chapter 42

Once again, Lillianstood in the space behind the stage, waiting to go on, except this time Velveteen Crush waited with the Reed-Whitmer Ballet Company. They were last. The other groups had done well. Velveteen Crush and Reed-Whitmer needed to top the Star Maker and get two out of three judges to vote for them. The suspense held her by the throat. What would she do if Reed-Whitmer disbanded? Go to Paris? Get the next part she auditioned for because she was that good? Quit dance? Move to Portland? Reupholster theater chairs with Izzy? And how could she be this nervous and not know what she wanted?

“And now for one of the most dynamic pairings we’ve seen on The Great American Talent Show,” Harrison sang out. “Velveteen Crush and the Reed-Whitmer Ballet Company.”

The lights dimmed. Izzy stepped out onstage. Everyone else fell in line behind her. Eleven people from two groups running on no sleep and minimal rehearsal couldn’t be perfect. But she and Imani had come up with a good routine. The stage was set to look like an opulent bathroom. Each of the dancers would come up to a mirror in which they would see something they weren’t. Izzy would compare herself to tiny Pascale. Pascale, holding a rigid cou-de-pied, would compare herself to Sarah tossing her red hair around like a party girl. Jonathan would touch his dark face as he stared at Elijah’s light skin.

Lillian remembered every second of her first performance of Carmen. Now she moved on pure muscle memory.

“Cut,” Bryant yelled.

Had they finished without her noticing?

The Prime Minister called from his dais, “They fucked with your precious shapewear.” He drew out every word with satisfaction.

“You can’t say fucked.” Bryant also seemed to be having an out-of-body experience, perhaps dreaming of hiking the Pacific Crest Trail with only a nail file and a Nalgene bottle. He pulled off his headset. “What the literal fuck?!”

“Don’t say fuck.” The Prime Minister chuckled.

“We have to redo this.” Bryant pointed at the performers. His attention seemed to focus on Izzy. “All of you. Go backstage and change into authentic Shape of You Dancewear. Now!”

The Prime Minister let out a slow, fake laugh. “How have you gotten to the point in life where you can say authentic Shape of You Dancewear with a straight face. Let’s just film a quick critique.”

Bryant hurried over to the judges. He gestured toward the sound booth to cut all the mics.

Lillian released her breath and tried to gasp in another one. But she couldn’t find the proprioception that allowed her to open and close the sacks in her lungs. Nothing was in her control.

Bryant stepped back.

“Okay. Roll.” He looked like he had swallowed a fishing lure.

Lillian had a bit of sympathy for him. Sometimes you couldn’t will away the fishing lure.

“What exactly are you wearing?” the Prime Minister began.

Izzy stepped forward. “Shape of You Dancewear doesn’t fit us. It wasn’t our color.” She cocked her head a little, as though the thought had just occurred to her. It was Blue’s swagger… or it was Blue but tempered with something calmer and more reserved. “So we changed it.”

“Anyone can wear light nude,” Hallie said, but she sounded uncertain.

“The great cry for racial equality,” the Prime Minister said. “Band-Aid pink belongs to everyone.”

“Cut that in postproduction,” Bryant yelled, not bothering to call cut.

“I just think you’re brave,” Christina said. “But part of the performance is following the brief. You can’t decide you don’t like the costumes.”

“Performance is a collaboration,” Alejandro added. “You may have collaborated with each other, but you haven’t collaborated with Shape of You Dancewear.”

“Do you think we’ll be sending two teams home today?” Harrison asked with a mix of delight and horror.

“I think we have to,” Alejandro said. “They destroyed their costumes.”

“Companies like Shape of You Dancewear destroy people’s self-esteem,” Izzy said. “They define their brand by judging who belongs. There is no line that divides us into the worthy and the unworthy. There is no body type, weight, shape, gender, sex, or color of human being that’s wrong. People make mistakes. Sometimes we’re train wrecks. But who we are is never wrong.”

God, she was amazing! Izzy was amazing and Blue was amazing. Izzy and Blue weren’t continents apart like it sometimes seemed. In this moment, Izzy and Blue held hands: sweet, modest, vulnerable Izzy Wells and fierce, flirtatious, uncompromising Blue Lenox.

“Shape of You Dancewear promotes healthy weight loss through the inspiration of fine fashion,” Christina said.

The Prime Minister skewered his colleagues with a look that the wall-mounted screens captured in high-def. “The unhealthy lifestyle of wanting to live without shame?”

“Cut!” Feedback screeched over Bryant’s voice.

Lillian tried to catch Izzy’s eyes, but the way they’d been lined up, she couldn’t see her behind Axel. They’d both go home. They’d walk into the Portland rain and Izzy would be crushed by debt. The Reed-Whitmer dancers would be unemployed, reality TV losers looking for places in a dance culture that wanted them for their novelty. It would be Lillian’s fault for not being perfect when their careers were at stake. She had no right to pray, Please, let Izzy win.

“Just call it.” Bryant projected his voice over the sudden chatter in the studio audience.

Hallie and Harrison brightened their smiles another watt.

“This is so close,” Hallie said. “Reed-Whitmer and Velveteen Crush both need two yeses from the judges to stay on. I can’t wait to see what they say.”

The Prime Minister bowed, showing the camera the intricate map of braids on top of his head, then he looked up dramatically.

“This is the realness I’ve been waiting for. I want to see what both of these teams have to show us in the final rounds. I’m yes for both.”

The crowd cheered.

“Reed-Whitmer,” Alejandro said, “you’ve showed amazing skill this season, but you could have done this the right way, and you didn’t. I’m so sorry, but I think Reed-Whitmer has to go home. Velveteen Crush, altering the Shape of You Dancewear, this kind of subversion is on brand for you.”

Since when was wearing clothes that fit a subversion?

“But it’s too much. I’m voting no for Velveteen Crush also,” Alejandro finished.

Lillian’s fate and Izzy’s had come down to Christina-Margarita Ebb Bessinger-Silas, whose opinion about every performance, regardless of how she voted, was that she felt something. That was it. You felt something about traffic. You felt something about a nice restaurant.

Christina dabbed her eyes.

“This performance moved me. I was in one emotional space and then this performance, the teamwork, and your message, and that brought me to another emotional space. Then it was like I went forward into another space.”

Did she have a blueprint of all these spaces? If Izzy was standing near her, Lillian would whisper, It sounds like a storage unit place. Izzy would chuckle. Lillian would clutch Izzy’s hand, and it would be all right because it had to be.

“But I just don’t think I ended in the right emotional space,” Christina said. “I vote no on both.”

It was over.

She’d given the Reed-Whitmer Ballet Company her best. It hadn’t been enough. Despite what Izzy said, her best was wrong. She was vaguely aware of voices around her, Jonathan telling Elijah, “I’m not going anywhere without you.” Malik said, “We’ll get the company back together.” Imani had her arm around Pascale. “You will find another company. They can’t turn you down because you have kids.” They were all wrong. Jonathan and Elijah wouldn’t end up in the same company. The company wouldn’t be back together. Pascale would have a hard time convincing a serious company that she could be a professional ballerina with kids. And Lillian would have to tell Eleanor—as soon as the contract allowed her to talk about it—that she’d failed her dancers at a competition that was beneath them.

She wanted to cry, and she wanted to beg for forgiveness, but beneath the roiling sea of grief and shame and disappointment, she felt something else. This was the last straw. She was free. She hadn’t said yes to the fellowship in Paris yet. She could do anything, go anywhere, be anything. The ballet community would think she was slinking off in despair. Let them think that. She could stay in Portland. All Izzy’s life, women had left her. Lillian would stay. Not just date but ask Izzy to let her move in. Lillian had given up her life for ballet. Now she could have it back.

She had to find Izzy. A runner blocked her path. Vans were ready to take Reed-Whitmer to the airport. Per contract, competitors had to leave after the judges voted them off. Someone would pack their belongings for them.

“Wait,” she called after Izzy, who was also getting hustled away, although leaving for her house across town was less dramatic.

Izzy turned. Lillian held out her hand. This was their moment. She pulled Izzy past the crew, down the stairs, and into the basement where they’d kissed. They turned a corner. Lillian glanced behind them. They’d lost their pursuers like action movie heroes. She pulled Izzy into an empty greenroom.

As soon as the door closed, Lillian wrapped her arms around Izzy. She waited for a moment to feel whether Izzy yielded or stiffened. Izzy melted against her, and Lillian kissed her. Hard and slow and deep. Drinking her in. Why had Lillian let ballet eclipse everything? The pain of Reed-Whitmer’s loss was a purifying fire. She could see clearly now. She could see the possibilities. She’d help Izzy. They’d save the theater.

Lillian only pulled away when she tasted tears on Izzy’s lips. Izzy was crying.

“I’m sorry.” Izzy turned away. “I should never have agreed to cut up the Shape of You Dancewear. I said yes and I sacrificed your company.”

“Everyone agreed to it.” Lillian turned Izzy’s face toward hers, stroking away her tears. “This was our idea. My company. Your troupe.”

Izzy buried her face against Lillian’s shoulder.

“I will miss this so much.” Izzy’s voice was rough.

Lillian wrapped her arms around Izzy.

“This is everything you’ve been fighting against.” Izzy spoke into Lillian’s shoulder. “Your company is better than all the other groups.”

“We’re not—”

“You know you are. And you earned it. But you didn’t win. The fight’s still rigged. This is like what happened to you at your dance school.” Izzy drew back, wiping her eyes.

Lillian led Izzy to a sofa, and they sat. The room must have belonged to one of the teams that got voted off. No sweatshirts draped over the chairs. No abandoned coffee mugs on the tables. The lights were dim.

“Shhh. It’s a stupid TV show. It’s all rigged. We knew that. But, Izzy—” Lillian tipped Izzy’s chin up so she could look at her. “I want to talk about us.” I’m falling in love with you. “Let’s not end this. I can help you with the theater.” She clasped Izzy’s hands. “I’ll give up ballet. Fuck the fellowship in Paris. I want to stay in Portland. With you.”

This was a beginning, not the end. That pain in her heart—like a cracked rib that she felt every time she thought about leaving Izzy—she’d healed. She wouldn’t lose Izzy. She wouldn’t be one more woman to break Izzy’s heart.

She could sell her house in LA. That would probably cover the theater and buy Izzy’s house outright. That was probably not the best way to start a relationship but whatever. She’d been disciplined her whole life. If she wanted to give up everything for a woman she’d known for a few weeks, she could. And if it crashed and burned, Uncle Carl would let her live on his yacht with his spaniels.

“All of it. Today! I don’t need to dance. I want to give it up for you.”

Sunshine was supposed to break through Izzy’s tears, and it did. For a second. Then Izzy looked confused.

“You can’t,” Izzy said.

“There’s no more Reed-Whitmer Ballet Company. I can do anything I want. I’m free. I’m finally free. Ask me to move in.”

Izzy looked pained. Lillian had come on too strong.

“I’m sorry. That’s too much. We’ll be long distance or casual or whatever for as long as you want. But, Izzy, I don’t want anyone else.”

Izzy wanted a relationship. Lillian felt it in the way Izzy kissed her. Izzy wanted to let Lillian in.

Izzy didn’t speak. She looked like someone standing on the edge of a cliff working up her courage to jump.

I won’t hurt you like those other women.

Finally, Lillian said, “Breathe,” because she wasn’t sure Izzy had taken a breath.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this.” Izzy pressed her hands into her eyes so hard, Lillian grabbed her wrists to stop her. “The answer is no,” Izzy choked out.

For a second the word didn’t register. Of course Izzy would say yes. Izzy would wrap her arms around Lillian. They’d laugh. They’d make love. She could almost taste Izzy, like rainwater mixed with a drop of ocean. A siren.

Izzy shook her head. Tears streaked her stage makeup.

“I love you, Lillian.” Lillian wanted to cut in with I love you too! But Izzy spoke too fast. “I know it’s too soon, but I do. And I see you. You love to dance. I know you hate it sometimes too, but when I saw you dance at the theater, I get why you gave up so much. And I know you think you mean what you’re saying, but you just got voted off. You’re spiraling.”

“Jacksons don’t spiral.”

Please let Izzy laugh.

Izzy pulled away. “Lillian, you wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t gotten voted off.” There was no anger in Izzy’s voice, just sadness. “Look at me and tell me: if Reed-Whitmer won the show, would you have given it all up?”

Lillian opened her mouth to speak, but the answer escaped her, like blanking on familiar choreography the moment you stepped onstage. You knew it but the lights were so bright and the stakes so high.

Izzy closed her eyes.

“I’ve seen you dance.” All the praise Lillian had received in her life didn’t hold the reverence in Izzy’s voice. “You’re a unicorn. You’re following in your mother’s footsteps. She loves you so much. Did you know she’s cloned an orchid you gave her?” Izzy stood up, spreading her hands. “And tomorrow morning or next month, you’d see it yourself. Your star is still shining. So many people will want you. You’ll dance everywhere that matters. No one will care that you lost some stupid TV show. And I love you too much to get in your way.”

Lillian stood up too. Izzy was backing toward the door. She had to stop her. She had to turn back time, just a few seconds, and erase that moment of hesitation. I want you. I do. I’m scared. Who am I if I’m not a dancer? But Lillian couldn’t get the words out.

“The women I dated,” Izzy said, taking another step back, “who left me because they were passionate about their careers… they weren’t assholes. They just loved something more than they loved me, and that’s okay. But I guess I’ve absorbed enough of Sarah’s self-help books without reading them. I love myself too much to keep walking into relationships I know will hurt me. I know dancers can’t dance forever. Come find me then? I’ll probably be free.” Izzy’s whole face trembled with her efforts not to cry more than she already was. “You’ve ruined me for all others.”

“Will we at least be friends?” Lillian choked out. She didn’t want to be friends. Well, friends, yes, but not at least friends. They should be friends and lovers, conspirators, partners.

“Friends.” Izzy spoke the word like she was handling a sharp rock. “What would we do as friends?”

“Text each other memes?”

“When have you ever texted memes?”

“I could start.”

“What kind of memes? Dogs with sunglasses?” Tears streamed silently down Izzy’s face. “I don’t even get why people think dogs are funny in sunglasses.” No one should look so sad speaking those words.

“Text me about your life. Tell me about your troupe and the theater. Show me the costume for your next act. Tell me how you’re taking all the good advice I gave you. Tell me…” That you’re happy.

Izzy stopped backing away, stepped toward Lillian, and wrapped her arms around her.

“I’m so sorry that this hurts you now.” She rocked Lillian gently. “But in a week or a month, you’ll see I’m right. Baby, I know. I’ve lost so many times. When you’re coming off a loss that tears you up like this… whatever you think you want, you don’t. Don’t make a big decision right after the world knocks you down. It’ll be the wrong thing. That’s my good advice. You’re going to be great at that fellowship. Or you’ll get another job. All your dancers will. And you’re going to be amazing. Imagine me out there, cheering you on, always.”

With that, Izzy left, closing the door gently behind her, and Lillian burst into tears.