Ripped (20 page)

“I’m a lost cause, Jaz—there’s no going back. The only thing you can do for me is be brilliant. Be brilliant enough for the both of us and let me have the occasional meltdown. I’ll always be there to support you, in the front row, cheering the loudest and leading the standing ovation.”

I touched up my ruby red lipstick for the third time and put extra spray in my hair.

“I’m so excited,” Tiffany squealed, hugging me and jumping up and down, making me jump with her.

“I’m glad you’re excited, because I want to vomit.”

Tiff immediately stopped jumping and backed away. “Should I get Pierre? I’m sure he’d love you to throw up on his Armani tux.”

I giggled at the thought and she laughed along with me.

“I’ve learnt that when you say you want to vomit, you mean it.”

Raising my leg to the portable barre that had been assembled in the dressing room for our use, I tried to take my mind off the performance that was due to take place in half an hour by warming up. “It’s just a fundraiser, right? No big deal. We used to do these at Boston Ballet all the time.” I could hear the words coming from my mouth and even I wasn’t convinced. This was a big deal, because it was to fund a New York production that if successful, could have a long run around the world.

“Yeah, no big deal,” Tiff agreed. “Just the biggest performance of my life, but hey, no pressure.”

She stretched alongside me, and we were soon joined at the barre by the other three girls who would be performing. Pierre and James had chosen a dramatic heart-wrenching piece from the first act to get the wealthy digging their hands in their pockets for handkerchief, and coming out with hefty checks. The dance we would be performing picked up when the soldiers had gone to war, leaving their partners behind. We had waved goodbye and were now left with the loneliness and uncertainty of our loved one’s fates.

Pierre burst through the door, announcing his arrival as he always did. “Ladies, I need a moment with Jasmine,” he told the others, dismissing them from the room.

Tiff, knowing I never wanted to be left alone with Pierre, hesitated at the mirror, pinning what was already a perfectly executed bun.

“Out, now,” Pierre told her. “That means you, too.”

With a grimace at me and a small wave, she left the dressing room, pulling the door closed behind her.

“Are we ready,
mon amour
?” Pierre’s movements were smooth as silk as he travelled across the floor until he was by my side, taking my hands in his. “You will be breathtaking, no?”

I took a step back until my butt hit the barre behind me and I could go no farther. My heart raced. “I’ll do my best, Pierre. It’ll be great.”

He stepped closer, bridging the little gap I had managed to make. “You will be great. I have such high hopes for you,
mon etoile brillante
, and all the things we will do together.” He was too close and my eyes darted from side to side, trying to formulate my escape. “I will make you a star and in return, you will make me very happy.” He pressed against me, the back of one finger stroking my cheek and making my skin crawl. I jerked my head from his touch, trying to bat his hand away from me. He grasped my chin between finger and thumb, jerking my head back to face him. “Or I will make sure you never dance in this city, or any other, ever again.” He grinned making my blood run cold. The hand that had been squeezing my chin ran down my neck to my cleavage as I stood frozen in shock, my shoulders pressed back against the plaster wall. “The choice is yours,
mon amour
.”

A knock on the door and a call for five minutes allowed me to breathe again.

Pierre stepped back. “Make no mistake, little Jasmine. You are mine to do with as I please. And I expect to be pleased often.”

As soon as he had closed the door behind him, my weight slumped, and I had to catch myself on the barre to stop from hitting the floor as I tried to steady my breathing.

Tiff slipped through the door, took one look at my stature, and rushed over. “What did the slime-ball do?”

I looked at her, my heart still thumping heavily against my ribs. “Exactly what you said he would. Put out or get out.”

It was time to go out to the performance area, which was at one end of the grand ballroom of a venue that was usually used for wedding receptions. We had been dressing in the room where the bride and bridesmaids would freshen up before being presented to the guests at the reception. But tonight there were no tables with place cards, only potential investors standing and sipping champagne while waiters were rushed off their feet serving canapes from silver trays.

I dried my sweaty palms on my dress, the trembling from Pierre’s cornering still coursing through my body. I wasn’t at my best, and I cursed him not only for his proposition, but for its poor timing. I needed to be focused on the scene I was about to perform, not on the stomach-churning thought of having to face Pierre and tell him in no uncertain terms that hell would have to freeze over before I allowed him to lay one slimy paw on me ever again.

“Oh my God, you’re shaking. If you’re nervous, you know I can do your part. Should have been mine to begin with,” Becca said, tongue in cheek. It had taken me a while to get used to her brand of humor, but I knew well enough now that she meant no malice.

Tiff shook her head at Becca, telling her to drop it.

Becca shrugged at her. “What? She knows I’m joking.”

Tiff jerked her head toward Pierre who we could just see around the corner, schmoozing with an elderly couple, the old lady dripping in diamonds.

“Argh,” Becca said, pulling a grossed out face. “He didn’t put the hard word on you right before a performance? What a douche.”

“I’m okay. I’ll be fine.” I tried to reassure myself as much as anyone else.

“He usually waits until after the show when you’re all high from performing. You’d be all”—she bounced up and down excitedly, acting out the scene she was painting—“that was so great. Then he’d be like”—she seamlessly slipped into an impersonation of Pierre—“
mon cherie
, that was extraordinary. Come suck my dick to celebrate. And you’d be like”—she held up her hand and waved her finger—“What kind of girl do you think I am, motherfucker?”

I laughed, but the sound in my ears was as if it were coming from someone else. “How did you know?” I asked. “Has he done it to you too?”

Becca slung one arm around my shoulders. “Oh, girl, he’s done it to all the newbies. The whole ‘you’ll never work again’ card has been played so many times.”

“So what did you do?” Maybe I could pick up a few tips on how to get out of it.

She shrugged. “I did it a couple of times. Made sure I was really bad at it and he left me alone, found someone else to bother.”

I couldn’t help gaping at her. “You did it? You slept with him?” My heart sped up, again thumping rapidly in my chest.

“Nah he’s mostly into oral. It’s like a toothpick, so no biggie … literally!”

Tiff and Becca burst out laughing, but I didn’t join in. Regardless of how big or small he may be, the thought of being with anyone other than Bax hurt my heart.

I couldn’t get out of the venue fast enough. Tiff and I had travelled there together, and we were supposed to change from our costumes into evening wear, and then mingle with the guests. Dancing a scene from the show was only one part of our role; we were also there to make the investors feel like a part of this wonderful adventure so they would want to throw money at us. But I couldn’t. My stomach had churned the entire time I’d been dancing, and it was only thanks to the fact I could dance the role in my sleep that I had made it through the performance. My feet had known where to go, my arms had been on autopilot, and for the first time in my dance career I hadn’t felt present. My heart and mind were somewhere else. They were at a bar on the wrong side of town, where the love of my life was serving drinks and being appreciated for the wonderful man he was, while I was being appreciated by people who didn’t know me and probably wouldn’t, on any other day, give me a sip of water if I was dying of thirst.

With a quick wave to Tiff and Becca, I slipped through a side door and out into the cold night air. Usually I would pull my scarf up around my mouth and my beanie down low, but tonight I needed the icy chill to bite at my face and bring me back to myself.

The apartment was dark when I arrived home, and I checked the time. I hadn’t expected to be back until much later, but it was only ten-thirty and Bax wasn’t due home until around one in the morning. I busied myself by making a fire to take the chill off the air, and then stood under the shower until the water ran cold. My mind raced so fast that I couldn’t grasp a single coherent thought. Intermittently, it would pause for a split second and Pierre’s menacing presence would wrap dread around me, but just as quickly it was gone again.

I didn’t know what to do. Finding my warmest pajamas, I snuggled between the sheets and pulled the quilt up high around my chin. Bax had said I always slept so soundly, but not tonight. Not anymore. This was what it felt like to lie awake, staring at the ceiling. Shivering, I raised my head to check the fire was still lit. It blazed, but there no heat penetrated my numb body.

The click of the door unlocking had me sitting bolt upright in bed. I must have finally dozed off, but only into a light sleep where the smallest of sounds had awoken me.

“Sorry, babe, didn’t mean to wake you,” Bax whispered as he dumped a bag in the closet.

“That’s okay. I was barely asleep.” The fire had died down so only the embers lit the room. Bax was merely a silhouette in the darkness and I strained my eyes, watching him slip his T-shirt off.

He chuckled as his jeans fell to the floor. “Too excited from the fundraiser? How’d it go? Were you brilliant?” He turned toward the bathroom. “I’m just gonna take a quick shower, then you can tell me all about it.”

The air was knocked from my lungs, and then a flood of tears tumbled down my cheeks.

“Geez, Jaz, what’s wrong?” Bax was on the bed beside me, cradling my trembling body as the uncontrollable floodgate burst into more wracking sobs.

I gasped for enough breath to speak, to explain why I’d suddenly turned into this crazy woman, but there was no air and no words, just tears.

Bax held me until my body stilled and the wetness on my cheeks dried. “What happened?” he croaked. “You’re scaring me, Jaz.”

“Pierre …” It was all I needed to say to make Bax’s body stiffen beside me.

“What did he do?” His tone was low and controlled, but now his body was the one that trembled. “Tell me, Jaz. If he laid a hand on you, so help me I’ll fucking kill him.”

“He …” I sat up and tried to steal a few deep breaths. “He pretty much said if I don’t do what he wants then I’ll never work again.”

Strong hands grasped my shoulders, turning my body toward him. “So what happened?”

“Nothing,” I said indignantly. “What do you think happened?”

“I don’t think you did anything; I know you better than that. But did you tell him where to go? Did you quit the show?”

I shook my head. I knew that I should have told him that I wasn’t selling myself for a role in his show or any other. That I would work with or without his help, and if he tried to end my career I would expose him for the dirty rotten slime-bag he was. There were so many things I should have said and done. I should have slapped his hand away from me and stormed from the dressing room. But none of those things had happened.