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  “You’re right,” I say, knowing all too well it’s a lot more than just lunch.

  I place my hand in his, just before the waiter arrives with our menus.

  “My mother loved your performance last night,” the waiter says.

  “Thank you,” I say, realizing the reviews must have been good.

  “She couldn’t stop talking about it when she got home.”

  “I’m glad she enjoyed it. Please thank her, for me, for coming and supporting our work.”

  “I certainly will.” He pauses. “Can I get you two something to drink?”

  “Water,” we say simultaneously, bringing a smile to the waiter’s face.

  “Two waters it is,” he says, stepping away, giving us time to ourselves.

  “Do ballet dancers eat?” Brian says.

  “Come on. I know you know that’s just a misconception.”

  “I’ve been told.”

  “I’m at three thousand calories a day. Burn right through them.”

  “The Michelle Phelps of ballet.”

  “Michelle Phelps?”

  “Michael’s sister.”

  “He has a sister?”

  “Maybe.”

  We both laugh again. His joke is simple, but effective. He’s making me feel more relaxed which will make our little rendezvous easier.

  I don’t want to get caught, but it might be too late. If the waiter’s already noticed us then I’m guessing others might as well. I just can’t have this getting back to the theater, not that I’m not proud and excited to be on a lunch date with Brian. I actually hate that I feel like I have to sneak around. Sure, it feels kind of mischievous and fun, but I know I can balance things for myself. I have no intentions of breaking the relationship rules that were very much harped upon when I signed my contract, but I think my personal life is up to me…but I agreed to the terms so I should honor them.

  Plus this isn’t a relationship. We’ve only shared one kiss, and although that kiss felt like fireworks over the Hudson on the 4th of July, it was still only one kiss. Today’s just a meeting between old acquaintances…at least that’s what I’m telling myself. For all anyone else knows, he could be a donor and this a simple lunch meeting in an attempt to secure more funding.

  When the waiter comes back around I go with the crab. It’s described as sautéed Maryland and Maine crabcake, uni vinaigrette, sliced avocado, herb salad, and basil aioli…and it’s too perfect to resist.

  He chooses the Wagyu Steak Tartare, with its hand cut Kobe style beef with quail egg, Cognac gelee, traditional garnish, toast points.

  We joke about how big, or small, the portions might be.

  “There was one…ahem…portion…that I noticed wasn’t very small.”

  “Which one was that?” he asks.

  “The one I felt pressing into me last night.”

  “So you felt that,” he says.

  “How could I miss it? I thought the Statue of Liberty was poking me in the stomach.”

  “Well, the Statue of Liberty does stand for freedom, and last night that thing you felt poking you certainly wanted to be freed.”

  “Is that so?” I ask, taking a drink of my water.

  I see a few eyes looking at me and I’m not sure if it’s because they recognize me from the performance, him, or they overheard our conversation. Getting used to this new way of living is going to take some time.

  “Very much so. And did you know Gustave Eiffel built the Statue of Liberty while in France, sending it over in crates?”

  “I did.”

  “Proving that he successfully balanced a life working on separate continents.”

  “You’ll start coming to New York in crates?”

  “Unlikely, but I do see myself spending a lot more time in the city now.”

  “What about your business?”

  “Singapore?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s international. I’m often flying to meet clients, old and new. It’s a face to face business, so where I lay my head to sleep is less important than where I am during the working day. New York has one of the biggest art scenes in the world. It’s a natural fit, and one I should expand into.”

  “But you weren’t planning on expanding into it, were you?”

  “Two days ago?”

  I laugh, knowing where this is going.

  “Business changes by the second. You have to be adaptable or you’ll get passed by.”

  “And you’re adaptable?”

  “It depends on what I want, and what I stand to gain.”

  “And what might that be?”

  “Your crab, madame,” the waiter says. “And your Wagyu Steak Tartare, sir.” The waiter stands at the end of the table as if waiting to see if we need anything else. “Bon appétite,” he says, and leaves us to each other.

  I want to continue this conversation, but I want to eat even more. I’m starving, having skipped breakfast.

  I dig in, doing everything I can to remain civilized while I eat. The meal is so delicious. The view of the bridge is incredible. My lunch companion is the one I want more than any other in the world.

  But there’s one lunch companion I don’t want, and hadn’t counted on.

  It’s the NYC Ballet Master Chief, Mister Hendrix. I can see he recognizes me, but he’s doing his best not to stare. I see some familiar faces from the ballet and know I’ve been caught.

  “Is everything okay?” Brian asks.

  “Yes, the food is great.”

  “The table at your five o’clock. They seem to be worrying you.”

  “It’s nothing, really.”

  “Is there anything I can do?”

  “No, no. I’m fine.”

  “I can speak with them if they’re bothering you.”

  “No, it’s not them. It’s me.”

  Brian says nothing. I can see he wants me to be comfortable, but doesn’t want to go down a path I have no interest in discussing right now. I appreciate that he doesn’t push.

  I convince myself there’s nothing to worry about. I’ve done no wrong. We continue our meal, enjoying the company as much as the food. We pass on the dessert cart and opt for coffee instead. Everything in this place is amazing. I could sit here all day, and all night, with him.

  Eventually it’s time to go and somehow we leave without paying. I’m not sure if Brian has an account here, or if that sort of thing is even practiced here. I’m not about to be tacky and ask, I just appreciate that he took care of everything so discreetly and without asking for a thank you, which of course I give him anyways.

  We walk towards the door, when suddenly Mister Hendrix makes eye contact with me.

  “Brian,” he says, looking past me. “How have you been?”

  “Peter. Pleasure to see you here.”

  “I thought you were still in Singapore.”

  “I’m in town on a visit.”

  “Business or social?”

  “A little of each.”

  “Well I see you’ve met our newest star.”

  “I have indeed.”

  “Beautiful performance last night, Miss Brown.”

  “Thank you,” I say.

  “Looking forward to tonight.”

  “As am I,” I say, trying not to show just how nervous I am. My palms are sweating and I have no place to put my hands. I feel awkward and exposed.

  “Brian, would you like to come see the performance tonight? I can provide you my box.”

  “That would be great,” Brian says.

  Oh no. Not only do they know each other, they’re getting friendly.

  “It will be ready for you an hour before the curtain goes up.”

  “Thank you. Will I see you there?”

  “I’ll drop by and see how everything’s going.”

  “Great, and I’ll be by myself, so if you’d like we can share the box with any other clients you might have.”

  “Agreed. I’ll make some calls and we’ll get a good crew up in ther
e tonight.”

  “See you then.”

  They shake hands, and Mister Hendrix nods his head at me. He’s playing the role of the perfect gentleman, but there’s a look in his eye that tells me he’s watching my every move.

  If I trip up and ruin the performance he’s put together I’ll never work in this town again. He’s that powerful, but Brian’s a powerful man as well. What I hate is feeling powerless while the two of them will be watching me from the best box in the house. And worse is what information Mister Hendrix will try and get from Brian.

  CHAPTER 6

  Barbara

  I can barely focus as the curtain is about to go up.

  Brian’s up in the VIP box with Peter, and I have no idea what’s happening.

  Backstage everyone was talking about the reviews from last night’s opening. We were a hit, and now expectations were high. Tonight, everyone would be watching, seeing if we could repeat the performance from last night or if there would be a drop off. And it all starts with me.

  The curtain goes up and I take off, gliding across the stage before leaping and dashing back across the stage leaping again.

  Two male dancers are supposed to catch me, but I miss my mark, taking off late.

  I see I’m too far above them and at the last second they jump up and bring me back down to earth, spinning me safely back onto my feet.

  “Hit your mark,” one bemoans me through pursed lips. He’s right. I’ve got to pull it together.

  The crowd “oohs” and “aahs” as I’m just a little off and it requires dramatic countermoves from the rest of the team. This isn’t going well, at all.

  In one moment of stillness I look up into the box where I know Brian and Peter are. I can barely make out Peter, but I don’t see Brian.

  Did he find out? Did he ask the wrong question? Did he throw him out of the box?

  My moment is over and I continue struggling through the rest of the first act.

  “What the hell, Barbara!” Emmanuel, one of our dancers yells at me the moment the curtain falls. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “Fame’s gone to her head,” Douglas chimes in.

  “I’m sorry guys. I’m just a little off.”

  “Well you better get back on in a hurry.” It’s Daniel. “Don’t blow it the second you’ve arrived.”

  “I know. I know. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry, just be on point.”

  “I will this next act. I promise.”

  I go to my dressing room and sit down at my desk.

  Pull yourself together, Barbara.

  I pull open the drawer and look at that picture again. “For them,” I whisper.

  I take a deep breath in and get angry. I hunker down and get tough. I’m going to do this, damn it! I’m going to go back out there and show the high society of New York that I have arrived, that I do belong, and I’m here to stay.

  And that’s exactly what I do.

  The second act is even better than last night, and the third act is also a smash success.

  The curtain closes and it’s a repeat of last night. Press then celebrities, but tonight there’s no Brian in my room.

  Maybe I do need a break. I laugh inside. A break from what? We barely know each other I tell myself, but I know it’s a lie. We do know each other.

  There’s something about him being an established older man. He has nothing to prove, and as a businessman he’s surely refined his sense of detecting what others want and need and then giving it to them. He doesn’t talk over the top of other people. He doesn’t pry, and he certainly doesn’t push. He’s unlike anyone I’ve ever met in that regard. Most people are ready to turn their back on you the moment you’re no longer useful to them…to sell your secrets to the tabloids for a few bucks. Dancers pretend to be your friends, but just like in the film Black Swan, you know they only have their own best interests in mind.

  Just like I need to have my own interests in mind. But I just can’t get my mind off of him.

  I get changed and leave the building. I still haven’t seen him by the time I hit the sidewalk ready to hail a cab. I’ve refused the car service for tonight, preferring to blend into the city. A car can be followed, watched, and tracked. A cab is lost in the crowd the moment it pulls away from the curb. I’m ready for that feeling.

  “Offer you a ride?” I hear as I wave my hand into the street, only to be passed up yet again by another cab that’s already taken.

  “How is it that you just keep appearing?”

  “And you appear beautiful, as you always do.”

  I’m a bit angry, but coming from him it means something.

  “You didn’t think I was going to leave here with you, did you?”

  “Maybe I don’t want to leave with you.”

  “Don’t, or won’t?”

  “Can’t. Everyone’s watching now.”

  “People that don’t matter.”

  “And people that do. Don’t you understand how serious this is? You make it seem like it’s nothing. It’s not your reputation that’s in danger here. If one person sees us…” I stop.

  He steps out from the shadows and offers me his arm.

  “No one will see us, trust me.”

  “And if they do?”

  “I already took care of that tonight.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m now a donor to the New York City Ballet. It makes complete sense.”

  “People can still look down on me, if they find out.”

  “Let them, because that will be the wrong way for them to be looking.”

  “What?”

  “We’ll be above them, and above their comments. Always.”

  “And how is that?”

  He motions with his head and we walk in that direction down the block, not saying a word. We enter a large building and take the elevator to the top floor.

  I’m trying to stay calm, but my head is spinning. Why am I here? Why am I doing this?

  We reach the top and we step out, taking a set of stairs the final flight to what must be the rooftop.

  He holds the door open for me and I step onto the rooftop, feeling the crisp air hit me in the face. It’s a wakeup call, but not as much as what sits in front of me.

  “As I said, we’ll be above them.”

  “You travel by helicopter?”

  “No. You do.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’ll be performing for three months. I won’t have you sitting in traffic stressing.”

  “But…I can’t afford…what about…”

  “Shhh. It’s on loan to the New York City Ballet. It’s all arranged. We’ll put the logo on it tomorrow and it will take you to and from your performances. It keeps you safe and secure, and it’s great marketing for the ballet, and your career.”

  “But what about me? Don’t you think I deserve some say in this?”

  “Absolutely. If you don’t wish to use it, that is absolutely your choice, but please take one ride in it with me before you make up your mind.”

  “Where can we possibly go right now?”

  “Step inside and I’ll show you.”

  CHAPTER 7

  Barbara

  “Are these even allowed in the city?”

  “Depends on who you know,” he says.

  The thought of moving between the tall buildings in the city terrifies and excites me at the same time. I’ve only been in airplanes a few times in my life, but a helicopter is a totally different experience.

  And he’s the one flying it.

  “I didn’t know you’re a licensed pilot.”

  “Just got my license last year,” he says. His lack of experience should scare me, but the calm demeanor with which he checks all the flashing lights on the console, and expertly flips a few switches reassures me.

  He reaches over to strap me in, the harness splitting my chest, making my breasts look much bigger than they are. I feel safe with the harness on, but also slig
htly dominated. It’s tight, holding me in place. I can barely move even if I want to, not that I’d rather be anyplace other than here with him, right here, right now.