Black Butterfly (9 page)

For Portia the room began to spin. She closed her eyes, feeling like a fool. “You’re a slimy asshole!” she mumbled.

“Just honest, Portia. If you had let me finish the interview before spreading your legs, I’d have told you the same thing. Now get out. I have work to do,” he said, lying back against his pillow.

Fuming, she put on her other boot, grabbed her coat and purse, and then looked around for her portfolio. She was crying now, her hair in her face. Remembering that her portfolio was in his office, she stormed out of the bedroom. When she spotted his desk, and the streaks over the surface from where he fucked her brains out she burst into a flood of angry tears. Picking up a heavy lead paperweight, she threw it with all her might at the window glass behind his office chair. The window shattered into a million cracks but didn’t explode.

Todd ran into the office, naked, his flaccid dick swung low. Portia picked up the chair to throw at him.

“Get out, you crazy bitch!”

“Beso mi culo, you dirty bastard! The next time you think of taking advantage of someone, you remember this!” She dropped the chair and went for a heavy white disfigured statue. Her arms buckled under the weight. Fury spurred her on. She slammed it down on his glass desk, shattering both the surface and the statue.

Todd stared at her in stunned disbelief before charging her.

Portia backed up, looking for something to fight with. She would crack his skull for humiliating her.

The synchronized grace of the twelve women dancing to a whimsical melody was something to behold.

Sydney and three other dancers suddenly broke formation, springing forward and spinning on their pointed toes. The next four leaped to either the left or right side of the spinning quartet, coming down into fast leaps and fluid moves. A few of the dancers fell out of formation. His butterfly, however, remained focused on the rhythm of their dance, her serious expression showing how committed she was. Leaning over, he noticed Xenia had drawn a line through Sydney’s name. It didn’t surprise him the least.

Nolen tapped the name on the page with his index finger. “She will be part of the production.” Xenia looked down at the name and then fixed him with an angry glare. “This is my show! I say who will and won’t be part of it.”

“You sold your show to the devil, remember? Don’t pretend you have a say in this when we both know you don’t. Put her in the production, and do it with a smile on your face, or I’ll forget to sign the check.” Xenia blinked through her fury as she turned over her pencil, erasing the line through Sydney’s name.

“Have it your way, Nolen. You usually do.”

Reaching for her walkie-talkie, she flipped it on. “Juanita, over.”

“Yeeessss?”

“I specifically asked for the studio bright lights on the stage. The colored ones are interfering with my concentration!”

“I gave Andy your lighting request,” Juan snapped. She watched him walk to the side of the stage to see the red, blue, and green lights beaming from above. He bit down on his pink-glossed lips in anger. “I’ll take care of it, honey!”

Nolen witnessed the mild display of control and ignored it. He understood Xenia better than she gave him credit for, which is why he wouldn’t let her stump out his butterfly’s dreams. Even now he struggled with why he cared.

Trish walked into the studio through the back entrance. Clumps of snow dropped from her boots, and the wintry mix clung to her despite the warmth. She’d been so upset when she got Portia’s call that she’d raced over in hopes of catching Sydney before she finished her audition. Directly in front of her was a short man in a pink shawl, waving his hands in the face of a six-foot-tall technician.

“Honey, I don’t need to hear your excuses, ok? Stop flapping your gums and listen to me!” he demanded.

“I specifically told yo narrow ass to light the stage with the studio lights. Your mix-up is making Ms. Juanita look like some Christmas fag!”

Trish walked up behind the man, whose platinum low-cut hair was now spiked to a point on top of his head like a Mohawk. “Excuse me.”

He turned, flustered. “What is it? You’re too late for the auditions!” Trish blushed. “I’m looking for my friend. She has an audition today.”

“The auditions aren’t ova, so I don’t know what you want me to do for you.”

“Oh, ok. I just want to wait for her if that’s ok.”

“Who’s your friend, honey?”

“Sydney Allen.”

“Aaaah, Ms. Thang? That’s my girl. She’s on stage right now!” Grabbing her arm, he pulled Trish down the hall to the left side of the stage. “Get those lights right, Andy!” he shouted to the tech.

Trish looked up to see the dancers. Sydney was leading the troupe. When the music stopped, she fought against giving her applause.

The dancers were breathing hard, each hopeful and searching the faces of their audience under the hard glare of the lights. This was the final dance troupe, and the top three were to be chosen. Sydney knew it and braced for the news. Xenia reached for her microphone and called out the numbers. When Sydney heard her number, she nearly screamed. The other two girls who were chosen were Bet and Emily.

“Ladies,” Xenia said into her mic, “I want to thank you all for auditioning, and I wish you well in your careers. You three, please follow Madame Gustav to the rehearsal room so you can meet with the production manager to go over your contracts.”

“Where are you going, honey?” the pink-shawled man asked, throwing up his hand when Trish started to follow Sydney.

“I need to speak to her. It’s an emergency.”

“Well you can’t just prance around here, Goldilocks, like you own the place. I’ll get Ms. Thang for you.

Wait over there.” He pointed to the side of the auditorium.

“It’s an emergency, please. Our friend is in trouble.”

“Girl, when isn’t it?”

Trish watched him walk off and looked over at the judges. She didn’t want to disrupt today’s auditions.

Those people looked intolerant to the drama she came bearing.

The final sixteen dancers were handed their packets and instructed to review them thoroughly with their agents and lawyers before signing. Then they were given a brief description of the production and who the lead choreographer was—Gustav, of course. If they accepted the agreement, they’d start work first thing Monday morning.

Reviewing her packet, Sydney was happy to find that she would make four hundred fifty dollars a week for the first six months, with the salary gradually increasing as the production launched. It would be her first long-term professional gig.

“I want to speak with you!” Gustav said, stepping closer to Sydney. She nodded, collected her things, and made her way out of the crowd. Gustav stood near the ballerina barre with a challenging stare.

“Yes, Madame?”

“Zo, you’ve got de part, I zee? You’ve done well, Zenter Stage.”

“Thank you, Madame.”

“But you are not a dancer.” The comment delivered the desired blow to her pride. Sydney felt small in front of the tiny woman. Gustav moved in closer. “You’ve no discipline, no training, and doze feet are unmanageable.”

“I disagree, Madame. I’ve earned my spot, and I’ll earn your respect. I hurt my foot, but—”

“Ah? But will you remain dedicated? Diz is the question I want to know. I see potential in you, but only afta’ hard work. You hear? Hard work.” Madame Gustav narrowed her sharp gaze to make sure her point was clear.

“Of course. I want this more than anything.”

“We shall zee, Zenter Stage, we shall zee.” Madame maintained her look of disapproval. The criticism was a bitter reminder of her father’s disapproval.

“Is that all, Madame?” she asked, her voice and bottom lip quivering.

Gustav looked her over. “Yez, dat is all,” she said, and dismissed her with the wave of her hand.

Sydney blinked away the tears that stung her eyes. She sucked in several deep breaths to ward off the burning pangs of embarrassment in her chest. The only training she received was through her mother’s dance class in church. It was her mother that taught her the freedom in dance, even if she was never able to pursue it. It was her mother who snuck her from Sunday services when her father was away visiting another church to see Swan Lake in Charlotte.

“Ms. Juanita over there is trying to get your attention,” Bet said, touching Sydney’s shoulder. “Hey? You ok?”

Sydney wiped at her loose tears, turned, and smiled. “I’m fine, I’m fine.” She looked up to see Juan gesture for her from the doorway. She didn’t really want to leave the meeting, but he gave her a get-your-ass-up-or-I’ll-come-over-there-and-get-you look. Sydney discreet in her actions, picked up her backpack and stuck the contract inside, she discreetly excused herself, but not before Emily stepped up, blocking her way.

“Congratulations,” she said.

Sydney stared at her, and Emily gave her a smug smile. “Madame Gustav is the best in the industry. She knows talent if she sees it. She also knows when there is none.”

“Really? No wonder she’s barely said two words to you since we’ve started.” Emily smirked. “Don’t I know you?”

“Excuse me,” Sydney said.

“I do? You applied at the Academy didn’t you? I know I’ve seen that clumsy routine before.” Emily sneered.

Sydney brushed past her. She wasn’t going to blow this with a catfight, or be intimidated. Heaving a thoughtful sigh, she made her way to Juan. “Yes?”

“I didn’t want to interrupt your shine, honey, but Goldilocks is here, and she says it’s an emergency.” Sydney’s nose crinkled at the news. “Goldi who?”

“Come on,” Juan said, leading her down to the auditorium. She emerged from the side door to find Trish leaning against the far right wall.

“That’s Goldilocks!” Juan said, pointing at her approaching friend.

“Trish, what’s wrong?”

“It’s Portia. She’s been arrested, Sydney!”

“What do you mean, arrested? For what?”

“Whoa, you two,” Juan said, frowning at them. “This sounds like drama. Normally I live for it, but not today. Next thing I know, you’ll try to hit me up for money,” he teased and then walked away.

Trish twisted the long golden strands of her hair; a habit Sydney saw her do when she was the most distressed. “I don’t know. She’s being charged with assault, destruction of private property, and resisting arrest and making terroristic threats or something. I called and they said that her bond is twenty-five hundred dollars, and that’s with a bondsman.”

Sydney listened in disbelief. What the hell were they going to do now? The bond might as well have been set at two million.

“She was crying, Sydney. She’s so scared. We got to get her out of there.”

“Shhh, let me think.” Sydney began to pace in the narrow aisle, thinking about the money she had stashed away and who in Portia’s family would even bother to help. When she looked up she saw Nolen Adams headed towards them.

“Everything ok, ladies?” he asked, focusing his concern on Trish. To Sydney’s surprise it appeared to be genuine.

“We’re fine, thank you,” Sydney answered.

“Our friend’s in jail!” Trish blurted out.

“Dang it, Trish!”

“Maybe I can help?” Nolen offered, but Sydney whirled around on him refusal rising on her tongue.

“No, it’s a family matter. We’ll take care of it,” Sydney said, and then tried to pull Trish away.

Trish snatched back her arm. “How, Sydney? How are we going to take care of it? We can’t afford this!

And Portia’s family won’t help us! You know it.”

“Let’s see if Ricky and Syl can help.” Sydney could see Nolen frowning at the mention of the men’s names, and she expected the response before he even said it.

“Well if Ricky and Syl can help, surely you should let me try.”

“This is none of your business,” Sydney said. She saw Xenia Minetti watching them. Lowering her voice, she stepped toward Nolen. “Thank you, but we’re fine.” Trish dropped her head, nodded, and followed Sydney.

“Wait,” Nolen said, halting them.

The girls looked back at him. He focused on Sydney. “I have friends in the police department. What borough is she in?”

“Nolen, we’re ready to go over the contracts,” Xenia called from the studio seats.

He, however, continued to stare at Sydney. “Are you going to turn down help for your friend just to spite me?”

“Why do you keep offering these favors? I mean, seriously, I’m not going to sleep with you!” she shot back in a hushed tone.

“Sydney! That’s rude!” Trish said, frowning at her.

Sydney looked from Nolen to Xenia, who was close to marching over and snatching him away. “I don’t want any trouble around here. I already have enough, and that’s all your attention is bringing me.”

“Hear me out,” he said. “You may be able to go to your friends and raise the bail money, but the charges won’t be lifted. Whoever this person is, do you want her stuck with these charges? Let me help you make it go away.”

“You don’t even know what she’s charged with, or whether she’s guilty or innocent. Why would you use your influence to help her?”

“For you.”

“Exactly. So I can be indebted to you? No thanks!” She grabbed her friend’s hand to leave.

“Sydney, stop fighting me. There are no strings. Your friend can benefit from my connections.” Trish pulled her hand away. “He’s right. Portia can’t have a record. It just won’t look good. Please, Sydney, let him help us!”

Sydney sighed and glanced back over her shoulder. Trish gave Nolen the details of where Portia was.

Sydney however, kept glancing back to see if Ms. Minetti watched. She did. Giving up when Nolen said he had contacts at that station, she faced off with him again. “We’ll pay you back every dime. You can have it deducted from my check.”

Nolen smiled. “There will be no bond, trust me. Now can we take care of this or not?” he asked. His hand extended toward the exit sign.

Sydney walked to the door with Trish behind her and Nolen following. Together they stepped out into the cold, and were ushered to his limousine.

“What’s your friend’s name?” Nolen asked, pulling out his cell phone.

“Portia Sanchez,” they answered together.

Sydney watched him closely. He seemed aware, as he punched in the number and asked for someone directly.