Ripped (36 page)

“Because you’re the most awesome person I know,” she replied. “And I couldn’t love you any more than I do right now.”

There was no time to be swept away with emotion, so as the music began to play I channeled all the love I felt for Jaz into the recital. The piece we were performing was a
pas de deux,
a dance of two lovers who were being ripped apart. I knew that feeling all too well. As Jaz’s body moved with mine, the faces in the audience disappeared. There was only the two of us, just like there had been when we’d danced this a hundred times before in our apartment. The music coursed through my veins and I let my movements flow, always aware of where Jaz was and how I could support her and partner her so that she shone brighter than any star. We knew each other so well, both our limits and strengths, and complemented each other perfectly.

After we danced the story of our farewell and expressed the sadness of us needing to part, the final position was a simple embrace with Jaz in my arms, her head resting on my chest. We held the pose. I could feel Jaz’s heartbeat racing against my chest as the audience showed their appreciation with clapping and calls of “bravo.” Jaz raised her head and held my gaze for a moment before turning out of my arms to stand beside me, her hand resting gently in mine. With a sweep of her arm, she curtseyed low and I took my cue to bow. My heart soared. It may have been a simple demonstration of what the show promised to deliver, but it was my first performance in New York and I stood for a moment, soaking in what I had craved for more years than I cared to admit.

As soon as we were back in the privacy of Janice’s office, Jaz leapt into my arms and smothered my face with kisses.

“That felt amazing,” she said between kisses. “That’s the first time I’ve fully danced that piece and felt confident enough to really let myself go.”

Tiffany burst through the door without knocking. “Oh my fucking God!” Her excitement fed our already dizzy high, and she raced over and joined in the hug. “You were amazing, as always,” she said to Jaz. “And you.” She punched me in the arm. “Where have you been hiding?”

I couldn’t contain my elation. This was what we lived for—there was nothing else like it in the world.

There was a knock before Janice and Ophelia came in, closing the door behind them. Ophelia stood slightly behind her mom, her wide-eyed innocence soaking up the energy in the room. But it was the look on Janice’s face and the tears in her eyes that hit me like a punch in the gut. Our dance had reached out and touched her, and that was all any performer could ask for.

“You were wonderful,” she said tearily, as she came over and cupped Jaz’s face in her hands. “My heart ached for you.” She touched her hand to her chest, the pain she had felt evident on her face. “And you, Baxter. If you were playing the lead there’d be no limit to where you could take this production.”

I smiled, her words making my vision blur with tears.

“You two together—it’s a match made in heaven.”

Tiffany met us at the apartment so we could travel to the theater together. She wanted to be with us when we announced to the cast and crew that the show would be going ahead, the donations from Janice’s friends adding to a staggering four and a half million dollars toward the show’s budget.

As we were going down the side stairs I heard movement in the store, so we detoured to say hello to Carter. He was sorting through boxes of second-hand albums that he’d picked up at a market, organizing them into stacks so he could catalogue them in the computer. I felt bad for leaving him in the lurch, especially as he had been kind enough to allow us to stay in the apartment, even though I was only spending a few hours a week helping him out.

“Big day today. You going to give that money-hungry ass a beating?” he asked without looking up from his task.

“That’s the plan. We’re going to stick it to Pierre,” I replied before remembering that Tiffany was with us.

“What’s going on?” she asked, looking back and forth between us. “Why do I feel like I’ve missed something here?”

Jaz shrugged at me. “We can trust her.”

I nodded. “We’ll fill you in on the way to rehearsals.” As we were leaving, I turned back to Carter. “We’ll all come back tonight and give you a hand. It’s the least we can do.”

By the time we arrived at the theater, Tiffany was up to speed and absolutely seething. She wanted to storm in and bitch-slap Pierre, and it took a lot of persuasion to get her on board with the idea of saving the production instead of jeopardizing it by outing Pierre and his misdemeanors.

There was an air of anticipation, and I knew everyone was waiting on us to hear if our plan had come to fruition. We hadn’t told anyone about the cocktail party and recital because we weren’t sure if my performing instead of Mikhail would be approved, but they knew I’d asked for until the end of the week, and it was now D-day.

Pierre was smug as he once again called us around him, and I knew it was because he thought we’d failed. “So, it is the end of the week and our situation has not changed.”

“Actually, it has,” I interrupted. “If I may?” I stood beside Pierre upstage, increasing our height difference by the slope of the stage. “Jaz and I performed at a fundraiser last night that was put together by a friend of this production.” I looked at Pierre, whose brow had risen into his hairline. “Janice Durbridge. I believe you know her.”

Pierre nodded. “Of course. She has been extremely generous.”

“Well, it seems she loves Jaz.” I drew out the word ‘loves’ for effect. “And she wanted to help us so that Jaz could realize her full potential.” I smiled down at Pierre, wanting him to understand that these donations were because of Jaz, so any threat of firing her would have dire consequences. “So after we performed, Janice and her friends very kindly handed over a bundle of checks to the sum of four and a half million dollars.”

There was a round of applause, and people hugged each other in relief.

“And our accountant friend has agreed to manage the money that they have donated, down to the last cent, to ensure it goes to all the right places.”

Everyone should have been happy—I knew I was—but as I looked around a sea of elated faces, one stood out. It was the scowl of Mikhail.

With his shoulders squared and a face like thunder, he stood. “You danced my part.” He stepped closer. “You, who has been with the production for five minutes, dared to take my place. I am the star here. You are”—he flapped his hand dismissively—“you are a nobody.”

“He was amazing,” Tiff said. “You should have seen the two of them together. It was magical.”

Mikhail gasped. “You knew of this? You all knew?” He looked around at the bewildered faces that gazed up at him. “And you?” He turned on Pierre. “You allowed this to happen.”

“I had no idea,” Pierre replied.

“And this is how you run a show, by having no idea. I want them out—both of them.” He crossed his arms over his chest in defiance.

For a split second I felt sorry for Pierre; he was in a no-win situation. If he fired Jaz, then the funding would disappear. Janice had made it quite clear that it was because of Jaz and me that her friends had been so generous. But I could see from Mikhail’s stance that he was laying down an ultimatum.

“I … I can’t. We have no time to replace Jasmine. Margaret is not ready, and we open in a little over a week.” Pierre looked between Mikhail and me, his eyes pleading for help.

“You leave me no choice.” Mikhail bent to pick up his bag. “It is them … or me.”

My heart raced, and from the corner of my eye I could see Jaz gnawing on her lip. I grabbed her hand, and she squeezed. Would he really walk?

He turned, taking three steps toward the exit. “I’m really going. Good luck now without me.”

No one said a word. A few people moved out of the way to open a pathway for him, but not one person objected to his leaving. With each person he passed the confidence in his stride lessened. When he reached the edge of the stage, he looked back over his shoulder.

“Bye, Mikhail,” someone said.

He turned, his head held high, his pride not allowing him to revoke his threat.

“Well thank God he’s gone,” Becca said as the bang of the door echoed through the stage. “Now maybe we have a chance of this show being a success.”