Ripped (33 page)

“Janice, this is my boyfriend, Baxter. Bax, this is Janice, the lady I told you about.” I had already told them both about each other, so long, formal introductions weren’t necessary.

Janice smiled. “Jasmine told me you’re a dancer too, Baxter.”

Bax smiled and nodded but gave nothing away.

“Tell me, what do you think of Mikhail?” She paused, studying Bax’s expression. “As a professional dancer, of course, you must have some critique.”

Bax stumbled over his words before being diplomatic. “He’s a very experienced dancer. I’m sure he’ll do a great job by the time the show opens.”

Janice chuckled. “But he’s not doing a great job now, is he?”

Bax shifted uncomfortably. We both knew how he felt about Mikhail, but this was someone who was deciding whether or not to donate a great deal of money, and I knew Bax didn’t want to blow it for me.

Janice leaned in. “He let the whole show down.” Her gaze darted toward Pierre who was busy schmoozing an elderly pair I hadn’t yet met. “I’m no professional, but I know what I like, and I don’t like him.” She smiled, her eyes softening. “If it wasn’t for Jasmine being so talented and so lovely, I’d walk away, but even so, there’s only so much money I can donate to a production I don’t believe will go the distance.”

Bax and I nodded in unison. I needed to act fast if there was any chance of saving the show.

Pierre seemed to be in a good mood, whistling softly to himself in the little manager’s office as he counted the money on the checks he had been passed. His good mood was about to disintegrate.

“I think it went well. Do you agree, Pierre?” I asked, quietly walking up behind him.

He jumped at the sound of my voice, and I sniggered to myself. He’d probably been working out how much he could skim off the top to go toward a luxury holiday and hadn’t heard me enter.

“Yes, my little dove, you did very well. You all did.”

“So is there enough money now to cover the production?”

“
Oui
, yes, there is.”

“And enough for costumes and props.”

He nodded. “Yes, yes.”

“Is there enough to pay the dancers’ salaries, and the orchestra, and production team?”

He stopped what he was doing. “You don’t need to worry about that,
mon cherie
; you just need to focus on your performance.”

“Oh, but I do worry, Pierre. Because once you transfer at least half to your Swiss bank account, I’m really worried that we won’t get paid.”

He spun around, his mouth twisted, his eyes full of rage. “How dare you accuse me of such a thing? I bleed for this production. I give my heart and soul.”

“No, you don’t. You may give your time and your expertise, but what you have taken far outweighs any of that.”

His head cocked to one side. “You have no proof of anything you are saying. I will have you thrown out of this production. You will never work again with such slanderous accusations.”

“But I have proof, Pierre.” I stepped forward. He took a step back, bumping the back of his legs into the seat behind him. “I have evidence of what you’ve been up to. Cold. Hard. Proof.” With every word I had taken another step forward until I was mere inches away.

“So go to the police, little girl. You will close the show. You will disgrace yourself.”

“Oh, I don’t want to close the show. If anything, I want to improve it.”

He squinted. “What are you talking about?”

“You are going to cast Baxter in the production.”

“No. No way.” He shook his head hard to emphasize the point.

“Oh yes, you will. And not because I know what you’ve been up to, but because he’s an outstanding dancer and this show needs him.”

Pierre scoffed. “Very well.” He flapped his hand in the air dismissively. “He can understudy the part of the soldiers and learn the first routine of Act II.”

I knew straight away what he was doing—trying to appease me while never giving Bax a chance to set foot on stage.

“There are already five understudies for the soldier role. Half of the cast would have to be unable to perform for Baxter to ever have a chance.”

“What do you want?” he growled through gritted teeth.

“He can understudy for Mikhail. He’s strong and powerful with real stage presence. He can leap higher and pirouette faster than any of the male dancers you have in the cast.”

“Mikhail already has an understudy. Would you have me fire Robert for your boyfriend?”

He had a point—that wouldn’t be fair on Robert, who was a nice enough guy. Terrible dancer but nice guy, nonetheless.

“He could co-understudy. He already knows the part; he helps me practice.”

“Impossible.”

I pulled the printouts from my bag and slapped them into Pierre’s chest. “Yes. I have three-point-seven million reasons for you to say yes.”

Snatching the documents from my hand, he glanced over them then screwed them up into a ball before tossing them to the ground.

“I have other copies, you know. You can keep those. Give them to your tax accountant.”

His shoulders were squared, proud and bold as always, but his eyes showed a glimmer of fear. “What exactly are your terms?”

“Firstly, you will stop syphoning money from this production. Secondly, you will make Baxter the co-understudy.” He opened his mouth to object. I held up my finger in warning. “He knows every routine and can dance circles around Mikhail. If and when the time comes that you really do care about this production and decide that Mikhail isn’t a strong enough dancer, Baxter will be there, ready and waiting.”

He slumped into the seat behind him. “All right, all right. You win.”

“And …” I leaned down so my face was at his level. “You will keep your hands and your threats to yourself. If I see you even looking at a girl in the cast or crew with an expression that I find disagreeable, I will have you locked up and the key thrown into the Hudson River.”

T
HE BUZZING
of the alarm woke me from a crazy dream where Jaz had blackmailed Pierre into giving me a role in
When the Ship Comes In
. The sun was yet to come up, the fire long burned out. With just a yellow glow from the streetlamps shining through the window, I reached for the snooze button before tucking my arm back under the quilt and around the warm body that was snuggled at my side. Jaz could sleep through an earthquake, monsoon, and hurricane all at the same time, and as she lay with her head in the crook of my neck, the events of the last evening came flooding back.

It hadn’t been a dream. Somehow, Jaz had managed to beat Pierre at his own game and give me my big break at the same time. I knew it was only as co-understudy, and unless Mikhail fell ill or was deemed unfit to perform, I’d never set foot on the boards and feel the spotlight on my face, but it was a start.

When Jaz had told me of her plans, I’d had mixed feelings about it. Was this the only way I could get a part in a production? To have my girlfriend play an underhanded game? But I hoped Jaz was right and that once they saw me dance, they would be thankful that I was there. It wasn’t how I had imagined my big break coming. I had always wanted to audition and win a part through my skill as a dancer, but that hadn’t happened, so I had to take my shot any way I could get it. My only real concern had been for the Giancolis, and leaving them short staffed, but they knew that I had moved to New York to dance and I was sure they would be happy for me to finally be doing what I loved.

Squeezing Jaz into my side, I nuzzled her hair. “Thank you, Jazzy-girl,” I whispered.

She mumbled something incoherent, and I chuckled silently as she patted my chest gently, still half-asleep.