“Packing?” I asked, watching Lincoln scramble around, throwing things into suitcases.
Walking by, he slapped what looked like a huge sketchbook against my chest, and I had to grab it before it fell to the floor.
“Is this the book of your discordant ballet?” I asked as he threw more items into his suitcases. “Are you giving this to me?”
“Give it to Delon,” he directed me, his voice sharp.
“And where are you going? I thought you were creating this ballet as an homage to Senan.”
He stopped in front of me. “You hated Senan.”
“And he hated me right back.”
“Yes. Yes, he did.”
“And why was that?”
He sneered at me. “Even now you have to have your ego stroked.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
He turned away but then swung around fast and slapped me across the face. “You’re so selfish and gifted, but you’re blind to those around you.”
Putting my hand on my cheek, taking a step back, I stared at him. “I’m not blind to anything. It’s you and Senan who had no idea about everyone else. He just didn’t care, that’s how he was, but you, you’re supposed to see all the people in your orbit so you can choose, without prejudice, who can best bring your art to life.”
“I—”
“When did you get like this? Because I saw your production ofCoppéliain London, and it was amazing. I saw your original pieceTamed Lovein New York, and it was stunning. When you first got here, I was so excited.”
“Not excited enough to come to me and make yourself my muse.”
“I didn’t want to fuck you, Lincoln, I wanted to work for you. We all did. And we would have worked so hard.”
He shook his head. “Senan had demands,” he rasped angrily. “After he found out about certain things I—”
“I know,” I lied quickly, because when lying, fast was best. “He told me.”
“He told you what?” he yelled.
“About you and what you owed at the casino and all about Alberto Mazzara.”
He was stunned; it was all over his face. “He did not,” he croaked out.
“How else would I know?”
“But he—he hated you.”
I shrugged. “But he had to tell someone, and who would ever believe me?”
He thought a moment, and it made sense. His head snapped up, and his gaze riveted on mine. “It was a mistake. He was there when Mazzara came to see me in my home near the Presidio, and he—once he knew, he agreed to help, to carry the drugs too, but only in exchange for things. He wanted a return on his investment of time.”
“Why would you come here, then?”
“He wanted to be a principal, and it was never going to happen at the San Francisco Ballet. Senan danced classical pieces, he never wanted to do anything different or modern, and that wouldn’t work there.”
“We’re progressive here too,” I reminded him.
“Not like San Francisco. Delon still fills your schedule with more classics. I mean, Senan danced the title role inLa Sylphideas soon as he arrived here.”