After the prospective dancers had started warming up and preparing to learn whatever routine he’d decided on, Yuri came to sit with me in the center of the theater, far enough away from the stage to make watching easier and to remain in a bit of shadow as if that might help a hopeful ballerina feel less stress than staring into the face of those who held her future in their hands. Even before he slid into the seat, I could see he’d already dropped the smile, anger radiating from his face instead. I already had an idea of what it might be about.
“What the hell is Clara Simyoneva doing here?” he hissed into my ear. “Do you know who she is? Do you really think we need someone like that as part of our theater? Are you a fucking idiot?”
“Yuri,” I said as coolly as possible. “That stuff with her past happened years ago. And nothing was exactly proven. There was lots of innuendo, tons of gossip, but nothing that proved she was truly guilty of having anything to do with what happened. So, we don’t even know if she’s even guilty of a single thing, and—”
“She’s definitely guilty of dating fucking Kosloff,” he hissed.
I slid him a glance, wanting to tell him to grow the fuck up and stop whining like a baby, but restrained myself. There was no need to have this end with us yelling in one another’s faces in front of our dancers.
“We don’t know what her connection with Nikolai Kosloff was. And even if she had ties to the bratva, it’s in her past. We need to give Clara a shot at an audition regardless. We don’t just need a solid dancer, we need a star. Hell, forget star. You and I both know no ballet company is worth shit if it doesn’t have a fabulous principal, and Clara was a prima ballerina whose every move was perfection. We need a dancer who doesn’t want all the fucking drama most creative people can’t seem to function without.”
Yuri rolled his eyes. “And you don’t think what happened was drama?”
I could roll my eyes as well as he could. “What I’m saying is if you’d pull your head out of your judgmental ass and see around the bullshit and rumors, you’ll notice she was an amazing dancer. A shining star who was completely adored. Yes, she made a few mistakes, and for some reason made the choice to walk away. That’s all. A choice I have no doubt she’s regretted since the moment she took off her tutu.”
My solid arguments — most of which were assumptions on my behalf — were purely for the sake of Volkov Ballet. During my research, I watched some videos of Clara in her various roles, and she really was incredible. If any of that talent was still there, then she was exactly what we needed.
“Give her a chance. If she isn’t the best, then that’s fine, and I’ll concede you were right. But if she is, I really think we need to give her a shot. My gut tells me Clara might be the one who can take Volkov Ballet to the next level.”
Yuri’s eyes swerved back to the stage where the dancers were warming up, Clara among them, and he sent me a sharp nod. “Fine,” he snapped. “I’ll give her a chance. But I’ll be harder on her than all of the others, purely because I think she’ll be a PR nightmare.”
I couldn’t help but agree with that fact. Taking on someone with such a tarnished reputation would be really hard work, but I instinctively felt like she’d be worth it all. As the son of a famous ballerina, I had every belief Clara would bring a grace and beauty to our stage unsurpassed by any before her. As the man responsible for the future of our company, I had the impression Clara would bring in so much money, even Yuri couldn’t bitch in the end.4AlekWhen the auditions were complete, there was no denying the outcome from anyone. Clara had completely overshadowed every single dancer. It was as if every other dancer had two left feet in comparison. The moment she’d started from stage left and pirouetted nonstop across the entire length of the floor, I knew it was over.
The woman moved like a damn goddess.
By the time Clara performed a series of leaps, practically hanging in midair as if defying gravity, every finger extended, each muscle defined in a split that screamed impossible, I believed every other soul auditioning knew it as well.
I tried not to laugh at the way the other dancers clearly didn’t want to step onto the stage with the woman. I couldn’t blame them. Clara dominated. Even after four years, and not at her best, the woman was without a doubt a prima ballerina. I could see why she was nicknamed Prima. She moved with a delicacy that made her seem to float on air and yet had the strength necessary to hold positions that stressed muscles. Her flexibility, her speed, her poses, her footwork, the snap of her head as she whipped in spins so fast she became a blur made the woman nearly untouchable.