Page 11 of Healing Eleanor

“What?” I manage to choke out.

Her eyes lift sharply. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t insult my intelligence by pretending you don’t know who I mean.”

I turn to Sofia, silently willing her to look at me. But she doesn’t. She studies her fingernails instead.

“Are you serious?” I ask her, my voice rising in disbelief.

Sofia finally looks at me, but her eyes are void of apology. “I told her what I heard,” she says simply. “You didn’t say no.”

“I—” My breath catches. “You know what he was doing. You heard him.”

Margaux raises a hand. “Whether or not something was offered is not in question, Eleanor. The issue is whether you were complicit.”

“I wasn’t,” I blurt out. “I was—I was panicking, I didn’t even respond—”

“But you didn’t say no.” Sofia states, her voice full of conviction.

Her comment stings like a splash of salt in a fresh wound. How could she?

My hands tremble. “You weren’t in the room Sofia. You have no idea what happened.”

Margaux stands then. Slow. Deliberate.

“We hold our dancers to the highest standards of conduct, Eleanor. You know this. There are lines that cannot be crossed, no matter how blurred you claim they were. What happens between dancers and directors—especially when career advancement is involved—has consequences. For everyone.”

“Oh, really?” I spit, defense thick in my voice. “What will happen to Soren then?”

But she isn’t listening to me anymore. She continues on as if I didn’t just ask her a very important and very reasonable question.

“You’ll finish tonight’s performance,” she continues. “Then your contract will be formally dissolved. You are not to speak to the press nor to other company members about this situation. If you do, legal consequences will follow.”

It feels like I’ve been ripped from reality. I can’t feel my legs, and my breath can’t catch up to my lungs.

Margaux turns to Will. “See that she gets back to her dressing room.”

Will nods, then lightly takes my elbow to guide me out.

She doesn’t meet my eyes when she adds, “break a leg tonight, Eleanor.”

Will escorts me to the dressing rooms. Everything’s suffocating. The air is heavy with foundation powder and lingering hairspray. I sit motionless in front of the mirror, eyes locked on my own reflection, but all I can see is her—Sofia, sitting pretty in front of Margaux like she hasn’t just thrown me to the wolves.

My lower lip trembles, and I bite down hard, tasting a hint of blood.

Don’t cry. Not now.

Someone knocks on the door again, softer this time. “Five minutes,” calls a runner’s voice from the hallway.

Outside of the dressing rooms, I hear the orchestra warming up. Violins tuning, the low roll of the timpani. The performance will begin with or without me. They’ll let me dance tonight because the audience has paid, and my understudy has already been bumped to fill in elsewhere. But once the curtain falls… I’ll be forgotten.

Just another girl the company chewed up and spit out.

I glance back at the mirror one last time. Soft pink lips. Dusty rose shadow. A flush of color on my cheeks. The delicate cluster of flowers tucked into my hair. I look every inch the tragic heroine. A girl with as much to mourn as Giselle.

Let them watch. Let them applaud. Let them say I was brilliant. Right before they erase me.

The applause still rings in my ears as I step offstage. My chest heaves beneath the corset, every inch of my body buzzing with exhaustion. I danced like my life depended on it. Because in a way, it did.

Who knows if another company will take me? In this world, rumors spread like wildfire. One smudge on your name and poof—every opportunity vanishes.