Sighing, Venroy picked his folded gray-brown sport coat off the floor at his feet, gave it a dusting, and then shrugged it on. “Go home. Get a full night of sleep. Trust yourself that the performance will be wonderful. Once you are on the stage, in costume, you won’t be able to help yourself. Distractions will disappear. You will be Giselle, body and spirit.”
Will that wolf still be there? She bit her lip so the question wouldn’t slip out. She swallowed hard again and nodded. She couldn’t have Venroy thinking she was losing it.
Wrapping an arm around her waist, he led her to the studio door, and then gave her butt a pat to nudge her toward the dressing room.
Jasper was leaning on the wall outside the studio. “What you need is a good, hard screw.”
Annabella stopped and gave him a halfhearted smile. The sweetie had waited to see that she was okay. His towel was wrapped around the back of his neck, and both his hands gripped the ends. The rest of his fantastic body was on display under his sweaty tights and tank. Very impressive.
He grinned back at her. “You know, the kind that obliterates your mind and makes your body weep.”
She mustered a laugh. “You offering?”
“I would if I could, honey. You need it.” He took her hand and gave her palm a kiss. “But I think it would confuse my boyfriend.”
“Lucky guy,” she said and turned for the dressing room. It was common knowledge that Jasper and his boyfriend Ricky were as good as married.
Jasper released her hand. “Go find yourself a nice boy…”
“Ha!” she answered back, pulling open the dressing room door. A nice boy. He sounded like her mother. She had no time for nice boys. Or bad ones.
The dressing room door closed on, “…it works wonders!”
Annabella sidled by a group of dancers clogging the entry. If she hurried, she could be home in twenty minutes. The showers beyond hissed. Most of the dancers were in a rush, too, calling good-bye and squeezing past half-naked bodies. Anna dropped to the bench. She kicked off her tutu, hung it on a peg inside a locker, and then worked the knots of her shoe ribbons loose.
“Anna,” Katrina called. She’d been her friend since they joined the company together a couple years ago. They hadn’t spoken much since Annabella had been promoted.
“Yeah?” Annabella leaned back on the bench to see Katrina pulling a tee over her head.
“Couple of us are going out for a drink to unwind. You want to come?” While grabbing some jeans, Katrina batted away another girl—Marcia, by her slick French twist—who groaned at the extended invitation.
A drink. Some laughs. Like old times.
Politically, yes, she should go. She knew that. Katrina knew that. Judging by the slight hush, everyone in the dressing room knew that, too.
But…her body hurt, her mind was reeling, and she really, really needed a good cry. The last thing she wanted was for her mini breakdown to be alcohol induced and public. She’d probably start babbling about wolves with yellowy eyes and…No. Drinks were definitely not a good idea right now
Katrina read the answer on her face, gave a cold shrug, and turned away.
Annabella caught a couple of the looks shared by some of the other dancers. One mouthed the word diva—the second time today that particular label had been applied to her. The insult smarted this time.
Diva? She didn’t get it. Nothing about her had changed since her promotion to principal.
Anna ripped off her shoes and threw them in her bag. She rummaged to find sweats to pull over her tights and leo. She’d shower at home.
But diva? Okay, tonight she’d requested the extra run-through, but it only cost everyone maybe ten minutes. Fifteen tops. And she couldn’t help it if she was too tired to go out for drinks—she’d been the one dancing all night. Not them. The corps mostly stands in the second act of Giselle, and Venroy had let them all sit for the majority of the time.
Diva? Please.
She tucked a light scarf around her head—no way on earth was she getting sick this close to the performance season—and was ready to go.
The air outside was sharp with the smell of crisp leaves mixed with lingering exhaust, underscored by a medley of city scents—a trace of spicy food, beer, old newspaper, mellow sewer funk, and fresh laundry. She breathed deep for a hit of the city’s pervasive vitality, enough to get her back to her studio apartment. The sounds of distant traffic and sirens drew her into a brisk walk. The bus stop was only a block away. The sooner she was home, the sooner she could crash. She tightened her scarf under her chin and picked up her pace.
The darkened street wasn’t completely deserted. Streetlights and buildings splashed enough light to see clearly four blocks in either direction. A couple strolled ahead of her, and a group of chatty smokers—young professionals by the looks of their day-wrinkled slacks and shirts—loitered outside a lit doorway. Nothing any city girl would worry about.
The bench at the bus stop was empty. Annabella sat, crossed her legs, and looked down the street again. No bus in sight.