chapter 1

Lillian Jackson satin the corner of the Neptune Bar wearing a suit, contemplating the monoculture of iceberg salad and the J?germeister shot before her, and wondering where she’d gone wrong. The endorphin high of her ballet audition ebbed into the aches and pains of being a professional dancer.

“Just come with us.” Lillian’s cousin Kia—provider of the shot—folded her elbows on the table. “Y’all just auditioned for The Great American Talent Show. Celebrate! We found this dope place that plays nineties hip-hop.”

We.

Kia never quite got that the dancers of the Reed-Whitmer Ballet Company respected Lillian—their ballet master, lead dancer, and choreographer—but they didn’t like her. They weren’t supposed to. That wasn’t her role.

Across the bar, the dancers of the Reed-Whitmer Ballet Company lingered by the door, obviously hoping Lillian would stay back, but too polite (or well trained) to leave without her.

“They’ll have more fun without me,” Lillian said. “Let ’em have tonight.”

Because tomorrow or sometime when Lillian worked up the nerve, she’d have to tell them the truth: they weren’t auditioning for the show because dance companies auditioned for things. They were auditioning because the company’s financial sponsors, Thomas Reed and Charles Whitmer, had taken Lillian to a rooftop restaurant in LA, praised her dancers and her leadership, then told her the company wasn’t making enough money and they were shutting it down. Then Whitmer had offered a lifeline. We could get you an audition with The Great American Talent Show. If they won, Thomas Reed and Charles Whitmer would keep them on the books.

She should have told the dancers. She hadn’t.

“Don’t worry. Y’all killed it!” Kia’s Afro puffs bounced with her enthusiasm. She’d gotten into the performers-only auditions by printing herself a badge that read INFLUENCER because she was the kind of person who could get in places just by telling people she belonged there. “Plus you’re all dressed to go out.”

To a high-end charity fundraiser. Why had Lillian changed into a white linen suit immediately after the audition? Because a Black ballerina must be professional beyond measure; she heard her mother’s voice in the back of her mind. The rest of the all-Black Reed-Whitmer Ballet Company hadn’t gotten the memo and were sporting their streetwear. Kia wore overalls made out of a recycled billboard by an all-Black artist co-op because that was Kia. Who was impressed by a suit at the Neptune? No one.

Over Kia’s shoulder, Lillian caught a woman in another booth watching her over the screen of a laptop. Okay. Maybe she’d impressed one person. The woman wore a blazer too, but hers was made of some shiny material, oversized with the cuffs rolled up, layered over a zippered hoodie and, beneath that, the hint of a red tank top. Or was it her bra? An elaborate lacework tattoo decorated her chest.

Their eyes met, and the woman swept a hand through her short hair and shot Lillian the cockiest smile she had seen outside of the melodramatic musicals her uncle occasionally dragged her to.

Kia turned around to stare. Then, to make it a little more obvious, she flipped up the lenses of her round, turquoise sunglasses, which she wore indoors for no reason except she was the kind of person who could get onto the set of a TV show by printing herself a badge.

“Oh, I get it.” Kia turned back around. “Send me a pin so I know where you’re going to spend your one night with her.”

Lillian wasn’t that predictable.

No. She was exactly that predictable. And it had been a while since she’d hooked up with a woman.

“I might just go back to the hotel.”

“And get all up in her.” Kia looked at the woman again. “She’s cute. I like her for you.” She flipped her blue lenses down again. “You gonna take that shot?”

Lillian shook her head. Kia took the shot with a satisfied smack of her lips.

“Don’t forget that pin,” she said and ambled toward the door.