You're So Sweet (13 page)

Taylor turned on the lamp, and suddenly they could see. It had gotten dark outside while they were watching, and there was no longer any light from the big window. “Tristan, are you crying?” she exclaimed.

“No,” he protested, dabbing his eyes. Alexandra passed him a Kleenex from her pocket and blew her own nose.

“You guys are silly,” Keiko said, shaking her head. “It is just a story. Very tragic, but a story.”

“I know that,” Tristan said indignantly.

“Guys, are you done with the movie?” Charlize asked, coming into the living room. “Oh, good. Come and eat.”

They slowly got up. “I just want cake,” Taylor said. “I don't want dinner.”

“Me, too,” Julian said, yawning as he stretched.

Alexandra shrugged. “I don't care — I'd eat cake over dinner.”

“Taylor!” Charlize sighed. “Look what you started, and I just spent all this time making dinner.”

“Oh, I'm so sorry, Charlize,” Julian said quickly. “Of course we'll eat dinner. We were just excited for cake.”

“Can we just have cake? Please Mom, nobody even wants dinner.”

Kaitlyn's stomach rumbled, and she covered it with her hand.

“Okay, what is going to happen is you can all come to the table, and the people that want cake can have cake, and the people that want dinner can have dinner,” Charlize said firmly. “Come on.”

They went into the dining room, and Kaitlyn sat down next to Taylor. Charlize had gotten an ice cream cake, and she brought it out, with seventeen sparklers on it. “Can I light it? Tristan asked.

“Sure.” Charlize handed him the matches.

“You're old now, Julian,” Taylor giggled.

“Whatever.” Julian stuck out his tongue at her.

They got their pieces of cake, and Kaitlyn started to eat hers slowly. She looked over at Taylor: she was smooshing bits of the cake against her plate so that the cold, hard ice cream softened. Kaitlyn did the same, trying to match the amounts she ate with Taylor. The phone rang, and Charlize went to answer it. “Oh, hi, Cecelia.”

Kaitlyn looked up. What did her mother want now?

“Of course, I'll hand you over to her right now.” Charlize handed Kaitlyn the phone.

“Hi, Mom, what's wrong?”

“Nothing's wrong,” Cecelia answered, her shaky voice revealing the opposite. “Kaitlyn, I was wondering if you could just come home? I need to talk to you.”

“Mom, what's wrong?”

“Nothing's wrong, I just want to talk to you about something.”

“Well, if nothing's wrong, I want to stay.” Kaitlyn was suddenly very conscious of the others listening in close to her.

“Kaitlyn, I need you to come home.”

“I'll come home in the morning, okay?” Kaitlyn hung up.

“Is everything all right?” Charlize asked politely. “Do you need to be driven home?”

“No, it's fine,” Kaitlyn said, quickly. “My mom just wanted to make sure that I had done my homework.”

“Are you sure?” Charlize was insistent. “I don't want to get in trouble with your mother if she wants you home.”

Kaitlyn looked over at the table, where the others were watching. Nobody seemed disappointed at the idea that she might leave. At her seat, Kaitlyn could see her cake forming a chocolate puddle on the plate as her smooshed ice cream started to melt. “No, it's fine, actually,” she said quickly. She sat down and began to eat her cake, spooning up the melted pool first.

“Do you remember when we put that chocolate ice cream under your bed in the dorm at NBS?” Alexandra asked suddenly, turning to Tristan.

Tristan started to giggle. “That was hilarious. That summer was so much fun.” He turned to Julian, explaining the story. “We went on this field trip, and we really, really wanted chocolate ice cream, I don't know why — we were like, eleven years old.”

“It was that time we both went to the National Ballet School for summer school,” Alexandra interjected, noticing that Julian looked a bit confused.

“We got this big tub of it,” Tristan explained, “because there wasn't anything else — and then we stuck it under our bed because we were called away. We thought we'd only be gone a few minutes, but it was at least two hours, and when we came back there was this gross chocolate lake under the bed. There must have been a hole in the tub.”

“And then you left it!” Alexandra said indignantly, still horrified even after almost six years. “It was so disgusting. I don't even remember who cleaned it up, but it wasn't you.”

“You should have cleaned it up, it was your fault.”

“Nuh-uh.”

Kaitlyn looked at Taylor as Alexandra and Tristan continued to reminiscence for Julian's entertainment. She looked very unimpressed, and kept opening her mouth to say something, but she didn't do it forcefully enough to interrupt Alexandra and Tristan's flow. Kaitlyn felt happy knowing that the birthday party that Taylor had been bragging about for weeks was not going as she wanted it.

The phone rang again, and Kaitlyn could hear Charlize answer it in the kitchen. “Oh, hi again!” she heard her say. “Oh yes, they're all just eating cake right now — do you want to talk to her?” There was a pause as Charlize listened. “I could just drive her home if you want Cecelia,” Charlize said. Alexandra and Tristan had stopped talking to eavesdrop.

“What's wrong with your mother?” Alexandra looked down the table at Kaitlyn. Kaitlyn shrugged, feeling her face heat up with a blush.

“Let's all go downstairs,” Taylor said quickly, taking advantage of the silence. She hopped up, leaving the plates behind her.

Julian started to stack the plates, and Alexandra and Tristan quickly joined in to help.

“Guys, you can just leave that. My mother won't care,” Taylor said impatiently.

“Shush,” Tristan said, annoyed. In the kitchen they could hear Charlize still talking on the phone to Kaitlyn's mother. “Oh, God, yes!” Charlize exclaimed, laughing. “I had exactly the same conversation with her last week.” Apparently they had moved on from discussing Kaitlyn to gossiping. Kaitlyn hoped that was the end of it, and that her mother had gotten over whatever had been bothering her. They started to bring the plates into the kitchen, and Kaitlyn swiped a decorative chocolate swirl off of the cake and into her mouth before she followed them.

“Kaitlyn,” Charlize said as she walked into the room, “would you talk to your mother for a moment?”

Kaitlyn reluctantly took the phone from her as everyone else slowly headed downstairs, listening in. “Hey.”

“Kaitlyn, I need you to come home,” Cecelia said on the other end. Kaitlyn could tell that her mother was putting a lot of effort into forcing her voice to remain calm.

“Why?” Kaitlyn was trying to sound polite for the benefit of the curious ears listening in.

Cecelia lost her calm. “Kaitlyn, I understand this is important to you at the moment, but I need to talk to you.”

“What about?” Kaitlyn hoped that nobody could hear her mother's voice through the phone.

“I don't think that you should go to competition.”

“What?” Kaitlyn stared blankly out at Charlize's kitchen. It was very white, and the energy-saving fluorescent lights made the appliances and furniture gleam in such a way that it was hard for her to focus. “What do you mean?”

“Kaitlyn, I've been talking to Mr. Moretti, and looking at old competition videos — I just don't think that you are ready. I think you need to wait. There's no point in going if you aren't going to win, and I don't think that you are going to win.”

“But …” Kaitlyn didn't know what to say. “But, Mom …” Kaitlyn couldn't say anything over the phone that she wanted to say, not with everyone listening in.
I'm doing much better, and I'm already signed up, and I really want to go. I have to go!

“No, you don't have to go, Kaitlyn, we can say something. You should think about it. I think you shouldn't go. I want you to wait until we're sure that you are going to win.”

Kaitlyn bit her lip.
She's already decided. But I can't not go! Everyone's expecting me to. I've been rehearsing for weeks ...
“Okay,” she said to get off the phone. “I'll … talk to you later? In the morning?”

Cecelia sighed on the other end. “Fine.”

Kaitlyn passed the phone back to Charlize and turned to the stairs where the others were hanging at the bottom, listening in. Taylor had had enough. “Everybody, let's go upstairs now,” she said, making an attempt to sound firm, but only succeeding in sounding annoyed.

“What was that about?” Tristan ignored Taylor, focusing on Kaitlyn.

“Um …” Kaitlyn thought for a moment before the lie came to her, quite simply. “My mom thought that I hadn't done my science homework yet. She's a teacher, so she freaks out about that stuff.”

“Oh.”

“Come on, let's go to my room,” Taylor said impatiently. They all started to walk upstairs, Kaitlyn last.
That was easy,
she thought.
They believed me.

Julian Reese

Can't. Get. La Bayadere music out of my head.

“Yes, that's it!” Theresa exclaimed. “So much better, Julian. Taylor, your arms are still extremely stiff. Your back doesn't move when you reach. Reach with your arms, feel your back stretch away in two directions — and
port de bras
down. Lengthen. Yes! You need to use every bit of your back. All right, now let's work on your solo Julian.”

Julian nodded, panting, still not ready to speak. He stood up and moved to the centre of the room and began preparing. Just as Theresa was about to push Play, the door opened slightly. “Hey,” Charlize said in her brightest voice.

“Hey,” Theresa said right back at her, smiling also. It was painfully obvious that she was imitating her, but Charlize ignored it.

“I was wondering if I could just watch for a bit? See how it's coming along.”

Theresa frowned. She did not want parents watching, but Charlize was already walking in and heading to the chairs. “I really feel that they can concentrate better if you are not in the room …”

“They won't even notice I'm here,” Charlize winked at Taylor and Julian. “Right, guys?”

“Fine,” Theresa snapped, unimpressed. “Julian, you ready?”

Julian nodded.

“Okay, then.” Theresa pushed Play, and Julian started to go through his variation. He was still doing the solo from
La Bayadere
. He felt a bit better about it than he had at festival. His jumps felt higher, his turns cleaner, his knowledge of what moments to find in the music were better. But he also felt more nervous. Before festival, he had this feeling that it didn't really count, that it wasn't the important competition, and that he would do fine automatically. Because festival had come first, he hadn't had to think about YAGP. Now he did; now it was coming closer and closer. He felt like every time he did this solo he found another thing that he was doing wrong.

He finished with a flourish, and grinned. “Sorry, messed up the landing again,” he apologized to Theresa.

“Don't apologize,” she told him. “Fix it, but never apologize. It is your work, your art, not mine.”

Julian nodded.

“Let's try it again. What I want you to do is focus on your feet; you are letting them fly about. If you stretch your feet, your legs will follow. You really need to concentrate on this, for everything.”

Julian nodded.

“Have your teachers told you to work on this? It's your biggest problem right now.”

“No,” Julian said. “I don't think so.”

Charlize coughed, bored.

Theresa ignored her. “Do it one more time,” she told Julian. He nodded and ran to the side of the room, preparing with his hands inward toward his heart, hiding behind imaginary stage wings with his back to the audience. Theresa waited a moment. “Take your time with it, Julian,” she said. “I know it feels like you don't have enough time, but you do, you have to just make the time. Breathe.” She pushed Play, and Julian started walking on, leaping as the first few motes of the music started. He really, truly, loved this variation. It was just so dramatic and joyful at the same time. It didn't have any technical tricks that he was too terrified of doing, and it was short, and he loved the music.

“Good job,” Theresa said as he finished.

“Thanks,” he panted. The solo was short but exhausting. He pulled his wet shirt away from his skin and shook it to let in some of the moist warm studio air.

“Julian,” Theresa said slowly. “You really do have something special, you know that, right? Other dancers, they might have stronger technique, or more tricks, but you have the heart. That is your strength. Don't ever forget to use that. Remember why you dance.”

Julian nodded. For some reason he felt uncomfortable about Theresa praising him in front of Charlize. Charlize had started swinging her leather-clad foot in an annoyed manner.
Up, and down ...

“What do you think?” Theresa asked, turning around fast enough to catch Charlize yawning.

“Oh, it looks good,” Charlize said. “How is their
pas de deux
coming along?”

“Very good,” Theresa said. “They're definitely improving. Now, do you want to see anything else? Because I feel that I can really coach them best with some privacy.”

“Well, I would like to see my daughter dance,” Charlize said pointedly. “This is a shared private, right?”

“Fine, of course, of course, Taylor, dear, come and do your solo.”

Taylor nodded, walking away from the wall and toward the corner. She was doing Kitri's variation from Act 1.

“Now, remember, Taylor, it's about the flavour,” Theresa said nervously. “Kitri has attitude, she has fire. Okay?”

Taylor nodded, biting her lip. She was obviously nervous to do her solo.
Which makes sense
, Julian thought. In the last three privates she'd had with Theresa, Theresa hadn't rehearsed Taylor's solo once, opting to work on their
pas de deux
and Julian's solo instead.
I wonder if Taylor tattled to her mom? I bet she did, that's probably why Charlize came to watch today
.

She began her solo a bit late, and Theresa stopped the music. “Again,” she said. “Take a breath, dear.”

Taylor nodded, and took a melodramatically big breath, puffing out her cheeks and then letting the air out in a shuddering gasp. She shook out her arms and legs and then stepped into position once more. “Okay, I'm ready now.”

“Okay.” Theresa pushed Play again, and this time Taylor was on time until about halfway through the solo, at which point she got behind, and then in trying to catch up, got ahead.

Taylor finished in a giggling mess. “Oops,” she said. Theresa looked utterly unimpressed. Charlize looked upset.

“We have mostly been working on their
pas de deux
,” Theresa explained, turning to Charlize. “Apparently she hasn't been improving with her own practice — Taylor, have you been practising at home?”

Taylor nodded. Charlize swung her foot violently, and the motion forced Theresa to look over at her. “But I'm not paying you so that she can practice at home,” Charlize said sweetly. “Taylor needs to know what she has to work on. That's why we come to you.”

“Of course,” Theresa said, getting flustered and annoyed. “But we need to rehearse everything.”

“Including her solo.”

“Of course, of course. Now that we know it needs work we can spend more time on it next week.”

“Next week is very close to competition time — maybe you could give her something to work on now?”

“Yes, yes, let me see,” Theresa twisted her hands, nervous and put on the spot. “Julian, what do you think she should work on? You're good at critiquing others.”

Julian started. He'd been zoning out. “What?”
What, she wants me to correct Taylor? Oh geez, this is going to make Charlize furious …
“Um, maybe you could work on your timing, Taylor? And control the landings of your jumps more?”

Taylor nodded, not listening. She was busy looking at her mother, who would have had steam and shooting fire around her head if she had been a cartoon character.

Theresa looked at the clock. “Oh, look, it's time!”

“Do you mind if I talk to you a minute?” Charlize asked, standing up.

“Of course,” Theresa agreed, clearly meaning anything but. “I have a meeting, though, so it will have to be quick.”

“Go get changed,” Charlize ordered Taylor and Julian. They obeyed, walking out of the room as slowly as they could, hoping to hear something.

“I am not paying for privates so that my daughter can watch Julian rehearse —” Charlize said as Taylor closed the door behind them.

Julian was worried as they went downstairs. “I hope your mom isn't mean to Theresa,” he said.

“My mom isn't mean!”

“I know, it's just Theresa didn't mean anything by not rehearsing your solos. She's just been busy working on our
pas de deux
.”

Taylor didn't comment.

“What? You don't think she meant anything by it, do you?”

Taylor shrugged. “Do you have your hotel booked?”

“Yeah. Me and Tristan are going to be sharing a room. You staying with your mother?”

“Yeah. Should be so much fun.” Taylor sighed. “She is so annoying to travel with. Are your parents coming?”

“No.”

“Did you ask them to?”

“No, they know when it is, but I don't really care if they come or not, so I just didn't ask them. It's a lot of money.”

“Yeah. I wish I could make my mom stay home and not watch. That would be cool.”

“Your mom's nice. She really cares about the stuff you do.”

“I'd rather have cool parents like yours. They let you do whatever you want! Me, if I'm like half an hour late I get in so much trouble, and you could probably disappear for weeks and your parents wouldn't care.”

Julian shrugged. “Yeah, but then again, they also don't drive me everywhere, and plan my life for me, and help me with my homework.”

“I'd still take your parents over my mom any day. My dad's cool, but my mom's so annoying. She just doesn't get that it's my life.”

“Is your dad coming?” Julian asked to change the subject. “He lives in the States, right?”

“Yeah, he lives in L.A., but he can't come — he has a business trip.”

“Oh.” Julian bit his lip. Taylor really liked her dad and thought he was super cool — he was a talent agent in California, and she talked about everything he did like he was perfect, but Julian thought he sounded like a bit of a douche. He also didn't seem to care nearly as much about Taylor as she thought he did. When she had told him that she was considering dropping out of school, he had told her to follow her heart, which Taylor had taken to mean that he was supportive, but Julian thought that it more showed that he just really didn't care. Charlize seemed nuts at times, but she also seemed to genuinely care about what Taylor did and was always trying to force her to do things that she thought would help her.

“Julian!” Julian turned around. Cromwell Gilly was waving at him from the door of the change room.

“Hey.” He walked over. “What's up?'”

“I found a different costume for you to wear for your variation,” he said excitedly. “Come here.”

Julian followed Cromwell Gilly into the costume room. It was protected by a large fire-resistant door, and resembled a dungeon, if there was a type of dungeon that had walls lined with ancient, sweaty-smelling tutus and fake flowers. Julian picked up a fairy wand and began rapping the shelves with it as he passed them by. He always felt a bit nervous walking in this place; it was cramped and underground, so it had no windows, and it reminded Julian of an Edgar Allen Poe story he had read when he was a kid. He couldn't really remember the names of the characters or anything had happened, he just remembered that some guy had accidentally walled himself up in a dungeon while trying to wall another man up. Julian shivered.

“Stop that,” Cromwell Gilly said, annoyed. He walked backwards and snatched the wand out of Julian's hand. “Come on. Don't touch anything.”

They got to the back of the costume room, and Cromwell Gilly took down a hanger. “Here. Try this on.”

Julian pulled the loose Arabian pants over his ballet shorts. The top elastic bit actually fit his hips, and the legs were the right length. “Cool! This fits so much better, Cromwell Gilly!”

“Good,” Cromwell Gilly muttered, stepping back to look at it. “Yes it looks much better. Move about a bit.”

Julian jumped up and down and flung his arms and legs about.

“Stop! Okay. Good. Now, try this on —” Cromwell Gilly handed him a matching vest.

Julian tried to pull it on. “It doesn't fit.”

“That's because you haven't undone the hooks,” Cromwell Gilly said with a sigh. Julian took the vest off his head and handed it over to Cromwell Gilly, who undid it and then handed it back to him.

“Now it does,” Julian said, raising his arms as Cromwell Gilly did up the hooks for him. “It totally fits.”

Cromwell Gilly laughed. “You idiot. Okay, I know it will work now, so take it off before you do something stupid and destroy it.”

Julian took it off. “Did you just find it?” he asked. The costume that he had worn for festival had been the only one that Cromwell Gilly could find that remotely fit him.

“No,” Cromwell Gilly said, delicately putting the costume back on its hanger. “Andrew Lui's mother just donated a bunch of costumes.”

“What? I'm actually wearing one of Andrew Lui's old costumes?” Julian said excitedly.

“Yes.” Cromwell Gilly smirked. “Go upstairs. To the landing by Studio A.”

“Why?”

“Go look. There's a picture that you should see.”

Julian frowned, confused. “What?” He ran out of the costume room and up the stairs, making a racket on the way up. He stopped at the landing, spinning around on his heel as he tried to see what Cromwell Gilly wanted him to see.
Pictures.
He walked around, looking at each one in turn as he tried to look for something that made sense. There was an old black-and-white of the Demidovskis dancing together when they were young, a signed poster from Vancouver Ballet, a recent picture of Leonie Camden alongside an article telling of her promotion to soloist, and
oh!
Julian looked closer at a photo of Andrew Lui in a
jeté.
Those are totally the same pants!
Julian ran downstairs. “Thanks, Cromwell Gilly!” he called from the doorway of the costume room, not wanting to enter again. “I saw the picture! So cool!”

“Mmm,” Cromwell replied from somewhere in the depths of the costume room. Julian left, running upstairs to get a space at
barre
. He could hear the increase in noise upstairs that meant that class was about to start.