The past two days we’ve been meeting in the Masquerade’s twelfth floor maid’s closet. (I stole the keys.) We make out but we also talk a lot. I caught her up on my family issues, and she caught me up on her brother. Who’s stressed about his own act.
Geoffrey just trashed the new aerial straps choreography that Zhen and Brenden learned. Baylee said that Geoffrey called it “lackluster” and now they have to start from scratch again. With less than thirty days until the premiere.
There is a chance that aerial straps could be pulled off the program completely.
Baylee’s lips lower, and I see that she’s worried our act will have a similar fate as her brother’s.
“All nine of you,” Geoffrey calls, “come down here.”
Gently, I hoist Baylee off my shoulders, setting her feet on the net, and I hold her hips while we wait for my cousins to descend the poles to the ground. She almost leans back into my chest, but she catches herself and straightens up.
I stand beside Bay, waiting for a free pole. Our hands skim, pass each other by, brush again—and I don’t even realize I’m holding her hand until I feel her quickened pulse against mine.
We separate almost instantly. “Do you need help?” I ask as she clasps the pole.
“No, I’m okay.” She drops down, better at this than when we first started.
When we’re all on the ground, Geoffrey tells us to form a horizontal line. This can’t be good.
We all stand stiffly, my hands clasped in front of me, and I try not to think about the last time we were in a horizontal line.
How he almost forced Baylee to start training with machetes.
I can’t think about it. I’ve never been in a blackout rage, but that might push me somewhere I shouldn’t be.
Geoffrey paces the length of the line, clipboard beneath his arm. “There is a reason you’re all called an artist and not just an athlete. Your job is more than just juggling tricks and technical gymnastics. You. Must. Emote.” He grips the air like he’s trying to wrench our hearts out of our ribcages.
My family has never struggled when it comes to acting.
Which is probably why Dimitri back-talks. “Your point?”
Geoffrey walks backwards and stops in front of my older cousin. Right beside me. “You think you’ve given enough to this performance?”
“When the curtains are drawn, we give our all,” Dimitri professes. “You don’t have to concern yourself with this.”
“I don’t want what you’ve always done, and I don’t care if it was good enough last season or for another show. I want unexplored, untapped passion.” Geoffrey eyes each one of us. “You’ve all done acting warm-ups with the troupe.”
It’s not a question. On Wednesday mornings, all the AE artists form a circle in the performance gym, and we do silly and fun exercises. Like pretending to be a teapot or tossing an imaginary ball to one another. Sometimes we freestyle dance in the center.
Those mornings bond us together and create an uninhibited, non-judgmental atmosphere. It’s why I love my job.
We’re all family at the end of day.
Even those of us with different last names.
Pacing again, Geoffrey tells us, “Now you’re going to do my acting exercise. And I’m going to pull something new out of you.”
Half of my cousins roll their eyes. Baylee shifts her weight. I lean back on my heels, nonchalant.
I catch Baylee’s gaze and smile, which upturns her lips for the briefest second.
“When I stand in front of you,” Geoffrey says, “you must share an excruciating moment in your life—and don’t say the words like you’re reading from someone else’s diary. Claim it. Use it. Feel it.”
Abram mutters, “No exceptions.”
I laugh.
Geoffrey zeroes in on me. (Yeah, I’m still smiling—but not dryly or in defiance.) The choreographer inches towards me, and Baylee almost clasps my hand. I hook one finger with hers.
And then Sergei steps forward, obstructing the choreographer’s path.
“You want to go first?” Geoffrey asks.
“Yes.”
I stare fixatedly, never thinking Sergei would do that for me.
Geoffrey faces my oldest brother. “Go.”
Sergei, with all his stoicism, takes one breath, and pain grips his eyes in ways he’s never displayed before. “I hurt my brothers and sister.”
“How?” Geoffrey prods.
“I left them when they needed me,” Sergei says. “And I didn’t even hesitate.”
I stare off. I don’t want to care right now.
I don’t want to care.
But the impact behind his words rip through me, he didn’t even hesitate. He didn’t even think about us in his decision. He couldn’t have.
I hurt more for Timo. That would’ve gutted him, and I’m never repeating it. (No fucking way.) Baylee squeezes my hand, but she has to let go as Geoffrey glances at us.
He saunters down the line. Attention hot on me like a million spotlights. Before he reaches my place, Dimitri steps forward.
I expected that one.
“Dimitri,” Geoffrey says. “Go.”
He runs his tongue over his teeth before he lets out, “I was in love with my best friend’s girlfriend. Now ex-girlfriend. Tatyana.”
I didn’t know he actually loved Tatyana. By the shock on his brothers’ faces, neither did Robby or Anton.
“I not only had to watch Tatyana be with him—knowing she’d never love me—but I watched her break her leg and leave permanently for Russia.” He has to pause here, his nose flaring. “So I lost a friend too.”
Geoffrey scrutinizes his features for an extended moment. “You’re holding back.”
“I’m not,” Dimitri growls, his chest puffed out in offense.
“That’s better.” Geoffrey nods once and then eyes me. Again.
Baylee is about to step forward to the left of me, but I clench her tank and pull her back. Geoffrey will reach me no matter what. She doesn’t need to go before me.
Geoffrey faces me. “Luka.”
(What’s up, Geoffrey? Relax, dude.) I think of the sex doll in his office, and I try hard not to smile.
“Go.”
I unbury a raw place inside of me—just through my eyes. “When I was young, my girlfriend died.” I let out a heart-breaking breath, and I think I would’ve gotten away with it if Abram and Robby didn’t lean forward with shit-eating grins.
Geoffrey eyes them, brows furrowed. “You’re lying?”
“I spoke figuratively.”
My younger cousins laugh.
I can’t help it—I smile.
Geoffrey steps forward, only a foot from my face. I remain calm and cup my hands in front of me again. He searches my eyes feverishly for truth, I’m guessing.
I am full of truths and heartache and pain.
Half belongs to people I care about. Me hurting for them. And the half that belongs to me, I’m not allowed to express.
If he’s aware of my past with Baylee, then he already knows this, but he still seems oblivious. Even if we caught him chatting with Vince one time.
“Are you ever angry?” he asks me.
“What?”
“Do you ever get angry?” he wonders. “I’ve seen these ones”—he gestures to my cousins—“argue and become frustrated, but you…you just let everything roll off your shoulders.”
Is he serious? “Can I ask why you’re saying this like it’s a character flaw?”
“I want feeling. What makes you tick?”
(Motherfucking Corporate.) I shrug. “I don’t know.” He’s literally staring me dead in the eyes like we’re in a Western and he’s about to draw a gun from his holster and shoot me.
“I’m glaring at you, and you’re relaxed.”
“You don’t scare me.”
“I don’t?”
“No,” I say just as casually. I seriously believe Geoffrey wants to provoke me into a fight right now.
Dimitri, Sergei, Matvei, and Erik—the oldest four—turn towards me in anticipation of something that I don’t even want to happen. I’m not even tensed up. If I touch our choreographer, I could be fired on spot.
I see Baylee out of the corner of my eye. She’s trying to angle her body to catch his attention and draw his interest off of me.
I angle my back to her. Hiding her from his sight.
Geoffrey follows my shift. Still right up in my face. (His goatee is ugly, in case you were wondering.) “When’s the last time you sobbed?” he asks.
“I don’t remember,” I say the truth.
“When’s the last time you jerked off?”