Page 95 of The Perfect Mistake

Maybe he needs dancers for the next show he’s choreographing.

Antoine arrives ten minutes late. Cigarette smoke clings to the collar of his leather jacket, but he smells like mints, too.

“Isabel,” he says in a soft French accent. It’s worn down by so many years working abroad, a barely noticeable lilt. “Thank you for taking the time to meet with me.”

I sink back down on my chair with a smile. “I was happy to get your call. How are things at the Company?”

He shrugs. Smiles a bit. “The way they always are. Irina is complaining more than usual, and two male chorus dancers have pulled their hamstrings. We’re teetering on the verge of collapse, but you know how that is.”

That sounds about right. I ask him about his next show in Paris and he’s more than happy to regale me. It’s a ballet interpretation of a Puccini opera, and he details the choreography he’s working on. It’s fascinating. I haven’t heard him talk about his process quite so much before. Haven’t spoken to him like this at all, never one-on-one, and not over wine.

Something also feels so right to hear about this world again. To talk about ballet, to even think about it again. It’s like I’ve carried an entire lexicon in my head that I haven’t been able to use for the past couple of months.

We follow the first glass of wine with another, and then another, and he still hasn’t asked about my hip. But he does ask about my current work.

“I’m nannying now,” I say with a wry smile. “It’s very fulfilling, and it pays the bills while my hip is healing. I think it’ll be back to normal in a few months.”

His eyebrows rise. “Ah shit, that’s right. It’s better now, then?”

“Yes, much better,” I say. “I’m working on exercises to keep limber while it heals.”

Antoine nods, humming. “Good, good. You were a beautiful dancer.”

That warms. “Thank you.”

“Stunning fouettés. Very useful in the chorus.” His eyes turn teasing, and just a bit… flirtatious. “Tell me, are you single?”

I blink at him. “Um, yes.”

He reaches out over the table and puts his hand on mine, playing idly with my fingers. “Aren’t we all in this business,” he says with a crooked smile. “No relationships, no love, just work and pain. We’re all lonely, but that’s ballet for you.”

I feel frozen with shock.

Companies can become incestuous over a single weekend. Male and female dancers switching bedfellows the way we switch dancing partners is common enough. But artistic directors sleeping with ballerinas is another thing entirely. It happens. Just not as often… but I’ve heard of his reputation.

“Isabel…” he says and taps his fingers against the back of my hand. “You were beautiful to watch in practice. I think I watched you more than I should have.”

Oh.

No.

There’s something painful in my chest, as the last hopes I’d carried around crack. “I’ve heard about your… reputation,” I say. “It doesn’t seem like you’re very lonely.”

His teeth flash in a smile. “There are different kinds of loneliness. Sure, I’ve been known to have fun with the ballerinas, but not at the company I’m running.”

That’s a lie, I think.

His eyes soften. “Now that I’m leaving New York… I want to remember my time here. Make the most of what's left. Don’t you want that, too?”

It takes me a few seconds to fully digest what he’s saying. To make it make sense in my head, and I can’t quite, and it hurts.

“I thought you were going to talk about dancing,” I say. My voice comes out a bit stiff. I look at his hand lying over mine, and it looks all wrong. It’s not the right hand, not the hand or the touch I’ve spent years longing for. The hands that have become so familiar to me now.

He chuckles. “Dancing? Ah, if I had a spot for you? Oh, Isabel, never say never,” he says. “We’ll share a good time together, you will heal, and uh… we’ll see. Maybe, yes?”

I pull my hand back. Disappointment races through me, and it feels like a weight on my chest, slowly crushing me down to earth. I want it to open up beneath me and swallow me whole. Take me far away.

“Thanks for the wine,” I say. “It’s time for me to head out.”

---