caused nothing but destruction, pain and grief?
Instead of professional ballet she’d veered down a different path with Justin, rejecting performing, embracing the craft that fed her soul – choreography.
No one compared her to her mother in this niche. Here she’d found her wings, flying fast and high. Until tragedy had struck. Now she was back.
None could touch them as a team. Sure, working with Justin had more than its fair share of challenges but she was a part of the best and that was all that mattered.
The key was to never stop learning. She still took regular class; ballet, jazz, tap, modern dance and improvisation and she studied with the best, the most demanding.
She cared for nothing except the music playing in her head. The challenge was to deliver something that couldn’t be done and excel.
The downside was when a composer did minor surgery or took a hatchet to the work when you least expected it.
Musical film director, Burt Lindstrom, was a bugger for that. But it was hard to stay frustrated with his constant tinkering of the work when he created beautiful music and if it meant twenty-hour days, well that was just too bad.
But she loved it. The aches, the pains, the horrible callused feet and the smell of sweat, she loved every single part of the experience.
Mirrors were an intrinsic part of her life since she spent up to twelve hours a day assessing, adjusting each pose, angle, rabidly searching for every flaw. She was unflinching in her awareness of what worked with her lean frame and what didn’t.
Justin had returned from weeks in the United States dealing with protracted contract negotiations with the producers of Burt’s new movie and he was like a big angry bear. He’d been behaving badly for months. His bullying tendencies coming to the fore when she’d been at a low ebb and hadn’t the strength or the energy to argue. But these days he was getting on her nerves, testing her increasingly fragile temper. His mood swings were giving her whiplash.
And today nothing was going right. Highs and lows were a key part of the creative process and that forcing it never worked. A permanent low-grade headache wasn’t helping either.
Justin huffed out a sigh and turned off the music.
Becca grimaced and eyed him warily.
‘Sorry. I can’t get my head around the timing.’
Collapsing in a corner of the dance studio she wiped sweat from her forehead with a towel. Her leotard the colour of lilacs in full bloom was soaked. Perspiration trickled between her breasts and she ran the towel along the back of her neck.
Justin flopped down beside her, flexing a long muscular leg as strong fingers massaged his knee.
His hazel eyes focused on her face, filled now with a hint of concern as well as that look of permanent irritation.
‘What’s the matter with you, sweetie? You’ve been off for days. If I didn’t know better I would say it was a man.’
He handed her a bottle of water.
Justin never missed a trick.
They’d been a team since graduating with honours from the Royal Ballet. An unexpected opportunity in the early days to assist a top choreographer with a West End show meant they’d managed the impossible and segued into mainstream. They’d worked with focused dedication to attain the reputation they now enjoyed. Both twenty-eight, they were regarded as the industry’s hottest young team. At the moment they were working on a complex number for Burt.
‘You wish.’ She unscrewed the cap.
‘If I was straight, I’d snap you up in a heart beat.’ It was an old joke usually guaranteed to make her smile.
‘Wouldn’t happen,’ she told him playing along and took a sip.
His offended look made her smile as it was supposed to.
He flexed impressive upper body strength. ‘I’m a manly man.’
She merely snorted, elbowed him in the ribs. ‘You’re a pretty boy.’
He frowned, studied her face and caught her eye. ‘What’s the matter?’
Overprotective and temperamental, Justin
Instead of professional ballet she’d veered down a different path with Justin, rejecting performing, embracing the craft that fed her soul – choreography.
No one compared her to her mother in this niche. Here she’d found her wings, flying fast and high. Until tragedy had struck. Now she was back.
None could touch them as a team. Sure, working with Justin had more than its fair share of challenges but she was a part of the best and that was all that mattered.
The key was to never stop learning. She still took regular class; ballet, jazz, tap, modern dance and improvisation and she studied with the best, the most demanding.
She cared for nothing except the music playing in her head. The challenge was to deliver something that couldn’t be done and excel.
The downside was when a composer did minor surgery or took a hatchet to the work when you least expected it.
Musical film director, Burt Lindstrom, was a bugger for that. But it was hard to stay frustrated with his constant tinkering of the work when he created beautiful music and if it meant twenty-hour days, well that was just too bad.
But she loved it. The aches, the pains, the horrible callused feet and the smell of sweat, she loved every single part of the experience.
Mirrors were an intrinsic part of her life since she spent up to twelve hours a day assessing, adjusting each pose, angle, rabidly searching for every flaw. She was unflinching in her awareness of what worked with her lean frame and what didn’t.
Justin had returned from weeks in the United States dealing with protracted contract negotiations with the producers of Burt’s new movie and he was like a big angry bear. He’d been behaving badly for months. His bullying tendencies coming to the fore when she’d been at a low ebb and hadn’t the strength or the energy to argue. But these days he was getting on her nerves, testing her increasingly fragile temper. His mood swings were giving her whiplash.
And today nothing was going right. Highs and lows were a key part of the creative process and that forcing it never worked. A permanent low-grade headache wasn’t helping either.
Justin huffed out a sigh and turned off the music.
Becca grimaced and eyed him warily.
‘Sorry. I can’t get my head around the timing.’
Collapsing in a corner of the dance studio she wiped sweat from her forehead with a towel. Her leotard the colour of lilacs in full bloom was soaked. Perspiration trickled between her breasts and she ran the towel along the back of her neck.
Justin flopped down beside her, flexing a long muscular leg as strong fingers massaged his knee.
His hazel eyes focused on her face, filled now with a hint of concern as well as that look of permanent irritation.
‘What’s the matter with you, sweetie? You’ve been off for days. If I didn’t know better I would say it was a man.’
He handed her a bottle of water.
Justin never missed a trick.
They’d been a team since graduating with honours from the Royal Ballet. An unexpected opportunity in the early days to assist a top choreographer with a West End show meant they’d managed the impossible and segued into mainstream. They’d worked with focused dedication to attain the reputation they now enjoyed. Both twenty-eight, they were regarded as the industry’s hottest young team. At the moment they were working on a complex number for Burt.
‘You wish.’ She unscrewed the cap.
‘If I was straight, I’d snap you up in a heart beat.’ It was an old joke usually guaranteed to make her smile.
‘Wouldn’t happen,’ she told him playing along and took a sip.
His offended look made her smile as it was supposed to.
He flexed impressive upper body strength. ‘I’m a manly man.’
She merely snorted, elbowed him in the ribs. ‘You’re a pretty boy.’
He frowned, studied her face and caught her eye. ‘What’s the matter?’
Overprotective and temperamental, Justin