chapter 29

One of thecrew arrived in a monster SUV that looked like it was designed for military operations rather than rescuing people from inadvertent coastal vacations. Lillian wished it had gotten stuck in the mud. She and Izzy were quiet as they rode back to Portland. It had been too much to hope for one day off. Totally off. Nowhere they had to be, nowhere they could be.

They arrived in Portland a half hour before the Reed-Whitmer Ballet Company went on. One of the runners met them at the door and led them to the sound booth.

“You can watch from here. They don’t want you in the greenrooms. They’re pretending you’re still stuck in the landslide.”

The booth was more like a mezzanine, a long room that spanned the back of the soundstage, panels of lights glowing in the darkness. The three sound techs seemed relaxed. One of them removed her headset and pointed to a table of snacks.

“Help yourself. You can talk up here too. Nothing here is miked.”

On the floor of the soundstage, Bryant ran through the usual checks. They took their seats near the plexiglass window that looked down on the studio audience and the stage, still not talking. It wasn’t an unfriendly silence, but it wasn’t comfortable either. One of their groups had to lose. Maybe today. Lillian should be kissing Izzy in the cottage.

Soon her company would perform. She had to focus, but visions of lying on top of Izzy teased her. Swimming on the beautiful fullness of her body, one hand tucked around Izzy’s thigh, massaging Izzy’s clit, asking her how many fingers. Why couldn’t she be doing that now?

She jumped when Kia vaulted over the seat beside her and plopped down.

“Y’all survived!” Kia said.

Izzy looked confused. Kia flashed her influencer badge.

“Works every time. So how was the coast?” Kia said with a ridiculous amount of innuendo.

Lillian blurted, “Comfortable.” Her company was going on in minutes. This was not the time! Plus, Izzy was right there!

“Blue’s going to be offended that that’s all you’ve got to say.” Kia leaned over Lillian. “Hi, Blue. Offended?”

“Crushed,” Izzy said cheerfully.

“Don’t worry. Most women only get acceptable.”

“Kia!” Lillian protested. They were talking about her sex life. “The cottage was comfortable.”

“Nice towels? Good baseboard heaters?” Kia directed the question at Izzy.

“That’s definitely what I’ll remember from the night. Baseboard heaters.”

Izzy smiled. Kia looked back and forth between them. It was fun. Easy. Some of Lillian’s anxiety and guilt over not being with her dancers ebbed.

“Can we please talk about the show?” Lillian protested with mock indignation.

What would it be like if she and Izzy were a real couple and Kia was always teasing them about sneaking off together?

“Don’t worry,” Kia said. “Imani’s got the company covered, and Sarah’s getting everything ready for your show, Blue.”

Bryant called action. Hallie and Harrison bantered, looking even whiter and more cheerful than usual. Then it was time.

Izzy squeezed her hand.

Kia said, “I saw them practice. It was great.”

The soundstage went dark. A techno version of Debussy’s La mer blared from the speakers. Imani entered stage left, performing the first moves of the choreography Lillian had sent her. She’d let her braids down. She looked magical. The lights flickered like lightning. The sound of rain drowned out Debussy. Elijah, Malik, and Jonathan emerged from the wings, half tumbling and half dancing into the shape of a monster. Jonathan’s legs were the monster’s hind legs. Elijah and Malik somehow managed to shape themselves into huge teeth, chomping toward Imani. It was like a ballet company had morphed into a giant lantern fish in a thunderstorm.

The audience laughed.

And there came Pascale, whirling in wearing the bear deflector jacket, racing toward Imani with another hideous Lie in Wait costume and draping it around her shoulders. Black light illuminated the clothing’s neon appendages. Straps. D rings. Something that might have been a float. The monster shuddered. Pascale and Imani strutted on pointe with a touch of cockiness they might have gotten from Blue Lenox.

The audience roared with laughter.

The monster disintegrated into something like a caterpillar. Jonathan was its head, and Elijah pulled up the rear. After one last flash of Lie in Wait neon, the caterpillar raced offstage, leaving Imani and Pascale to bow.

It was terrible. It was hysterical. It was oddly gorgeous. The Star Maker looked like it wanted to explode past one hundred.

“Well, that was a new style,” Harrison said. “Alejandro, what did you think about it?”

“This is a reach for a professional ballet troupe.”

Izzy squeezed her hand again.

“But I think it was a good reach,” Alejandro said.

Christina clasped her hands together. “Their message really resonated with me.”

The Prime Minister said, “So much going on. I think I got vertigo looking at that one. But… imma have to give it to ’em. Creative! Reed-Whitmer creative!”

Reed-Whitmer had made it to the next round. Without her. She wasn’t invited to the dancers’ friendship circle, but she was always part of this. Except this time she wasn’t. For a second, she felt like a little girl left out of a party. And behind that feeling was relief. They didn’t need her. She didn’t have time to dwell on her thoughts. Velveteen Crush was next. She held her breath. Next to her, Izzy looked like she wanted to jump out of her seat and rush down to the soundstage floor.

Even without Blue Lenox, Velveteen Crush was fabulous. Bizarre but fabulous. (Not that Lillian could say much about bizarre after the Reed-Whitmer performance.) America would see Lie in Wait in a new light after Velveteen Crush’s quasi striptease, which was staged to look like a silent film and accompanied by eerie carnival music. It shouldn’t have worked. It did.

The runner asked them to stay in the sound booth until well after the last performance, not that Lillian would have missed watching the competition; that was her job. But finally Hallie and Harrison summed up the challenge. Mood of Motion went home. Counting the judges’ votes and the Star Maker votes, the hip-hop group, Effectz, was in the lead for the highest overall score. Next was the Dream Team Marchers. Then the Liam Ronan Irish Dance Company. Followed by Reed-Whitmer. Dance Magic. Velveteen Crush was one from the bottom, but there was a big gap between them and the lowest scoring Spice Angels.

The runner returned their phones to them and released them. Kia checked her messages.

“Our people are having a little celebration,” she said.

“Our people?” Lillian asked as they exited the soundstage and stepped into the mild but relentless Portland rain.

The street was dark. Fatigue was catching up with her. Had she slept last night or just dozed in postcoital bliss? It seemed wrong to fall asleep with Izzy cuddled against her. How many more times would she feel Izzy breathing next to her? How many times would Izzy’s full breasts rest against Lillian’s arm? So alluring. Why did she sleep with rock-hard dancers when that had never been her type? When she was back in LA, she’d look for curvy hookups. But no. She wasn’t longing for a woman’s curves. She longed for Izzy.

“Your people,” Kia urged. “Your dance company that you’ve dedicated your life to? You know? Imani who’s like a mini you and who you love even though you only show it by criticizing her?”

“I do not.”

Did she?

Kia rolled her eyes at Izzy.

“She totally does. Blue, Sarah told you to come too. Everyone’s hanging.” With that, Kia doubled back. “I gotta talk to one of the guys from Effectz. He’s got a great recipe for reimagining the Tater Tot. I’ll see you over there.”

“Let’s get to this party,” Izzy said.

“I’m exhausted.” Lillian could see the disappointment on her dancers’ faces if she walked through the door.

“Me too. Someone kept me up all night. But this is their big win.”

A feeling Lillian always kept at bay flooded her before she could stop it. It would be wonderful to be included, to be wanted.

“They don’t want me there.”

“Of course they’d want to celebrate with you.”

“I’d kill the vibe. I’m supposed to tell them not to party. I’m supposed to scare them with how one drink is going to ruin their career.”

“If they’re afraid of you, do some flaming shots with them. Let loose.”

“I’m a dance master. I’m not supposed to let loose.”

Izzy stopped, cupped Lillian’s face, kissed her, and then said, “You get to let loose. You don’t have to unravel.”

Lillian could hear music and laughter from down the hall as she approached the apartment assigned to Imani and Pascale. Lillian stopped.

“They’re having fun,” she said to Izzy.

“Come on.” Izzy pushed her toward the door. At Izzy’s knock, Jonathan flung the door open. Behind him, the company had piled into the living room. Someone had bought champagne and pizza. Nineties hip-hop played from a Bluetooth speaker.

Jonathan let go of the door handle like it was hot. The party froze. Pascale shut the lid of the pizza box.

“The party don’t start ’til I walk in!” Izzy said, bounding through the door.

“I read the choreography,” Imani said, her chin tilted up. “I did my best.”

“She was up all night,” Jonathan added.

“Grace under pressure.” Lillian didn’t mean it to sound like a backhanded compliment. She tried again. “Well done.”

Izzy tapped Lillian on the arm. “They were the best thing ever.”

Lillian felt as naked as if she’d missed a grand jeté. This is me. She’d worked her whole life to be the woman who killed a party.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you,” she said.

“Did you hate it?” Behind Imani’s controlled expression, Lillian saw how much this meant to her.

“It was…”

The room was absolutely still.

“Fucking fantastic,” Lillian said.

Izzy beamed. The members of Reed-Whitmer remained frozen for a split second, the way a dancer in midleap appeared to stop at the top of the arc.

Then Elijah said, “Fuck yeah it was!”

The room burst into the kind of laughter that comes after calamity.

“Ooh, look. Champagne!” Izzy said.

“Straight from the 7-Eleven,” Elijah said.

Someone passed Lillian a Solo cup. Suddenly all the dancers were talking at once.

Pascale squealed, “Did you really like it?”

“I loved it.”

Someone turned up the music. Tupac and Biggie rolled over in their graves at being stuck on a playlist with each other and “Thong Song.” Imani refilled Lillian’s cup. An hour in, someone put on the Zipper song. The party arranged itself in lines, raising and lowering their imaginary zippers. Izzy raised an eyebrow and smiled at Lillian.

“No,” Lillian said calmly. “Never. No. Absolutely not.”

Her dancers cheered.

“I will not.”

Izzy didn’t say anything, but her smile was as warm as the sun rising.

Lillian set her empty Solo cup on the floor.

“Lillian can tear up a stage,” Elijah said.

“Show us your moves, Ms. Jackson,” Malik said.

“It’s Lillian,” Lillian protested as she rose. “You can’t call me Ms. when I’m drinking champagne out of a Solo cup.”

If Lillian had been tired before, she was delirious after two hours of nineties hip-hop and cheap champagne. She left with Izzy.

“I want to ravage you,” Izzy said, when they’d turned a corner in the hall, “but I think call is at five a.m.”

“Maybe since we missed the last performance, we should be alert for tomorrow.”

Lillian’s body warred between the need for sleep and the need to kiss every inch of Izzy. There was a middle ground: falling asleep next to Izzy’s naked body without having sex. That was scones-land, but she was about to suggest it anyway when Izzy said, “How about tomorrow? You and me and Seafaring Rogan?”

“Tomorrow.” Lillian pulled Izzy closer and kissed her gently. “I’d like that.”