Page 1 of Beyond The Barre

CHAPTER 1

Scarlett Matthews studied her figure in the long floor-to-ceiling mirrors in the dance studio. Six months after her final performance with the Queensland Ballet and her turnout was still as good as it ever had been, but she could see the extra padding on her hips and thighs that she hadn't had before. A lot had changed since moving to the country town of Maleny. Not just her figure, but her entire lifestyle. She was teaching ballet now instead of performing it herself on a stage in front of thousands.

She stood in the middle of the studio, wearing her usual uniform of a black leotard, tights, and ballet shoes. These items were like a second skin her. She loosened her shoulders, rounded her arms into first position, and turned her feet out to match. With her classes finished for the day, and the studio quiet after the last of the teenagers had left, Scarlett danced a brief arabesque and spun on her demi-pointes. Her ballet shoes skimming over the dance floor to an imaginary tune.

Damn, she missed it—the glitter of stage lights reflecting off sequins, the thunder of the audience’s applause, the thrill of mastering a new part. There was nothing else in her heart except ballet, nothing else she was passionate about. It was ballet or bust. Sometimes she feared that her soul might wither up and die if she went much longer without dancing. That was why she had taken up the role of ballet teacher at her friend Audrey’s dance school. Now, instead of learning and dancing choreography, she was teaching it to young students who likely would never progress to a professional level.

After approaching the barre, she lifted her leg, resting her ankle on it and leaning out and over to stretch in a perfect line. Her muscles released as she stretched farther. She wasn’t yet ready to give up the flexibility and grace that she had spent her lifetime working on. Years of stretching had given her a perfect curve en pointe.

“The others are waiting for us,” Lilly called from the door of the studio.

Scarlett looked at the clock on the wall. The staff Christmas Party would already be in full swing up the road at the Bunya Bar, and she and Lilly had promised to join after finishing their classes and closing for the night.

“I’ll just get changed. I’ll be five minutes.” Scarlett smiled at her friend before switching position to stretch her other leg.

After changing out of her leotard and tights and into black pants and her favourite pink T-shirt, Scarlett joined her colleague.

“You’re not going to take down your hair?” Lilly asked.

Scarlett raised her hand and touched the neat bun. The hairspray and gel had kept it neatly in place during all the day's lessons. “I always wear my hair up. It feels weird to let it down.”

She looked at Lilly’s jet-black hair, cut in a cute modern bob. Lilly taught tap and although she was an amazing dancer in that style, she didn’t have the discipline of a ballerina, where not a hair could be out of place, nor a stocking possess the slightest run.

“You should try it some time. It’d look cute.” Lilly locked the studio door behind them as they headed out into the humid December night.

The walk to the Bunya Bar was a short one, and the women chatted about their day as they made their way through town. Around them, all the shops and cafes were closed, with only the occasional streetlamp illuminating the footpath.

The bar soon came into view. Light and noise flooded from the windows. Scarlett smoothed down the front of her shirt and pasted on her brightest smile. Showtime!

The historic building was decorated like most country pubs, with a timber floor and half-panelled timber walls. A series of tables were arranged to the left of the entrance, their wooden tops marked with drink rings and coasters. Several groups of men and women occupied the seats, and Scarlett glanced around but didn’t see their party.

“They’re in the beer garden,” Lilly said and waved her on, past a door leading to the pokie-machine room. Past the bar to the right, on a plain carpeted area, stood a pool table lit by a long, low-hung light. Television screens showing racing odds sat high above a corkboard with racing fields tacked to it and a counter containing rows of betting slips. Several older men with long grey beards looked them up and down with appreciative stares as they passed, and Scarlett couldn’t help the shiver that their ogling caused.

Of course, she was used to being watched and studied on stage. She was a performer and that was her job. But away from the bright lights and makeup, she preferred not to be the centre of attention. Being a ballerina came with too many expectations and fantasies, and she was always afraid to disappoint.

That was why she had always preferred the company of fellow dancers. They had more things in common with her than other people, and they knew the demands of her work. Spotting Audrey at a table outside with the rest of the staff and their partners, Scarlett and Lilly walked over and joined them. Scarlett greeted them all with handshakes and polite hugs before taking a seat with Lilly at the big picnic table.

Contemporary and jazz teacher Beth was there with her husband, Johno; Mariah was in her early twenties and taught hip-hop; and Audrey, also a ballet teacher, was sitting next to her fiancé, Wes.

“We should place our orders soon. There’s already a big wait.” Audrey handed Scarlett a menu, and Scarlett looked it over. “In the meantime, I ordered some garlic bread.”

Carb-heavy meals of pasta and meat and rice dishes glared back at Scarlett. Skipping over the mains, she searched for a healthy option and was relieved when she found a simple house salad.

A waitress squeezed past Scarlett and placed a wicker basket on the table in front of her. “Here’s some garlic bread while you’re deciding.”

The buttery smell teased Scarlett’s nose. She knew it was silly, freaking out over one tiny slice of bread, but she couldn’t help it. She’d spent years counting every precious morsel she allowed between her lips, calculating calories and fat units, knowing that the slightest slip-up would edge her further and further away from her goal weight. Not to mention the chance to be principal in the next performance.

A prickle of rebellion clawed through her. How long had it been since she’d tasted bread? Or chocolate or ice cream?

Damn. Ice cream.

Her mouth salivated at the thought. Real ice cream, not that fat-free, taste-free frozen yogurt she sometimes kept in the freezer at home for a treat.

Years. It had to have been years.

Beside her, Wes offered her the basket. “Grab a piece before they're gone.”

Scarlett moved her hands below her bottom, sitting on them in order to stop herself from claiming a piece of the golden, yeasty goodness. “No, thanks.” She shook her head.

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