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“Promise me you won’t come back. I’ve seen so many dancers go after something, fail, wind up so far away from where they first started, I’ll never understand—bank tellers, bored mothers, strippers even. And they somehow think I will take them back. This is final—enough of your stubbornness—the Company does not take lightly to this kind of thing. You are too young, too insignificant. Are you absolutely sure?” He needed to know. It always looked so much worse for Kharkov when he lost a dancer he hadn’t fired or whose dismissal hadn’t been discussed with the board. In fact he’d been known to strike deals of irreconcilable differences, so both could save face. “You have always lacked soul. There is nothing to see when I look in your eyes. I see nothing.”
    â€œYes sir. Thank you, sir.”
    â€œPerhaps Monsieur Tremaine can teach you something.” He knew. “Now get out of here before I do something both of us will regret.”
    I will never know what that something might have been. Would he have kissed me like he kissed Peter? I doubt it. Maybe he wanted to strangle me. That, we both would have regretted.
    But I was full of the good dancing I was doing. I looked down at my thighs, my crotch, my feet, my hands hanging at my side, parts of me I only normally saw in a mirror. I was an asset—why wasn’t he begging me to stay? I hated myself for having a brief moment of self-doubt. Although I wanted to leave with as little fanfare as possible, it would have been nice to have him regret losing me.
    It was time to dance and love as others had done. I needed to keep following my heart. It was there, tucked inside Daniel’s sternum. That’s where I saw my future. I saw with conviction the rejigging of my technique, establishing myself in the East, and most of all, endless love.
    I met Rachelle at Dunn’s for one last cigarette and coffee. There, surrounded by busy waiters, customers lined up at the door and glass cases of cheesecakes, we tried our best not to get too sentimental. “I’ll write to you about it.”
    â€œJust phone. How was Kharkov?”
    â€œHe squirmed. You know Kharkov.”
    Rachelle mmmm ’d like she didn’t believe a word. “Don’t take any shit. The dance world doesn’t like outsiders.”
    â€œThe dance world is outsiders.”
    â€œNot to sound negative, but I hope your prince is all he’s made out to be. You deserve it.”
    She had her prince, and I wanted mine. “Take care of Peter.”
    â€œYou’re leaving a trail of broken hearts.”
    â€œPeter? I think we sorted that out long ago.”
    â€œHe’s a sensitive boy.”
    â€œKharkov likes sensitive.”
    â€œSounds like he’s up next for soloist.” Rachelle was a perceptive girl.
    â€œDid he tell you?”
    â€œI heard you guys. I know all, see all. I am a woman, for God’s sakes. I just… I just don’t believe it.”
    â€œMe neither.”
    â€œNo. Honestly. This isn’t you. It’s like you’ve been brainwashed. Yes, you’re dancing better because of all the endorphins in your systems, but it’s making you crazy.”
    â€œCake?”
    â€œOh God please no. My thighs are starting to squeak; I’ll have to start greasing them.”
    When we were paying, I bought a whole cheesecake for later with Daniel. “It must be love.” Rachelle jabbed me in the ribs, her momentary seal of approval.
    After the show that night, I packed my things and Peter, Rachelle and I opened a much-needed bottle of champagne.
    â€œAltogether now, you know it by heart: Give me Veuve or give me death.”
    â€œGod, how many of my paycheques have gone up in bubbles since you two moved in?”
    We drank it in a kind of noisy silence: Hotels doors banged, someone knocked on our door and an elevator bell kept dinging as if to mark the very last