chapter 47

The Summit FilmFestival filled the Oscar Micheaux Conference Center in Hidden Hills, California. Lillian had downloaded the program, but she was only going to one premiere. She was going because Eleanor loved her, because Eleanor hadn’t left her alone in a trailer in the middle of nowhere, because Eleanor had given up time and money and peace of mind to fight for Lillian so she could have the career she wanted. This documentary was Eleanor Jackson’s legacy, and Lillian owed it to her to be there and to thank Ashlyn Stewart for dedicating herself to telling this story. To thank them both for changing the world. And if Lillian felt like she’d sacrificed too much, that was on her.

Blessedly, Kia had grabbed their seats in the back.

“How you doing?” she asked.

“This place is packed.” The room must have held two hundred people.

“Ashlyn Stewart is a star.”

The whole festival was epic. Famous directors and actors flitting from one showing to another. Hundreds of fans, reviewers, tech crews. Social media feeds glowing with praise and cutting with criticism. Kia said the organizers had briefly suggested Lillian and Eleanor perform a short dance after the screening, but Uncle Carl sailed with one of the organizers, and he’d shot the idea down hard.

The lights dimmed. Stewart documented the early history of Black ballet beautifully, but the sequences dragged on for Lillian. She wanted it to speed up, skip the second half, and be over. Her stomach tightened as the chronology of the film got closer to her own story. About an hour in, Ashlyn had included a clip of Lillian that she had never seen of herself. She was probably six, dancing across a lawn, laughing and spinning out of control. She’d watched hours of her own performance videos to look for flaws. She’d never gone back and looked at the joy.

Over the footage of her dance, someone read the courtroom testimony.

“Do you concur that Lillian Jackson is notably superior to other students at the school?”

“The school maintains a traditional ballet image.”

“Is she better than other students at the school? Please answer the question.”

“Quality is a matter of judgment.”

“You said you were qualified to judge. Is she superior to other students at the school?”

A pause.

“Please answer the question.”

Lillian remembered that day. She could feel her high-collared dress pressing against her throat. She could stand in first position for hours, but sitting in the courtroom made every bone in her body ache.

The film cut to Eleanor sitting in the same room where Ashlyn had interviewed Lillian.

“Lillian was a prodigy,” Eleanor said. “She deserved a world that recognized her talent.”

“Are you glad you brought the lawsuit?” Ashlyn asked from off camera.

Eleanor nodded gracefully. “The case changed the way schools and companies cast dancers of color.”

“Were you glad you brought the lawsuit?” Ashlyn asked again.

“Professional dancers sacrifice a lot.” Eleanor turned toward a window. “I thought that fighting the institution was how to love her. But there must have been a moment when a good mother would have said, You don’t have to do this. I don’t know when that moment was. I know I missed it.”

“Have you told her this?” Ashlyn asked.

“She’s so talented. And I’m so proud. I don’t want to take anything away from her success. Lillian sacrificed everything. I don’t want her to question that.”

“Do you think she questions it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you think she’s happy?” Ashlyn asked.

“That’s all I ever wanted for her.”

“Do you think she is?”

For a moment, it seemed like Eleanor couldn’t speak. Then she stilled her body with a breath.

“No.”

And just as Izzy had fled from the greenroom, Lillian stood up and half walked, half ran out of the theater. The bustle of the hallway startled her. So many people. Tears blurred her eyes. Was it relief? Happiness? Rage? Lillian didn’t have to be an icon. Her mother saw what Lillian had given up, and she cared, and she wanted Lillian to be happy. And the betrayal of it all! All these years. Relaxation is failure. Rest is the land of mediocrity. Never be distracted. Lillian had believed Eleanor. And she’d missed her chance with Izzy. But Izzy hadn’t given her a chance. How could Izzy have seen her so clearly and not seen that all of this was new to her? Liking a woman. Loving a woman. Having fun. Wanting more. Of course she wouldn’t get it perfect the first time. Obviously, because when it counted she hadn’t said the right things, or she’d said them at the wrong time or in the wrong way. And she’d reminded Izzy of every woman who’d hurt her. And shame on those women because Izzy was amazing, and they should have appreciated her. And just a little bit shame on Izzy for not seeing that Lillian was different.

Lillian rushed past a celebrity-spotting tour group. She half heard the tour guide say, “And wait, hold on! That’s Lillian Jackson from The Great American Talent Show.”

After everything she’d given up for ballet and the fact that Stewart’s documentary was playing right now, some fame chaser spotted her because The Great American Talent Show had released its preshow social media feed.

She walked faster.

A man with a reporter badge (which he might have printed at home like Kia) stepped in her way. The tour guide had caught up. Their attention drew some curious spectators.

“Can we get a picture?” one of the reporters said. “Over there, in front of the Summit banner. Just one shot.”

One photo. That’d be easier than being hounded. If Izzy were here in her Blue Lenox persona, she’d sign some breasts.

“Get her with her sapphic sweetheart,” one of the reporters said.

“The gays are going crazy for them.”

Lillian backed up against the Summit banner.

She’d avoided the social media feed. She couldn’t look at the pictures of Izzy. If she did, she’d never stop looking, studying every detail and remembering how Izzy stood, how she laughed, how she winked, and how she bowed her head when she felt shy.

“There is no sapphic sweetheart.” No one was listening to her.

“Great, right there.” One of the reporters turned her shoulder slightly, then looked away. “There she is. Over here.” That’s how fast their attention turned elsewhere. Before Lillian knew it, America would forget this year’s Great American Talent Show. She would be the only one watching and rewatching the footage on YouTube.

Then before Lillian could blink away enough tears to see who the new source of interest was, someone had shoved someone else into the frame beside her. Someone had shoved… Izzy? She was dreaming. This wasn’t real. Izzy wore a tuxedo over a bejeweled corset. She looked as shocked as Lillian felt.

“What?”

Izzy stumbled over a cord on the floor. Lillian caught her as easily as if they were waltzing, one hand on Izzy’s waist, the other on her arm.

“I’m sorry,” Izzy gasped.

She didn’t mean bumping into Lillian, and Lillian could tell by the way Izzy stood that Izzy thought she should back away, and she didn’t want to, so Lillian put her arm around Izzy’s waist and turned them to the cameras. How was Izzy here? Could there be any explanation besides Izzy had come for her?

They stood for a few pictures, dazed. The reporters seemed satisfied. The Summit Film Festival was a banquet of celebrities. Two reality TV stars warranted only a moment.

“Can we go somewhere quiet?” Izzy asked, her face pleading.

Lillian’s bedroom was quiet. She shouldn’t jump to that conclusion. Izzy could still be here by coincidence or to discuss the logistics of… but no. There could be only one reason she was here, right? If Lillian was wrong, she’d never recover.

“Let’s go outside.”

They didn’t speak as they navigated the crowd, eventually emerging on a balcony set with bistro tables overlooking the city. They made their way to the corner, as far away from the minglers as possible.

When they stopped, Izzy blurted, “I want to be with you,” as though they might be pulled apart at any moment. She reached out to clasp Lillian’s hands, then stopped herself and twisted her own hands in front of her.

Then she opened her arms and Lillian stepped into her embrace.

“Did you get my text?” Izzy asked.

“I let my battery die.”

“I said… well, I said a lot of things. And I think autocorrect changed them all, so it probably doesn’t make sense, but what I meant to say was you are so worth it.” Izzy spoke quietly, but her words poured out as though she had only seconds to say everything. “That’s what I should have said when we got voted off. If you only have a day to spend with me or a week or a month… if we’re together and you leave, I’ll die, but it’ll be worth it, Lillian. If you want a second-night stand, I’m yours. And it’s okay if ballet is your first priority. I can be your second or your third.”

“I don’t want you to be my second—”

“Sarah says I shouldn’t have tried to make your decisions for you.”

Lillian sank into Izzy’s embrace.

“It wasn’t fair to think I knew what you wanted better than you do. And Axel said I should pay attention to what you did and what you said. And everything you did was kind, and you’ve been honest with me from the beginning. And then Arabella just kind of pushed them aside and was, like, Look, Izzy, you fucked up.”

Kia was right. Lillian didn’t know how to do relationships. This was the part where she should cross her arms and spit her words at Izzy. But she’d fallen into Izzy’s arms, and Izzy was cradling her, and Lillian felt too fragile to pull away. And, yes, Izzy had hurt her. And Izzy’s voice was teary because she was hurting too. And there was a script for this; Lillian was supposed to make Izzy suffer for a while even though there was no world in which Lillian didn’t take her back. But Izzy was stroking her hair, and Lillian loved her. So simple. So real. She just couldn’t muster up all the angry things she probably should say.

“If we’re going to be together, Izzy, you can’t run away. I was trying to tell you how I felt.”

Izzy held her tighter.

“I know.”

In that moment, no one could have comforted her except Izzy, even though beautiful, tender, mischievous, outrageous, wounded Izzy Wells was the cause of all her swirling emotions. Or maybe Izzy wasn’t the cause of all of them. Lillian needed to tell Izzy about the documentary, about Eleanor saying she wanted her to be happy after all those years of rest is failure. How did Lillian understand her life without Eleanor’s legacy looming over her? Did she want to keep dancing? Did she love it? Hate it? Love it and want out?

She needed Izzy to make love to her gently and then hold her while she poured out the whole confusing story. Because she knew one thing: she wanted Izzy Wells.

“I thought you saw me,” Lillian said. She could feel Izzy’s heart beating against her.

“I did. I do. I want to, and I want you to tell me when I don’t.”

“I don’t want a second-night stand. And I don’t want you to say you’ll be my third choice. I want you to be my first. I want you to fight for that.”

“I will.”

They rested there for a moment, Izzy stroking her back, Lillian listening to Izzy’s heartbeat as it slowly matched her own.

“Did you see the documentary yet?” Izzy asked quietly.

“Most of it.”

“Was it… okay?”

“My mom said she wanted me to be happy.” Lillian pulled back so she could look at Izzy, as though Izzy might make sense of it.

“She adores you.”

“She thinks she pushed me too hard. Maybe.”

“You talked?”

“She said it in the documentary.” She leaned her forehead against Izzy’s shoulder.

“How did you feel about it?”

“I don’t know.” I don’t know. I don’t know. “I love her. I’m mad at her for not saying it sooner, not saying it to me. I get how much she did for me, and I’m so grateful, and I don’t know what I want next.” She felt Izzy stiffen. “The only thing I know is that I want to be with you. I love you, Izzy. In case you didn’t get that.”

“I love you.” Izzy placed her lips on Lillian’s as gently as if she were kissing an orchid petal.

Izzy kissed her again, and the balcony disappeared, along with the film festival. There were just stars and sky and sun and her and Izzy… until she heard someone say, “It’s the sapphic sweethearts from that show.”

Their kiss turned into a laugh, their smiles mingling.

“Sapphic sweethearts. How did that even happen?” Izzy asked.

“The joys of reality TV,” Lillian said, her arms still looped around Izzy’s back. “Or maybe just because… we are?”

“For real?” Izzy sounded tremulous.

Lillian wanted to squeeze her and never let go.

“Yes. And now all I want to do is go home, but I think I should go to the reception, thank Ashlyn Stewart, at least tell my mom we’re heading out. Am I doing it again? Not taking my good advice and saying no to what I don’t want?”

“I took our advice. I’m not going to the wedding,” Izzy said. “I told Bella. But it was really nice of you to say you’d go. It was more than nice.”

“I knew it’d be hard for you.”

“She said my mother did it all for me, to get me back in their lives.” Izzy sounded incredulous. “Bella doesn’t even want a big wedding. She wants to get married on the beach. She wasn’t going to invite me. That was Megan’s idea. It wasn’t that Bella didn’t want me there. Bella just thought it’d be weird if she asked me out of the blue.” Izzy leaned against her. “It doesn’t make sense. I don’t know what to think.”

“Makes two of us.” Lillian breathed in Izzy’s perfume. “Families.” She sighed. “Should I go to the reception?”

“What’s easiest?”

“Go for a minute. With you.”

“Then let’s do that.”

Izzy rested her hand on Lillian’s lower back as they stepped into the reception hall. There was some Blue Lenox in the strong, protective touch. Eleanor spotted Lillian as soon as they came in.

“I should go talk to her,” Lillian said.

“I’ll wait here.” Izzy stopped at a bistro table. “Unless you want me to go with you.”

“I should talk to her myself.”

Eleanor met her halfway across the room, looked at her, pulled her into a hug, and then held her shoulders and studied her. An image emerged from the fog of childhood memory: Eleanor kneeling in front of her and asking her what was wrong as the other dance moms collected their giggling children and headed out. Lillian couldn’t remember what had upset her, just that even at three or four, she’d run to the bathroom to cry. When she came back, no one could tell. Maybe her dark complexion hid the flush of tears; maybe she was simply composed. Only Eleanor could tell she’d been crying.

Now Eleanor said, “I didn’t know the documentary would upset you. You know I worry about whether you’re happy, right?”

“No.”

Eleanor looked so stricken, Lillian almost wished she could take the word back, but Eleanor had to know.

“What happened to rest is failure? Distraction is failure? Isn’t happiness the path to mediocrity?”

Izzy was yards away, but Lillian could still feel her presence: the ultimate distraction.

“I was your coach,” Eleanor said. “You were the best. I had to push you.” Were those tears welling in Eleanor’s eyes? Eleanor had never cried. She had exited the womb stoic. She pulled Lillian into another hug. “And I was wrong. Happiness isn’t failure. Ever.”

When they stepped apart, Lillian saw Eleanor’s tears recede, her back straighten, her neck arch like a swan’s, and Lillian knew she was doing the same thing. She was certain Eleanor saw it too. And they both laughed. They would always be who they were. But things would change too.

“We should talk more,” Eleanor said. “I should have always talked to you more.”

Lillian nodded. Eleanor looked over her shoulder.

“I like her,” Eleanor said. “I’m glad she came.”

Maybe later Lillian would tell Eleanor the whole story.

Lillian returned to Izzy. They circled the room, saying goodbye to her father, to Ashlyn Stewart and her wife, and to Kia, who grinned shamelessly.

“I knew you’d come through, Blue. See, lil’ puffin? Didn’t I tell you she’d make it right?”

Lillian drove Izzy back to her house with a stop at Walgreens because Izzy had arrived without a toothbrush, cell phone charger, or extra underwear. Back at Lillian’s, they ordered food and sat on the sofa, the lights of LA spread out beneath them. Part of Lillian wanted to go straight to the bedroom, to burn off the stress and sadness and confusion of the day with fast, hard sex. But more than that, she wanted to share all her swirling thoughts with Izzy, and she wanted to hear how Izzy turned Bella down and how Izzy felt. They talked and talked, their fingers interlaced, pausing to kiss occasionally. Sometimes the kiss was lustful. Sometimes comforting.

They’d dissected the past days and hypothesized about every aspect of their families. Lillian described every emotion she might be having about Eleanor and her career, then rested her head on Izzy’s shoulder.

“Is it weird to feel so many things at once?” Lillian asked.

“I think it’s human.”

“The offer still stands if you want to go to Bella’s wedding,” Lillian said.

Izzy slid down so she was lying on the sofa, her head in Lillian’s lap, her body curled in a little C. Lillian put an arm around Izzy’s hip and stroked her temple.

“I thought about it. I do want them in my life, but not with a big show. Bella deserves to have her wedding be about her. I’ll visit her and Ace once everything’s settled down.” Izzy sighed happily under Lillian’s touch. “And I’ll call Megan.” She didn’t sound upset, although she stayed curled up like a child. “If Bella’s right and she planned that whole thing for me, I’m touched. It was sweet. I think. In a messed-up way. She was always like that. Go big. I’ve blown her off since she left Broken Bush. I want to talk to her again but on my terms.”

“No wedding dresses unless they’re burlesque?”

“Exactly.”

Then Izzy said Tock had an idea for moving the theater from her ownership to a co-op model where the whole troupe owned a share.

“He said he loves me, and he wants to show that the way he does best. Solving my legal problems.”

Lillian leaned over and hugged Izzy, as grateful as though she herself had been released from the burden of a decrepit theater. Actually, more grateful.

“And I want to back off from Velveteen Crush for a while. Not be Blue Lenox until everyone remembers that I’m not Blue Lenox. If the troupe owns the co-op, then it’s really their space. And maybe I’ll do a different stage persona.”

They brainstormed ideas, moving from serious to ridiculous, then inventing burlesque personas for Eleanor, Kia, and Bryant. Then they moved on to funny moments from the show and marveled at Kia’s ability to go anywhere she wanted with a counterfeit badge. They talked until the sky began to lighten. Their voices trailed off. Izzy stretched out on the sofa, and Lillian lay in her arms.

“Maybe we should get to bed?” Izzy asked.

They fell asleep instantly, but Lillian woke, late, to Izzy’s soft caress on her thigh.

“Give me a moment.” Lillian ruffled Izzy’s hair, then hurried to the bathroom to brush her teeth and sip a glass of water. When she returned, Izzy was lying naked on the sheets, the covers pulled back.