Page 4 of His Turn

Chapter Two - Nadia

My feet are killing me and my nipples are sore from the clamps Jordan’s friend used on me last night. My ass still stings when I sit down from the slaps, and my thighs tremble even though all I’m doing is walking around the classroom, pointing out imperfections in form.

“Point your toes,” I say to the room filled with little girls. They are at the barre, left feet turned out, ankles already hurting as they stretch their right arms over their right legs propped up on the barre. “Keep your body straight, Kallie. And hold for one. Two. Three. Don’t bend your knees, Jessica. And other side.”

There are seven nine-and ten-year-old wannabe ballerinas in my morning class. They wear pink tights, light-blue leotards, and pink slippers. They all have their hair pulled tightly back into buns, strained, serious expressions on their faces, and their young muscles tremble as we progress through warm-up.

By the time they are nine, they know most of them will fail. They watch each other with an even more critical eye than I do. They assess their peers, then self-assess, then reassess.

Maybe one of these seven girls will make it. Maybe.

I’m new here at the Mountain Ballet. They barely know me. But none of them are new. All of them have been in the Mountain Ballet School since they were five years old. All of them understand the rigors of ballet training. All of them dream, and stress, and hope, and pray that one day they will be like me.

The rest of the class proceeds as usual. This is a special holiday camp for the most promising level-three students. And they will work hard. It’s my job to push them just enough to make them rethink their choices. So I do.

These seven will not quit until some outside force requires them to. They move away. Their parents get divorced and can no longer afford us. They get sick or injured.

“Excuse me? Nadia?” Chris, the teenager who runs the reception desk, whisper-yells over the classical music. “You have a phone call. He says it’s urgent.”

I sigh, looking at the clock. We have five minutes left. I know it’s Jordan on the phone. He does this on purpose to make me leave my class and obey him. I want to punch him in the face.

But I also want to keep seeing him. “Can you cool them down, Chris? Thank you.” I don’t wait for her answer. She, too, has dreams of being me. I entered the Mountain Ballet as a demi-soloist, but she is only junior company. I outrank her. She will not complain.

“This is Nadia,” I say into the phone, smiling at parents in the lobby waiting to pick up their children.

“Nadia,” Jordan says. I take a seat at the reception desk so the parents can no longer see me.

“Yes, sir,” I say demurely. It makes me sick to call him that. But I can’t stop myself. This… relationship we have has progressed to a point I don’t completely understand. I’m compelled to do it.

“I’m in the parking lot. Join me immediately.”

“Yes, sir,” I say.

He hangs up. I stand, smile, straighten my black ballet skirt, and walk around the front of the desk. More smiling for the parents, then through the back door and out into the parking lot. Jordan’s black BMW is idling. He’s checking his phone. I run to the car, cringing at the thought of my black slippers getting wet from the snow, and get in.

“I had breakfast with Mr. Bricman this morning.”

Oh, shit.

“He says you didn’t enjoy yourself.”

I say nothing. It wasn’t a question.

“Did you enjoy yourself?” Jordan asks.

“Yes, sir.”

He rubs a hand across his jaw. He hasn’t shaved today and the stubble turns me on. “Well, Elias Bricman didn’t feel you did. I had high hopes for you, Nadia. And when we started this, I made it very clear what kind of woman we were interested in. I don’t want you, Nadia. I want you and him. Do you understand?”

I have to stop myself from swallowing hard. He’s going to do something about this later. Something that terrifies and excites me at the same time. “Yes, sir.”

“So we’re going to try again tonight. And if you want to be around tomorrow, you had better make him happy. Now get out.”

I open the door and stand up.

“And Nadia,” he says, leaning over into the passenger seat so he can see my face. “Do not disappoint me.”

“Yes, sir.”