I Left My Heart in Moscow but My Love Waits in Pittsburgh

Anna carefully brushed her hair to the beat of Justin Timberlake, before twisting it up into a simple French twist, knowing that Jack liked to undo her hair and too many pins seemed to confuse him.

Ugh men.

A delicate spritz of his favorite perfume on her collarbone, nothing too musky or too floral, and she was ready.

Jack left Pittsburgh after their affair had been discovered, to save face of course. And of course, Anna understood. After all, she as a daughter of high society and a ballerina on the grand stage so she knew all about having to save face and keeping obligations.

Sometimes his business brought him to Pittsburgh and every time he mixed business with pleasure by insisting that Anna meet him at his hotel.

Like most things in Anna's life, their trysts held a routine. A routine that moved like clockwork and despite its rigidity, it was comfortable and familiar. Anna would spend the whole day getting ready, first doing her nails. Jack liked her nails to be neat and polished. Then she would set her hair in rollers and then pin her hair up into either a neat twist or bun. She would slide into a dress which captured the perfect mixture of sex and class. And the final touch was the lipstick, red, of course, red as the soles of her shoes, which happened to be a gift from Jack.

At 9 PM sharp, a nondescript black sedan would come for her a block away from The Building to take her to the back entrance of his hotel and she would go up to the 28th floor to Jack’s suite. The champagne would be chilling in a bucket of ice and Jack would be waiting.

And for the rest of the night, they were only each other’s. He didn’t have a wife waiting for him in New York and she didn’t have a career that was stalling. For one night, they could be in love.

One night only.



“What are you dancing tonight?” Misha asked, sitting on the bed, reclining against the headboard, only the sheet draped across his lap covering his nude body from me.

I searched the dresser and pulled on a ratty sweatshirt that had “Property of NYCB” printed on it and suddenly felt self-conscious as if Mr. B was in the room with us, watching me, watching us in the form of this sweatshirt. “Queen of the Willis,” I opened the large duffel bag serving as my dance bag to see a mess of satin pointe shoes that still needed to be sewn and toe pads threatening to spill out.

“If you came with me to ABT right now, you would be Giselle,” Misha pointed out dully, “What are you dancing tomorrow?”

I paused, “Swan Lake. I’ll be a Big Swan and the Spanish Bride.”

“A character role! You wouldn’t even be in pointe shoes!” Misha shook his head in disgust, “They’re wasting you.”

“They don’t do the Vaganova version here. They do the Peter Martins version. I’ll be in pointe. I’ll be-”

“Fading into the background! And the day after tomorrow?”

“Diamonds! I’ll be in Diamonds! Can you offer me that Misha?” Balanchine was a shrewd businessman, no one would be able to stage a Balanchine production without his express consent. Balanchine was a God to us in The Academy. For years we were banned from watching or even looking at pictures of his ballets, let alone dance them. But we weren't at The Academy anymore. And now I was dancing for Balanchine and Misha was still not allowed to. “And after that I’ll be in Rubies. And after that Balanchine will create a ballet for me.”

“What ballet?” Misha’s voice tight, every single one of his sinewy muscles was taught and strongly defined, “What is he going to create for you?”

“Sleeping Beauty.” Balanchine’s dream to create Sleeping Beauty was well known. He had gone on several occasions to the Board to ask to create the splendor of Sleeping Beauty for American audiences.

“Ah, yes and with what money? With what will he crown you Princess Aurora?”

“He will find a way. He always finds a way.”

“You know why he’s doing this don’t you? He’s trying to keep you with him like what he did to Suzi. He’s trying to bribe you and keep you away from me.”

“He knows I’m leaving. He knows.”

“Doesn’t mean he likes it.”



“So what’s the deal with this Gelsey chick?” Max propped himself up on the pillows, his hands behind his head.

Alicia looked up at the French Canadian with curious eyes. Their arrangement had been going on for two weeks now and she was more than pleased. Not that she would tell Max that. His head was big enough already. She had needs and so did he. She told Max from the get go that she wasn’t emotionally available. There was Adam after all.

Adam.

And Sylvia.

Alicia shook her head, “Gelsey’s been PBT’s star since forever,” Alicia’s mouth twisted as she began the next part of the story, “Mr. Orr, the director, is married to Madame Stiefel, the ballet mistress. But everyone knows that Mr. Orr married Madame Stiefel for her money, or well her family's money. Madame Stiefel is old money through and through. A true Yankee and a blue blood. It's really the perfect storm. Mr. Orr's loveless marriage coupled with his position of power and the fact that most of us will do anything to get ahead, it’s a breeding ground for infidelity.

“So when Mr. Orr saw Gelsey as a fresh faced graduate. He was inspired and she complied. So they say,” Alicia paused, “It was a long affair and Gelsey’s tried to escape on several occasions. She truly is far too talented to be just here. I mean she could be in New York or Paris or London but Mr. Orr was set on ruining her if she ever left him. I guess in a sense he already did. Then when Gelsey was going to get married Lincoln Martins, her longtime pas de deux partner and Mr. Orr fired him. Fired him and sent him away because he has the power to do that. Lincoln is somewhere in Denmark, dancing under a contract that he was basically forced to sign. So in short Gelsey has been Mr. Orr’s muse, lover and obsession and this year will be her last and she might be able to be free of him. She was the princess in the ivory tower and while Mr. Orr thought he was her prince, he really was the dragon keeping her in.”

“Did he ever try anything with you?” Max’s voice tight and the muscles of his arms taught and flexed.

Alicia traced the scar on his shoulder from the labrum surgery, which curiously caused some of the tension to leave his stiff muscles, “No and I won’t let myself become- become Mr. Orr’s plaything.”

“I’m sure that’s what Gelsey said too,” Max turned to her, his long fingers grasped her chin and forced her to look up into his eyes, “Promise me that you’ll tell me if he tries anything. Anything.”

“Max, stop, don’t be ridiculous,” Alicia was truly frightened by the intensity in his eyes.

“Promise me.”

“I promise.”



Anna rested on her stomach as Jack’s fingers traced lightly up and down her spine. “That feels nice,” Anna smiled as she looked into her lover’s eyes.

Jack.

To everyone else, he was John Gallagher. Heir to the Gallagher fortune and a successful businessman in his own right. But with her, he was Jack.

“I wish you could stay in Pittsburgh longer,” Anna wished for a lot of things. Like that he would leave his wife. But why ask for things that you know won’t come true. “There was a scout for American Ballet Theatre at my last performance. There’s a good chance I’ll be given a contract and then I’ll be in The City. We won’t be confined to one night every four months.”

Jack’s hand rested on her lower back, “That would be nice. You would love New York. ABT would be a great opportunity for you. Though I do donate NYCB,” Jack teased cheekily.

“I’m sure I can figure out a way to change your mind,” Anna smirked and pressed her lips against Jack’s.



Lips.

Tongues.

Hands.

Jordan’s hand on my knee and with that one touch I became painfully aware of how I was only wearing my bra and panties. And while I had danced onstage every night in glorified lingerie, I froze.



I could feel the tension in her body. Her whole body went rigid and the little voice in the back of my head began to yell at me. Chastising me for letting myself lose control.

Stop thinking with your dick.

I looked at the woman pinned underneath me. She was wearing a simple cotton bra and a pair of Hanes cotton panties.

Suddenly I realized how fragile she was and how I couldn’t possibly live with myself if I ever broke her.

“I’m sorry,” She whispered so softly and so sincerely. “I-I-”

I crushed my body against hers and I held her. I just held her. And for once, I didn’t have a smart ass thing to say. I just wanted to hold her and make her feel safe, “I can wait. I can wait,” I stroked her hair over and over again.



I stopped in front of my locker, not sure what exactly I was doing here. After the fight with Misha, I came straight to the studios after the performance. My muscles ached and my hair was in a wet ponytail. I dug through the locker, finding a pair of old pointe shoes. They were too soft for me to do anything serious and my muscles and feet were too overworked for me to do anything too complicated.

I went into one of the many empty studios on this floor that had floor to ceiling windows looking over the City. The soft glow of the moon and the glittering Manhattan skyline illuminated the dark room. I put on the pointe shoes and rolled through demi pointe and onto full. I let my mind shut off and clear it of Misha’s jealousy as I went through the barre exercises that have been ingrained in me since birth.

The lights flickered on and my eyes stung from the sudden rush of light. I squinted and made out Mr. B’s unmistakable, hunched form in the doorway.

“Ah, what are you doing here so late?" His eyes seemed unfocused, yet sharp at the same time. It was well-known by now that most of his sight was gone due to cataracts. "You performed very beautifully tonight,” He switched into Russian.

“Thank you, Spanish is a favorite role of mine,” I looked down too embarrassed and unsure whether to say the real reason I was here, “Misha and I got into a fight. He’s jealous.”

“So you came here,” Mr. B nodded in approval, “Good, very good.” He paused, “We can start to work on Sleeping Beauty. There is no pianist so we can just hum,” He led me to the middle of the studio. He offered me his arm and I took care not to wrinkle the sleeves of his dress shirt. Using him as my Prince, we hummed through the Dream sequence.



“I’m sure both of you are wondering why I’m rehearsing both of you for this role,” Mr. Orr started, “Svetlana, the magazine cover and the rave reviews from your gala performance has had many looking forward to your next performance. Anna,” He paused, making a face as if he wasn’t sure if he wanted to continue, “I- I was slightly impressed by your performance at the Gala,” His voice was tight. It was common knowledge that ABT had offered Anna a job. And though no one knew if it was a part in the corps or a principal, Mr. Orr was desperate to keep her in Pittsburgh. “One of you will dance Dewdrop and the other will be the understudy. Madame Stiefel will be coaching and choreographing. I will have the final say.”

Mr. Orr clapped his hands, “Let’s start from the top.” His hand rested on Madame Stiefel’s shoulder.

The corners of her mouth turned down ever so slightly at his touch, but just that miniscule movement was the only thing that revealed the crumbling relationship between man and wife.