as well as the sweat and tears?
‘I expect he’s just trying to adapt to the new way of working with you. He and Pia were . . . I don’t know, instinctive. They just seemed to be able to read each other.’

‘I see.’ Ava ran her finger around the rim of her glass. ‘And is that because they were . . . intimate?’

Sophie flinched in surprise. ‘No!’

Ava shrugged. ‘I’m only asking, not judging. It happens, of course. A lot. It just might explain his mood a bit more. It’s good for me to try to understand, don’t you
think?’

Sophie nodded. Ava had a point. If she could get Ava to see that Adam wasn’t clumsy or weak or unfocused it might just get her off his back.

‘Well, as far as I know they never got together,’ she said quietly. ‘But it’s an open secret that he’s in love with her.’

‘He misses her. It makes sense,’ Ava replied, just as the waiter came over and reset their cutlery. Sophie was having risotto, Ava the steak. ‘Thank you.’

Ava waited for him to leave. ‘And you?’ she asked casually.

‘What?’ she hiccuped, panicking that Ava had read her feelings about Adam too.

‘You miss her also.’

Sophie said nothing.

‘It’s all right, you know. I know you were her assistant. It is only natural that you should miss her. She is an amazing woman – a
rare
woman. There are not very many
like her. I have always had the greatest admiration for her.’

‘You have?’ Sophie asked, astonished.

‘Of course. How could I not?’

‘But . . . but . . . I thought you two didn’t
get on
?’ She was impressed by her rare understatement.

Ava shrugged. ‘That was always Pia’s decision. She made our professional rivalry personal. Me? I rather like her, though I accept we shall never be friends.’ She paused.
‘Have you spoken to her since the accident?’

‘No,’ Sophie mumbled. ‘That’s when she fired me. And it’s best not to hang around if she doesn’t want you there.’

‘Oh yes, I know that very well,’ Ava replied knowingly.

Sophie looked at Ava hesitantly. She was the perfect person to ask. ‘Do you think she’ll be able to come back from this accident, Ava? I mean, I know the doctors are being optimistic
and all that, but do
you
think she will be able to perform at her old level again?’

‘I certainly hope so,’ Ava said, shaking out her napkin and draping it over her narrow lap. ‘I would miss her. I like the fact that there’s someone to challenge me. Every
champion – whatever his discipline – needs a fierce rival. It’s how you come to be considered great. It’s not enough to be ahead of the field – or the corps, in our
instance. Only by destroying my equal can I claim to be the best. So, me? I enjoy our rivalry. It keeps me on my toes.’ She paused. ‘So to speak.’

Sophie laughed at the unexpected joke, surprised to find she was enjoying herself. ‘Well, I hope you’re right. It would be so sad if she couldn’t get herself back to the top
– for the rest of the world, as well as for you.’

‘She’s a dancer in her prime, Sophie. She must have had lots of plans in the pipeline that will motivate her to come back.’

‘Well, that’s for sure,’ Sophie said.

‘For example, I’m quite sure that me dancing
The Songbird
will make her even more determined to get back to Chicago,’ Ava said, eyebrows raised knowingly. ‘It is
probably making her mad to know that I am here with you and Adam and I have taken her ballet from her.’

‘Oh, she’ll be mad all right – but not for
those
reasons.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, Alvisio didn’t just write
The Songbird
as a kindness to Baudrand. It was a sort of test for Pia.’

‘A test? For what?’

‘Going to La Scala.’

‘In Milan? But why does she want to go there?’ Ava seemed genuinely surprised. ‘I heard Paris Opera and the Royal were after her.’

‘They are. I don’t really get it,’ Sophie shrugged. ‘She’s hung up on getting a particular rank.’

‘Etoile? But she can achieve that in those companies.’

‘No, higher than that. The once-in-a-generation one.’

There was a short pause, as Ava thought. ‘You mean Prima Ballerina Assoluta?’

‘That’s the one. She says Milan’s the only place where she’s got a shot at making it. She thinks Alvisio favours her style and he’s got the power to appoint her
Assoluta if she joins La Scala.’