Page 23 of Reverence

Arriving at Palais Garnier, they would take class, and Katarina would finally talk, her words precise and concise and none of them directed at Juliette. She would usually address either the pianist or the janitor and then retreat to the ever-characteristic silence.

Even her silence held weight. And took space. Juliette could never quite shake her awareness of the other prima—despite Katarina positioning herself out of her line of sight and occupying the farthest corner of any classroom. Juliette had become so attuned to Katarina’s presence, predicting when she was in the rehearsal room before she herself even entered it. The air itself felt charged.

Juliette more often than not chastised herself for being foolish. The woman clearly disliked her. Whether it was that gauche ogling incident, or the constant reminder that Juliette had been her savior, or that after a lifelong career as the biggest star and attraction of one of the world’s most prominent ballet companies she was now very deliberately playing second fiddle to someone much younger than her, or some combination of all of the above, remained to be seen.

And on top of everything, Francesca and the rest of the administration seemed hell-bent on never quite letting Katarinaforget how indebted she was to them all—and especially to Juliette.

Juliette wasn’t entirely certain that despite her impassive assurances that she did not wish to take her parts, Katarina wouldn’t drop some sturdy piece of decoration on her just to end the litany of “you wouldn’t be here without her.” Something in the way Katarina watched her every move made Juliette’s skin feel too tight and her palms break out in sweat.

With each day that passed, Juliette was increasingly reminded of the age-old adage about the road to hell and the good intentions that paved it. Her good intentions, her savior complex, in this very case.

Still, their days went on, and after class they would sprawl on the floor till Francesca arrived and made them rehearse until they were so tired they could barely stand.

Then Katarina would disappear, and Juliette told herself she’d immediately forget her very existence. Juliette would have lunch and continue with the rest of the company. She’d attend more rehearsals forThe NutcrackerandDon Quixote, which were the productions she was headlining this season. She would try extra hard forDon Quixote, since it would be the season’s flagship ballet. The number of heavy expectations riding on its success was enough to break even the strongest of backs.

Despite Juliette herself having doubts about everything in connection to the old Spanish tale, Francesca was still staging it.

“You said you would keep your reservations to yourself, Jett.” Francesca offered her a towel and leaned on the wall opposite the mirrors.

“I haven't said anything.” Juliette wisely hid her face and her opinion in the folds of cotton, but Francesca was not deterred.

“You don’t have to say anything. The way you come in for rehearsals, as if this was Place de la Concorde and the old single blade was still standing on the scaffold, is telling me, nay,shouting at me, that you’re not enthused.” Francesca gave her a bilious look.

“I don’t have to be enthused, Cesca. I have to sell the ballet. And I shall. Don’t I always?”

Even to her own ears, her words sounded hollow. The production was lacking. She knew it. Gabriel knew it. And Francesca’s excessive bitching told her as much. All they had to do now was bite the bullet and bear it. With the programs printed, the company was committed.Don Quixotewould be danced, consequences be damned.

Where Juliette didn’t have to fake excitement and enjoyed herself immensely was in Tchaikovsky, even though they would reserveThe Nutcrackerfor the holidays. It was one of her favorite ballets, perhaps because she and the entire world associated it with Christmas and cheer. She loved dancing it and looked forward to it every year.

The one show Juliette had no idea what to make of was Francesca’sSwan Lakerevamp. The ballet had been in production with the company two years prior, but the choreography and interpretation had been deemed stale and thus poorly received. Her own press was stellar, per usual, but Francesca and the company itself were lambasted heavily for lack of inspiration. In fact, that was when the string of terrible reviews had begun, and try as they all might in the years that followed that fiasco, Paris Opera Ballet had been unable to dig itself out of the hole of the steadily expanding negativity.

Their tours were resounding successes, but once they set foot back in France, the press was like rabid dogs on them and nothing they staged rose up to expectations. Nobody had been spared, and even Juliette’s amazing reviews had turned lackluster soon enough. Her technique was lauded, but she was deemed “lost and spent on stage” in more productions than she cared to remember. Francesca would rage and throw thingsand call the French all manner of names, but Juliette knew something had to give, and soon.

“Is she compensating, do you think?” Juliette was draped over the barre, her legs leaden and her breath coming out in short pumps.

Gabriel, a few feet away from her, gave her a look from under heavy eyelids and dropped his head back to the floor with a loudthump.

“Jett, who the hell knows with Cesca? Can you ever predict what bee will get under her bonnet? Just the fact that she was so vocal about not wanting Kat here and is now staging a production that caters to her presence and strengths…”

“You’re lucky she’s not here to take a few swipes at you for calling her that.”

He shuddered playfully and then sat up, hugging his knees.

“What she doesn’t know can’t hurt me, Juju, and you won’t tell on me, will you?”

Gabriel gave her an angelic smile before grabbing his water bottle and continuing pensively.

“Something has to give. The company is in a sorry state, and neither of us have been able to move the needle even a little despite our clearly superior efforts. It’s like we’re cursed. No matter the production, it’s one bad review after the next. The crowds are thinning, the budgets are getting smaller. So, why not try something outlandish? Risky and maybe foolish under normal circumstances, but what does she have to lose?”

He wiped his brow and flopped back down.

“So, a Hail Mary…” Juliette turned to face him and caught the grimace on his face that usually followed whatever saying she used that was quintessentially American.

She ignored him and mulled his answer. For all his flighty affairs and apparent superficiality, Gabriel was too attuned to the company to be completely ignorant. And he was probablyright, even if little about this situation was evident or straightforward.

And even if Juliette was still mesmerized by Francesca’s dislike for Katarina. In fact, everyone but Juliette herself and Gabriel showed nothing but contempt for the former Soviet prima. It made Juliette inexplicably angry.

“You’re making the face you usually make before mounting some ill-advised crusade, Jett.” Gabriel’s chuckle brought her back to the present. “Are you upset on behalf of Vyatka? She seems to be taking the animosity in stride, and if anything, is completely unbothered by it. Why are you?”

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