Unholy Nights: A Twisted Christmas Anthology (25 page)

A few more dancers asked some questions but Officer Sean didn’t give any other information. I zoned out and thought about Mikhail: my own personal dance mentor. Had he never severed his ankle, Mikhail would be the top dancer in the Cambridge Ballet, if not in the United States. The first time I’d seen him dance in
Giselle
with Svetlana, I knew what I’d wanted to do with my life. I wanted to be the best ballerina. I wanted to be her.

The safety brief was over.

I pulled off my knit leg warmers and placed them in my bag. The light on my phone was blinking.

Mikhail: Meet me after practice. At the Peet’s in Harvard Square.

My lips stretched into a smile. Maybe Mikhail had reconsidered training me. I texted him back a smiley face and shoved my phone back into my bag before Olivier could see it.

“Let’s not let Officer Sean’s warnings interfere with the seriousness of our rehearsal. I need my snowflakes and Snow Queen and King.” Olivier turned on the music.

Most little girls dreamt of being Clara and of one day dancing Sugar Plum Fairy. I never wanted to be the sweet, sappy Sugar Plum. Snow Queen had always been my goal—dancing in the enchanted forest, welcoming Clara and her Prince into the beautiful winter wonderland on their way to the Land of the Sweets. Tchaikovsky’s “Waltz of the Snowflakes” was my favorite piece in the entire score. It was haunting, beautiful, and strangely erotic. And now I would be able to interpret it on my own.

Evan walked over to me, flashing his dimples. “You ready? We’ve got to kill this, Niev. This is my only shot at getting a contract. I was thinking—” he placed his hands around my waist, as if he was going to spin me, “do you want to get together tonight after and practice?”

I winced. Mikhail’s criticism of Evan’s dancing rang through my ears. This performance was a crucial showcase for both Evan and me. Our tickets out of the trainee program and into a company. And Evan needed this just as much as I did.

I spun away from him. “I’d love to but I have plans tonight.”

“Plans? What could you possibly have to do that is more important than practicing? This is your dream role and you have something better to do?”

I felt like I was betraying Evan. He was my partner, not Mikhail. For me to spend the evening with another man was inexcusable. But I had to convince Mikhail to train me. “I’m sorry. I can’t tell you what I’m doing. But I promise it will help our performance.”

Evan shook his head, his blonde hair falling into his face. “Is it some guy? I thought you were more serious than that.”

Olivier signaled to us to begin our blocking. My stomach fluttered. But I knew that I was doing the right thing. For me. For Evan. For the Cambridge Ballet. For Mikhail.

Act I Scene IV

I rushed over to the coffee house immediately after rehearsal. My fingers tingled and it wasn’t from the ice in my mittens. I wanted Mikhail to look at me as a woman, not as the little girl who had begged him to sign her pointe shoes.

Peet’s was packed with the usual coeds, crammed over their books, having lively discussions on literature. I envied their college lifestyle. What would it be like to eat whatever I liked, hook up with guys on the weekend, get wasted and not have to worry about losing the ability to perform the next day? As a dancer, I had to control everything I put into my body. It was a job requirement.

I looked around the coffee house and found Mikhail sitting at a tiny back table, sipping an espresso. He smiled at me, and I walked over to the table.

Mikhail stood from his chair and kissed me on the cheek. I could still imagine him as a graceful dancer. His posture, his chest, his broad shoulders.  “Sit, Nieves. I ordered you a latte.”

The warm ceramic mug warmed my hands. I took of sip of the sweet coffee. “So Misha, I was—”

“Don’t say anything. I want to apologize. You have to understand that as much as I love to, it is painful for me to see you dance. If I had never been injured, I believe you and I would’ve eventually danced together. I’m not sure I can handle seeing you dance the Snow Queen with another King.”

I bit my lip. I knew it was painful for him to watch dancers but I hadn’t realized that he felt that way about me. “I’d do anything for you, you know that.”

He pulled my hair off my face and turned me around, our faces inches apart. “I will train you. I can teach you everything I taught Sveta. But this must be our secret—I don’t want anyone to think I’ve compromised my journalistic integrity. And I have some rules.”

My fingers trembled but his warm hands steadied me. “What kind of rules?”

“The first rule is that you’ll stop asking me questions. The second is that you won’t tell anyone that I’m training you. The third is you will do whatever I say. The rest you will learn as you go. Come by my apartment after practice tomorrow night and we will begin.”

I knew better than to make a secret pact with Mikhail, but I couldn’t resist his offer. After all these years, I wondered what it would be like to be in his arms, dancing with him, being his queen.

I kissed him on his cheek. “I can’t wait.”

His eyes had that hunger in them that I thought I’d seen years ago. Was he attracted to me? I was no longer a girl. He had to know that I was in love with him—begging him to train me. I had opened this door, which I knew he would never cross. Maybe out of fear of rejection or knowing that being close to me could only make the pain of losing his career more acute. Only he could make me into a prima ballerina.

Act I Scene V

I rushed to class next morning after I overslept. I had been up all night fantasizing about my first training session with Mikhail. What rules did he want me to follow, what had he planned for me? I was prepared to do whatever he asked.

Ballet class was excellent. I felt a renewed energy spew through my body. My
pli
é
s
were deeper, my
tendus
were smoother. Just the though of dancing with Mikhail had already improved my dancing.

Olivier finished blocking all the choreography for the “Waltz of the Snowflakes.” It was technically difficult:
entrée
,
adagio
, two variations and a
coda
. I just hoped I could stay focused enough to give the performance of a lifetime.

Evan waited for me outside rehearsal. “So how was your date?”

I wasn’t in the mood to fight with my partner. “Great actually. Since when did you become so interested in my personal life? You’ve slept with almost every girl in the trainee program.”

He smirked and I couldn’t help but be intrigued that he cared. Evan was the resident bad boy of our ballet company. He rode a motorcycle, had tattoos, and went out of his way to prove what a badass he was. But I knew that his persona was all an act. He was just trying to show everyone that he was not an effeminate male dancer. He was the opposite of Mikhail, who always just acted like himself and never felt the need to adopt a hyper-masculine image to convince people he wasn’t gay. Another reason I’d admired Mikhail.

“I don’t care, Niev. But there may be a madman on the loose, and you are my partner, so you’re my responsibility. Where were you?”

I didn’t want to tell him. Though I knew Evan wouldn’t gossip to the other dancers, Mikhail was intensely private. “I was with Misha, okay? He’s, uhm, interviewing me for the paper.”

Evan’s jaw clenched. “You’re kidding me? Sure he’s just interviewing you. Creepy cripple Misha?”

“Shut up. He’s brilliant. And you don’t even know him. Why are you such an asshole?”

“Sure, I know him. I’ve been at this school since I was five. I knew him when he was the star. Always arrogant, never signed autographs. I used to worship the guy. But he treated Sveta like crap. No wonder she left him. It wasn’t just because he was injured. He was drunk all the time, cheated on her. I have no respect for him. He probably killed her. You’re so naïve.”

My neck felt hot. Evan was right—Mikhail had been a jerk back then. But the entire company had treated him like a rock star. He had been young, talented, gorgeous. Why should I blame him for mistakes he made in his past? He was a different man now.

Evan’s voice deepened. “Look, do what you want. But you’re
my
Snow Queen. We need to pull off the performance of a lifetime in order to get considered for contracts. Let’s focus on each other, our
pas de deux
. Trust me, there is something off about Misha.”

I walked away from Evan. Mikhail had changed. And I still saw good in him. Everyone deserves a second chance. And I was determined to give him one.

Act I Scene VI

I buzzed the intercom to Mikhail’s apartment. The door clicked, and I let myself in. As I walked up the stairs, I could hear my heart beat in my chest. What was I doing here? Mikhail had been known as a playboy in his prime—dates with starlets, affairs with top ballerinas. But he had always been in love with Svetlana. Though the ballet community had crucified her when she had left him after his injury, I had actually understood her. It wasn’t just that he could no longer dance. Mikhail had changed. He had started drinking, and there had been rumors of his epic fights with her. She had even quit dancing for a year, trying to coax him into rehab. She finally left him and rejoined the company. In an effort to win her back, he finally went to rehab and got clean. But it was too late—Svetlana had started dating someone else, and Mikhail had lost the two loves of his life.

He opened the door and greeted me with a kiss on my cheek. When I had been younger, I had slept next to this gorgeous man’s poster, and now I was at his place.

The scent of strong cabernet wafted in the air, and I heard the sizzling of oil. “Nieves, you look beautiful. I’ve made dinner.” He took off my coat and he glanced at my outfit, a black sweater and tight jeans. “I prefer when ladies dress like ladies. Change into this.” He handed me a wine-colored dress and nude high heels, which were in my size.

I had no reason to be modest. Mikhail had seen me in my leotard and tights—he already knew every inch of my body. I pulled the sweater off over my head and wiggled out of my jeans, hoping to get a reaction from him as I stood there in my black lace bra and panties. His eyes explored my body. Was he comparing me to Svetlana? She had a lean, traditional dancers body—one that I envied. Mine was more curvy, definitely not the ideal for the ballet. He watched me but didn’t say a word. I slipped the dress and heels on. “Thank you for making dinner. I can’t remember the last time I had a home cooked meal.” When I turned eighteen, I had moved into a ballet hostel. Living in the hostel sucked and being a dancer made meal time a chore, not an indulgence. I pretty much survived on yogurt, apples, salads and soups.

“Oh, it’s nothing. I don’t often have company.” Mikhail hobbled back over to the stove. My eyes zeroed in on his hands. I was in way over my head. Dedicating my life to dancing, I’d never had any time to date. Despite a few summer hookups at ballet intensives, I hadn’t even been in a real relationship. I was a virgin, but I was determined not to act like one—I wanted to experience Mikhail. Though he could never dance again, the memory of what his body had been able to do on stage filled my head with fantasies of what he’d be able to do to me in bed.

He deglazed the pan and spooned sautéed mushrooms over two petit filet mignons. “I hope you eat steak. The protein will give you power for your performance—and our training.”

I smiled and sat at the table. Art hung on the walls, yet as in his office, there were no pictures of him dancing.

He raised a glass of wine. “I know I shouldn’t be serving you wine but I wanted to celebrate your role. To my Snow Queen, Nieves Alba. I knew you had it in you the second I saw you dance Clara.” 

Our glasses clinked and I took a sip. The warm liquid soothed my throat. He placed his hand on my knee and I leaned into him, our lips almost grazing.

I wanted him to kiss me, to feel his hands exploring my body. But he pushed me away from him, and stood up.

“Not yet,” he whispered into my ear and handed me a new pair of satin, snow-white pointe shoes, embellished with Swarovski crystals. “I had these custom made for you. Put these on.”

“You had these made for me? They’re exquisite. Thank you!” As I laced up the slippers, he cleared back the furniture for me. Then he took a black scarf out of his pocket.

“Rule four. You must be blindfolded when you practice. You can’t watch yourself dance or see your reflection in the window. True dancing and passion originates within your soul. I’ve watched you dance, the way you study yourself in the mirror. It’s your biggest crutch.”

He took the black silk blindfold and tied it around my eyes, so tight it made my eyes throb. How could I dance without seeing my feet? But I trusted him and didn’t dare to question him.

“Dance, Nieves. Dance for me.”

He turned on his stereo and “The Waltz of the Snowflakes” played over his speakers.

I started my choreography. I heard a creak and I assumed he sat in front of me. I danced for him, courting the music.

“That’s it. Chin up, smile. Soften your hands.”

Every correction he made challenged me. I went
en pointe
and began my
fouettés en tournant.
One, two, three. I thrust my foot out and in, rhythmically with the music.

“Take your clothes off.” His voice sounded breathless.

I slowly slipped the dress off, which fell in a heap by my toes, leaving only my bra and panties behind. I waited to feel his hands around my body but the only sensation I had was the cool air on my skin.

“You’re flawless.”

“I’ve never done that many
fouettés
. You bring out the best in me.” I glided over the floor. “Dance with me.”

“I can’t Nieves.” I heard his footstep and then his hand clutched my wrist. “You danced beautifully tonight. Take a break.” He undid my blindfold and handed me the glass of wine. He pulled me into his arms and I reclined on the sofa.

As I sipped, my head became light. I saw flurries of snow and I must’ve passed out into a dreamland.

I remembered the smell of nutmeg and chestnuts. The missing dancers were there, performing their final roles in a breathtaking winter wonderland. I tried to talk to them, ask where they had all been hiding, but they all just gave me a frozen stare.