Up one floor to Lincoln’s office, the door was open when I reached it because Senan had gone in before me. We had both blown by Lincoln’s assistant, and Senan was standing in the room where Lincoln and Delon had been having a meeting, as indicated by the schematics and notes on Lincoln’s desk.
“So am I to understand you don’t want me inSwan Lake?” I asked Lincoln far more calmly than I thought I would. I’d been ready to roar the question at the man, but at the last moment found a trace of composure, and while my tone was sharp, I didn’t yell.
It took a moment for my words to sink in, but then Delon turned to Lincoln. “What is he talking about?”
Lincoln waved a hand in my direction. “You’re not going to rip him a new one for barging in here?”
“Senan charged in here first,” Delon pointed out. “And no. He’s asking a question, and I, for one, would like your answer.”
Lincoln turned to me, and the hatred was easy to read on his vulpine features. He was trying so hard to look like what he thought a choreographer was supposed to look like. Always, he wore black turtlenecks, slim-fitting black pants, and black lace-ups. His thinning hair was slicked straight back, accentuating a pronounced widow’s peak and the heavy creases in his forehead. His brows were thin, as were his lips, all of it giving him a sort of wasting countenance that made me think he belonged in a Gothic horror novel. I was not a fan. But all that could be overlooked if he weren’t such a complete asshat. Of course, the powder he was putting up his nose and the pills he popped like breath mints weren’t doing him any favors. His disposition was not improving with the use of illegal drugs or prescribed pharmaceuticals. What I didn’t get was why he was seemingly spinning off the rails. He was at the top of his game, an in-demand commodity. Everyone wanted him.
“Well?” Delon pressed him.
“It was all wrong.”
“What was?” Delon was confused, and I realized that what Senan had just announced in the practice room was not something Delon had heard before. He seemed as blindsided as the rest of us, and that made all the difference in the world.
I could breathe. I had the urge to run and tell everyone that everything was going to be all right because Delon Mitchener had not lost confidence in us. It was Lincoln and Lincoln alone—probably with a bit of Senan thrown in the mix—who thought we were all fuckups.
“Lincoln?” Delon prompted.
“I’m switching you and Senan,” he told me. “You’ll be the black swan instead of the white, trying to woo the prince away.”
“When was I ever the white swan? I was supposed to be Von Rothbart,” I reminded him. I was looking forward to being the evil magician, even though the part was smaller. I could have fun with the role. I’d danced the part of the prince many times in my life and had some of the greatest ballerinas opposite me in the part of the Swan Queen and Odile, the black swan. Taking over either of those parts in Lincoln’s reverse vision of the ballet hadn’t sounded that interesting. I liked the idea of figuring out what drove the bad guy, drilling down beyond him just wanting a girl he couldn’t have. Being the bad guy was fun. People always booed and hissed when I came onstage as whatever villain I was, and then applauded like crazy when I exited or leaned back out and waved. But now it sounded like Lincoln had a whole new vision in mind. “I’m the villain of the piece,” I reiterated. “That’s where you said you wanted me.”
“Yes, but I had an epiphany, so I’ve changed the whole thing.”
Before I could reply, Delon said, “What are you talking about?”
“We can do better. I’ve reimagined the entire production.”
Delon turned to look at me.
“I’m sorry,” I blurted out because I was. I’d never heard of changing anything after the press releases had gone out, after practice had begun and sets designed. I was at a loss, and it certainly had to be there on my face.
“The new choreography is fantastic,” Senan let Delon know.
Delon’s head snapped back to Lincoln. “No. You can’t do that,” he railed, beginning to pace. “You can’t change everything now. We’ve sold tickets based on a reverseSwan Lake, a deconstruction, not a brand-new adaptation. That’s how it’s being marketed, that’s what you promised us, that’s what we told people. You said there would be a princess instead of a prince, and male swans, not an entirely new retelling of the classic! Are you fucking with me?” He roared the last.
Lincoln was lost in his vision, completely in his own head, not looking at me or Senan or anyone. “Now it will be about the prince not only choosing between good and evil, but also making a decision between the carnal sexuality of the black swan and the true love and commitment of the white.”
Of course I had to be the black swan. Carnal anything was decidedly not in Senan’s wheelhouse. And maybe in private he was sex on a stick, but onstage, the perfect white swan was the only one he could be.
“You can’t do this!” Delon was fuming.
“And now Maven will play the magician who wants the prince and is taking his male options away so she can have him.”
“Oh, I’m sure Maven will have no problem playing a woman who’s so deluded that she wants to turn a gay man straight,” I assured him, the sarcasm coming through loud and clear.
“Shut up,” Senan ordered me. “Like you’re in any position to say a word about his vision. You’re lucky you still have a part. I told Lincoln you’re too old to play—”
“And the part where normally the magician and Odile crash the party, that’s what now?” Delon barked at Lincoln. “Will Maven be a reimagined Maleficent? Or are you making her more of a witch? Will she have a pointy hat in your production? Do you plan to change the costumes as well? Will the swans be in codpieces and bustiers?”
“I’m considering a bondage element for the black swan and a sheer bodysuit for Senan.”
I glanced at Delon, whose face was rapidly turning crimson.
“It’s glorious now,” Senan informed Delon. “In this telling, the witch tries to lure the prince with a guy, the black swan, when she actually wants the prince for herself.”