You're So Sweet (6 page)

“Awesome!” Julian said loudly.

Everyone turned around to look at Julian and his newly cut hair, and began to laugh.

“You can come, too — Julian,” Theresa said, reading his name tag. “But this might be a bit difficult for
your
hair. It looks a little short.”

“Who was your favourite partner?” Tristan asked suddenly from the back.

“Who was that?” Theresa asked, sitting up so she could see him. “A boy!” She looked excited. “I love it when the men take an interest in partnering,” she explained. “So many male dancers, they just don't work in that area of their dancing. Which I find foolish. The old ballets, they don't really have well-fleshed-out male leads, and the men really have to focus on the partnering. So many fine young male dancers can get ahead by being a good partner and dancing with a more established female lead.”

Tristan nodded, a little embarrassed. He'd already come to the same conclusion, but it was an entirely different matter to have it told so bluntly in front of the class.

“My favourite partner — let's see,” Theresa said, sitting back as she considered. The last of the students that had been standing to keep warm in case they were going back to the
barre
sat, and Taylor adjusted her position a bit so she was sitting closer to Julian and could feel the heat from his body. It was a cold spring in Vancouver that year, despite the sun. Julian had told Taylor that it was probably global warming, which didn't make sense to Taylor, but she let it go — science frequently didn't make sense to her. Besides, Julian tended to get overemotional and boring when he started talking about things like the environment.

“Well, I guess I would have to pick Isaac,” Theresa decided. “Isaac — he was a bit younger than me, and a very good partner. We never really matched well in the studio: he never wanted to rehearse as much as I did, so in that way we didn't suit. But our style of dancing, what we were trying to achieve artistically, was very cohesive.”

“Did you ever fight about how much you rehearsed?” Tristan asked.

“Yes!” Theresa laughed. “All the time. That's why the company stopped pairing us together — he didn't take criticism well either.”

Taylor giggled. She could picture Theresa obsessively scolding some partner over the correct way to lift her.

“He had awful timing, as well,” Theresa said, reminiscing. “I have excellent timing, so that was always difficult. It was hard to be tactful at times, and of course he was very sensitive.”

“How would you tell him his timing was off then?” Tristan asked.

“Hmm — this one time we were rehearsing a lovely piece to set to Handel, and he kept lifting me up on the upbeat when it should have been the down. It was awful, because you would hear this definitive down” — Theresa hit the floor with her foot — “and then he would lift me. It completely ruined the choreography. So I told him,” Theresa started to giggle, and they giggled along with her. “I told him — oh dear. I said: ‘Isaac, we are not leaving this studio until you lift me up on the right count.' He was not impressed, but we stayed in the studio for three hours until he got it right. Then he stormed out and went and got drunk, he was hungover for class the next day. He knew I would've complained to the artistic director if he hadn't stayed.” Theresa shook her head, smiling dreamily as if recalling a fond memory.

“Poor Isaac,” Taylor whispered to Julian.

“Do you mean Isaac Claire?” Alexandra asked, wide eyed.

Theresa covered her mouth. “Yes. Don't tell him I said that. He is a very sweet man, and I'm sure he's more mature now — we didn't really keep in touch after he left the company, apart from writing a few times. Now he choreographs. His work is a bit mechanical for my taste, but he's doing well.”

Taylor giggled. It was so cool to hear gossip about ballet dancers that she looked up to. Theresa looked like she was having fun, too. Taylor had the odd impression that Theresa really wanted them to like her, as if their approval meant something to her. Which Taylor found strange; why would one of the most treasured Canadian ballet dancers of her time care what a class of young students thought of her?

“Did you ever have sex with any of your dance partners?” There was a sudden hush, and everyone turned to look at Delilah. “What? I was just curious.”

“Oh my God, Delilah,” Alexandra said shaking her head, embarrassed.

Delilah shrugged.

They turned back to Theresa to see if she would answer. “Well, yes, a few,” Theresa answered to their surprise. “But I found that the extra layer of complication that added was harmful to our ballet partnership, so I stopped doing that.”

Taylor didn't know what to think of that statement. It sounded perfectly logical, and more than a little odd at the same time. She wanted to be a ballet dancer who was as amazing as Theresa, but she hoped she wouldn't be so strange when she was.

“Did you ever think of leaving the company?” Julian asked. “Dancing in a different one? I know you did some guest stuff, but …”

“Not a lot of guesting,” Theresa filled in for him. “And yes, I did think of leaving for a different company. I got offers for bigger companies that would have made me more of a name internationally, but honestly I just couldn't do it. Vancouver Ballet is — was — my home, my safety net.”

“So you were happy there,” Kaitlyn prodded.

“Yes,” Theresa said hesitantly. “Yes — yes, I was. I was happy there. I was surrounded by so many people who wanted me to do well, you see, and I needed that support system. Some companies are big and make dancers stars, but with Vancouver Ballet it was the other way around. I put them on the map. So they needed me, and I needed them — until they didn't need me anymore, of course.”

There was silence. No one really knew what to say.

After they finished class, Taylor hurried, wanting to catch up to Julian before he left. It was difficult, because the boys always took far less time to get changed than the girls. She found him sitting on a bench, texting. “Julian!”

“Hey, Tay,” Julian said, not looking up. “How do you spell ‘superficial'?”

“I don't know,” Taylor said, sitting down beside him. “I have dyslexia, I can't spell. What are you trying to write?”

Julian passed her his phone. “This,” he sighed. “I'm trying to tell my friend Caspian that he shouldn't be dating this girl because she is really annoying and superficial. But my phone's spell check won't work.”

Taylor looked at the screen. “Just send this,” she suggested. “He'll probably understand what ‘superphicial' means.”

“Ah, here, got it,” Julian said suddenly taking the phone back. “It's an f. I'm an idiot.” He pressed Send.

“Anyway,” Taylor said, “I was wondering, you still want to do two
pas de deux
with me, right?”

“Yeah, of course!” Julian replied, surprised. “Like, I worked on the contemporary
pas de deux
we're going do on Christmas break and everything.”

“Yay,” said Taylor.“Hey … do you want to maybe go back in the studio and rehearse?” She looked at Julian hopefully. “I really, really, really want to see the
pas de deux y
ou choreographed. I am actually so stoked.”

Julian looked around. There was an empty studio in front of them. He grinned. “Yeah. Come on.” They both ran into the large studio, giggling. Taylor did a cartwheel in the middle of the room. “The whole studio, for us!” she said happily.

Julian set up the music.

“I like this
pas de deux
,” Taylor said, as she and Julian lay on the floor, panting. “It's so fast and fun. I like that better than slow and serious dances.” Taylor and Julian looked up, hearing a noise in the doorway.

Theresa was standing there, dressed in her street clothes. “What have you been doing?” she asked.

“Uh … fooling around, choreographing,” said Julian carelessly, ruining the effect immediately by blushing.

“Choreographing what?” demanded Theresa as she walked closer to them. “You like choreographing?” Her eyes were focused on Julian, and Taylor scooted a little bit away from him.

“A … just a
pas de deux
… it's sort of stupid, but I like choreographing, you know?” said Julian. “It's just so … so much fun.”

“Show me?” asked Theresa.

At that moment Julian's cell began to ring. Taylor turned it off for him. “It's Tristan,” she said, grimacing.

“Oh, yeah, we have that RAD class today!” Julian said, horrified. “I totally forgot about it. I can't go now, there's not enough time.”

Taylor turned Julian's phone to silent.

“Do you think I could see some of your choreography? If you don't mind?” Theresa asked Julian.

“Um, sure,” said Julian, cracking his feet on the floor nervously. “Do you think you could turn on the music for us? That button. Thanks!”

He walked over to the centre of the room and stood next to Taylor, waiting. Theresa pushed Play.

Julian finished the
pas de deux
not terribly well, as he suddenly remembered that Theresa was watching him and might think that his choreography was weird, and he left the floor muttering, “Not very good of course, it's just for fun, you know? Kind of stupid, I know.”

But the beginning and middle were good enough for Theresa to sit up even straighter in order to pay better attention and to exclaim when he had finished, “You really are talented! How long have you been working on this?”

Julian shot a glance at Taylor: he had told her that he had been working on it since Christmas break, but he had really just finished choreographing most of it today, and the first half the night before. “I've been working on it for — um, a little while.”

“You really do have talent,” Theresa said excitedly. “We have to talk tomorrow. I think I have an idea.” She left the room, smiling, and lost in her own world. Julian stared after her, confused.

As soon as she left, Taylor turned to Julian. “That was so random,” she whispered, staring after Theresa. “But, she's right. You are really good at choreographing! And you dance so much better when you are dancing your own work. This
pas de deux
is way better than any of the academy's contemporary teachers have ever done that I've seen. It's more like Leah's. But different. I really, really like it! What is that song? I recognize it.”

“It's ‘Sail,'” said Julian, his grin lighting up his whole face. “That Awolnation song? Thanks.” He sat down and stretched, out of breath.

“You need to dance like that more often,” said Taylor disapprovingly. “Full-out, I mean.”

“I'm just out of breath because I'm not doing soccer and stuff anymore,” Julian protested.

“You should be totally in shape if you've been taking class properly,” said Taylor. But she let it go. “Theresa's right, you're, like, really good. We should definitely do what you choreographed for competition!”

“Do we have to ask the Demidovskis?” Julian asked.

“Yes,” said Taylor, frowning. “But — let's say we got a contemporary teacher to choreograph it for us. They'd panic if you told them you did it.”

“Yeah,” said Julian agreed. “They totally would. Okay.”

“Okay, let's work on this,” Taylor said firmly. “Nobody's waiting in the hall, so we can use this studio until someone kicks us out. We just have to check the hallway every so often to make sure no one is out there waiting.”

By the time they got out of the studio it was dark, but it had stopped raining. Julian had learned the choreography to the
Le Corsaire pas de deux
and they had both learned exactly how hard they would have to work to get it ready for festival, they had both rehearsed their respective variations once (well, Julian three-quarters as he forgot bits of it) and they had experimented enough for Julian to get an idea of what changes he had to make to their contemporary
pas de deux
to make it work. Dancing with Taylor when he was choreographing in his brain was quite different from actually dancing with Taylor, and some of the lifts and ideas he had just didn't translate into real life. They were both completely exhausted, but extremely happy.

“I am so tired, but I'm glad I finally got to see your choreography,” said Taylor, almost skipping as they walked to the bus stop.

“Me too,” said Julian, marking steps to music in his head. “Do you think Theresa actually liked my work?”

“I think so,” said Taylor, yawning. “Yay, bus!”

Alexandra Dunstan

“You have a face for the radio, But I know you'd like to see it in a show …” haha, love The View, ultimate insult.

It was warm in the studios before class, and Alexandra could see the sun streaming through the windows onto the grey dance floor. It was pretty, and her body felt warm and loose after warming up. She rolled over and rose up into a bridge, grabbing her ankles and trying to straighten so her body was completely bent in half.

“Almost,” said Tristan admiringly. He tried himself, but wasn't flexible enough to touch his ankles. He flopped down on the floor again in a pout. “It's just because you're a girl,” he informed Alexandra.

She rolled her eyes. “Sure,” she answered. Tristan pulled a Kleenex out of his tights and blew his nose. “Ew,” said Alexandra.

“What? I have a cold,” said Tristan. “Where would you rather I put my Kleenex? Or would you like me to have snot flying out my nose during pirouettes?”

“Oh, do you have a coke problem?” asked Alexandra, starting to giggle again.

“Huh?” asked Tristan, confused.

“Gelsey Kirkland, in her autobiography,” Alexandra explained. “It's one of my favourite dance biographies. It's called
Dancing on My Grave
.”

“Nice,” snorted Tristan. Alexandra ignored him.

“Anyway, she writes about how snot used to fly out of her nose when she did
fouettes
and stuff on stage after she started doing coke.”

“Didn't anyone notice?” asked Tristan in disbelief.

“Apparently not,” said Alexandra, shrugging. “They just said she was getting better all the time. They only started to do something about it when she started missing class and performances and stuff.”

“Typical,” said Tristan, shaking his head. “People are so stupid. Can you loan me that book sometime?”

“Sure,” said Alexandra. “What time is it?”

Tristan looked at his cellphone. “Time for class.”

Alexandra stretched out her legs and arms like a starfish, yawning. She didn't want to get up off the floor: her body was so flexible and warm that it melted on the hard rubber ground. The first warm day of the year. She got up in one rush of motion and grabbed her bag. “Let's go then.” They walked to the elevator and got on, the first students to leave. Alexandra punched the button and leaned back on the elevator wall as they began their descent to the bottom floor. “How's Deer?”

“What?”

“Your Julian. He's been out of it all week, I figured you'd know what was going on with him.”

“How should I know? He doesn't tell anyone anything. And he's not my Julian.”

“Why are you mad at him?”

“I'm not mad at him!”

“Whatever you say.”

“How come you called him
dear?
”

“D-E-E-R.” Alexandra spelled out the word. “Because he looks like one if you confuse him, and I think that should be his new nickname. I asked him what summer schools he was auditioning for yesterday and he just stood there looking blank.” They got off the elevator and walked toward the studio, passing dancers from a contemporary company that rehearsed upstairs.

“Yeah, I don't really know what is up with him. I asked him if he wanted to go to auditions with me, and he was just acting really weird.” Tristan pushed open the door and walked inside the large studio. They put their bags down in the middle-front of the room and carried a centre
barre
out to use. Alexandra began to
develope a la seconde
and held it. “That's a lot higher,” Tristan commented admiringly.

Alexandra smiled. “Thanks.” She looked in the mirror — she still wasn't strong enough, and her extensions weren't high enough. They were higher, and if she just kicked them up, she could get the height she wanted: but she wasn't strong enough at that height to
develope
her legs properly; not without cheating.

The other students began to run in, too late to get the best spots as usual, as Alexandra and Tristan had already taken them. In a few minutes the studio was full of ballet students, from the academy and other schools around B.C.

Looking at the clock, Alexandra saw that Theresa was a bit late. She hung her back down over the
barre
to stretch it out, watching the dancers around her as she did so. Two
barres
down, Kaitlyn was laughing with one of the girls from her old school. Alexandra frowned. She really hoped that Kaitlyn wouldn't get Swanhilda for June show. Otherwise she would just be even more insufferable. This morning she had been telling Michael and Chloe about the time that she had played Clara at only ten years old. Alexandra had wanted to interrupt to point out that the reason she had played Clara was that she had danced at a recreational school and was pretty much the only good dancer at the school.

Theresa walked in, setting her many bags at the front of the classroom. Alexandra saw her look over and smile at Julian and Taylor. She frowned: what was that about? Did they know Theresa already somehow? She took out her Thera-Band and began to stretch her leg extensions with it.

Theresa walked to the front of the room and clapped her hands together for class to start. “Good morning everyone!” she said excitedly. “Shall we begin?” She began to give them a
plie
exercise, but it was obvious that her attention was elsewhere. She stopped in front of Taylor and ran her finger along her leg as Taylor
tendued
to the side. “There. This is simply beautiful. Gorgeous, my darling, this is a lovely line.”

The pianist seemed to be hitting the keys a little harder than usual and Alexandra could feel herself snapping all her movements in response, making them jerky and awkward instead of fluid and elastic. “Let's do something a little different today with the music,” Theresa said suddenly, wincing at the closing notes of the
tendue
exercise. “Mary, do you think you could play some Christmas music?”

“It's April,” Alexandra whispered to Tristan.

Tristan shrugged. “That is irrelevant,” he whispered back. “I want some Christmas music.”

Theresa walked over to the piano and began humming “Deck the Halls.”

“Oh!” Theresa gave a start of surprise as some of the ladies of the Vancouver Ballet Society came in to watch. She hadn't yet gotten used to them dropping in to view classes. “We are just about to listen to some lovely Christmas music!”

They smiled politely as Mary began to play, hitting the keys even harder. Theresa began to choreograph a
frappe
exercise to the carol, and the class marked along with her. Alexandra smiled: there was something about the discordant combination of sun pouring through the windows and Christmas music being thumped out of a piano that made her very happy. Theresa came over to her and grabbed her leg, jerking it in and out while holding her knee at a solidly turned-out angle. She let go and Alexandra attempted to mimic what Theresa's hand had forced her to do, but she couldn't quite manage it.

“Almost,” Theresa assured her. Alexandra smiled at her, grateful to receive some positive corrections, but almost immediately Theresa moved on to work with Julian. “Much better,” she gushed. Alexandra frowned and her smile dropped as she began to work harder.

As she worked, she looked in the mirror in front of her, shooting glances throughout the exercise with her eyes as her head moved with her arm the way it was supposed to. Nothing was good enough yet. Not for competition, not for getting a position with a company. Her arches weren't strong enough yet; she couldn't consistently roll through smoothly; her arms were awkward when she was nervous; and her legs, although flexible, were nowhere near strong enough. Let alone the right size. Her thighs
still
looked huge. She looked across at Taylor, and bit her lip. It didn't matter that Taylor was messing up the exercise every few seconds, or that she had sloppy technique, Theresa would still correct her because she had a good body type. Leonie Camden had had a good body type.
What is wrong with you, Alexandra?
She asked herself between
grand battements
.
I need to get better. I need to lose weight. I need to be skinnier than Taylor, and stronger than Kaitlyn, and they are both younger than me.
With every goal she set she
grand battemented
a little higher and more violently, and on the last one she got stuck up in the air, nearly throwing out her back and coming down a count late.

“Easy, careful!” said Theresa, appearing behind her and patting her on the shoulder with a bony hand. She jabbed her finger in Alexandra's stomach. “You have to work on this being stronger, your back is very loose and it needs to be supported.”

Alexandra nodded and wiped away the sweat that was dripping down her forehead.

Alexandra didn't bother changing out of her wet dance clothes, instead slipping a dress overtop of her tights and bodysuit and slipping on her leather boots. She could feel the sweat from her bodysuit seeping through to the fabric of her dress.
Grooosss …

“You're in a hurry,” Grace commented, leisurely brushing out her thick light brown hair in front of the change-room mirror.

Alexandra looked up from tying her boots. “Yeah. Tristan and I have a private with Mr. Demidovski.”

“Oh. Yeah, you're doing all those competitions, right?” Grace looked condescending. “I guess that makes sense, for you.”

Alexandra stopped in the middle of picking up her bag. “What do you mean, ‘for me'?”

“Well, it's like going to be hard for you to get a job, right? You're going to need like a reeaaallly good resume, with lots of medals and stuff.”

“Uh, everyone does. That's kinda how you get a visa.”

“Well, not everyone,” said Grace delicately. She smiled at Alexandra through the mirror as she rummaged through her makeup bag. “I mean, I don't do competitions, and the Demidovskis never told me that I should do them.”

Alexandra stared at her, disbelieving. “They never told you to do them because you suck at competitions!”

Anna came out of a stall, her eyes wide. “Wow. Defensive much?”

Grace's eyes began to tear up. “I can't believe you said that to me,” she sniffled. Anna passed her a wad of toilet paper.

“God, Alexandra, you are such a bitch!”

Alexandra stared at the tableau in front of her. No words came to her rescue. “You know what — just — I don't even know. I have to get to my private. Because I
work
at dance? Instead of just resting on being a favourite?” she finished angrily, walking out of the bathroom and swinging her bag onto her back. The door was the heavy kind that takes a while to close and closes with a slow wheeze when it does, so Alexandra didn't even get the satisfaction of slamming it. Instead, she ran down the stairs instead of taking the elevator in order to stomp down the cement steps. It made her feel slightly better, and as she walked out the front doors she said, “Bye!” to the receptionist.

She pushed open the big glass doors and took a deep breath in. Fresh air was so much better after leaving a sweaty studio. The sunshine was misleading, as it was still cold outside, and the wind was swirling everything upwards. A newspaper was drifting lazily across the street, and Alexandra turned sharply around to walk to the bus stop. “Agh! Omigod, sorry!” Alexandra had accidentally run straight into Theresa. She stepped backwards, her eyes wide with the horror of it. “I'm so sorry!”

Theresa laughed. She looked more amused than angry. “That's fine.”

“Um, see you tomorrow in class. Thank you. Geez. Sorry.” Alexandra continued on her way, her face red and her steps stiff as she tried to regain her dignity. To make matters worse, it appeared that Theresa was also going that way.

“Are you walking to the bus stop?” Theresa asked brightly.

“Yeah,” said Alexandra, falling back to match Theresa's pace.

“Which way are you going?”

Alexandra pointed. “I'm going to my normal school to have a private,” she explained.

“Oh? Which school is that?”

“The Vancouver International Ballet Academy? But everyone just calls it the academy. People who know it, I mean. It's a super-long name, like nobody calls it that but the Demidovskis, because they named it that —” Alexandra stopped talking, realizing that she was babbling.

Theresa smiled calmly. “Yes, I know the academy,” she said. “I admire some of their training — not all of their methods, but they have produced some very good dancers. I'm going there myself.”

“What, really?” Alexandra said. As soon as she had spoken she realized that she had sounded rude, and so she added: “That's nice, it's really a very nice school.” She wanted very badly to ask why Theresa was visiting the academy, but she thought that would probably be rude, and so she forced herself not to.

The bus pulled up to the stop, and Theresa and Alexandra got on. Alexandra walked behind Theresa, unsure what she was supposed to do. Should she sit next to Theresa? Or would Theresa not want her to? Theresa sat down on one of the benches, and seeing Alexandra start to head toward the back of the bus, she patted the seat beside her, saying: “You can sit next to me. I really don't take up that much room, you know.”

Alexandra sat. Carefully. She set her bag down in her lap slowly, being careful not to hit Theresa with it. Alexandra had never sat on a bus with posture that good in her entire life.

“Do you know the two students in your class, Julian and Taylor?” Theresa asked casually as the bus pulled away from the stop. “Are they in your class at the academy?”

“Uh, yes,” said Alexandra, glad of something to talk about. “Julian Reese and Taylor Audley, they're in my class … my class has several levels in it. It's not that big of a school.”